10 - Chapter 10. All Quiet on the Western Front.

10 - Chapter 10. All Quiet on the Western Front.  
Considered by many to be the greatest war novel of all time, All Quiet on the Western Front is the chronicle of a German soldier fighting in the trenches of World War I, including the severe physical suffering and emotional trauma that will leave many unable to readjust to civilian life afterward.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter ten of All Quite on the Western Front by
Eric Maria Remark translated by Arthur Wesley Ween. This LibriVox
recording is in the public domain. Chapter ten. We have
dropped in for a good job. Eight of us have
to guard a village that has been abandoned because it

(00:22):
is being shelled too heavily. In particular, we have to
watch the supply dump, as that is not yet empty.
We are supposed to provision ourselves from the same store.
We are just the right people for that, kat Albert
Muller Chodden Dedding. Our whole gang is there. Haya is dead, though,
but we are mighty lucky all the same. All the

(00:44):
other squads have had more casualties than we have. We
select as a dugout a reinforced concrete cellar into which
steps lead down from above. The entrance is protected by
a separate concrete wall. Develop an immense industry. This is
an opportunity not only to stretch one's legs, but to

(01:05):
stretch one's soul also. We make the best use of
such opportunities. The war is too desperate to allow us
to be sentimental for long. That is only possible so
long as things are not going too badly. After all,
we cannot afford to be anything but matter of fact.
So matter of fact indeed that I often shudder when

(01:25):
a thought from the days before the war comes momentarily
into my head. But it does not stay long. We
have to take things as lightly as we can, so
we make the most of every opportunity, and nonsense stands
stark and immediate beside horror. It cannot be otherwise. That
is how we hearten ourselves. So we zealously set to

(01:48):
work to create an idol, an idol of eating and sleeping.
Of course, the floor is first covered with mattresses, which
we haul in from the houses. Even a soldier's behind
likes to sit soft. Only in the middle of the
floor is there any clear space. Then we furnish ourselves
with blankets and eider downs, luxurious soft affairs. There is

(02:11):
plenty of everything to be had in the town Albert,
and I find a mahogany bed which could be taken
to pieces with a sky of blue silk and a
lace Coverlet we sweat like monkeys moving it in. But
a man cannot let a thing like that slip, and
it would certainly be shot to pieces in a day
or two. Cat and I do a little patrolling through

(02:33):
the houses. In very short time we have collected a
dozen eggs and two pounds of fairly fresh butter. Suddenly
there is a crash in the drawing room, and an
iron stove hurtles through the wall past us, and on
a yard from us, out through the wall behind two holes.
It comes from the house opposite where a shell has

(02:54):
just landed. The swine grimaces Cat and we continue our search.
All at once. We prick up our ears, hurry across,
and suddenly stand petrified there running up and down in
a little sty or two of live sucking pigs. We
rub our eyes and look once again to make certain, yes,

(03:15):
they are still there. We seize hold of them, no
doubt about it, two real young pigs. This will make
a grand feed. About twenty yards from our dugout there
is a small house that was used as an officer's billet.
In the kitchen is an immense fireplace with two ranges, pots, pans,
and kettles, everything even to a stack of small chopped wood.

(03:39):
In an outhouse a regular cook's paradise. Two of our
fellows have been out in the fields all the morning,
hunting for potatoes, carrots and green peas. We are quite
uppish and sniff at the tin stuff in the supply dump.
We want fresh vegetables. In the dining room there are
already two heads of collie flour. The sucking pigs are slaughtered.

(04:03):
Cat sees to them. We want to make potato cakes
to go with the roast, but we cannot find a
greater for the potatoes. However, that difficulties soon got over
With a nail. We punch a lot of holes in
a pot lid, and there we have a grater. Three
fellows put on thick gloves to protect their fingers against
the grater. Two others peel the potatoes, and the business

(04:26):
gets going. Cat samples the sucking pigs, the carrots, the
peas and the cauliflower. He even mixes a white sauce
for the cauliflower. I fry the pancakes four at a time.
After ten minutes, I get the neck of tossing the pans,
so that the pancakes, which are done on one side,
sail up, turn in the air and are caught again

(04:48):
as they come down the sucking pigs or baked hole.
We all stand round them as before an altar. In
the meantime, we receive visitors, a couple of wireless men
who are generously invited to the feed. They sit in
the living room, where there is a piano. One of
them plays, the other sings and der Vasser He sings feelingly,

(05:12):
but with a rather saxon accent. All the same, it
moves us as we stand at the fireplace preparing the
good things. Then we begin to realize that we are
in for trouble. The observation balloons have spotted the smoke
from our chimney, and the shells start to drop on us.
They are those damp spraying little daisy cutters that make

(05:34):
only a small home and scatter widely close to the ground.
They keep dropping closer and closer all round us. Still
we cannot leave the grub in the lurch. A couple
of splinters with through the top of the kitchen window.
The roast is already cooked, but frying the pancakes is
getting difficult. The explosions come so fast that the splinters

(05:56):
strike often and oftener against the wall of the house
and sweeping the window. Whenever I hear a shell coming,
I drop down on one knee with the pan and
the pancakes and duck behind the wall of the window.
Immediately afterwards, I am up again and going on with
the frying. The saxons stop singing. A fragment has smashed

(06:17):
into the piano. At last, everything is ready and we
organize the transport of it back to the dugout. After
the next explosion, two men dash across the fifty yards
to the dugout with the pots of vegetables. We see
them disappear the next shot. Everyone ducks, and then two
more trot off, each with a big can of finest

(06:39):
gray coffee, and reach the dugout before the next explosion.
Then Cat and Crops sees the masterpiece, the big dish
with the brown roasted sucking pigs. A screech, a knee bend,
and away they race over the fifty yards of open country.
I stayed to finish frying my last four pancakes. Twice

(07:01):
I have to drop on the floor. After all, it
means four pancakes more, and they are my favorite dish.
Then I grabbed the plate with a great pile of
cakes and squeeze myself behind the house door. I hiss
a crash, and I gallop off with the plate clamped
against my chest with both hands, I am almost in.

(07:21):
I run like a deer, sweet round the wall. Fragments
clatter against the concrete. I tumble down the cellar's steps.
My elbows are skinned, but I have not lost a
single pancake, nor even broken the plate. About two o'clock
we start the meal. It lasts until six. We drink
coffee until half past seven, officer's coffee from the supply dump,

(07:45):
and smoke officers cigars and cigarettes also from the supply dump. Punctually.
At half past seven we begin the evening meal. About
ten o'clock we throw the bones of the sucking pigs
outside the door. Then there is cognac and rum, also
from the blessed supply dump, and once again long fat

(08:06):
cigars with belly bands. Chad suggests that it lacks only
one thing, girls from an officer's brothel. Late in the
evening we hear mewing. A little gray cat sits in
the entrance. We entice it in and give it something
to eat, and that wakes up our own appetites. Once more,

(08:26):
still chewing, we lay down to sleep, But the night
is bad. We have eaten too much fat. Fresh baby
pig is very griping to the bowels. There is an
everlasting coming and going in the dugout. Two three men
with their pants down are always sitting about outside and cursing.
I have been out nine times myself. About four o'clock

(08:50):
in the morning we reach our record. All eleven men,
guards and visitors are squatting outside. Burning houses stand out
like torches against the night. Shells lumber across and crash down.
Munition columns tear along the street. On one side the
supply dump has been ripped open. In spite of all

(09:11):
the flying fragments. The drivers of the munition columns pour
in like swarms of bees and pounce on the bread.
We have let them have their own way. If we
said anything, it would only mean a good hiding for us.
So we go differently about it. We explain that we
are the guard and so know our way about. We

(09:32):
get hold of the tin stuff and exchange it for
things we are short of. What does it matter anyhow,
in a while it will all be blown to pieces
for ourselves. We take some chocolate from the depot and
eat it in slabs. Kat says it is good for
loose bowels. Almost a fortnight passes. Thus, in eating, drinking,

(09:53):
and roaming about, no one disturbs us. The town gradually
vanishes under the shell, and we lead a charmed life.
So long as any part of the supply dump still stands,
we don't worry. We desire nothing better than to stay
here till the end of the war. Chidden has become
so fastidious that he only half smokes his cigars with

(10:17):
his nose in the air. He explains to us that
he was brought up that way, and cat is most cheerful.
In the morning, his first call is Emil, bring in
the caviare and coffee. We put on extraordinary airs. Every
man treats the other as his valet, bounces him and
gives him orders. There is something itching under my foot, crop,

(10:42):
my man, catch that louse at once, says Leir, poking
on his leg at him like a ballet girl. And
Albert drags him up the stairs by the foot. Jaudon,
what stead at ease Jaddon, And what's more, don't say
what say yes sir now Chadden. Chaden retorts in the

(11:03):
well known phrase from good as Gotts van Berlikgen, with
which he is always very free. After eight more days
we receive orders to go back. The palmy days are over.
Two big mortor lorries take us away. They are stacked
high with planks. Nevertheless, Albert and I erect on top

(11:23):
our four poster bed, complete with blue silk canopy mattress
and two lace coverlets. And behind it, at the head
is stowed a bag full of choice edibles. We often
dip into it. And the tough ham sausages, the tins
of liver sausages, the conserves, the boxes of cigarettes rejoice
our hearts. Each man has a bag to himself. Krop

(11:47):
and I have rescued two big red arm chairs as well.
They stand inside the bed, and we sprawl back in
them as in a theater box. Above us swells the
silken cover like a bulldigin. Each man has a long
cigar in his mouth, and thus from aloft we survey
the scene. Between us stands a parrot cage that we

(12:08):
found for the cat. She is coming with us and
lies in the cage before her saucer of meat and purrs. Slowly.
The lorries roll down the road. We sing behind us.
The shells are sending up fountains from the now utterly
abandoned town. A few days later, we are sent out

(12:29):
to evacuate a village. On the way, we meet the
fleeing inhabitants, trundling their goods and chattels along with them
in wheelbarrows, perambulators, and on their backs. Their figures are bent,
their faces full of grief, despair, haste, and resignation. The
children hold on to their mother's hands, and often an
older girl leads the little ones, who stumble onward and

(12:51):
are forever looking back. A few carry miserable looking dolls.
All are as silent as they pass us by. We
are marching in column. The French do not fire on
a town in which there are still inhabitants. But a
few minutes later the air screams, the earth heaves, cries,
ring out. A shell has landed among the rear squad.

(13:15):
We scatter and fling ourselves down on the ground. But
at that moment I feel the instinctive alertness leave me,
which hitherto has always made me do uncausciously the right
thing under fire. The thought leaps up with a terrible
throttling fear you are lost, And the next moment a
blow sweeps like a whip over my left leg. I

(13:36):
hear Albert cry out. He is beside me. Quick up, Albert,
I yell, for we are lying unsheltered in the open field.
He staggers up and runs. I keep beside him. We
have to get over a hedge. It is higher than
we are. Crop seizes a branch. I heave him up
by the leg. He cries out. I give him a swing,

(13:58):
and he flies over with one leap. I follow him
and fall into a ditch that lies behind the hedge.
Our faces are smothered with duck weed and mud, but
the cover is good, so we wade in up to
our necks. Whenever a shell whistles, we duck our heads
under the water. After we have done this a dozen times,

(14:19):
I am exhausted. Let's get away or I'll fall in
and drown. Groans Albert, Where has it got you? I
ask him in the knee. I think, can you run?
I think? Then out. We make for the ditch beside
the road, and stooping run along it. The shelling follows us.

(14:40):
The road leads toward the munition dump. If that goes up,
there won't be a man of us with his head
left on his shoulders. So we change our plan and
run diagonally across country. Albert begins to drag you go,
I'll come on, after, he says, and throws himself down.
I seize him by the arm and shake him up. Albert,

(15:02):
if once you lie down you'll never get any farther quick,
I'll hold you up. At last, we reach a small
dugout crop pitches in and I bandage him up. The
shot is just a little above his knee. Then I
take a look at myself. My trousers are bloody, and
my arm too. Albert binds up my wounds with his

(15:23):
field dressing. Already he is no longer able to move
his leg, and we both wonder how we manage to
get this far. Fear alone made it possible. We would
have run even if our feet had been shot off,
we would have run on the stumps. I can still
crawl a little. I call out to a passing ambulance wagon,

(15:45):
which picks us up. It is full of wounded. There
is an Army medical lance corporal with it who sticks
an anti titanous needle into our chests. At the dressing station,
we arrange matters so that we lie side by side.
They give us a thin soup which we spoon down
greedily and scornfully, because we are accustomed to better times,

(16:06):
but are hungry all the same. Now for home, Albert
I say, let's hope, so he replies, I only wish
I knew what I've got. The pain increases, the bandages
burn like fire. We drink and drink, one glass of
water after another. How far above the knee am I hit?

(16:29):
Asks crop at least four inches? Albert I answer, actually,
it is perhaps one. I've made up my mind, he says,
after a while. If they take off my leg, I'll
put an end to it. I won't go through life
as a cripple. So we lie there with our thoughts

(16:49):
and wait. In the evening, we are hauled on to
the chopping block. I am frightened and think quickly what
I ought to do. For every one knows that the
surgeons in the dressing stations amputate on the slightest provocation
under the great pressure of business. That is much simpler
than complicated patching. I think of Chemerck. Whatever happens, I

(17:14):
will not let them chloroform me, even if I have
to crack a couple of their skulls. It is all right.
The surgeon pokes around in the wound, and a blackness
comes before my eyes. Don't carry on, so he says, gruffly,
and hacks away. The instruments gleam in the bright light
like malevolent animals. The pain is insufferable. Two orderlies hold

(17:40):
my arms fast, but I break loose with one of
them and try to crash into the surgeons spectacles. Just
as he notices and springs back chloroform the scoundrel. He
roars madly. Then I become quiet. Pardon her, doctor, I
will keep still, but do not chloroform me. Well, now

(18:01):
he cackles and takes up his instrument again. He is
a fair fellow, not more than thirty years old, with
scars and disgusting gold spectacles. Now I see that he
is tormenting me. He is merely raking about in the
wound and looking up surreptitiously at me over his glasses.
My hands squeeze around the grips. I'll kick the bucket

(18:22):
before he will get a squeak out of me. He
has fished out a piece of shell and tosses it
to me. Apparently he is pleased at my self control,
for he seems to be more considerate of me now
and says tomorrow you'll be off home. Then I am
put in plaster. When I am back again with crop,

(18:43):
I tell him that apparently a hospital train comes in
tomorrow morning. We must work the Army medical sergeant major
so that we can keep together. Albert I managed to
slip the Sergeant Major two of my cigars with belly
bands and then tip the word to him. He smells
the cigars and says, have you got any more of them?

(19:05):
Another good handful? I say, And my comrade, I point
to Krop he has some as well. We might possibly
be glad to hand them to you out of the
window of the hospital train in the morning. He understands,
of course, smells them once again, and says done. We
cannot get a minute sleep all night. Seven fellows die

(19:28):
in our ward. One of them sings hymns in a
high cracked tenor before he begins to gurgle. Another has
crept out of his bed to the window. He lies
in front of it as though he wants to look
out for the last time. Our stretchers stand on the platform.
We wait for the train. It rains and the station

(19:50):
has no roof. Our covers are thin. We have waited
already two hours. The sergeant Major looks after us like
a mother. Although I feel pretty bad, I do not
let our scheme out of my mind. Occasionally I let
him see the packet and give him one cigar in advance.
In exchange, the sergeant Major covers us over with a

(20:12):
waterproof sheet. Albert, old man, I suddenly bethink myself our
four poster, and the cat, and the club chairs. He adds, Yes,
the club chairs with red plush in the evening. We
used to sit in them like lords, and intended later
on to let them out by the hour one cigarette

(20:34):
per hour. It might have turned into a regular business,
a real good living. And our bags of grub too, Albert,
we grow melancholy. We might have made some use of
the things. If only the train left one day later.
Cat will be sure to find us and bring us
the stuff. What damned hard luck. In our bellies there

(20:57):
is gruel, mean hospital stuff, and in our bags roast pork.
But we are so weak that we cannot work up
any more excitement about it. The stretchers are sopping wet
by the time the train arrives in the morning. The
Sergeant Major sees to it that we are put in
the same car. There is a crowd of Red Cross nurses.

(21:18):
Crop is stowed in below. I am lifted up and
put into the bed above him. Good God, I exclaimed, Suddenly,
what is it, asked the sister. I cast a glance
at the bed. It is covered with clean, snow white
linen that even has the marks of the iron still
on it. And my shirt has gone six weeks without

(21:40):
being washed and is terribly muddy. Can't you get in
by yourself, asked the sister gently. Why yes, I say,
in a sweat, but take off the bed cover first.
What for I feel like a pig? Must I get
in there? It will get yet, I hesitate a little

(22:03):
bit dirty, she suggests helpfully. That doesn't matter. We will
wash it again afterwards. No, no, not that, I say excitedly.
I am not equal to such overwhelming refinement when you
have been lying out there in the trenches. Surely we
can wash a sheet, she goes on. I look at her.

(22:27):
She is young and crisp, spotless and neat. Like everything here,
A man cannot realize that it isn't for officers only,
and feels himself strange and in some way even alarmed
all the same. The woman is a tormentor. She is
going to force me to say it. It is only
I try again. Surely she must know what I mean.

(22:51):
What is it then? Because of the lice? I bawl out.
At last, she laughs, well, they must have a good
day for once to you. Now I don't care any more.
I scramble into bed and pull up the covers. A
hand gropes over the bed cover the sergeant major. He
goes off with the cigars. An hour later we notice

(23:14):
that we are moving at night. I cannot sleep. Crop
is restless too. The train rides easily over the rails.
I cannot realize it all yet A bed a train
home Albert. I whisper, yes, do you know where the
latrine is? Over to the right of the door. I

(23:36):
think I'm going to have a look. It is dark.
I grope for the edge of the bed and cautiously
try to slide down, but my foot finds no support.
I begin to slip. The plaster leg is no help,
and with a crash, I lie on the floor. Damn,
I say, have you bumped yourself? Asked scrop You could

(23:58):
hear that well enough for yourself. I growl my head.
A door opens in the rear of the car. The
sister comes with a light and looks at me. He
has fallen out of bed. She feels my pulse and
smooths my forehead. You haven't any fever, though, no, I agree.

(24:18):
Have you been dreaming? Then she asks, perhaps I evade?
The interrogation starts again. She looks at me with her
clear eyes, and the more wonderful and sweet she is,
the less I am able to tell her what I want.
I am lifted up into bed again. That will be
all right. As soon as she goes, I must try

(24:39):
to climb down again. If she were an old woman,
it might be easier to say what a man wants.
But she is so very young, at the most twenty five.
It can't be done. I cannot possibly tell her. Then
Albert comes to my rescue. He is not bashful. It
makes no difference to him, who was upset. He calls

(24:59):
to the sister. She turns round. Sister, he wants, But
no more does Albert know how to express it modestly
and decently. Out there we say it in a single word,
But here to such a lady. All at once, he
remembers his school days and finishes hastily. He wants to

(25:20):
leave the room sister Ah says the sister, but he
shouldn't climb out of his bed with his paster bandage.
What do you want, then, she says, turning to me.
I am in mortal terror at this new turn, for
I haven't any idea what the things are called. Professionally,
she comes to my help. Little or big this shocking business.

(25:43):
I sweat like a pig and say shyly, well, only
quite a little one. At any rate, it produces the effect.
I get a bottle. After a few hours, I am
no longer the only one, and by morning we are
quite accustomed to it and ask for what we want
without any false modesty. The train travels slowly. Sometimes it halts,

(26:07):
and the dead are unloaded. It halts often. Albert is feverish.
I feel miserable and have a good deal of pain.
But the worst of it is that apparently there are
still lice under the plaster bandage. They itch terribly, and
I cannot scratch myself. We sleep through the days, the

(26:28):
country glides quietly past the window. The third night we
reach herbstall. I hear from the sister that Albert is
to be put off at the next station because of
his fever. How far does the train go? I ask
to Cologne, Albert, I say, we stick together, you see

(26:48):
on the sister's next round. I hold my breath and
press it up into my head. My face swells and
turns red. She stops. Are you in pain? Yes? I groan.
All of a sudden. She gives me a thermometer and
goes on. I would not have been under Cat's tuition
if I did not know what to do now. These

(27:10):
army thermometers are not made for old soldiers. All one
has to do is to drive the quicksilver up, and
then it stays there without falling again. I stick the
thermometer under my arm at a slant and flip it
steadily with my forefinger. Then I give it a shake.
I send it up to a hundred point two, but
that is not enough. A match held cautiously near it

(27:32):
brings it up to one hundred and one point six.
As the sister comes back, I blow myself out, breathe
in short gasps, goggle at her with vacant eyes, toss
about restlessly, and mutter in a whisper. I can't bear
it any longer, She notes me down on a slip
of paper. I know perfectly well my plaster bandage will

(27:53):
not be reopened if it can be avoided. Albert and
I are put off together. We are in the same
room in a Catholic hospital. That is a piece of luck.
The Catholic infirmaries are noted for their good treatment and
good food. The hospital has been filled up from our train.
There are a great many bad cases amongst them. We

(28:15):
do not get examined today because there are too few surgeons.
The flat trolleys with the rubber wheels pass continually along
the corridor, and always with some one stretched at full
length upon them. A damnable position stretched out at full
length like that. The only time it is good is
when one is asleep. The night is very disturbed. No

(28:38):
one can sleep. Toward morning, we doze a little. I
wake up just as it grows light. The door stands open,
and I hear voices from the corridor. The others wake
up too. One fellow, who has been there a couple
of days already explains it to us. Up there in
the corridor, every morning the sisters say prayers. They call

(28:59):
it morning devotion, and so that you can get your share.
They leave the door open. No doubt it is well meant,
but it gives us aches in our head and bones.
Such an absurdity, I say, just when a man dropped
off to sleep, all the light cases are up here.
That's why they do it here, he replies. Albert groans.

(29:23):
I get furious and call out, be quiet out there.
A minute later, a sister appears in her black and
white dress. She looks like a beautiful tea cozy. Shut
the door, will you, sister, says someone. We are saying prayers,
that is why the door is open, she responds, But

(29:44):
we want to go on sleeping. Prayer is better than sleep.
She stands there and smiles innocently. And it is seven
o'clock already. Albert groans again. Shut the door. I snort,
quite disconcerted. Apparently she cannot understand. But we are saying

(30:05):
prayers for you too. Shut the door anyway. She disappears,
leaving the door open. The intoning of the littan he proceeds.
I feel savage and say I'm going to count up
to three. If it doesn't stop before then, I'll let
something fly me too, says another. I count up to five.

(30:28):
Then I take hold of a bottle aim and heave
it through the door into the corridor. It smashes into
a thousand pieces. The praying stops. A swarm of sisters
appear and reproaches in concert. Shut the door. We yell,
they withdraw. The little one who came first is the

(30:49):
last to go heathen. She chirps, but shuts the door.
All the same, we have won. At noon, the hospital
inspect or arrives and abuses us. He threatens us with
clink and all the rest of it. But a hospital
inspector is just the same as a commissariat inspector or

(31:09):
anyone else who wears a long dagger and shoulder straps,
but is really a clerk and is never considered even
by a recruit as a real officer. So we let
him talk. What can they do to us anyway? Who
through the bottle? He asks? Before I can think whether
I should report myself, someone says I did. A man

(31:32):
with a bristling beard sits up. Everyone is excited. Why
should he report himself? You? Yes, I was annoyed because
we were waked up unnecessarily and lost my senses so
that I did not know what I was doing. He
talks like a book. What is your name? Reinforcement reservist

(31:54):
Joseph Hammacker. The inspector departs. We are all curious, but
why did you say you did it? It wasn't you
at all, He grins. That doesn't matter. I have a
shooting license. Then, of course we all understand. Whoever has
a shooting license can do just whatever he pleases. Yes,

(32:19):
he explains, I got a crack in the head, and
they presented me with a certificate to say that I
was periodically not responsible for my actions. Ever since then,
I've had a grand time. No one dares to annoy me,
and nobody does anything to me. I reported myself because
the shot amused me. If they open the door again

(32:41):
tomorrow we will pitch another. We are overjoyed with Joseph
Hammacker in our midst We can now risk anything. Then
come the soundless flat trolleys to take us away. The
bandages are stuck fast. We bellow like steers. There are

(33:02):
eight men in our room. Peter, a curly, black haired fellow,
has the worst injury, a severe lung wound. Franz Vactor
alongside him, has a shot in the arm, which didn't
look too bad at first. But the third night he
calls out to us, telling us to ring. He thinks
he has a hemorrhage. I ring loudly. The night sister

(33:24):
does not come. We have been making rather heavy demands
on her during the night, because we all have been
freshly bandaged and so have a good deal of pain.
One once is leg placed, so another so, A third
wants water, a fourth wants her to shake up his pillow.
In the end, the buxom old body grumbled bad temperately

(33:44):
and slammed the doors. Now no doubt she thinks it
is something of the same sort, and so she is
not coming. We wait, then, Franz says, ring again. I
do so. Still she does not put in an appearance
in our wing. There is only one night sister. Perhaps
she has something to do in one of the other rooms. Franz,

(34:08):
are you quite sure you are bleeding? I ask? Otherwise
we shall be getting cursed again. The bandage is wet.
Can't anybody make a light? That cannot be done either.
The switch is by the door, and none of us
can stand up. I hold my thumb against the button
of the bell till it becomes numb. Perhaps the sister
has fallen asleep. They certainly have a great deal to do,

(34:31):
and are all over work day after day. And added
to that is the everlasting praying. Should we smash a bottle,
asked Joseph Hammacker of the shooting license. She wouldn't hear
that any more than the bell. At last, the door opens.
The old lady appears, mumbling. When she perceives Franz's trouble.

(34:52):
She begins to bustle and says, why did not someone
say I was wanted? We did ring, and none of
us here can walk. He has been bleeding badly, and
she binds him up. In the morning, when we look
at his face, it has become sharp and yellow, whereas
the evening before he looked almost healthy. Now a sister

(35:13):
comes oftener. Sometimes there are Red Cross voluntary aid sisters.
They are pleasant, but often rather unskilled. They frequently give
us pain when remaking our beds, and they are so
frightened that they hurt us still more. The nuns are
more reliable. They know how they must take hold of us,

(35:33):
But we would be more pleased if they were somewhat
more cheerful. A few of them have real spirit. They
are superb. There is no one who would not do
anything for Sister Libertine, this marvelous sister who spreads good
cheer through the whole wing, even when she can only
be seen in the distance. And there are others like her.
We would go through fire for her. A man cannot

(35:56):
really complain here. He is treated by the nuns exactly
like a civilian. On the other hand, just to think
of a garrison hospital gives a man the creeps. Franz
Vactor does not regain his strength. One day, he is
taken away and does not come back. Joseph Hammacker knows
all about it. We shan't see him again. They have

(36:20):
put him in the dead room. What do you mean
dead room? Asks kropp Well. Dying room? What is that? Then?
A little room at the corner of the building. Whoever
is about to kick the bucket is put in there.
There are two beds in it. It is generally called
the dying room. But what do they do that for?

(36:42):
They don't have so much work to do afterwards. It
is more convenient too, because it lies right beside the
lift of the mortuary. Perhaps also they do it for
the sake of the others. So that no one in
the war dies in sympathy, and they can look after
him better too if he is by himself. But what
about him? Joseph shrugs his shoulders. Usually he doesn't take

(37:07):
much notice any more. Does everybody know about it? Then?
Anyone who has been here long enough knows? Of course.
In the afternoon, franz Doctor's bed has a fresh occupant.
A couple of days later they take the new man
away too. Joseph makes a significant gesture. We see many

(37:28):
come and go. Often relatives sit by the beds and
weep or talk softly and awkwardly. One old woman will
not go away, but she cannot stay there the whole
night through another morning. She comes very early, but not
early enough, for as she goes up to the bed,
someone else is in it already. She has to go

(37:49):
to the mortuary. The apples that she has brought with
her she gives to us. And then little Peter begins
to get worse. His temperature chart looks bad, and one
day the flat trolley stands beside his bed, where too,
he asks to the bandaging word. He is lifted out,

(38:09):
but the sister makes the mistake of removing his tunic
from the hook and putting it on the trolley too,
so that she should not have to make two journeys.
Peter understands immediately and tries to roll off the trolley.
I'm stopping here. They push him back. He cries out
feebly with his shattered lung. I won't go to the
dying room. But we are going to the bandaging ward.

(38:34):
Then what do you want my tunic for? He can
speak no more. Horse agitated, he whispers, stopping here. They
do not answer, but wheel him out. At the door,
he tries to raise himself up. His black curly head sways.
His eyes are full of tears. I will come back again.

(38:54):
I will come back again, he cries. The door shuts.
We are all excited, but we say nothing. At last,
Joseph says, many a man has said that once a
man is in there, he never comes through. I am
operated on and vomit for two days. My bones will

(39:17):
not grow together, So the surgeon's secretary says another. Fellows
have grown crooked. His are broken again. It is disgusting.
Among our new arrivals, there are two young soldiers with
flat feet. The chief surgeon discovers them on his rounds
and is overjoyed. We'll soon put that right, he tells them.

(39:38):
We will just do a small operation and then you
will have perfectly sound feet. Enter them down, sister. As
soon as he is gone, Joseph, who knows everything, warns them,
don't you let him operate on you. That is a
specific scientific stunt of the old boys. He goes absolutely
crazy whenever he can get hold of anyone to do

(39:59):
it on. He operates on you for flat feet, and
there's no mistake. You don't have them any more. You
have club feet instead, and have to walk all the
rest of your life on sticks. What should a man do, then,
asks one of them. Say, no, you are here to
be cured of your wound, not your flat feet. Did
you have any trouble with them in the field? No,

(40:22):
Well there you are at present. You can still walk,
but if once the old boy gets you under the knife,
you'll be cripples. What he wants is little dogs to
experiment with. So the war is a glorious time for him,
as it is for all the surgeons. You take a
look down below at the staff. There are a dozen
fellows hobbling around that he has operated on. A lot

(40:44):
of them have been here all the time. Since fourteen
and fifteen. Not a single one of them can walk
better than he could before, Almost all of them worse,
and mostly only with plaster legs. Every six months he
catches them again and breaks their bones afresh, and every
time is going to be the successful one. You take
my word. He won't dare to do it if you

(41:05):
say no, ach Man says one of the two unfortunates.
Better your feet than your brain box. There's no telling
what you'll get if you go back out there again.
They can do with me just as they please, so
long as I get back home. Better to have a
club foot than be dead. The other, a young fellow

(41:26):
like ourselves, won't have it done. One morning, the old
man is the two hauled up, and lectures and jaws
at them so long that in the end they consent.
What else could they do. They are mere privates, and
he is a big bug. They are brought back, chloroformed
and plastered. It is going badly with Albert. They have

(41:49):
taken him and amputated his leg. The whole leg has
been taken off from the thigh. Now he hardly speaks anymore.
Once he says he will shoot himself the first time
he can get hold of his revolver again. A new
convoy arrives our room gets two blind men. One of
them is a very youthful musician. The sisters never have

(42:12):
a knife with them when they feed him. He has
already snatched one from a sister. But in spite of
this caution, there is an incident in the evening. While
he's being fed. The sister is called away and leaves
the plate with the fork on his table. He gropes
for the fork, seizes it, and drives it with all
his force against his heart. Then he snatches up a

(42:34):
shoe and strikes with it against the handle as hard
as he can. We call for help, and three men
are necessary to take the fork away from him. The
blunt prongs had already penetrated deep. He abuses us all night,
so that no one can go to sleep. In the
morning he has lockjaw again. Beds become empty. Day after

(42:57):
day goes by with pain and fear, groans and death gurgles.
Even the death room is no use any more. It
is too small. Fellows die during the night in our room.
They go even faster than the sisters can cope with them.
But one day, the door flies open, the flat trolley
rolls in, and there on the stretcher, pale, thin, upright

(43:20):
and triumphant, with a shaggy head of curls sits Peter
Sister Libertine, with beaming looks, pushes him over to his
former bed. He is back from the dying room. We
have long supposed him dead. He looks round. What do
you say now? And even Joseph has to admit that

(43:41):
it is the first time he has ever known of
such a thing. Gradually a few of us venture to
stand up, and I am given crutches to hobble around on,
but I do not make much use of them. I
cannot bear Albert's gaze as I move about the room.
His eyes are always follow me with such a strange look,

(44:03):
so I sometimes escape to the corridor. There I can
move about more freely. On the next floor, below are
the abdominal and spine cases, head wounds and double amputations.
On the right side of the wing are the jaw wounds,
gas cases, nose, ear and neck wounds. On the left

(44:23):
the blind and the lung wounds, pelvis wounds, wounds in
the joints, wounds in the testicles, wounds in the intestines.
Here a man realizes for the first time in how
many places a man can get hit. Two fellows die
of tetanus. Their skin turns pale, their limbs stiffened. At last,

(44:44):
only their eyes live stubbornly. Many of the wounded have
their shattered limbs hanging free in the air from a gallows.
Underneath the wound, a basenes is placed into which the
pus strips. Every two or three hours the vessel is emptied.
Other men lie in stretching bandages with heavy weights hanging
from the end of the bed. I see intestine wounds

(45:06):
that are constantly full of excreda. The surgeon's clerk shows
me x ray photographs of completely smashed hip bones, knees,
and shoulders. A man cannot realize that above such shattered
bodies there are still human faces in which life goes
its daily round. And this is only one hospital, one

(45:27):
single station. There are hundreds of thousands in Germany, hundreds
of thousands in France, hundreds of thousands in Russia. How
senseless is everything that can ever be written, done, or thought.
When such things are possible, it must all be lies
and of no account. When the culture of a thousand
years could not prevent this stream of blood being poured

(45:48):
out these torture chambers, in their hundreds of thousands A
hospital alone shows what war is. I am young, I
am twenty years old. Yet I know nothing of life
but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an
abyss of sorrow. I see how peoples are set one

(46:12):
against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently
slay one another. I see that the keenest of brains
of the world invent weapons and words to make it
yet more refined and enduring. And all men of my
age here and over there, throughout the whole world see

(46:33):
these things. All my generation is experiencing these things with me.
What would our fathers do if we suddenly stood up
and came before them and proffered our account. What do
they expect of us if a time ever comes when
the war is over. Through the years, our business has
been killing. It was our first calling in life. Our

(46:54):
knowledge of life is limited to death. What will happen
afterwards and what shall come out of us? The oldest
man in our room is Lewandowski. He is forty, and
has already lain ten months in the hospital with a
severe abdominal wound. Just in the last few weeks he
has improved sufficiently to be able to hobble about doubled up.

(47:19):
For some days past he has been in great excitement.
His wife has written to him from the little home
in Poland where she lives, telling him that she has
saved up enough money to pay for the fare and
is coming to see him. She is already on the
way and may arrive any day. Lewandowski has lost his appetite.
He even gives away red cabbage and sausage after he

(47:41):
has had a couple of mouthfuls. He goes round the
room perpetually with the letter. Every one has already read
it a dozen times. The postmarks have been examined. Heaven
knows how often the address is hardly legible any longer
for spots of grease and thumb marks. And in the end,
what is sure to happen happens. Lewandowski develops a fever

(48:04):
and has to go back to bed. He has not
seen his wife for two years. In the meantime, she
has given birth to a child whom she is bringing
with her. But something else occupies Lewandowski's thoughts. He had
hoped to get permission to go out when his old
woman came for obviously seeing us all very well. But

(48:25):
when a man gets his wife again after such a
long time, if at all possible, a man wants something
else Besides. Lewandowski has discussed it all with us at
great length. In the army, there are no secrets about
such things, and once more nobody finds anything objectionable in it.
Those of us who are already able to go out

(48:47):
have told him of a couple of very good spots
in the town, parks and squares where he would not
be disturbed. One of us even knows of a little room.
But what is the use there? Leundawussky lies in bed
with his troubles. Life holds no more joy for him.
If he has to forego this affair, We console him

(49:08):
and promise to get over the difficulty somehow or other.
One afternoon his wife appears, a tousled little thing with
anxious quick eyes, like a bird, in a sort of black,
crinkly mantilla with ribbons. Heaven knows where she inherited the thing.
She murmurs something softly and stands shyly in the doorway.

(49:30):
It terrifies her that there are six of us men present. Well, Marya,
says Lewandowski and gulps dangerously with his Adam's apple. You
can come in, all right, They won't hurt you. She
goes the round and profers each of us her hand.
Then she produces the child, which in the interval has
done something in its napkin. From a large handbag embroidered

(49:54):
with pearls. She takes out a clean one and makes
the child fresh and presentable. Bells her first embarrassment, and
the two begin to talk. Lewandowski is very fidgety. Every
now and then he squints across at us, most unhappily
with his round goggle eyes. The time is favorable, The

(50:14):
doctor's visit is over. At the most, there could be
more than one sister left in the ward, so one
of us goes out to prospect. He comes back and nods,
not a soul to be seen. Now's your chance, Johan
set two. The two speak together in an undertone. The
woman turns a little red and looks embarrassed. We grin

(50:37):
good naturedly and make pooh poohing gestures. What does it matter?
The devil, take all the conventions they were made for
other times. Here lies the carpenter, Johann Lewandowski, a soldier
shot to a cripple, and there is his wife, who
knows when he will see her again. He wants to
have her, and he should have her. Good. Two men

(51:00):
and stand at the door to forestall the sisters and
keep them occupied if they chance to come along. They
agree to stand guard for a quarter of an hour
or thereabouts. Lewandowski can only lie on his side, so
one of us props a couple of pillows against his back.
Albert gets the child to hold. We all turn round
a bit. The black mantilla disappears under the bedclothes. We

(51:22):
make a great clatter and play scat noisily. All goes well.
I hold a club solo with four jacks, which nearly
goes the round In the process. We almost forget Lewandowski.
After a while, the child begins to squall, although Albert,
in desperation, rocks it to and fro. Then there is

(51:43):
a bit of creaking and rustling, and as we look
up casually we see that the child has the bottle
in its mouth and is back again with its mother.
The business is over. We now feel ourselves like one
big family. The woman is rather quieter, and Lewandowski lies there,
sweating and beaming. He unpacks the embroidered handbag, and a

(52:06):
couple of good sausages comes to light. Lewandowski takes up
the knife with a flourish and saws the meat into
slices with a handsome gesture. He waves toward us, and
the little woman goes from one to the other and
smiles at us and hands round the sausage. She now
looks quite handsome. We call her mother. She is pleased

(52:28):
and shakes up our pillows for us. After a few weeks,
I have to go each morning to the massage department.
There my leg is harnessed up and made to move.
The arm has healed long since. New convoys arrive from
the line. The bandages are no longer made of cloth,
but of white crape paper. Rag bandages have become scarce

(52:52):
at the front. Albert's stump heals well. The wound is
almost closed. In a few weeks. He should go off
to an institute for artificial limbs. He continues not to
talk much, and is much more solemn than formerly. He
often breaks off in his speech and stares in front
of him. If he were not here with us, he

(53:15):
would have shot himself long ago. But now he is
over the worst of it, and he often looks on
while we play scat. I get convalescent leave. My mother
does not want to let me go away. She is
so feeble. It is all much worse than it was
last time. Then I am sent on from the base

(53:36):
and return once more to the line. Parting from my
friend Albert Cropp was very hard, but a man gets
used to that sort of thing. In the Army end
of chapter ten,