Chapter 7

           Icamebackthenextafternoonfromourfirstmountainpostandstoppedthecaratthesmistimentowherethewoundedandsickweresortedbytheirpapersandthepapersmarkedforthedifferenthospitals.IhadbeendrivingandIsatinthecarandthedrivertookthepapersin.Itwasahotdayandtheskywasverybrightandblueandtheroadwaswhiteanddusty.IsatinthehighseatoftheFiatandthoughtaboutnothing.AregimentwentbyintheroadandIwatchedthempass.Themenwerehotandsweating.Someworetheirsteelhelmetsbutmostofthemcarriedthemslungfromtheirpacks.Mostofthehelmetsweretoobigandcamedownalmostovertheearsofthemenwhoworethem.Theofficersallworehelmets;better-fittinghelmets.ItwashalfofthebrigataBasilicata.Iidentifiedthembytheirredandwhitestripedcollarmark.Therewerestragglersgoingbylongaftertheregimenthadpassed—menwhocouldnotkeepupwiththeirplatoons.Theyweresweaty,dustyandtired.Somelookedprettybad.Asoldiercamealongafterthelastofthestragglers.Hewaswalkingwithalimp.Hestoppedandsatdownbesidetheroad.Igotdownandwentover.

           "What’sthematter?"

           Helookedatme,thenstoodup.

           "I’mgoingon."

           "What’sthetrouble?"

           "——thewar."

           "What’swrongwithyourleg?"

           "It’snotmyleg.Igotarupture."