薄暮时教士来了。医院里开过饭，并且已把碗盘收拾走了，我躺在床上，望着一排排的病床，望着窗外在晚风中微微摇晃的树梢。微风从窗口吹进来，夜晚凉爽了一点。苍蝇现在歇在天花板上和吊在电线上的灯泡上。电灯只在夜间有人给送进来，或者有什么事要做时才开。薄暮以后病房里一片黑暗，而且一直黑暗下去，叫我觉得自己很年轻。仿佛当年做孩子时，早早吃了晚饭就上床睡觉。护理员从病床间走来，走到床前停住了脚。有人跟着他来。原来是教士。他站在那儿，小小的个子，黄褐色的脸，怪不好意思的。

“你好？”他问。他把手里的几包东西放在床边地板上。

“好，神父。”

他就在当天下午给雷那蒂端来的那张椅子上坐下了，不好意思地望着窗外。我注意到他的脸，显然很疲乏。

“我只能呆一会儿，”他说。“时候不早啦。”

“还不算晚。饭堂里怎么样？”

他微微一笑。“我还是人家的大笑柄，”他的声调也显得疲乏。“感谢天主，大家都平安无事。”

“你好，我很高兴，”他说。“希望你不疼得难受吧。”他好像很疲倦，我很少见到他这样疲乏过。

“现在不疼了。”

“饭堂里没有你，怪没意思。”

“我也盼望回去。跟你谈谈总是挺有趣。”

“我给你带了点小东西，”他说。他捡起那些包裹。“这是蚊帐。这是一瓶味美思。你喜欢味美思吗？这是些英文报纸。”

“请打开给我看看。”

他欢欢喜喜地解开那些包裹。我双手捧着蚊帐。他端起味美思给我看了看，然后放在床边地板上。我拿起一捆英文报纸中的一张。我借着窗外射进来的暗光，看得清报上的大字标题。原来是《世界新闻报》。“其余的是有图片的，”他说。

“看起来一定挺有趣。你哪儿搞来的？”

“我托人家从美斯特列1买来的。以后还有呢。”“谢谢你来看我，神父。

喝杯味美思吧？”

“谢谢你。你留着自己喝吧。特地为你带来的。”

“你也喝一杯。”

“好的。以后我再捎一些来。”

护理员送上杯子来，打开酒瓶。他把瓶塞搞碎了，只得把瓶塞的下端推进酒瓶里去。我看出教士失望的模样，但是他还说：“没关系。不要紧。”

“祝你健康，神父。”

“祝你早日康复。”

敬酒以后，他还拿着酒杯，我们彼此对看着。过去有时候我们谈话谈得很融洽，但今天夜里有点拘束。

1 美斯特列是意大利大陆接连威尼斯岛处的一个海滨城市。

“什么事啊，神父？你好像很疲乏。”

“我是疲乏的，但是我不应当这样子。”

“是天气太热吧。”

“不是。现在不过是春天。我觉得沮丧极了。”

“也许是厌恶战争。”

“倒不是。不过我对战争本来是憎恨的。”

“我也不喜欢它，”我说。他摇摇头，望着窗外。

“你满不在乎。你不明白。原谅我。我知道你是受了伤。”“那是偶然受伤的。”

“你就是受了伤，还是不明白。这我知道。我本人也不大明白，只是稍微感觉到了一点。”

“我受伤时，我们正在谈论这问题。帕西尼正在发挥议论。”教士放下酒杯。他在想着旁的事。

“我了解他们，因为我自己就像他们一样，”他说。

“你可是不相同的。”

“其实我跟他们没有什么区别。”

“军官们还是一点也不明白。”“有的是明白的。有的非常敏感，比我们哪一个都更难受哩。”“大部分还是不明白的。”

“这不是教育或金钱的问题。另外有个原因。像帕西尼这种人，就是有教育有金钱，也不会想当军官。我自己就不想当军官。”“你可是列入了军官级。我也是个军官。”

“其实我不算。你甚至还不是意大利人。你是个外国人。但是与其说你接近士兵，不如说你接近军官。”

“那又有什么区别呢？”

“这我不大说得清楚。有一种人企图制造战争。在这个国度里，这种人有的是。还有一种人可不愿制造战争。”

“但是第一种人强迫他们作战。”

“是的。”

“而我帮助了第一种人。”

“你是外国人。你是个爱国人士。”

“还有那些不愿制造战争的第二种人呢？他们有没有法子停止战争？”

“我不知道。”

他又望着窗外。我注视着他的脸。

“自有历史以来，他们可有法子停止过战争？”

“他们本没有组织，没有法子停止战争，一旦有了组织，却又给领袖出卖了。”

“那么是没有希望了？”

“倒也不是永远没有希望。只是有时候，我觉得没法子再存希望。我总是竭力希望着，不过有时不行。”

“也许战事就要结束了。”

“我也这样盼望着。”

“战事一完，你打算做什么呢？”

“倘若可能的话，我要回故乡阿布鲁息去。”

他那张褐色的脸上忽然显得很快乐。

“你爱阿布鲁息！”

“是的，我很爱它。”

“那么你该回乡去。”

“那一定太幸福了。但愿我能够在那儿生活，爱天主并侍奉天主。”“而且受人尊重，”我说。

“是的，受人尊重。为什么不呢？”

“当然没有理由不啦。你本应该受到人家尊重的。”

“那也没关系。但是在我们那地方，人人知道一个人可以爱天主。不至于给人家当作一种龌龊的笑话。”

“我明白。”

他望着我笑了一笑。

“你明白，但是你并不爱天主。”

“是不爱的。”

“你完全不爱天主吗？”他问。

“夜里我有时怕他。”

“你应当爱他。”

“我本来没有多大爱心。”

“有的，”他说。“你是有爱心的。你告诉过我关于夜晚的事。那不是爱。那只是情欲罢了。你一有爱，你就会想为人家做些什么。你想牺牲自己。你想服务。”

“我不爱。”

“你会爱的。我知道你会的。到那时候你就快活了。”

“我是快活的。我一向是快快活活的。”

“那是另一回事。你没有经历，就不可能知道其中的奥秘。”

“好吧，”我说。“我一有了，准定告诉你。”

“我呆得太久了，话也说得太多了。”他觉得真的和我呆得太久了，感到局促不安。

“不。别走。爱女人是怎么回事？倘若我真正爱上一个女人，情形是不是一样？”

“这我倒不知道。我没爱过任何女人。”

“你母亲呢？”

“对，我一定爱过我的母亲。”

“你一向爱天主吗？”

“从我做小孩子时起就爱上了。”

“嗯，”我说。我不晓得能说什么。“你是个好孩子，”我说道。“我是个孩子，”他说。“但是你叫我神父。”“那是出于礼貌。”

他微笑了。

“我当真得走了，”他说。“你不要我给你带什么东西来吧？”他怀着希望地问。

“不要了。只要你来谈谈。”

“我把你的问候转达给饭堂里诸位朋友。”

“谢谢你带来这么许多好东西。”

“那不算什么。”

“再来看我吧。”

“好的。再会，”他拍拍我的手。

“再见，”我用土语说。

“再见，”他跟着我说了一遍。

病房里已很黑暗，本来坐在床脚边的护理员，站起身来领他出去。我很喜欢他，希望他有一天回阿布鲁息去。他在饭堂里的生活太苦，虽则他本人的态度很好，我倒很想知道他回乡后的生活将是怎么样。他告诉过我，在卡勃拉柯达镇，在镇下边的溪流里有鳟鱼。夜里不许吹笛子。青年人可以唱小夜曲，只是不许吹笛子。我问他为什么。因为据说少女夜间听见笛声是不好的。那儿的庄稼人都尊称你为“堂”1，一见面便摘下帽子。他父亲天天打猎，并且常常在庄稼人家里歇脚吃饭。他们到处受人尊重。外国人倘若要打猎，必须先有证明书，证明他从来没给人家逮捕过。在大撒索山2上有熊，可惜太远了。阿奎拉3是个好城市。那儿夏天夜里阴凉，而阿布鲁息的春天则是全意大利最美丽的。但是最可爱的事还得数秋天在栗树林里打猎。那儿的鸟全是很好的鸟，因为平日吃的是葡萄，你出去的时候也不必带饭，因为当地的庄稼人以请得到客人为有光采的事。过一会儿我就睡着了。

1 西班牙人和葡萄牙人对男人的尊称，相当中国的“大爷”、“老爷”。

2 大撒索山位于意大利中部，其主峰科诺为亚平宁山脉的最高峰。

3 阿奎拉是阿布鲁息地区的一个著名城市。

it was dusk when the priest came. they had brought the soup and afterward taken away the bowls and i was lying looking at the rows of beds and out the window at the tree-top that moved a little in the evening breeze. the breeze came in through the window and it was cooler with the evening. the flies were on the ceiling now and on the electric light bulbs that hung on wires. the lights were only turned on when some one was brought in at night or when something was being done. it made me feel very young to have the dark come after the dusk and then remain. it was like being put to bed after early supper. the orderly came down between the beds and stopped. some one was with him. it was the priest. he stood there small, brown-faced, and embarrassed.

"how do you do?" he asked. he put some packages down by the bed, on the floor.

"all right, father."

he sat down in the chair that had been brought for rinaldi and looked out of the window embarrassedly. i noticed his face looked very tired.

"i can only stay a minute," he said. "it is late."

"it's not late. how is the mess?"

he smiled. "i am still a great joke," he sounded tired too. "thank god they are all well.

"i am so glad you are all right," he said. "i hope you don't suffer." he seemed very tired and i was not used to seeing him tired.

"not any more."

"i miss you at the mess."

"i wish i were there. i always enjoyed our talking."

"i brought you a few little things," he said. he picked up the packages. "this is mosquito netting. this is a bottle of vermouth. you like vermouth? these are english papers."

"please open them."

he was pleased and undid them. i held the mosquito netting in my hands. the vermouth he held up for me to see and then put it on the floor beside the bed. i held up one of the sheaf of english papers. i could read the headlines by turning it so the half-light from the window was on it. it was _the news of the world_.

"the others are illustrated," he said.

"it will be a great happiness to read them. where did you get them?"

"i sent for them to mestre. i will have more."

"you were very good to come, father. will you drink a glass of vermouth?"

"thank you. you keep it. it's for you."

"no, drink a glass."

"all right. i will bring you more then."

the orderly brought the glasses and opened the bottle. he broke off the cork and the end had to be shoved down into the bottle. i could see the priest was disappointed but he said, "that's all right. it's no matter."

"here's to your health, father."

"to your better health."

afterward he held the glass in his hand and we looked at one another. sometimes we talked and were good friends but to-night it was difficult.

"what's the matter, father? you seem very tired."

"i am tired but i have no right to be."

"it's the heat."

"no. this is only the spring. i feel very low."

"you have the war disgust."

"no. but i hate the war."

"i don't enjoy it," i said. he shook his head and looked out of the window.

"you do not mind it. you do not see it. you must forgive me. i know you are wounded."

"that is an accident."

"still even wounded you do not see it. i can tell. i do not see it myself but i feel it a little."

"when i was wounded we were talking about it. passini was talking."

the priest put down the glass. he was thinking about something else.

"i know them because i am like they are," he said.

"you are different though."

"but really i am like they are."

"the officers don't see anything."

"some of them do. some are very delicate and feel worse than any of us."

"they are mostly different."

"it is not education or money. it is something else. even if they had education or money men like passini would not wish to be officers. i would not be an officer."

"you rank as an officer. i am an officer."

"i am not really. you are not even an italian. you are a foreigner. but you are nearer the officers than you are to the men."

"what is the difference?"

"i cannot say it easily. there are people who would make war. in this country there are many like that. there are other people who would not make war."

"but the first ones make them do it."

"yes."

"and i help them."

"you are a foreigner. you are a patriot."

"and the ones who would not make war? can they stop it?" i do not know.

he looked out of the window again. i watched his face.

"have they ever been able to stop it?"

"they are not organized to stop things and when they get organized their leaders sell them out."

"then it's hopeless?"

"it is never hopeless. but sometimes i cannot hope. i try always to hope but sometimes i cannot."

"maybe the war will be over."

"i hope so."

"what will you do then?"

"if it is possible i will return to the abruzzi."

his brown face was suddenly very happy.

"you love the abruzzi?"

"yes, i love it very much."

"you ought to go there then."

"i would be too happy. if i could live there and love god and serve him."

"and be respected," i said.

"yes and be respected. why not?"

"no reason not. you should be respected."

"it does not matter. but there in my country it is understood that a man may love god. it is not a dirty joke."

"i understand."

he looked at me and smiled.

"you understand but you do not love god."

"no."

"you do not love him at all?" he asked.

"i am afraid of him in the night sometimes."

"you should love him."

"i don't love much."

"yes," he said. "you do. what you tell me about in the nights. that is not love. that is only passion and lust. when you love you wish to do things for. you wish to sacrifice for. you wish to serve."

"i don't love."

"you will. i know you will. then you will be happy."

"i'm happy. i've always been happy."

"it is another thing. you cannot know about it unless you have it."

"well," i said. "if i ever get it i will tell you."

"i stay too long and talk too much." he was worried that he really did.

"no. don't go. how about loving women? if i really loved some woman would it be like that?"

"i don't know about that. i never loved any woman."

"what about your mother?"

"yes, i must have loved my mother."

"did you always love god?"

"ever since i was a little boy."

"well," i said. i did not know what to say. "you are a fine boy," i said.

"i am a boy," he said. "but you call me father."

"that's politeness."

he smiled.

"i must go, really," he said. "you do not want me for anything?" he asked hopefully.

"no. just to talk."

"i will take your greetings to the mess."

"thank you for the many fine presents."

"nothing."

"come and see me again."

"yes. good-by," he patted my hand.

"so long," i said in dialect.

"ciaou," he repeated.

it was dark in the room and the orderly, who had sat by the foot of the bed, got up and went out with him. i liked him very much and i hoped he would get back to the abruzzi some time. he had a rotten life in the mess and he was fine about it but i thought how he would be in his own country. at capracotta, he had told me, there were trout in the stream below the town. it was forbidden to play the flute at night. when the young men serenaded only the flute was forbidden. why, i had asked. because it was bad for the girls to hear the flute at night. the peasants all called you "don" and when you met them they took off their hats. his father hunted every day and stopped to eat at the houses of peasants. they were always honored. for a foreigner to hunt he must present a certificate that he had never been arrested. there were bears on the gran sasso d'italia but it was a long way. aquila was a fine town. it was cool in the summer at night and the spring in abruzzi was the most beautiful in italy. but what was lovely was the fall to go hunting through the chestnut woods. the birds were all good because they fed on grapes and you never took a lunch because the peasants were always honored if you would eat with them at their houses. after a while i went to sleep.