A farewell to arms
when we wake up.”
“Aren’t you sleepy, Bartolomeo?”
“Not so sleepy. When the water boils I’ll leave it. The fire will go
down.”
“You’d better get some sleep,” I said. “We can eat cheese and monkey
meat.”
“This is better,” he said. “Something hot will be good for those two
anarchists. You go to sleep, Tenente.”
“There’s a bed in the major’s room.”
“You sleep there.”
“No, I’m going up to my old room. Do you want a drink, Bartolomeo?”
“When we go, Tenente. Now it wouldn’t do me any good.”
“If you wake in three hours and I haven’t called you, wake me, will
you?”
“I haven’t any watch, Tenente.”
“There’s a clock on the wall in the major’s room.”
“All right.”
I went out then through the dining-room and the hall and up the marble
stairs to the room where I had lived with Rinaldi. It was raining
outside. I went to the window and looked out. It was getting dark and I
saw the three cars standing in line under the trees. The trees were
dripping in the rain. It was cold and the drops hung to the branches. I
went back to Rinaldi’s bed and lay down and let sleep take me.
We ate in the kitchen before we started. Aymo had a basin of spaghetti
with onions and tinned meat chopped up in it. We sat around the table
and drank two bottles of the wine that had been left in the cellar of
the villa. It was dark outside and still raining. Piani sat at the table
very sleepy.
“I like a retreat better than an advance,” Bonello said. “On a retreat
we drink barbera.”
“We drink it now. To-morrow maybe we drink rain-water,” Aymo said.
“To-morrow we’ll be in Udine. We’ll drink champagne. That’s where the
slackers live. Wake up, Piani! We’ll drink champagne to-morrow in
Udine!”
“I’m awake,” Piani said. He filled his plate with the spaghetti and
meat. “Couldn’t you find tomato sauce, Barto?”
“There wasn’t any,” Aymo said.
“We’ll drink champagne in Udine,” Bonello said. He filled his glass with
the clear red barbera.
“We may drink —— before Udine,” Piani said.
“Have you eaten enough, Tenente?” Aymo asked.
“I’ve got plenty. Give me the bottle, Bartolomeo.”
“I have a bottle apiece to take in the cars,” Aymo said.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“I don’t need much sleep. I slept a little.”
“To-morrow we’ll sleep in the king’s bed,” Bonello said. He was feeling
very good.
“To-morrow maybe we’ll sleep in ——,” Piani said.
“I’ll sleep with the queen,” Bonello said. He looked to see how I took
the joke.
“You’ll sleep with ——,” Piani said sleepily.
“That’s treason, Tenente,” Bonello said. “Isn’t that treason?”
“Shut up,” I said. “You get too funny with a little wine.” Outside it
was raining hard. I looked at my watch. It was half-past nine.
“It’s time to roll,” I said and stood up.
“Who are you going to ride with, Tenente?” Bonello asked.
“With Aymo. Then you come. Then Piani. We’ll start out on the road for
Cormons.”
“I’m afraid I’ll go to sleep,” Piani said.
“All right. I’ll ride with you. Then Bonello. Then Aymo.”
“That’s the best way,” Piani said. “Because I’m so sleepy.”
“I’ll drive and you sleep awhile.”
“No. I can drive just so long as I know somebody will wake me up if I go
to sleep.”
“I’ll wake you up. Put out the lights, Barto.”
“You might as well leave them,” Bonello said. “We’ve got no more use for
this place.”
“I have a small locker trunk in my room,” I said. “Will you help take it
down, Piani?”
“We’ll take it,” Piani said. “Come on, Aldo.” He went off into the hall
with Bonello. I heard them going upstairs.
“This was a fine place,” Bartolomeo Aymo said. He put two bottles of
wine and half a cheese into his haversack. “There won’t be a place like
this again. Where will they retreat to, Tenente?”
“Beyond the Tagliamento, they say. The hospital and the sector are to be
at Pordenone.”
“This is a better town than Pordenone.”
“I don’t know Pordenone,” I said. “I’ve just been through there.”
“It’s not much of a place,” Aymo said.
CHAPTER XXVIII
As we moved out through the town it was empty in the rain and the dark
except for columns of troops and guns that were going through the main
street. There were many trucks too and some carts going through on other
streets and converging on the main road. When we were out past the
tanneries onto the main road the troops, the motor trucks, the
horse-drawn carts and the guns were in one wide slow-moving column. We
moved slowly but steadily in the rain, the radiator cap of our car
almost against the tailboard of a truck that was loaded high, the load
covered with wet canvas. Then the truck stopped. The whole column was
stopped. It started again and we went a little farther, then stopped. I
got out and walked ahead, going between the trucks and carts and under
the wet necks of the horses. The block was farther ahead. I left the
road, crossed the ditch on a footboard and walked along the field beyond
the ditch. I could see the stalled column between the trees in the rain
as I went forward across from it in the field. I went about a mile. The
column did not move, although, on the other side beyond the stalled
vehicles I could see the troops moving. I went back to the cars. This
block might extend as far as Udine. Piani was asleep over the wheel. I
climbed up beside him and went to sleep too. Several hours later I heard
the truck ahead of us grinding into gear. I woke Piani and we started,
moving a few yards, then stopping, then going on again. It was still
raining.
The column stalled again in the night and did not start. I got down and
went back to see Aymo and Bonello. Bonello had two sergeants of
engineers on the seat of his car with him. They stiffened when I came
up.
“They were left to do something to a bridge,” Bonello said. “They can’t
find their unit so I gave them a ride.”
“With the Sir Lieutenant’s permission.”
“With permission,” I said.
“The lieutenant is an American,” Bonello said. “He’ll give anybody a
ride.”
One of the sergeants smiled. The other asked Bonello if I was an Italian
from North or South America.
“He’s not an Italian. He’s North American English.”
The sergeants were polite but did not believe it. I left them and went
back to Aymo. He had two girls on the seat with him and was sitting back
in the corner and smoking.
“Barto, Barto,” I said. He laughed.
“Talk to them, Tenente,” he said. “I can’t understand them. Hey!” he put
his hand on the girl’s thigh and squeezed it in a friendly way. The girl
drew her shawl tight around her and pushed his hand away. “Hey!” he
said. “Tell the Tenente your name and what you’re doing here.”
The girl looked at me fiercely. The other girl kept her eyes down. The
girl who looked at me said something in a dialect I could not understand
a word of. She was plump and dark and looked about sixteen.
“Sorella?” I asked and pointed at the other girl.
She nodded her head and smiled.
“All right,” I said and patted her knee. I felt her stiffen away when I
touched her. The sister never looked up. She looked perhaps a year
younger. Aymo put his hand on the elder girl’s thigh and she pushed it
away. He laughed at her.
“Good man,” he pointed at himself. “Good man,” he pointed at me. “Don’t
you worry.” The girl looked at him fiercely. The pair of them were like
two wild birds.
“What does she ride with me for if she doesn’t like me?” Aymo asked.
“They got right up in the car the minute I motioned to them.” He turned
to the girl. “Don’t worry,” he said. “No danger of ——,” using the
vulgar word. “No place for ——.” I could see she understood the word
and that was all. Her eyes looked at him very scared. She pulled the
shawl tight. “Car all full,” Aymo said. “No danger of ——. No place for
——.” Every time he said the word the girl stiffened a little. Then
sitting stiffly and looking at him she began to cry. I saw her lips
working and then tears came down her plump cheeks. Her sister, not
looking up, took her hand and they sat there together. The older one,
who had been so fierce, began to sob.
“I guess I scared her,” Aymo said. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”
Bartolomeo brought out his knapsack and cut off two pieces of cheese.
“Here,” he said. “Stop crying.”
The older girl shook her head and still cried, but the younger girl took
the cheese and commenced to eat. After a while the younger girl gave her
sister the second piece of cheese and they both ate. The older sister
still sobbed a little.
“She’ll be all right after a while,” Aymo said.
An idea came to him. “Virgin?” he asked the girl next to him. She nodded
her head vigorously. “Virgin too?” he pointed to the sister. Both the
girls nodded their heads and the elder said something in dialect.
“That’s all right,” Bartolomeo said. “That’s all right.”
Both the girls seemed cheered.
I left them sitting together with Aymo sitting back in the corner and
went back to Piani’s car. The column of vehicles did not move but the
troops kept passing alongside. It was still raining hard and I thought
some of the stops in the movement of the column might be from cars with
wet wiring. More likely they were from horses or men going to sleep.
Still, traffic could tie up in cities when every one was awake. It was
the combination of horse and motor vehicles. They did not help each
other any. The peasants’ carts did not help much either. Those were a
couple of fine girls with Barto. A retreat was no place for two virgins.
Real virgins. Probably very religious. If there were no war we would
probably all be in bed. In bed I lay me down my head. Bed and board.
Stiff as a board in bed. Catherine was in bed now between two sheets,
over her and under her. Which side did she sleep on? Maybe she wasn’t
asleep. Maybe she was lying thinking about me. Blow, blow, ye western
wind. Well, it blew and it wasn’t the small rain but the big rain down
that rained. It rained all night. You knew it rained down that rained.
Look at it. Christ, that my love were in my arms and I in my bed again.
That my love Catherine. That my sweet love Catherine down might rain.
Blow her again to me. Well, we were in it. Every one was caught in it
and the small rain would not quiet it. “Good-night, Catherine,” I said
out loud. “I hope you sleep well. If it’s too uncomfortable, darling,
lie on the other side,” I said. “I’ll get you some cold water. In a
little while it will be morning and then it won’t be so bad. I’m sorry
he makes you so uncomfortable. Try and go to sleep, sweet.”
I was asleep all the time, she said. You’ve been talking in your sleep.
Are you all right?
Are you really there?
Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t go way. This doesn’t make any difference
between us.
You’re so lovely and sweet. You wouldn’t go away in the night, would
you?
Of course I wouldn’t go away. I’m always here. I come whenever you want
me.
“——,” Piani said. “They’ve started again.”
“I was dopey,” I said. I looked at my watch. It was three o’clock in the
morning. I reached back behind the seat for a bottle of the barbera.
“You talked out loud,” Piani said.
“I was having a dream in English,” I said.
The rain was slacking and we were moving along. Before daylight we were
stalled again and when it was light we were at a little rise in the
ground and I saw the road of the retreat stretched out far ahead,
everything stationary except for the infantry filtering through. We
started to move again but seeing the rate of progress in the daylight, I
knew we were going to have to get off that main road some way and go
across country if we ever hoped to reach Udine.
In the night many peasants had joined the column from the roads of the
country and in the column there were carts loaded with household goods;
there were mirrors projecting up between mattresses, and chickens and