The Washington times., 1931-11-06
CHAPTER XIII

Adolf tried to catch the fel.
low, but he always saw Adolf
In time and made himself
scarce. Adolf lay in wait and
hunted for him everywhere, but
he could not get him; and
that quite destroyed him.
Then her people came and
talked. He should reconsider
It, they said. His wife had
been straight again for a long
time now; and then, to be
alone for four years-that is
no small thing. The man was
to blame, and, after all, people
did q lot of strange things dur
ing the war.
whats a fellow to do,
Ernst?" Adolf looks up.
st don't know" / say.
worth coming back home
for. Ernst, eh?"
I refill the glasses and we
drink. Adolf has no cigars IN
the house and does not want
to go himself to the tore, so
offer to fetch some. He is
o heavy smoker; it might help
matters if he had a few cigars.
: So I take a whole box full OF
"Woodman's Joy"-fat, brown
Stumps that have not been
misnamed, for they are pure
beech leaf. Still they are bet
ter than nothing.
When re-enter the house
someone else is also there, and
I see at once that it is his
wife. She carries herself up
right, though her shoulders are
frail. There is something pa
thetic about a woman's neck
and shoulders; they are child
like in some way. One can
never really bring oneself to
be harsh with them.
A Sorry Scene
Good day." say and take
off my cap. She does not reply.
I put the cigars in front of
Adolf, but he does not touch
them. The clock is ticking.
Leaves of the chestnut tree fall
spinning down past the window.
Sometimes one will strike on
the pane and the wind holds it
there. The five earth-brown
leaves, all Joined on one stem,
look like outspread clutching
hands threatening from outside
those in the room-brown, dead
hands of autumn.
Adolf moves at last and in a
voice I do not know, says: Go
now, Marie"
She rises obedient1y, like
school child, and looking straight
before her she goes. The slim
neck, the frail shoulders-how
can it be possible?
Every day she comes like that
and sits there and says nothing,
and waits and looks at me-"
says Adolf moroSely. I am sorry
for him, but I feel sorry now
for the woman, too.
Come back to town with me,
Adolf. There's no point in your
squatting here" suggest.
But he will not. Outside the
dog starts to bark. His wife is
going out at the garden gate
now, back to her parents.
'Does she want to come back
again, them" I ask. He mods.
I say no more. He must settle
that for himself. Wont you
come with me?" I try once
again.
Later, Ernst"
The Parting
Well, have a cigar, anyway"
I shove the box toward him
and wait until he takes one.
Then I shake hands with him.
"I'll come to see you again,
Adolf"
He comes with me as far as
the gate. I turn again after a
little while and wave to him.
He is still standing in the little
doorway, and behind him is the
darkness of evening again, just
as when he first climbed out
and left us. He ought to have
stayed with us. Now he is alone
and unhappy, and we are u1l.
able to help him, glad though
we would be if we could-yes,
things were so much simpler at
the front; there, so long as a
man was still alive, all was well.
I lie outstretched on the sofa,
my head against the arm, and
my eyes closed. My thoughts
move through my browse in fan
tastic confusion. Consciousness
i1overs between waking and
dream and weariness like a
shadow rides through my brain.
Beyond, indistinctively. distant
gllnfire floats in. shells pipe over
softly, and the tinny ringing
of gongs sounds nearer, an
nouncing a gas attack. But be-
fore can grope for my gas
mask the darkness recedeS with
out sound, the earth, against
which my face is pressed. dis
solves before a feeling Of warmth,
bright; it turns again into the
plush sofa cover on which my
cheek rests. Dimly, deep down,
I aSn aware 1t is home. The gas
alarm of the trenches resolves
into the subdued clatter of dishes
which my mother is setting out
cautiously on the table.
Then the darkness glides up
swiftly again. and with it a.