Müller leans over. “We have brought your things, Franz.”
Kemmerich signs with his hand. “Put them under the bed.”
Müller does so. Kemmerich starts on again about the watch. How can one calm him without making him suspicious?
Müller reappears with a pair of airman’s boots. They are fine English boots of soft, yellow leather which reach to the knee and lace all the way—they are things to be coveted.
Müller is delighted at the sight of them. He matches their soles against his own clumsy boots and says: “Will you be taking them with you, Franz?”
We all three have the same thought; even if he should get better, he would be able to use only one—they are no use to him. But as things are now it is a pity that they should stay here; the orderlies will of course grab them as soon as he is dead.
“Won’t you leave them with us?” Müller repeats. Kemmerich doesn’t want to. They are his most prized possessions.
“Well, we could exchange,” suggests Müller again.
“Out here one can make some use of them.” Still Kemmerich is not to be moved.
15
