Erich Maria Remarque
Translated by Arthur Wesley Wheen
[1] 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 adapted ourselves; our twenty years, which made many another thing so grievous, helped us in this.But by far the most important result 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.
[2] I sit by Kemmerich’s bed.He is sinking steadily.Around us is a great commotion.A hospital tram has arrived and the wounded fit to be moved are being selected.The doctor passes by Kemmerich’s bed without once looking at him.
[3] “Next time, Franz,” I say.
[4] He raises himself on the pillow with his elbows.“They have amputated my leg.”
[5] He knows it too then.I nod and answer, “You must be thankful you’ve come off with that.”
[6] He is silent.
[7] 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?”
[8] “Of course.”
[9] “Do you think so?”he repeats.
[10] “Sure, Franz.Once you’ve got over the operation.”
[11] He beckons me to bend down.I stoop over bin and he whispers, “I don’t think so.”
[12] “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.”
[13] He lifts one hand.“Look here though, these fingers.”
[14] “That’s the result of the operation.Just eat decently and you’ll soon be well again.Do they look after you properly?”
[15] 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.”