Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1918-05-12
HTS VILLAGE AER XFrsncr War stoy BY Maurice Levi

on march. The tread of the men became
heavier as the road descended the steep
ridge A cloud. borne on the wind. iost
form, became distended, broke and dls-
appeared.
where is it-your farm OF Roche-
au-Roie, as you call it?" asked Fouiaro.
They must have destroyed 1t, Girot
murmured
The sun appeared.
at is not in a hurry to show itseif,
your village" said Foulard banteringH.
You cannot see it because OF the
morning mist"
where do you see any mist! IL IS
as clear midday.
II thought / saw a mist. answered
Girot. passing his hand before ms eyes.
Then he stopped talking. Presently
what was once his village came INTO
view-a chaos of ruins as yet hardly
cold; remnants OF streets Struggling out
of a ravine, at the bottom of which the
wreckage Of housefurnishings was In
termingled with the wreckage Of the
houses themselves. OF the church there
was left only one wall, and Girot was
astonished to see, now looking so enor-
nous. on heap of shattered bricks
and plaster, the dial plate of the clock.
which formerly. when it was up in the
church tower. looked so small.
Some pooy people had gathered to watch
the soldiers.N
The drums and trumpets f1ared out the
"Sambre ct Meuse" After ranks had been
broken and Girot had deposited his bag.
his gun and his eating utensils among the
ruins Of the barn where his section was
bivouacking, he fastened away to his
home. 1t, too. was only a heap of rubbish.
Not single panel Of wall left the paper on
which could evoke a souvenir Of the past;
not even the bench, made OF three stones.
on which they used to sit in the evenings:
nor the tree, with a forked trunk, in whose
shade he had played as a boy.
al oh
the blackened pie oi debris. He asked
her in trembling voice:
You're Nine. Fourche. aren't you?
am the son of the Girots.'
She answered slowly:
81 recognize you. my boy"
He asked again:
"Where are my parents?"
She pointed toward the cemetery.
"And my sister Marie?''
Eight days ago tomorrow the Ger
mans took her away-with Julie. the
daughter of the Heurtevants. Catherine
Romano Felicie Arnaud-all of them"
The old woman went on her way.
The soldier stood there stupefied. his
head barred. He stopped over, picked
up a stone. gazed at it in the hollow
of his hand. threw it back among the
other stones and started toward the
hillside terrace on which the church
used to stand: In those times the dead
slept peacefully under its clock tower.
and the graves. which the caprice of
spring covered with flowers. looked out
across the valley from whose depths
soothing silence mounted
Up there there was also nothing LEFT
not an iron railing. nor a cross. nor
marble headstone. A deep trench
dug through the cemetery had dis
united old friends. faithful couples.
parents and children. Girot counted
the family burial plot had been. But
he found nothing except plowed up
earth strewn with white pebbles.
He began to weep. Nothing remained:
neither home nor family-not even a
souvenir of what had been his viii
lage! During the three years he had
been fighting. when heat or cold. fatigue
or hunger was about to overcome him.
he regained his courage by thinking
that some day he should go back to
this cherished parcel of native soil.
And now. It was all a mockery. For
now it made no difference at all to him.
Everything was finished. His little bit
of country, his village. the meadows.
the slopes. the gardens. the patient
work of his parents and his grandpar-
ents-all had disappeared. He would
go. no matter where. To live or die
at this minute what did that matter to
him? Never had he thought that man
could be so desperately alone, SO COM
But as he walked away something
stopped him. Before him, lying across
the road. a big apple tree. torn by it's
roots from the soil. barred his view of
the horizon with it's blossoms, white as
feeces of wool. The blue sky could
scarcely be made out through the
branches. and in their shadow the earth
Weakened again to life. The wind had
scattered seeds there at hazard and the
shoots had begun to show through, full
fiedged. dissimilar. light or dark, but all
vigorous and erect in the warming sun
light.
rrl,.,, ~ l,;,,.Il a,o.,,.h,.- .,J,.,
everything, burned everything like the