Three Soldiers by John Dos Passos (best e book reader android .txt) đ
- Author: John Dos Passos
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The regiment was marching away in columns of fours. Chrisfieldâs ankle gave him sharp hot pain with every step. His tunic was too tight and the sweat tingled on his back. All about him were sweating irritated faces; the woollen tunics with their high collars were like straight-jackets that hot afternoon. Chrisfield marched with his fists clenched; he wanted to fight somebody, to run his bayonet into a man as he ran it into the dummy in that everlasting bayonet drill, he wanted to strip himself naked, to squeeze the wrists of a girl until she screamed.
His company was marching past another company that was lined up to be dismissed in front of a ruined barn which had a roof that sagged in the middle like an old cowâs back. The sergeant stood in front of them with his arms crossed, looking critically at the company that marched past. He had a white heavy face and black eyebrows that met over his nose. Chrisfield stared hard at him as he passed, but Sergeant Anderson did not seem to recognize him. It gave him a dull angry feeling as if heâd been cut by a friend.
The company melted suddenly into a group of men unbuttoning their shirts and tunics in front of the little board shanty where they were quartered, which had been put up by the French at the time of the Marne, years before, so a man had told Andy.
âWhat are you dreaminâ about, Indiana?â said Judkins, punching Chrisfield jovially in the ribs.
Chrisfield doubled his fists and gave him a smashing blow in the jaw that Judkins warded of just in time.
Judkinsâs face flamed red. He swung with a long bent arm.
âWhat the hell dâyou think this is?â shouted somebody. âWhatâs he want to hit me for?â spluttered Judkins, breathless.
Men had edged in between them.
âLemme git at him.â
âShut up, you fool,â said Andy, drawing Chrisfield away. The company scattered sullenly. Some of the men lay down in the long uncut grass in the shade of the ruins of the house, one of the walls of which made a wall of the shanty where they lived. Andrews and Chrisfield strolled in silence down the road, kicking their feet into the deep dust. Chrisfield was limping. On both sides of the road were fields of ripe wheat, golden under the sun. In the distance were low green hills fading to blue, pale yellow in patches with the ripe grain. Here and there a thick clump of trees or a screen of poplars broke the flatness of the long smooth hills. In the hedgerows were blue cornflowers and poppies in all colors from carmine to orange that danced in the wind on their wiry stalks. At the turn in the road they lost the noise of the division and could hear the bees droning in the big dull purple cloverheads and in the gold hearts of the daisies.
âYouâre a wild man, Chris. What the hell came over you to try anâ smash poor old Judkieâs jaw? He could lick you anyway. Heâs twice as heavy as you are.â
Chrisfield walked on in silence.
âGod, I should think youâld have had enough of that sort of thingâŠ. I should think youâld be sick of wanting to hurt people. You donât like pain yourself, do you?â
Andrews spoke in spurts, bitterly, his eyes on the ground.
âAh think Ah sprained ma goddam ankle when Ah tumbled off the back oâ the truck yesterday.â
âBetter go on sick callâŠ. Say, Chris, Iâm sick of this businessâŠ. Almost like youâd rather shoot yourself than keep on.â
âAh guess youâre gettinâ the dolefuls, Andy. LookâŠletâs go in swimminâ. Thereâs a lake down the road.â
âIâve got my soap in my pocket. We can wash a few cooties off.â
âDonât walk so goddam fastâŠAndy, you got more learninâ than I have. You ought to be able to tell what it is makes a feller go crazy like thatâŠ. Ah guess Ah got a bit oâ the devil in me.â
Andrews was brushing the soft silk of a poppy petal against his face.
âI wonder if itâld have any effect if I ate some of these,â he said.
âWhy?â
âThey say you go to sleep if you lie down in a poppy-field. Wouldnât you like to do that, Chris, anâ not wake up till the war was over and you could be a human being again.â
Andrews bit into the green seed capsule he held in his hand. A milky juice came out.
âItâs bitterâŠI guess itâs the opium,â he said.
âWhatâs that?â
âA stuff that makes you go to sleep and have wonderful dreams. In ChinaâŠ.â
âDreams,â interrupted Chrisfield. âAh had one of them last night. Dreamed Ah saw a feller that had shot hisself that I saw one time reconnoitrinâ out in the Bringy Wood.â
âWhat was that?â
âNawthinâ, juss a Fritzie had shot hisself.â
âBetter than opium,â said Andrews, his voice trembling with sudden excitement.
âAh dreamed the flies buzzinâ round him was aeroplanesâŠ. Remember the last rest village?â
âAnd the major who wouldnât close the window? You bet I do!â
They lay down on the grassy bank that sloped from the road to the pond. The road was hidden from them by the tall reeds through which the wind lisped softly. Overhead huge white cumulus clouds, piled tier on tier like fantastic galleons in full sail, floated, changing slowly in a greenish sky. The reflection of clouds in the silvery glisten of the pondâs surface was broken by clumps of grasses and bits of floating weeds. They lay on their backs for some time before they started taking their clothes off, looking up at the sky, that seemed vast and free, like the ocean, vaster and freer than the ocean.
âSarge says a delousinâ machineâs cominâ through this way soon.â
âWe need it, Chris.â
Andrews pulled his clothes off slowly.
âItâs great to feel the sun and the wind on your body, isnât it, Chris?â
Andrews walked towards the pond and lay flat on his belly on the fine soft grass near the edge.
âItâs great to have your body there, isnât it?â he said in a dreamy voice. âYour skinâs so soft and supple, and nothing in the world has the feel a muscle hasâŠ. Gee, I donât know what Iâd do without my body.â
Chrisfield laughed.
âLook how ma ole ankleâs raisedâŠ. Found any cooties yet?â he said.
âIâll try and drown âem,â said Andrews. âChris, come away from those stinking uniforms and youâll feel like a human being with the sun on your flesh instead of like a lousy soldier.â
âHello, boys,â came a high-pitched voice unexpectedly. A âYâ man with sharp nose and chin had come up behind them.
âHello,â said Chrisfield sullenly, limping towards the water.
âWant the soap?â said Andrews.
âGoing to take a swim, boys?â asked the âYâ man. Then he added in a tone of conviction, âThatâs great.â
âBetter come in, too,â said Andrews.
âThanks, thanksâŠ. Say, if you donât mind my suggestion, why donât you fellers get under the waterâŠ. You see thereâs two French girls looking at you from the road.â The âYâ man giggled faintly.
âThey donât mind,â said Andrews soaping, himself vigorously.
âAh reckon they lahk it,â said Chrisfield.
âI know they havenât any moralsâŠ. But still.â
âAnd why should they not look at us? Maybe there wonât be many people who get a chance.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âHave you ever seen what a little splinter of a shell does to a fellerâs body?â asked Andrews savagely. He splashed into the shallow water and swam towards the middle of the pond.
âYe might ask âem to come down and help us pick the cooties off,â said Chrisfield and followed in Andrewsâs wake. In the middle he lay on a sand bank in the warm shallow water and looked back at the âYâ man, who still stood on the bank. Behind him were other men undressing, and soon the grassy slope was filled with naked men and yellowish grey underclothes, and many dark heads and gleaming backs were bobbing up and down in the water. When he came out, he found Andrews sitting cross-legged near his clothes. He reached for his shirt and drew it on him.
âGod, I canât make up my mind to put the damn thing on again,â said Andrews in a low voice, almost as if he were talking to himself; âI feel so clean and free. Itâs like voluntarily taking up filth and slavery againâŠ. I think Iâll just walk off naked across the fields.â
âDâyou call serving your country slavery, my friend?â The âYâ man, who had been roaming among the bathers, his neat uniform and well-polished boots and puttees contrasting strangely with the mud-clotted, sweat-soaked clothing of the men about him, sat down on the grass beside Andrews.
âYouâre goddam right I do.â
âYouâll get into trouble, my boy, if you talk that way,â said the âYâ man in a cautious voice.
âWell, what is your definition of slavery?â
âYou must remember that you are a voluntary worker in the cause of democracyâŠ. Youâre doing this so that your children will be able to live peacefulâŠ.â
âEver shot a man?â
âNoâŠ. No, of course not, but Iâd have enlisted, really I would. Only my eyes are weak.â
âI guess so,â said Andrews under his breath. âRemember that your women folks, your sisters and sweethearts and mothers, are praying for you at this instant.â
âI wish somebodyâd pray me into a clean shirt,â said Andrews, starting to get into his clothes. âHow long have you been over here?â
âJust three months.â The manâs sallow face, with its pinched nose and chin lit up. âBut, boys, those three months have been worth all the other years of my minââ he caught himselfââlifeâŠ. Iâve heard the great heart of America beat. O boys, never forget that you are in a great Christian undertaking.â
âCome on, Chris, letâs beat it.â They left the âYâ man wandering among the men along the bank of the pond, to which the reflection of the greenish silvery sky and the great piled white clouds gave all the free immensity of space. From the road they could still hear his high pitched voice.
âAnd thatâs whatâll survive you and me,â said Andrews.
âSay, Andy, you sure can talk to them guys,â said Chris admiringly.
âWhatâs the use of talking? God, thereâs a bit of honeysuckle still in bloom. Doesnât that smell like home to you, Chris?â
âSay, how much do they pay those âYâ men, Andy?â
âDamned if I know.â
They were just in time to fall into line for mess. In the line everyone was talking and laughing, enlivened by the smell of food and the tinkle of mess-kits. Near the field kitchen Chrisfield saw Sergeant Anderson talking with Higgins, his own sergeant. They were laughing together, and he heard Andersonâs big voice saying jovially, âWeâve pulled through this time, HigginsâŠ. I guess we will again.â The two sergeants looked at each other and cast a paternal, condescending glance over their men and laughed aloud.
Chrisfield felt powerless as an ox under the yoke. All he could do was work and strain and stand at attention, while that white-faced Anderson could lounge about as if he owned the earth and laugh importantly like that. He held out his plate. The K.P. splashed the meat and gravy into it. He leaned against the tar-papered wall of the shack, eating his food and looking sullenly over at the two sergeants, who laughed and talked with an air of leisure while the men of their two companies ate hurriedly as dogs all round them.
Chrisfield glanced suddenly at Anderson, who sat in the grass at the back of the house, looking out over
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