The Washington times., 1931-11-07

sun will lie warm and blessed
over this stretch Of ground
that holds so many memories
of my childhood. And then I
shall have forgotten the war
and all will be again as it
used to be.
1sstamp my foot on the slop-
ing edge Of the bank. A couple
Of fish dart out from under it.
At sight of them I can con-
tain myself no longer. Where
the stream narrows so that I
can bestride it with my legs,
I wait watching, and at last
scoop up two titlebacks in my
followed hand. I drop them into
my jar and examine them.
Beautiful Reflections
They dart to and fro, lovely
and perfect with their three
spines, their slender brown
bodies and quivering pectoral
fins. The water is clear as
crystal and spangles of light
on the glass are reflected in
it. Suddenly my breath is
quite taken away, so pierc-
ingly do I see how beautiful
it is, this water in the glass,
the lights and the reflections.
7 hold it carefully in my
hand and wander farther: I
carry it cautiously and look
into it often. with beating
heart, as if I had caught my
childhood in it and now would
take it back home with me. I
squat on the edge of the pool,
where dense layers of duckweed
are floating and see the blue
marbled salamanders, like lit
tie mines, dangling vertical as
they come UP for air. Caddis-
fly larvae creep slowly through
the mud, a beetle paddles laz-
lily along the bottom, and from
under decaying root the aston
lshed eyes of a motionless pond
frog look up at me. see every.
thing and more is there even
than can be Seen-memory is
there, and hopes and past hap
piness. ..s
Cautiously I take up my jar
and go on, searching. hoping.
The wind blows and the noun
tains lie blue along the skyline.
Suddenly a spasm of alarm
sweeps over me. Down, man!
Down! Under cover! You're
in full view here-crouch down
in mad fear, I spread my arms,
ready to sprint forward and take
shelter behind a tree; I tremble
and pant-now I breathe again
it is over and I look around fool.
1shly. No one has se.n me. It
is a moment before I am calm
again. Then I make a dive for
my pickle jar that has fallen
out of my hand. The water is
all spilled, but the little fish are
still Tapping about inside it. I
stoop down to the stream and
let fresh water pour in.
Under CrOss-Fire
I push on slowly, absorbed in
my thoughts. The wood is
nearer now. A cat stalks across
the pathway. There the railway
embankment cuts through the
fields and is lost again in the
thlcket. One could build dug.
outs there, I think to myself
good, deep ones, with concrete
roofs-then extend the line of
trench to the left, with cover
saps and listening posts-and
over there a few machine guns
no, two would be enough, the
rest Of the wood-then practi-
cally the whole terrain would be
under croSs-fire.
The poplars would have to
come down, so as not to give
The enemy artillery a point to
register on-and behind there.
On the hill, a couple of trench
nortars-then let them come!
A train whistles and I look
lp. What's this I am doing?
came here to recover the
scene Of my childhood and I
I'm drawing a system of
renches across it! It has be.
'ome a habit-terrain for at
ack and defense. The old mill
N the top there is no mill, but
strong point-the wood is no
wood, it is artillery cover
UGH things will always creep
n.
(TO Be COntinued).
Copyright. Erich Maria Remarque,
1881; distributed by United Fsa-
ture Syndicate, Inc).