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Updated: May 9, 2025
At the turn in the road they lost the noise of the division and could hear the bees droning in the big dull purple cloverheads and in the gold hearts of the daisies. "You're a wild man, Chris. What the hell came over you to try an' smash poor old Judkie's jaw? He could lick you anyway. He's twice as heavy as you are." Chrisfield walked on in silence.
Chrisfield leaned back in his chair with an empty glass in his hand and watched his friend admiringly. "Antoinette, mon ami vous...vous admire," said Andrews in a courtly voice. A woman put her head in the door. It was the same face and hair as Antoinette's, ten years older, only the skin, instead of being golden brown, was sallow and wrinkled. "Viens," said the woman in a shrill voice.
He's a goddam yeller dawg." Chrisfield swore sullenly. "Well, you juss wait 'n see. I tell you, buddy, war ain't no picnic." "What the hell are we goin' to do with that chicken?" said Judkins. "You remember what happened to Eddie White?" "Hell, we'd better leave it here." Judkins swung the chicken by its neck round his head and threw it as hard as he could into the bushes.
We was bunkies together a hell of a time, wasn't we, Andy?" "You bet we were." "So you've taken your uniform off, have you? Mighty foolish," said Slippery. "Suppose they nab you?" "It's all up now anyway. I don't intend to get nabbed," said Andrews. "We got booze," said Chrisfield.
Chrisfield felt powerless as an ox under the yoke. All he could do was work and strain and stand at attention, while that white-faced Anderson could lounge about as if he owned the earth and laugh importantly like that. He held out his plate. The K.P. splashed the meat and gravy into it.
"Mahn's Chrisfield." "Mine's Andrews." "How soon's it take a feller to git out o' this camp?" "Dunno. Some guys says three weeks and some says six months.... Say, mebbe you'll get into our company. They transferred a lot of men out the other day, an' the corporal says they're going to give us rookies instead." "Goddam it, though, but Ah want to git overseas."
He went on sweeping, thinking of his company tramping off through the streaming rain, and of those fellows he had known in training Camp in America, Andrews and Chrisfield, jolting in box cars towards the front, where Daniel's buddy had had his chest split in half by a piece of shell. And he'd written home he'd been made a corporal.
"Ah guess you're right, Judkie; we gits the raw end of the stick." "That damn yellar dawg Andrews goes to Paris an' gets schoolin' free an' all that." "Hell, Andy waren't yellar, Judkins." "Well, why did he go bellyachin' around all the time like he knew more'n the lootenant did?" "Ah reckon he did," said Chrisfield.
The sun had just set behind the blue hills the other side of the shallow valley. The air was full of the smell of clover and of hawthorn from the hedgerows. They took deep breaths as they crossed the field. "It's great to get away from that crowd," Andrews was saying. Chrisfield walked on silently, dragging his feet through the matted clover.
Chrisfield felt a tremendous elation thumping stronger than the cognac through his veins. Unconsciously he put his arm round his friend's shoulders. They seemed the only live things in a reeling world. Below in the valley a house was burning brightly. From all directions came the yelp of anti-aircraft guns, and overhead unperturbed continued the leisurely singsong of the motors.
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