The Washington times., 1931-12-17
RATK Athuof"A Qdau DrI
H. mFun"
Story Of the Aftermath
or the World War

chute rocket. The tree StumpS
in the coppice stand out black
in the moonlight. Beyond the
ruins of the farm there slopes
the gully through which no at
tack ever came Rahe squatS
in a trench. Bits of belt are
lying there, couple of mess
tins, a spoon. hand grenades
covered in mud, ammunition
pouches, and beside them gray.
green wet cloths, threadbare. al
ready half turned to clay, the
remains of a soldier.
The Silence Speaks
He lies long on the ground,
his face to the earth-and the
silence is beginning to speak.
In the earth is an immense hol-
low, rumbling, gasping breath,
roaring and again rumbling,
clapping and clinking. He
clutches his fingers into the
earth and presses his head
down against it: he thinks he
hears voices and cries; he
would like to ask, to speak, to
cry out; he listens and waits
for an answer, an answer to
his life
But only the wind rises, the
clouds drive lcore swiftly and
lower, and shadow chases
shadow over the field. Rahe
picks himself up and walks on
without direction a long time,
till at last he is standing be-
fore the black crosses.
And suddenly he understands
all. Before these crosses the
whole fabric of grand abstrac-
tions and fine phrases comes
crashing down. Here alone the
war still Exists, no longer as in
the minds and distorted mem
ories of those who have come
away from it. Here stand the
lost years that have not been
fulfilled, like a will-o'-the-wisp
over the graves; here the un-
lived life that finds no rest
cries out in roaring silence to
the sky: here the strength and
the will of a generation of
youth that died before it could
begin to live is poured out in
one vast lament upon the night.
"ComradeS!" he shouts to the
wind and the night. Com
radeS! We have been betrayed.
We must march again! Against
it! Against it! Comrades"
He stands in front of the
crosses. The moon breaks
through, and he sees them
cleaning: they rise out of the
earth with widespread arms; al
ready their tread comes on
menacing. He stands before
them, marks time. He stretches
his hand onward; Comrades
march," ..
The Suicide
And his hand goes to his
pocket and again the arm is
lifted-a tired, lonely shot that
is caught up by the wind and
swept away. He staggers, he
is down on his knees, he props
on MS arms and with a last
effort turns again to the
crosses; he sees them march
ing. They stamp and are in
motion; they are marching,
slowly, and their way is far;
it will take long, but it leads
forward; they shall come there
and fight their last battle, the
battle for life. They are march
ing in silence, a dark army,
the longest way, the way into
the heart. 1t will take many
years-but what is Tune to
them? They have broken
camp, they are marching, they
come
His head sinks down. It
grows dark about him, he falls
forward, he is marching with
the column. AS one late find
ing his way home, he lies
there on the ground, his arms
outspread, his eyes dull already
and his knees drawn up. The
body twitcheS once more, then
all has become sleep. And now
only the wind is still there on
the desolate, dark waste; it
blows and blows; above are
the clouds and the sky, the
fields and the endless wide
plains with the trenches and
shell holes and crosses.
(TO Re Continued)