时届九月，先是夜里阴凉，接着白天也阴凉起来，公园里的树叶一一褪色，于是我们知道夏季已经完了。前线战事失利，他们攻不下圣迦伯烈山。培恩西柴高原上的战事已经结束，到了九月中旬，圣迦伯烈山的战事也快结束了。他们攻不下这山峰。爱多亚已经回前线。马匹已运往罗马，米兰已经没有赛马了。克罗威也上罗马去了，准备从那儿回美国。米兰城里有两次反对战争的骚乱，都灵也有一次激烈的骚乱。有位英国少校在俱乐部里告诉我说，意军在培恩西柴高原和圣迦伯烈山损失达十五万人。他说，他们在卡索高原上还损失了四万人。我们喝了杯酒，他便扯开了。他说今年这儿的战事已完，意军贪心多吃了一口，已经吃不消了。他说法兰德斯的总攻击看样子也是不行的1。盟军倘若老是像今年秋天这么以士兵去乱拼，一年内就要垮台。他说我们大家都垮了，但只要大家不知道就没什么要紧。我们都垮了。不过是装做不知道罢了。哪一国拼死熬到最后才发觉这一点，便会打赢这场战争。我们又喝了一杯酒。我是不是谁的参谋？不是。他倒是的。全是胡闹。俱乐部里只有我们两人靠坐在大皮沙发上。他那暗色的皮靴，擦得闪闪发亮。好漂亮的靴子。他说全是胡闹。上级官员想的只是师团和人力。大家都为着师团争吵，一调拨给他们，便拿去拼个精光。他们都垮了。德国人打胜仗。天啊，德国佬才是真正的军人。不过他们也垮了。我问他俄罗斯怎么样？他说他们已经垮了。我宁愿看到他们垮台。还有奥军也垮了。他们倘若有几师德国兵，就可以打胜仗。照他想，今年秋天他们会不会来进攻？当然会来的。意军垮了。谁都知道意军垮了。等德国佬从特兰提诺地区冲下来，在维琴察把铁路切断，到那时候意军还能怎么样呢？他们在一九一六年就试过了，我说。那次德军没有一同来。是的，我说。他又说，他们大概不会这么做。太简单了。他们准备来个复杂一点的，弄一个大垮特垮。我得走了，我说。我得回医院了。“再会，”他说。随后又愉快地说：“万事顺利！”他对世界的悲观和他个人的乐观成了一种强烈的对照。
我在一家理发店歇下来，修了个脸才回医院。我的腿经过长期疗养，有现在的成绩也算好的了。三天前我检查过一次。我在马焦莱医院所受的机械治疗，还得去几趟才算完事，所以我特地抄小道，练习不瘸腿走路。有个老头儿在一条拱廊下替人家剪影。我停下来看他剪。有两个姑娘一起站着由他剪影，他剪得好快，边剪边侧着头看她们。姑娘们娇笑个不停。他把剪好的侧面像先拿给我看，然后贴在白纸上递给姑娘们。
“她们长得很美，”他说。“你来不来，中尉？”
姑娘们边看着她们的剪影边笑着走了。她们都长得很好看。有一个是医院对面那家酒店里的女店员。
“好的，”我说。
“脱掉帽子。”
“不。还是戴着吧。”
“那就不十分美观了，”老人说。“不过，”他高兴起来，“这样更有军人气派。”
1 法兰德斯地区包括比利时西部和法国北部，这里讲的总攻击是指1916 年英法联军与德国军队沿索谟河的争夺战，联军运用了新武器坦克，还是没有多大成就。
他在黑纸上剪来剪去，随后分开这两层厚纸，把侧面像贴在一张卡纸上递给我。
“多少钱？”
“用不着。”他摇摇手。“我是为你服务的。”
“请。”我掏出几个铜币来。“就当做茶钱吧。”
“不。我剪它本是一种娱乐。把钱留下给你的女朋友吧。”
“多谢，再会。”
“再会。”
我走回医院去。我有些信件，一封是公函，还有其他的。公函通知我有三星期的“疗养休假”，以后就回前线。我细心地读过一遍。也好，那就定当了。我的疗养休假自十月四日算起，我的机械治疗也就在那天结束。三星期是二十一天。那么十月二十五日我就得走了。我给他们讲一声我出去一趟，就跑到医院斜对面一家馆子去吃晚饭，就在饭桌上看信件和晚报。祖父来了一封信，讲了些家里的事以及为国尽忠的话，附有一张两百元的汇票和一些剪报；旧日同饭堂那位教士也来了一封沉闷的信；一个参加法国空军的朋友来了一封信，他现在交了一帮野朋友，满纸讲的都是荒唐事；雷那蒂也来了一封短简，问我在米兰还要躲多久，有什么新闻？他要我带些唱片回去，还开了一个单子。我吃饭时喝了一小瓶基安蒂酒。饭后一杯咖啡，一杯科涅克白兰地，读完了晚报，把信件揣在口袋里，把报纸和小账搁在桌上便走了。回到医院的房间里，我脱了衣服，换上睡衣裤和便袍，拉下通阳台的门帘，坐在床上看波士顿的报纸——那叠报纸原是迈耶斯太太留在医院里给她的“孩子们” 看的。芝加哥的“白短袜”队在美国联赛中夺到冠军，而纽约“巨人队”在全国联赛中的分数遥遥领先1。宝贝鲁思2当时正在波斯顿队里当投手。报纸很沉闷，消息偏于一处地方，陈旧过时，战事报道也都是陈旧的。美国新闻讲的都是训练营的情况。幸喜我没进训练营。报纸上可以看的只有棒球比赛消息，但我对于这全没兴趣。报纸堆成一大叠，翻来翻去，无法叫人读得上劲。它们虽则已失去了时间性，我还是看了一会儿。我想，不知道美国是否真的卷入了战争，会不会把这两大联赛停下来。也许不会吧。意大利打得够糟了，米兰还不是照样有赛马。法国已停止赛马了。那匹叫做贾巴拉克的马就是从法国运来的。凯瑟琳要到九点钟才上夜班。她初上班时，我听见她在我这一层楼上的走动声响，有一次还看见她从门外走廊上走过。她到过几间病房后才走进我的这一间。
“我来晚了，亲爱的，”她说。“方才有好些事得做。你好啊？”
我把我收到的公函和休假的消息告诉了她。
“好极啦，”她说。“你打算上哪儿去呢？”
“都不去。我要呆在这儿。”
“那太傻了，你拣个地方，我跟着来。”
“你怎么能够跟着来？”
“还不知道。不过我会来的。”
“你很行。”
1 美国的棒球比赛是一种群众性的娱乐活动。全国各大城市都有职业球队参加“美国联赛”或“全国联赛”两大全国性的联赛。杰出运动员受人崇拜欢迎，犹如明星。
2 宝贝鲁思后来以击全垒打著名，是美国棒球史上的杰出运动员。
“哪里。只要你不计较得失的话，人生还有什么不能想法子克服的。”
“你这话什么意思？”
“没什么。我只在想，以前有些困难，当时看来很大很大，但回想起来，只是一些小阻碍罢了。”
“我倒以为是很难想法子的。”
“没有什么大困难，亲爱的。顶多是我一走了之。但是也不必走到这一地步。”
“我们上哪儿去呢？”
“哪儿都行。你要上哪儿去都行。只要是没熟人的地方。”'
“我们上哪儿去你都不在乎吗？”
“无所谓。哪儿都行。”
她的模样似乎烦躁紧张。
“怎么啦，凯瑟琳？”
“没事。没有什么。”
“一定有事。”
“没事。真的没事。”
“我知道有事。告诉我，亲爱的。你可以告诉我。”
“没有什么。”
“告诉我。”
“我不想说。我怕说了会叫你不高兴或者担心。”
“不会的。”
“你果真不会吗？我倒不愁，只怕你发愁。”
“你不愁的事我自然也不会愁的。”
“我不想说。”
“说吧。”
“非说不可吗？”
“要说。”
“我有孩子了，亲爱的。差不多三个月了。你不发愁吧？请你不要愁。你一定不要发愁。”
“好吧。”
“果真是好吧？”
“自然啦。”
“我用尽了种种方法。我什么药都吃，但是都没有效力。”“我并不愁。”
“我真是没有法子想，亲爱的，我倒也不去愁它。请你不要发愁或者不好过。”
“我只是为你发愁。”
“那就不对了。你就是不该为我发愁。人家时时都在生孩子。人人都在怀孕。这本是自然而然的。”
“你很行。”
“哪里。不过你千万别操心，亲爱的。我一定想法子不给你添麻烦。我知道我现在惹起了麻烦。但是在这以前我岂不是个好姑娘吗？你岂不是完全不知道吗？”
“不知道。”
“以后就这样好了。你根本不必发愁。我看得出你在发愁。别愁吧。立刻别愁了。你不想喝杯酒吗，亲爱的？我知道你喝了杯酒就会兴致好。”“不。我兴致很好。你实在相当行。”
“哪里。只要你拣好什么地方，我一定想法子跟着去，在一起住。十月的天气一定是可爱的。我们一定能过快乐幸福的日子，亲爱的，等你上了前线我天天给你写信。”
“那时候你自己上哪儿去呢？”
“我现在还不知道。但是总会有个好地方的吧。由我自己来想法子吧。”
我们静默了一会儿，都不开口。凯瑟琳坐在床沿上，我望着她，彼此不接触。我们中间有了距离，仿佛有个第三者闯进了房间，彼此都觉得怪不自然。她伸出手来抓住我的手。
“你不生气吗，亲爱的？”
“不。”
“还有你不至于觉得上了圈套吧？”
“也许有一点。但不是上了你的圈套。”
“我没有说是我的圈套。别傻头傻脑。我的意思只是说有没有上了圈套的感觉。”
“从生物学的观点来讲，你总是觉得上了圈套。”
她的心跑得远远的，虽则身体没动弹，手也没有挪开。
“‘总是’这两字不大好听。”
“对不起。”
“没有关系。但是你瞧，我从来没怀过孩子，甚至从来没爱过人。我一向都想法子顺从你，你现在倒说起‘总是’这种话来。”
“我把舌头割掉吧，”我建议。
“哦，亲爱的！”她从她远去的地方回来了。“你可别太认真。”我们又在一起了，方才那种不自然的感觉消失了。“我们俩本是一个人，可别故意产生误会。”
“我们不会的。”
“但是人家可是这样子的。他们先是相爱，故意产生误会，争吵，到末了两人的感情忽然变了。”
“我们不争吵。”
“我们不该争吵。因为你我只有两人，而跟我们作对的是整个世界上的人。如果你我产生隔膜，我们就完蛋了，人家就能征服我们。”
“人家征服不了我们，”我说。“因为你太勇敢了。勇敢的人一定没事。”
“死总是要死的。”
“不过只死一次。”
“我不知道。这句话是谁说的？”
“懦夫千死，勇者只有一死！”1“当然就是这句话。谁说的？”
“不知道。”
“说这话的人大概还是个懦夫，”她说。“他对懦夫很熟悉，对勇者可全不知道。勇者倘若是聪明人的话，也许要死上两千次。他只是不说出来就是啦。”
“这倒难说。要了解勇者的内心可不容易。”
“对啦。勇者就是这么不吐露内心的。”
“你倒像个权威。”
“你讲得对，亲爱的。该是个权威。”
“你是勇敢的。”
“不，”她说。“不过我很想做个勇者。”
“我不是勇者，”我说，“我知道自己的地位。我在外边混了这么久，也认识自己了。我就像个球员，知道自己击球的成绩只能达到两百三十，再努力也不行。”
“击球的成绩两百三十的球员是什么样的人呢？听起来挺神气的。”“哪里。从玩棒球的人来说，只是个平平常常的击球手。”
“不过还算是个击球手啊，”她逗着我说。
“依我看，你我都是自命不凡的家伙，”我说。“不过你是勇敢的。”
“我不是。不过我希望做个勇者。”
“我们俩都是勇敢的，”我说。“我喝了一杯酒就很勇敢。”“我们两人都满好，”凯瑟琳说。她走到镜橱边，拿出一瓶科涅克白兰地和一个杯子给我。“喝杯酒吧，亲爱的，”她说。“你的态度很好。”“我不是真的想喝酒。”
“喝一杯。”
“好。”我在喝水玻璃杯里倒了三分之一的科涅克白兰地，一口喝干了。
“这很伟大，”她说。“我知道白兰地是英雄喝的。不过你也不必过分。”
“战后我们上哪儿住去呢？”
“大概在一家养老院吧，”她说。“三年来我总是孩子气地痴想战事会在圣诞节结束。但是现在我要等待我们的儿子先当上了海军少校再说。”
“也许他还要当上将军呢。”
“倘若是百年战争的话，他来得及在海陆两方面都试一试。”
“你不想喝杯酒吗？”
“不。酒总是使你高兴，亲爱的，但只叫我头昏。”
“你从来不喝白兰地吗？”
“不喝，亲爱的。我是个很老派的老婆。”
我伸手到地板上去拿酒瓶，又倒了一杯酒。
“我还是去看看你的同胞们吧，”凯瑟琳说。“或者你看看报等我回来。”
“你非去不可吗？”
“现在不去，过一会还是得去的。”
“好的。还是现在去吧。”
“我等一会儿再回来。”
“那时我报就看完了，”我说。
in september the first cool nights came, then the days were cool and the leaves on the trees in the park began to turn color and we knew the summer was gone. the fighting at the front went very badly and they could not take san gabriele. the fighting on the bainsizza plateau was over and by the middle of the month the fighting for san gabriele was about over too. they could not take it. ettore was gone back to the front. the horses were gone to rome and there was no more racing. crowell had gone to rome too, to be sent back to america. there were riots twice in the town against the war and bad rioting in turin. a british major at the club told me the italians had lost one hundred and fifty thousand men on the bainsizza plateau and on san gabriele. he said they had lost forty thousand on the carso besides. we had a drink and he talked. he said the fighting was over for the year down here and that the italians had bitten off more than they could chew. he said the offensive in flanders was going to the bad. if they killed men as they did this fall the allies would be cooked in another year. he said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. we were all cooked. the thing was not to recognize it. the last country to realize they were cooked would win the war. we had another drink. was i on somebody's staff? no. he was. it was all balls. we were alone in the club sitting back in one of the big leather sofas. his boots were smoothly polished dull leather. they were beautiful boots. he said it was all balls. they thought only in divisions and man-power. they all squabbled about divisions and only killed them when they got them. they were all cooked. the germans won the victories. by god they were soldiers. the old hun was a soldier. but they were cooked too. we were all cooked. i asked about russia. he said they were cooked already. i'd soon see they were cooked. then the austrians were cooked too. if they got some hun divisions they could do it. did he think they would attack this fall? of course they would. the italians were cooked. everybody knew they were cooked. the old hun would come down through the trentino and cut the railway at vicenza and then where would the italians be? they tried that in 'sixteen, i said. not with germans. yes, i said. but they probably wouldn't do that, he said. it was too simple. they'd try something complicated and get royally cooked. i had to go, i said. i had to get back to the hospital. "good-by," he said. then cheerily, "every sort of luck!" there was a great contrast between his world pessimism and personal cheeriness.
i stopped at a barber shop and was shaved and went home to the hospital. my leg was as well as it would get for a long time. i had been up for examination three days before. there were still some treatments to take before my course at the ospedale.
maggiore was finished and i walked along the side street practising not limping. an old man was cutting silhouettes under an arcade. i stopped to watch him. two girls were posing and he cut their silhouettes together, snipping very fast and looking at them, his head on one side. the girls were giggling. he showed me the silhouettes before he pasted them on white paper and handed them to the girls.
"they're beautiful," he said. "how about you, tenente?"
the girls went away looking at their silhouettes and laughing. they were nice-looking girls. one of them worked in the wine shop across from the hospital.
"all right," i said.
"take your cap off."
"no. with it on."
"it will not be so beautiful," the old man said. "but," he brightened, "it will be more military."
he snipped away at the black paper, then separated the two thicknesses and pasted the profiles on a card and handed them to me.
"how much?"
"that's all right." he waved his hand. "i just made them for you."
"please." i brought out some coppers. "for pleasure."
"no. i did them for a pleasure. give them to your girl."
"many thanks until we meet."
"until i see thee."
i went on to the hospital. there were some letters, an official one, and some others. i was to have three weeks' convalescent leave and then return to the front. i read it over carefully. well, that was that. the convalescent leave started october fourth when my course was finished. three weeks was twenty-one days. that made october twenty-fifth. i told them i would not be in and went to the restaurant a little way up the street from the hospital for supper and read my letters and the corriere della sera at the table. there was a letter from my grandfather, containing family news, patriotic encouragement, a draft for two hundred dollars, and a few clippings; a dull letter from the priest at our mess, a letter from a man i knew who was flying with the french and had gotten in with a wild gang and was telling about it, and a note from rinaldi asking me how long i was going to skulk in milano and what was all the news? he wanted me to bring him phonograph records and enclosed a list. i drank a small bottle of chianti with the meal, had a coffee afterward with a glass of cognac, finished the paper, put my letters in my pocket, left the paper on the table with the tip and went out. in my room at the hospital i undressed, put on pajamas and a dressing-gown, pulled down the curtains on the door that opened onto the balcony and sitting up in bed read boston papers from a pile mrs. meyers had left for her boys at the hospital. the chicago white sox were winning the american league pennant and the new york giants were leading the national league. babe ruth was a pitcher then playing for boston. the papers were dull, the news was local and stale, and the war news was all old. the american news was all training camps. i was glad i wasn't in a training camp. the baseball news was all i could read and i did not have the slightest interest in it. a number of papers together made it impossible to read with interest. it was not very timely but i read at it for a while. i wondered if america really got into the war, if they would close down the major leagues. they probably wouldn't. there was still racing in milan and the war could not be much worse. they had stopped racing in france. that was where our horse japalac came from. catherine was not due on duty until nine o'clock. i heard her passing along the floor when she first came on duty and once saw her pass in the hall. she went to several other rooms and finally came into mine.
"i'm late, darling," she said. "there was a lot to do. how are you?"
i told her about my papers and the leave.
"that's lovely," she said. "where do you want to go?"
"nowhere. i want to stay here."
"that's silly. you pick a place to go and i'll come too."
"how will you work it?"
"i don't know. but i will."
"you're pretty wonderful."
"no i'm not. but life isn't hard to manage when you've nothing to lose."
"how do you mean?"
"nothing. i was only thinking how small obstacles seemed that once were so big."
"i should think it might be hard to manage."
"no it won't, darling. if necessary i'll simply leave. but it won't come to that."
"where should we go?"
"i don't care. anywhere you want. anywhere we don't know people."
"don't you care where we go?"
"no. i'll like any place."
she seemed upset and taut.
"what's the matter, catherine?"
"nothing. nothing's the matter."
"yes there is."
"no nothing. really nothing."
"i know there is. tell me, darling. you can tell me."
"it's nothing."
"tell me."
"i don't want to. i'm afraid i'll make you unhappy or worry you."
"no it won't."
"you're sure? it doesn't worry me but i'm afraid to worry you."
"it won't if it doesn't worry you."
"i don't want to tell."
"tell it."
"do i have to?"
"yes."
"i'm going to have a baby, darling. it's almost three months along. you're not worried, are you? please please don't. you mustn't worry."
"all right."
"is it all right?"
"of course."
"i did everything. i took everything but it didn't make any difference."
"i'm not worried."
"i couldn't help it, darling, and i haven't worried about it. you mustn't worry or feel badly."
"i only worry about you."
"that's it. that's what you mustn't do. people have babies all the time. everybody has babies. it's a natural thing."
"you're pretty wonderful."
"no i'm not. but you mustn't mind, darling. i'll try and not make trouble for you. i know i've made trouble now. but haven't i been a good girl until now? you never knew it, did you?"
"no."
"it will all be like that. you simply mustn't worry. i can see you're worrying. stop it. stop it right away. wouldn't you like a drink, darling? i know a drink always makes you feel cheerful."
"no. i feel cheerful. and you're pretty wonderful."
"no i'm not. but i'll fix everything to be together if you pick out a place for us to go. it ought to be lovely in october. we'll have a lovely time, darling, and i'll write you every day while you're at the front."
"where will you be?"
"i don't know yet. but somewhere splendid. i'll look after all that."
we were quiet awhile and did not talk. catherine was sitting on the bed and i was looking at her but we did not touch each other. we were apart as when some one comes into a room and people are self-conscious. she put out her hand and took mine.
"you aren't angry are you, darling?"
"no."
"and you don't feel trapped?"
"maybe a little. but not by you."
"i didn't mean by me. you mustn't be stupid. i meant trapped at all."
"you always feel trapped biologically."
she went away a long way without stirring or removing her hand.
"'always' isn't a pretty word."
"i'm sorry."
"it's all right. but you see i've never had a baby and i've never even loved any one. and i've tried to be the way you wanted and then you talk about 'always."
"i could cut off my tongue," i offered.
"oh, darling!" she came back from wherever she had been. "you mustn't mind me." we were both together again and the self-consciousness was gone. "we really are the same one and we mustn't misunderstand on purpose."
"we won't."
"but people do. they love each other and they misunderstand on purpose and they fight and then suddenly they aren't the same one."
"we won't fight."
"we mustn't. because there's only us two and in the world there's all the rest of them. if anything comes between us we're gone and then they have us."
"they won't get us," i said. "because you're too brave. nothing ever happens to the brave."
"they die of course."
"but only once."
"i don't know. who said that?"
"the coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave but one?"
"of course. who said it?"
"i don't know."
"he was probably a coward," she said. "he knew a great deal about cowards but nothing about the brave. the brave dies perhaps two thousand deaths if he's intelligent. he simply doesn't mention them."
"i don't know. it's hard to see inside the head of the brave."
"yes. that's how they keep that way."
"you're an authority."
"you're right, darling. that was deserved."
"you're brave."
"no," she said. "but i would like to be."
"i'm not," i said. "i know where i stand. i've been out long enough to know. i'm like a ball-player that bats two hundred and thirty and knows he's no better."
"what is a ball-player that bats two hundred and thirty? it's awfully impressive."
"it's not. it means a mediocre hitter in baseball."
"but still a hitter," she prodded me.
"i guess we're both conceited," i said. "but you are brave."
"no. but i hope to be."
"we're both brave," i said. "and i'm very brave when i've had a drink."
"we're splendid people," catherine said. she went over to the armoire and brought me the cognac and a glass. "have a drink, darling," she said. "you've been awfully good."
"i don't really want one."
"take one."
"all right." i poured the water glass a third full of cognac and drank it off.
"that was very big," she said. "i know brandy is for heroes. but you shouldn't exaggerate."
"where will we live after the war?"
"in an old people's home probably," she said. "for three years i looked forward very childishly to the war ending at christmas. but now i look forward till when our son will be a lieutenant commander."
"maybe he'll be a general."
"if it's an hundred years' war he'll have time to try both of the services."
"don't you want a drink?"
"no. it always makes you happy, darling, and it only makes me dizzy."
"didn't you ever drink brandy?"
"no, darling. i'm a very old-fashioned wife."
i reached down to the floor for the bottle and poured another drink.
"i'd better go to have a look at your compatriots," catherine said. "perhaps you'll read the papers until i come back."
"do you have to go?"
"now or later."
"all right. now."
"i'll come back later."
"i'll have finished the papers," i said.
