Три товарища

           "No,notreally?"Sheseizedmyhand."Manyhappyreturns!Andlotsofdough,HerrLohkamp....Why,I’mallofaquiver....Imusthaveanothertocelebratethat.I’masfondofyouasifyouweremyownson!"

           "Verygood."

           Ipouredheranotherglass.Shetippeditdown,and,stillsingingmypraises,shelefttheworkshop.

           Iputthebottleawayandsatdownatthetable.Thepallidsunlightthroughthewindowshoneuponmyhands.Aqueerfeeling,abirthday—eventhoughitmeansnothing.Thirtyyears....IrememberthetimewhenIthoughtIshouldneverreachtwenty—itseemedsofaraway.Andthen....

           Itookasheetofpaperfromthedrawerandbegantoreckon.Childhood,school—anunresolvablecomplexofthingsandhappenings—soremote,anotherworld,notrealanymore.Reallifebeganonlyin1916.IhadjustjoinedtheArmy—eighteenyearsofage,thinandlanky.Andasnottysergeant-majorwhousedtomakemepractise,on-the-handsdown,overandoveragaininthemudoftheploughedfieldsatthebackofthebarracks...Oneeveningmymothercametothebarrackstovisitme;butshehadtowaitformeoveranhour,becauseIhadfailedtopackmykittheregulationway,andaspunishmenthadbeenorderedtoscruboutthelatrines.Sheofferedtohelpme,butthatwasnotallowed.Shecried,andIwassotiredthatIfellasleepasIsattherebesideher.

           1917.Flanders.MittendorfandIboughtabottleofredwineatthecanteen....Weintendedtocelebrate.Butwenevergotsofar,forearlythatmorningtheEnglishbombardmentbegan.Kösterwaswoundedaboutmidday;MeyerandDeterswerekilledduringtheafternoon.