Erich Maria Remarque

Translated by Arthur Wesley Wheen

[1] Had we gone into the trenches without this period of training most of us would certainly have gone mad.Only thus were we prepared for what awaited us.We did not break down, but adapted ourselves; our twenty years, which made many another thing so grievous, helped us in this.But by far the most important result was that it awakened in us a strong, practical sense of esprit de corps, which in the field developed into the finest thing that arose out of the war — comradeship.

[2] I sit by Kemmerich’s bed.He is sinking steadily.Around us is a great commotion.A hospital tram has arrived and the wounded fit to be moved are being selected.The doctor passes by Kemmerich’s bed without once looking at him.

[3] “Next time, Franz,” I say.

[4] He raises himself on the pillow with his elbows.“They have amputated my leg.”

[5] He knows it too then.I nod and answer, “You must be thankful you’ve come off with that.”

[6] He is silent.

[7] I resume: “It might have been both legs, Franz.Wegeler has lost his right arm.That’s much worse.Besides, you will be going home.” He looks at me.“Do you think so?”

[8] “Of course.”

[9] “Do you think so?”he repeats.

[10] “Sure, Franz.Once you’ve got over the operation.”

[11] He beckons me to bend down.I stoop over bin and he whispers, “I don’t think so.”

[12] “Don’t talk rubbish; Franz, in a couple of days you’ll see for yourself.What is it anyway — an amputated leg? Here they patch up far worse things than that.”

[13] He lifts one hand.“Look here though, these fingers.”

[14] “That’s the result of the operation.Just eat decently and you’ll soon be well again.Do they look after you properly?”

[15] He points to a dish that is still half full.I get excited.“Franz, you must eat.Eating is the main thing.That looks good too.”

[16] He turns away.After a pause he says slowly, “I wanted to become a head-forester once.”

[17] “So you may still,” I assure him.“There are splendid artificial limbs now, you’d hardly know there was anything missing.They are fixed on to the muscles.You can move the fingers and work and even write with an artificial hand.And besides, they will always be making new improvements.”

[18] For a while he lies still.Then he says, “You can take my lace-up boots with you for Müller.”

[19] I nod and wonder what to say to encourage him.His lips have fallen away, his mouth has become larger, his teeth stick out and look as though they were made of chalk.The flesh melts, the forehead bulges more prominently, the cheekbones protrude.The skeleton is working itself through.The eyes are already sunken in.In a couple of hours it will be over.

[20] He is not the first that I have seen thus; but we grew up together and that always makes it a bit different.I have copied his essays.At school he used to wear a brown coat with a belt and shiny sleeves.He was the only one of us, too, who could do the giant’s turn on the horizontal bar.His hair flew in his face like silk when he did it.Kantorek was proud of him.But he couldn’t stand cigarettes.His skin was very white; he had something of the girl about him.

[21] I glance at my boots.They are big and clumsy, the breeches are tucked into them, and standing up one looks well-built and powerful in these great drainpipes.But when we go bathing and strip, suddenly we have slender legs again and slight shoulders.We are no longer soldiers but little more than boys; no one would believe that we could carry packs.It is a strange moment when we stand naked; then we become civilians, and almost feel ourselves to be so.When bathing Franz Kemmerich looked as slight and frail as a child.There he lies now — but why? The whole world ought to pass by this bed and say, “That is Franz Kemmerich, nineteen and a half years old, he doesn’t want to die.Let him not die!”

[22] My thoughts become confused.This atmosphere of carbolic and gangrene clogs the lungs, it is a thick gruel, it suffocates.

[23] It grows dark.Kemmerich’s face changes colour, it lifts from the pillow and is so pale that it gleams.The mouth moves slightly.I draw near to him.He whispers, “If you find my watch, send it home...”

[24] I do not reply.It is no use any more.No one can console him.I am wretched with helplessness.This forehead with its hollow temples, this mouth that now seems all teeth, this sharp nose! And the fat, weeping woman at home to whom I must write.If only the letter were sent off already!

[25] Hospital-orderlies go to and fro with bottles and pails.One of them comes up, casts a glance at Kemmerich and goes away again.You can see he is waiting, apparently he wants the bed.

[26] I bend over Franz and talk to him as though that could save him, “Perhaps you will go to the convalescent home at Klosterberg, among the villas, Franz.Then you can look out from the window across the fields to the two trees on the horizon.It is the loveliest time of the year now, when the corn ripens; at evening the fields in the sunlight look like motherof-pearl.And the lane of poplars by the Klosterbach, where we used to catch sticklebacks! You can build an aquarium again and keep fish in it, and you can go without asking anyone, you can even play the piano if you want to.”

[27] I lean down over his face which lies in the shadow.He still breathes, lightly.His face is wet, he is crying.What a fine mess I have made of it with my foolish talk!

[28] “But Franz” — I put my arm round his shoulder and put my face against his.“Will you sleep now?”

[29] He does not answer.The tears run down his cheeks.I would like to wipe them away but my handkerchief is too dirty.

[30] An hour passes.I sit tensely and watch his every movement in case he may perhaps say something.What if he were to open his mouth and cry out! But he only weeps, his head turned aside.He does not speak of his mother or his brothers and sisters.He says nothing; all that lies behind him; he is entirely alone now with his little life of nineteen years, and cries because it leaves him.This is the most disturbing and hardest parting that I ever have seen, although it was pretty bad too with Tiedjen, who called for his mother — a big bear of a fellow who, with wild eyes full of terror, held off the doctor from his bed with a dagger until he collapsed.

[31] Suddenly Kemmerich groans and begins to gurgle.

[32] I jump up, stumble outside and demand, “Where is the doctor? Where is the doctor?”

[33] As I catch sight of the white apron I seize hold of it.“Come quick, Franz Kemmerich is dying.”

[34] He frees himself and asks an orderly standing by, “Which will that be?”

[35] He says, “Bed 26, amputated thigh.”

[36] He sniffs, “How should I know anything about it, I’ve amputated five legs today”; he shoves me away, says to the hospital-orderly,“You see to it”, and hurries off to the operating room.

[37] I tremble with rage as I go along with the orderly.The man looks at me and says, “One operation after another since five o’clock this morning.You know, today alone there have been sixteen deaths — yours is the seventeenth.There will probably be twenty altogether...”

[38] We are by Kemmerich’s bed.He is dead.The face is still wet from the tears.The eyes are half open and yellow like old horn buttons.The orderly pokes me in the ribs, “Are you taking his things with you?” I nod.

[39] He goes on, “We must take him away at once, we want the bed.Outside they are lying on the floor.”

[40] I collect Kemmerich’s things, and untie his identification disc.The orderly asks about the pay-book.I say that it is probably in the orderly-room, and go.Behind me they are already hauling Franz on to a waterproof sheet.

[41] Outside the door I am aware of the darkness and the wind as a deliverance.I breathe as deep as I can, and feel the breeze in my face, warm and soft as never before.Thoughts of girls, of flowery meadows, of white clouds suddenly come into my head.My feet begin to move forward in my boots, I go quicker, I run.Soldiers pass by me, I hear their voices without understanding.The earth is streaming with forces which pour into me through the soles of my feet.The night crackles electrically, the front thunders like a concert of drums.My limbs move supplely, I feel my joints strong, I breathe the air deeply.The night lives, I live.I feel a hunger, greater than comes from the belly alone.

[42] Müller stands in front of the hut waiting for me.I give him the boots.We go in and he tries them on.They fit well.

Notes

1.Text B is an excerpt from Chapter Ⅱ of the novel All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque.

2. Erich Maria Remarque (1898-1970): He, born Erich Paul Remark, was a German author, best known for his novel All Quiet on the Western Front.

1.Read Text B and finish the following exercises.

1) The period of training for us before we had gone into the trenches turned out to be________ (useless / useful).

2) The finest thing that we have gained from the experiences of war is ________ (the team spirit / the fighting skill).

3) Franz’s leg has been amputated.The underlined word means ________.

4) Franz ________ (believed / doubted) that he would be going home.

5) I tried to console Franz, and my words made him feel ________ (happier / sadder).

6) Franz and I got to know each other ________ (before / after) we joined the army.

7) Franz’s death was the ________ (seventeenth / twentieth) death that day.

8) Franz’s body was taken care of in a ________ (careful / careless) manner.

2.Share ideas with your partner on the following questions.

1) Which part impresses you the most? Why?

2) What has the war brought to the young people?

3) What lesson could you draw from the story?