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.
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.”
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 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
32
