Evening star., 1937-04-25

OF tne LOgdttSL UQnteTS IS presented
here by Ernest Hemingway, famous
American Uriter, who is at the
front observing the progress of the
. ,Ddr. His oDn experiences as an
ambulance driDer 1Dith the italian
army in the World War, Which he
dreU upon for his celebrated Fare
iDell to Arms haDe giUen him an
Invaluable background in conjunc-
tion nith his nopelist's insight for
depicting the human story OF 1Ddr.)
BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY.
MADRID, April (N.ANA)-The
window of the hotel is open and,
as you lie in bed, you hear the firing
in the front line II blocks away. There
is a rifle fire all night long. The
rifles 60 tacrong, carong, craang, ia
crong, and then machine gun. "opens
up. 1t has bigger caliber and is much
louder, rong, cararong, rong, ropc.
Then there is the incoming boom of a
trench mortar shell and burst of ma
chine gun fire. You lie and listen to it
and 1t is a great thing to be in bed
with your feet stretched out gradually
warming the cold foot of the bed and
not out theer in University City or
CarabaoAhel. A man is singing hard
voiced . the street below and three
trunks Are arguing when you fall
Asleep.
In the morning. before your call
comes from the desk, the roaring burst
of high explosive shell wakes you
and you go to the window and look
out to see a man, his head down. his
coat collar up, sprinting desperately
across the paved square. There is the
acrid smell of high explosive you
hoped you'd never smell again, and,
in a bathrobe and bed room slippers,
you hurry down the marble stairs and
almost into middle-aged woman,
wounded in the abdomen, who is be-
ing helped into the hotel entrance by
two men in blue workmen's smocks.
She has her two hands crossed below
her big, old-style Spanish bosom and
from between her fingers the blood Is
squirting in a thin stream. On the
corner, 20 yards away, is a heap OF
rubble, smashed cement and thrown
up dirt, a single dead man, his torn
clothes dusty, and great hole in the
sidewalk from which the gas from a
broken main is rising, looking like a
heat mirage in the cold morning air.
How many dead?" you ask the
policeman.
only one" he says. "It went
through the sidewalk and burst be-
low. If it would have burst on the
Solid stone of the road there might
have been 5O'
Scrubs Blood From Floor.
A policeman covers the top of the
trunk, from which the head is miss
ing; they send for some one to repair
the gas main and you go in to break
1ast. A charWoman, her eyes red, is
scrubbing the blood off the marble
floor OF the corridor. The dead man
wasn't you nor any one you know and
every one is very hungry in the morn
Ing after a cold night and long day
the day before up at the Guadalajara
front.
Did you see him?" asked some
one else at breakfast.
Sure" you say.
That's where we pass dozen times
day. Right on that corner" Some
one makes joke about missing teeth
and some one else says not to make
that joke. And every one has the
feeling that characterizes war. It
wasn't me, see? 1t wasn't me.
The Italian dead up on the Guada-
laJara weren't you, although Italian
dead, because of where you had spent
your boyhood, always seemed, still,
like our dead. No. You went to the
front early in the morning in a miser-
able little car with more miserable
little chauffeur who suffered visibly
the closer he came to the fighting.
But at night, sometimes late, without
lights, with the big trucks roaring
past, you came on back to sleep In a
bed with sheets in a good hotel, pay
Ing dollar a day for the best rooms
on the front.
The smaller rooms in the back, on
the side away from shelling, were
considerably more expensive. After
the shell that lit on the sidewalk in
front Of the hotel you got a beautiful
double corner room on that side.
twice the size of the one you had had,
for less than a dollar. It wasn't me
they killed. See? No. Not me. 1t
wasn't me any more.
Wounded American.
Then, in hospital given by the
American friends of Spanish Democ-
racy, located out behind the Morata
front along the road to Valencia, they
said, Raven wants to see you"
DO I know him?"
Il don't think So" they said, but
he wants to see you"
Where is hep"
upstairs"
In the room upstairs they are CIV
Ing blood TRANSMISSION to a man with
very gray face who lay on a cot
with his arm out, looking away from
the gurgling bottle and moaning in
q very impersonal way. He moaned
mechanically and at regular intervals
and 1t did not seem to be him that
made the sound. His lips did not
move.
Where's Raven?" I asked.
I'm here" said Raven.
The voice came from a high mound
covered by shoddy gray blanket.
There were two arms crossed on the
top OF the mound and at one end
there was something that had been a
face, but now was yellow scabby
area with, a wide bandage across where
the eyes had been.
Who is it?" asked Raven. He
didn't have lips, but he talked pretty
well without them and with pleasant
voice.
Hemingway" I said Il came up
10 see how you were doing"
MY face was pretty bad" he said.
"It got sort of burned from the gren-
Ade, but it's peeled a couple Of times
and it's doing better"
TT looks SWELL" said. cts doing
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