Chapter 2

15 min

It is strange to think that at home in the drawer of my writing table there lies the beginning of a play called "Saul" and a bundle of poems. Many an evening I have worked over them—we all did something of the kind—but that has become so unreal to me that I cannot comprehend it any more. Our early life is cut off from the moment we came here, and that without our lifting a hand. We often try to look back on it and to find an explanation, but never quite succeed. For us young men of twenty everything is extraordinarily vague, for Kropp, Müller, Leer, and me, for all of us whom Kantorek calls the "Iron Youth." All the older men are linked up with their previous life. They have wives, children, occupations, and interests, they have a background which is so strong that the war cannot obliterate it. We young men of twenty, however, have only our parents, and some, perhaps, a girl—that is not much, for at our age the influence of parents is at its weakest and girls have not yet got a hold over us. Besides this there was little else—some enthusiasm, a few hobbies, and our school. Beyond this our life did not extend. And of this nothing remains.

It is strange to think that the beginning of a play called "Saul" lies in my desk drawer at home, along with a bundle of poems. I spent many evenings working on them. We all did something like that. But those things have become so unreal to me that I can no longer understand them. Our early lives were cut off the moment we came here, without our doing anything to cause it. We often try to look back on those lives and find an explanation, but we never quite succeed. For us young men of twenty, everything is extraordinarily vague. That is true for Kropp, Müller, Leer, and me, and for all of us whom Kantorek calls the "Iron Youth." All the older men still have ties to their previous lives. They have wives, children, jobs, and interests. Their past is so firmly rooted that the war cannot erase it. We young men of twenty, however, have only our parents and, perhaps, a girl. That is not much. At our age, our parents have the least influence over us, and girls have not yet gained a hold on us. Besides that, there was little else: some enthusiasm, a few hobbies, and our school. There was nothing more to our lives. And none of it remains.

Kantorek would say that we stood on the threshold of life. And so it would seem. We had as yet taken no root. The war swept us away. For the others, the older men, it is but an interruption. They are able to think beyond it. We, however, have been gripped by it and do not know what the end may be. We know only that in some strange and melancholy way we have become a waste land. All the same, we are not often sad.

Kantorek would say we were at the beginning of our lives. And that seemed true. We had not yet put down roots. The war swept us away. For the older men, the war is only an interruption. They can think about life beyond it. But the war has taken hold of us, and we do not know how it will end. We know only that, in some strange and melancholy way, we have become a wasteland. Even so, we are not often sad.

* *

Though Müller would be delighted to have Kemmerich's boots, he is really quite as sympathetic as another who could not bear to think of such a thing for grief. He merely sees things clearly. Were Kemmerich able to make any use of the boots, then Müller would rather go barefoot over barbed wire than scheme how to get hold of them. But as it is the boots are quite inappropriate to Kemmerich's circumstances, whereas Müller can make good use of them. Kemmerich will die; it is immaterial who gets them. Why, then, should Müller not succeed to them? he has more right than a hospital orderly. When Kemmerich is dead it will be too late. Therefore Müller is already on the watch.

Though Müller would be delighted to have Kemmerich’s boots, he is just as sympathetic as someone too grief-stricken to consider taking them. He simply sees things clearly. If Kemmerich could use the boots, Müller would rather walk barefoot over barbed wire than scheme to get them. But the boots are no use to Kemmerich now, while Müller can put them to good use. Kemmerich will die, and it does not matter who gets the boots. So why shouldn’t Müller get them? He has more right to them than a hospital orderly. Once Kemmerich is dead, it will be too late. So Müller is already keeping watch.

We have lost all sense of other considerations, because they are artificial. Only the facts are real and important for us. And good boots are scarce.

We no longer care about any other considerations because they are artificial. Only the facts are real and important to us. And good boots are hard to find.

* *

Once it was different. When we went to the district-commandant to enlist, we were a class of twenty young men, many of whom proudly shaved for the first time before going to the barracks. We had no definite plans for our future. Our thoughts of a career and occupation were as yet of too unpractical a character to furnish any scheme of life. We were still crammed full of vague ideas which gave to life, and to the war also, an ideal and almost romantic character. We were trained in the army for ten weeks and in this time more profoundly influenced than by ten years at school. We learned that a bright button is weightier than four volumes of Schopenhauer. At first astonished, then embittered, and finally indifferent, we recognized that what matters is not the mind but the boot brush, not intelligence but the system, not freedom but drill. We became soldiers with eagerness and enthusiasm, but they have done everything to knock that out of us. After three weeks it was no longer incomprehensible to us that a braided postman should have more authority over us than had formerly our parents, our teachers, and the whole gamut of culture from Plato to Goethe. With our young, awakened eyes we saw that the classical conception of the Fatherland held by our teachers resolved itself here into a renunciation of personality such as one would not ask of the meanest servant—salutes, springing to attention, parade-marches, presenting arms, right wheel, left wheel, clicking the heels, insults, and a thousand pettifogging details. We had fancied our task would be different, only to find we were to be trained for heroism as though we were circus-ponies. But we soon accustomed ourselves to it. We learned in fact that some part of these things was necessary, but the rest merely show. Soldiers have a fine nose for such distinctions.

Things were different once. When we went to the district commandant to enlist, there were twenty young men in our class. Many of us proudly shaved for the first time before going to the barracks. We had no definite plans for the future. Our ideas about careers and jobs were still too impractical to form any plan for our lives. We were still full of vague ideas that made life, and war too, seem ideal and almost romantic. We trained in the army for ten weeks. In that time, the army influenced us more deeply than ten years at school had. We learned that a shiny button mattered more than four volumes of Schopenhauer. At first we were astonished, then bitter, and finally indifferent. We realized that what mattered was not the mind but the boot brush, not intelligence but the system, not freedom but drill. We became soldiers eagerly and enthusiastically, but they have done everything to knock that out of us. After three weeks, we could understand how a postman with a braided uniform could have more authority over us than our parents and teachers once had. He even had more authority than the whole range of culture, from Plato to Goethe. Our eyes had been opened. We saw what our teachers’ classical idea of the Fatherland meant here. It meant giving up our individuality to a degree no one would demand of even the lowest servant. It meant salutes, jumping to attention, parade marches, presenting arms, turning right, turning left, clicking our heels, insults, and a thousand petty details. We had imagined our task would be different. Instead, we found that we were to be trained for heroism as if we were circus ponies. But we soon got used to it. We learned that some of these things were necessary, but the rest were just for show. Soldiers have a fine nose for such distinctions.

* *

By threes and fours our class was scattered over the platoons amongst Frisian fishermen, peasants, and labourers with whom we soon made friends. Kropp, Müller, Kemmerich, and I went to No. 9 platoon under Corporal Himmelstoss.

Our class was split into groups of three or four and assigned to different platoons. We were placed with Frisian fishermen, farmers, and laborers, and we soon became friends with them. Kropp, Müller, Kemmerich, and I went to No. 9 platoon under Corporal Himmelstoss.

He had the reputation of being the strictest disciplinarian in the camp, and was proud of it. He was a small undersized fellow with a foxy, waxed moustache, who had seen twelve years service and was in civil life a postman. He had a special dislike for Kropp, Tjaden, Westhus, and me, because he sensed a quiet defiance.

He was known as the strictest disciplinarian in the camp, and he was proud of that reputation. He was a small, undersized man with a foxlike, waxed mustache. He had served for twelve years and was a postman in civilian life. He especially disliked Kropp, Tjaden, Westhus, and me because he sensed a quiet defiance in us.

I have remade his bed fourteen times in one morning. Each time he had some fault to find and pulled it to pieces. I have kneaded a pair of prehistoric boots that were as hard as iron for twenty hours—with intervals of course—until they became as soft as butter and not even Himmelstoss could find anything more to do to them; under his orders I have scrubbed out the Corporals' Mess with a tooth-brush. Kropp and I were given the job of clearing the barrack-square of snow with a hand-broom and a dust-pan, and we would have gone on till we were frozen had not a lieutenant accidentally appeared who sent us off, and hauled Himmelstoss over the coals. But the only result of this was to make Himmelstoss hate us more. For six weeks consecutively I did guard every Sunday and was hut-orderly for the same length of time. With full pack and rifle I have had to practise on a soft, wet, newly ploughed field the "Prepare to advance, advance!" and the "Lie down!" until I was one lump of mud and finally collapsed. Four hours later I had to report to Himmelstoss with my clothes scrubbed clean, my hands chafed and bleeding. Together with Kropp, Westhus, and Tjaden I have stood at attention in a hard frost without gloves for a quarter of an hour at a stretch, while Himmelstoss watched for the slightest movement of our bare fingers on the steel barrel of the rifle. I have run eight times from the top floor of the barracks down to the courtyard in my shirt at two o'clock in the morning because my drawers projected three inches beyond the edge of the stool on which one had to stack all one's things. Alongside me ran the corporal, Himmelstoss, and trod on my bare toes. At bayonet-practice I had constantly to fight with Himmelstoss, I with a heavy iron weapon whilst he had a handy wooden one with which he easily struck my arms till they were black and blue. Once, indeed, I became so infuriated that I ran at him blindly and gave him a mighty jab in the stomach and knocked him down. When he reported me the company commander laughed at him and told him he ought to keep his eyes open; he understood Himmelstoss, and apparently was not displeased at his discomfiture. I became a past master on the parallel bars and strove to surpass my instructor at physical jerks;—we have trembled at the mere sound of his voice, but this runaway post-horse never got the better of us.

I remade his bed fourteen times in one morning. Each time, he found something wrong and pulled it apart. I worked a pair of prehistoric boots that were as hard as iron for twenty hours, with breaks, of course. I worked them until they were as soft as butter, and not even Himmelstoss could find anything else to do to them. On his orders, I scrubbed the Corporals' Mess with a toothbrush. Kropp and I were assigned to clear snow from the barrack square with a hand broom and a dustpan. We would have kept going until we froze if a lieutenant hadn't happened to appear. He sent us away and gave Himmelstoss a dressing down. But that only made Himmelstoss hate us more. For six weeks in a row, I stood guard every Sunday and was hut orderly for the same six weeks. Wearing a full pack and carrying a rifle, I had to practice "Prepare to advance, advance!" and "Lie down!" The field had just been plowed and was soft and wet. I kept going until I was covered in mud and finally collapsed. Four hours later, I had to report to Himmelstoss with my clothes scrubbed clean. My hands were raw and bleeding. Along with Kropp, Westhus, and Tjaden, I stood at attention without gloves in a hard frost. We stood there for fifteen minutes at a time. Himmelstoss watched for the slightest movement of our bare fingers on the steel barrels of our rifles. At two in the morning, I had to run from the top floor of the barracks down to the courtyard eight times. I wore only my shirt. My underpants had stuck out three inches beyond the edge of the stool where we had to stack all our things. Corporal Himmelstoss ran beside me and stepped on my bare toes. During bayonet practice, I constantly had to fight Himmelstoss. I had a heavy iron weapon, while he had a light wooden one. He easily hit my arms with it until they were black and blue. Once, I got so angry that I charged at him blindly. I gave him a powerful jab in the stomach and knocked him down. When he reported me, the company commander laughed at him and told him to keep his eyes open. The commander understood Himmelstoss and apparently wasn't unhappy to see him put in his place. I became an expert on the parallel bars and tried to outdo my instructor at physical exercises. We trembled at the mere sound of Himmelstoss's voice, but this runaway post-horse never got the better of us.

One Sunday as Kropp and I were lugging a latrine-bucket on a pole across the barrack-yard, Himmelstoss came by, all polished up and spry for going out. He planted himself in front of us and asked how we liked the job. In spite of ourselves we tripped and emptied the bucket over his legs. He raved, but the limit had been reached.

One Sunday, Kropp and I were carrying a latrine bucket on a pole across the barracks yard. Himmelstoss came by, all polished up and ready to go out. He stopped in front of us and asked how we liked the job. Despite ourselves, we tripped and emptied the bucket over his legs. He raged, but we had reached our limit.

"That means clink," he yelled.

"That means jail," he yelled.

But Kropp had had enough. "There'll be an inquiry first," he said, "and then we'll unload."

But Kropp had had enough. "There'll be an investigation first," he said, "and then we'll unload."

"Mind how you speak to a non-commissioned officer!" bawled Himmelstoss. "Have you lost your senses? You wait till you're spoken to. What will you do, anyway?"

"Watch how you talk to a non-commissioned officer!" shouted Himmelstoss. "Have you lost your mind? Wait until you're spoken to. What are you going to do, anyway?"

"Show you up, Corporal," said Kropp, his thumbs in line with the seams of his trousers.

"Show you up, Corporal," said Kropp, with his thumbs along the seams of his trousers.

Himmelstoss saw what we meant and went off without saying a word. But before he disappeared he growled: "You'll drink this!"—but it was the end of his authority. He tried it on once more in the ploughed field with his "Prepare to advance, advance" and "Lie down." We obeyed each order, since an order's an order and has to be obeyed. But we did it so slowly that Himmelstoss became desperate. Carefully we went down on our knees, then on our hands, and so on; in the meantime, quite infuriated, he had given another command. But before we had even begun to sweat he was hoarse. After that he left us in peace. He did indeed always refer to us as swine, but there was, nevertheless, a certain respect in his tone.

Himmelstoss understood what we meant and walked away without a word. But before he disappeared, he growled: "You'll drink this!" His authority was finished. He tried again in the ploughed field, with his orders: "Prepare to advance, advance" and "Lie down." We obeyed every order, because an order is an order and must be obeyed. But we moved so slowly that Himmelstoss grew desperate. We carefully went down on our knees, then on our hands, and so on. Meanwhile, furious, he had already given another command. But he was hoarse before we had even begun to sweat. After that, he left us in peace. He still called us swine, but there was a certain respect in his tone.

There were many other staff corporals, the majority of whom were more decent. But above all each of them wanted to keep his good job there at home as long as possible, and that he could do only by being strict with the recruits.

There were many other staff corporals, and most were more decent. But above all, each wanted to keep his good job at home as long as possible. He could only do that by being strict with the recruits.

Practically every conceivable polishing job in the entire camp fell to us and we often howled with rage. Many of us became ill through it; Wolf actually died of inflammation of the lung. But we would have felt ridiculous had we hauled down our colours. We became hard, suspicious, pitiless, vicious, tough—and that was good; for these attributes had been entirely lacking in us. Had we gone into the trenches without this period of training most of us would certainly have gone mad. Only thus were we prepared for what awaited us. We did not break down, but endured; our twenty years, which made many another thing so grievous, helped us in this. But by far the most important was that it awakened in us a strong, practical sense of esprit de corps, which in the field developed into the finest thing that arose out of the war—comradeship.

We were assigned almost every imaginable polishing job in the whole camp, and we often howled with rage. Many of us became ill from it. Wolf actually died of pneumonia. But we would have felt ridiculous if we had given up. We became hard, suspicious, merciless, vicious, and tough. That was good, because we had completely lacked those qualities before. If we had gone into the trenches without this training, most of us would certainly have gone mad. Only this training prepared us for what awaited us. We did not break down. We endured. Being twenty years old, which made many other things so painful, helped us endure. But the most important thing by far was that the training awakened a strong, practical sense of esprit de corps in us. In the field, this developed into the finest thing to come out of the war: comradeship.

* *

I sit by Kemmerich's bed. He is sinking steadily. Around us is a great commotion. A hospital train has arrived and the wounded fit to be moved are being selected. The doctor passes by Kemmerich's bed without once looking at him.

I sit by Kemmerich's bed. He is steadily getting worse. There is a lot of commotion around us. A hospital train has arrived, and the wounded who are well enough to move are being selected. The doctor walks past Kemmerich's bed without looking at him once.

"Next time, Franz," I say.

He raises himself on the pillow with his elbows. "They have amputated my leg."

He props himself up on the pillow with his elbows. "They've amputated my leg."

He knows it too then. I nod and answer: "You must be thankful you've come off with that."

So he knows it too. I nod and say: "You should be thankful that's all that happened to you."

He is silent.

I resume: "It might have been both legs, Franz. Wegeler has lost his right arm. That's much worse. Besides, you will be going home." He looks at me. "Do you think so?"

I continue: "It could have been both legs, Franz. Wegeler lost his right arm. That's much worse. Besides, you'll be going home." He looks at me. "Do you think so?"

"Of course."

"Do you think so?" he repeats.

"Sure, Franz. Once you've got over the operation."

"Sure, Franz. Once you've recovered from the operation."

He beckons me to bend down. I stoop over him and he whispers: "I don't think so."

He motions for me to bend down. I lean over him, and he whispers: "I don't think so."

"Don't talk rubbish, Franz, in a couple of days you'll see for yourself. What is it anyway—an amputated leg? here they patch up far worse things than that."

"Don't talk nonsense, Franz. You'll see for yourself in a couple of days. What is it anyway? An amputated leg? They fix far worse things than that here."

He lifts one hand. "Look here though, these fingers."

He raises one hand. "But look at these fingers."

"That's the result of the operation. Just eat decently and you'll soon be well again. Do they look after you properly?"

"That's the result of the operation. Just eat well and you'll soon be better. Are they taking good care of you?"

He points to a dish that is still half full. I get excited. "Franz, you must eat. Eating is the main thing. That looks good too."

He points to a dish that is still half full. I get excited. "Franz, you have to eat. Eating is the most important thing. That looks good too."

He turns away. After a pause he says slowly: "I wanted to become a head-forester once."

He turns away. After a pause, he says slowly: "I once wanted to become a head forester."

"So you may still," I assure him. "There are splendid artificial limbs now, you'd hardly know there was anything missing. They are fixed on to the muscles. You can move the fingers and work and even write with an artificial hand. And besides, they will always be making new improvements."

"You still may," I assure him. "There are excellent artificial limbs now. You can hardly tell anything is missing. They attach to your muscles. With an artificial hand, you can move your fingers, work, and even write. Besides, they will keep making improvements."

For a while he lies still. Then he says: "You can take my lace-up boots with you for Müller."

He lies still for a while. Then he says: "You can take my lace-up boots for Müller."

I nod and wonder what to say to encourage him. His lips have fallen away, his mouth has become larger, his teeth stick out and look as though they were made of chalk. The flesh melts, the forehead bulges more prominently, the cheek-bones protrude. The skeleton is working itself through. The eyes are already sunken in. In a couple of hours it will be over.

I nod and wonder what I can say to encourage him. His lips have receded, and his mouth looks larger. His teeth stick out and look as if they are made of chalk. His flesh is melting away, and his forehead and cheekbones stand out more. His skeleton is pushing through. His eyes are already sunken. In a couple of hours, it will be over.

He is not the first that I have seen thus; but we grew up together and that always makes it a bit different. I have copied his essays. At school he used to wear a brown coat with a belt and shiny sleeves. He was the only one of us, too, who could do the giant's turn on the horizontal bar. His hair flew in his face like silk when he did it. Kantorek was proud of him for it. But he couldn't endure cigarettes. His skin was very white; he had something of the girl about him.

He is not the first person I have seen like this. But we grew up together, and that always makes it a little different. I copied his essays. At school, he used to wear a brown coat with a belt and shiny sleeves. He was also the only one of us who could do a giant's turn on the horizontal bar. His hair flew across his face like silk when he did it. Kantorek was proud of him for that. But he couldn't stand cigarettes. His skin was very white, and there was something girlish about him.

I glance at my boots. They are big and clumsy, the breeches are tucked into them, and standing up one looks well-built and powerful in these great drain-pipes. But when we go bathing and strip, suddenly we have slender legs again and slight shoulders. We are no longer soldiers but little more than boys; no one would believe that we could carry packs. It is a strange moment when we stand naked; then we become civilians, and almost feel ourselves to be so. When bathing Franz Kemmerich looked as slight and frail as a child. There he lies now—but why? The whole world ought to pass by this bed and say: "That is Franz Kemmerich, nineteen and a half years old, he doesn't want to die. Let him not die!"

I glance at my boots. They are big and clumsy, with my trousers tucked into them. When we stand up in those huge boots, we look strong and powerful. But when we undress to bathe, we suddenly have slender legs and narrow shoulders again. We are no longer soldiers, but little more than boys. No one would believe we could carry packs. It is strange when we stand naked. Then we become civilians and almost feel like civilians. When he bathed, Franz Kemmerich looked as slight and frail as a child. Now he lies there. But why? The whole world ought to pass by his bed and say: "That is Franz Kemmerich. He is nineteen and a half years old, and he doesn't want to die. Don't let him die!"

My thoughts become confused. This atmosphere of carbolic and gangrene clogs the lungs, it is a thick gruel, it suffocates.

My thoughts grow confused. The air reeks of carbolic and gangrene. It clogs my lungs like thick gruel and suffocates me.

It grows dark. Kemmerich's face changes colour, it lifts from the pillow and is so pale that it gleams. The mouth moves slightly. I draw near to him. He whispers: "If you find my watch, send it home——"

It grows dark. Kemmerich's face changes color and lifts from the pillow. It is so pale that it gleams. His mouth moves slightly. I move closer to him. He whispers: "If you find my watch, send it home..."

I do not reply. It is no use any more. No one can console him. I am wretched with helplessness. This forehead with its hollow temples, this mouth that is now merely a slit, this sharp nose! And the fat, weeping woman at home to whom I must write. If only the letter were sent off already!

I don’t answer. There’s no use anymore. No one can comfort him. I feel miserable because I can’t help. His forehead with its hollow temples, his mouth now just a slit, his sharp nose! And the fat, weeping woman at home whom I must write to. If only I had already sent the letter!

Hospital-orderlies go to and fro with bottles and pails. One of them comes up, casts a glance at Kemmerich and goes away again. You can see he is waiting, apparently he wants the bed.

Hospital orderlies walk back and forth with bottles and buckets. One of them comes over, glances at Kemmerich, and walks away again. You can see he is waiting. Apparently, he wants the bed.

I bend over Franz and talk to him as though that could save him: "Perhaps you will go to the convalescent home at Klosterberg, among the villas, Franz. Then you can look out from the window across the fields to the two trees on the horizon. It is the loveliest time of the year now, when the corn ripens; at evening the fields in the sunlight look like mother-of-pearl. And the lane of poplars by the Klosterbach, where we used to catch sticklebacks! You can build an aquarium again and keep fish in it, and you can go out without asking anyone, you can even play the piano if you want to."

I lean over Franz and talk to him as though my words could save him: "Perhaps you will go to the convalescent home at Klosterberg, among the villas, Franz. Then you can look out the window across the fields to the two trees on the horizon. It's the loveliest time of year now, when the corn ripens. In the evening sunlight, the fields look like mother-of-pearl. And there's the lane of poplars by the Klosterbach, where we used to catch sticklebacks! You can build an aquarium again and keep fish in it. You can go out without asking anyone, and you can even play the piano if you want to."

I lean down over his face which lies in the shadow. He still breathes, lightly. His face is wet, he is crying. What a fine mess I have made of it with my foolish talk!

I lean down over his face, which is in shadow. He is still breathing softly. His face is wet. He is crying. What a mess I have made with my foolish talk!

"But Franz"—I put my arm round his shoulder and put my face against his. "Will you sleep now?"

"But Franz." I put my arm around his shoulder and pressed my face against his. "Will you sleep now?"

He does not answer. The tears run down his cheeks. I would like to wipe them away but my handkerchief is too dirty.

He doesn't answer. Tears run down his cheeks. I want to wipe them away, but my handkerchief is too dirty.

An hour passes. I sit tensely and watch his every movement in case he may perhaps say something. What if he were to open his mouth and cry out! But he only weeps, his head turned aside. He does not speak of his mother or his brothers and sisters. He says nothing; all that lies behind him; he is entirely alone now with his little life of nineteen years, and cries because it leaves him. This is the most disturbing and hardest parting that ever I have seen, although it was pretty bad too with Tiedjen, who called for his mother—a big bear of a fellow who, with wild eyes full of terror, held off the doctor from his bed with a dagger until he collapsed.

An hour passes. I sit tensely, watching his every movement in case he says something. What if he opens his mouth and cries out! But he only weeps, his head turned away. He does not speak of his mother or his brothers and sisters. He says nothing. All of that lies behind him. Now he is entirely alone with his little life of nineteen years, and he cries because it is leaving him. This is the most disturbing and hardest parting I have ever seen. Although it was pretty bad with Tiedjen too, as he called for his mother. He was a big bear of a man. With wild eyes full of terror, he held the doctor away from his bed with a dagger until he collapsed.

Suddenly Kemmerich groans and begins to gurgle.

Suddenly Kemmerich groans and starts to gurgle.

I jump up, stumble outside and demand:

I jump up, stumble outside, and demand:

"Where is the doctor? Where is the doctor?"

As I catch sight of the white apron I seize hold of it: "Come quick, Franz Kemmerich is dying."

When I see the white apron, I grab it: "Come quickly, Franz Kemmerich is dying."

He frees himself and asks an orderly standing by: "Which will that be?"

He pulls free and asks an orderly nearby: "Which one will that be?"

He says: "Bed 26, amputated thigh."

He says: "Bed 26, leg amputated at the thigh."

He sniffs: "How should I know anything about it, I've amputated five legs to-day"; he shoves me away, says to the hospital-orderly "You see to it," and runs off to the operating room.

He sniffs. "How should I know anything about it? I've amputated five legs today." He pushes me away and tells the hospital orderly, "You see to it." Then he runs off to the operating room.

I tremble with rage as I go along with the orderly. The man looks at me and says: "One operation after another since five o'clock this morning. You know to-day alone there have been sixteen deaths—yours is the seventeenth. There will probably be twenty altogether——"

I tremble with rage as I walk with the orderly. He looks at me and says: "We've had one operation after another since five this morning. You know, sixteen people have died today alone. Yours is the seventeenth. There will probably be twenty altogether."

I become faint, all at once I cannot do any more. I won't revile any more, it is senseless, I could drop down and never rise up again.

I feel faint. All at once, I can’t go on. I won’t curse anymore. It’s pointless. I could collapse and never get up again.

We are by Kemmerich's bed. He is dead. The face is still wet from the tears. The eyes are half open and yellow like old horn buttons.

We are by Kemmerich's bed. He is dead. His face is still wet with tears. His eyes are half open and yellow like old horn buttons.

The orderly pokes me in the ribs. "Are you taking his things with you?" I nod.

He goes on: "We must take him away at once, we want the bed. Outside they are lying on the floor."

He continues: "We have to take him away right now. We need the bed. Outside, they are lying on the floor."

I collect the things, untie Kemmerich's identification disc and take it away. The orderly asks about the pay-book, I say that it is probably in the orderly-room, and go. Behind me they are already hauling Franz on to a water-proof sheet.

I gather the things, untie Kemmerich's identification disc, and take it with me. The orderly asks about the pay book. I say it's probably in the orderly room, and leave. Behind me, they are already hauling Franz onto a waterproof sheet.

Outside the door I am aware of the darkness and the wind as a deliverance. I breathe as deep as I can, and feel the breeze in my face, warm and soft as never before. Thoughts of girls, of flowery meadows, of white clouds suddenly come into my head. My feet begin to move forward in my boots, I go quicker, I run. Soldiers pass by me, I hear their voices without understanding. The earth is streaming with forces which pour into me through the soles of my feet. The night crackles electrically, the front thunders like a concert of drums. My limbs move supplely, I feel my joints strong, I breathe the air deeply. The night lives, I live. I feel a hunger, greater than comes from the belly alone.

Outside the door, the darkness and wind feel like a release. I breathe as deeply as I can. The breeze on my face feels warmer and softer than ever before. Suddenly, I think of girls, flower-filled meadows, and white clouds. My feet begin to move in my boots. I walk faster, then run. Soldiers pass me. I hear their voices, but I don’t understand them. Forces stream through the earth and pour into me through the soles of my feet. The night crackles with electricity. The front thunders like a concert of drums. My limbs move easily, and my joints feel strong. I breathe the air deeply. The night is alive, and so am I. I feel a hunger that goes beyond an empty stomach.

Müller stands in front of the hut and waits for me. I give him the boots. We go in and he tries them on. They fit well.

Müller waits for me in front of the hut. I give him the boots. We go inside, and he tries them on. They fit well.

He roots among his supplies and offers me a fine piece of saveloy. With it goes hot tea and rum.

He rummages through his supplies and offers me a good piece of sausage. He also gives me hot tea and rum.