Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 18, 2025
Fuselli strolled on down the dark road, where the mud was frozen into deep ruts, towards the town. It was still strange to him, this town of little houses faced with cracked stucco, where the damp made grey stains and green stains, of confused red-tiled roofs, and of narrow cobbled streets that zigzagged in and out among high walls overhung with balconies.
The plates, with borders of little roses on them, seemed, after the army mess, the most beautiful things Fuselli had ever seen. The wine bottle was black beside the soup tureen and the wine in the glasses cast a dark purple stain on the cloth. Fuselli ate his soup silently understanding very little of the French that the two girls rattled at each other.
Behind him was the smoking stove into which a man was poking wood, and beyond that a few broken folding chairs on which soldiers sprawled in attitudes of utter boredom, and the counter where the "Y" man stood with a set smile doling out chocolate to a line of men that filed past. "Gee, you have to line up for everything here, don't you?" Fuselli muttered.
The old woman rarely spoke and when she did one of the girls would throw her a hasty remark that hardly interrupted their chatter. Fuselli was thinking of the other men lining up outside the dark mess shack and the sound the food made when it flopped into the mess kits. An idea came to him. He'd have to bring Sarge to see Yvonne. They could set him up to a feed.
The cousin was looking from one to the other enviously, her upper lip lifted away from her teeth in a smile. The old woman munched her bread in a silent preoccupied fashion. "There's somebody in the store," said Fuselli after a long pause. "Je irey." He put his napkin down and went out wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Eisenstein and a chalky-faced boy were in the shop.
He put his hand on Stockton's shoulder. The boy winced and drew his chair away. "What for you do that? I ain't goin' to hurt you," said Eisenstein. Fuselli looked at them both with a disgusted interest. "I'll tell you what you'd better do, kid," he said condescendingly. "You get transferred to our company. It's an Al bunch, ain't it, Eisenstein?
O de women an' de chilen dey sank in de sea, Roun' dat cole iceberg." Before he had finished a bugle blew in the distance. Everybody scattered. Fuselli and Bill Grey went silently back to their barracks. "It must be an awful thing to drown in the sea," said Grey as he rolled himself in his blankets. "If one of those bastard U-boats..."
"As much as you are." "You talk like a socialist," said Fuselli. "They tell me they shoot guys in America for talkin' like that." "You see!" said Eisenstein to the Frenchman. "Are they all like that?" "Except a very few. It's hopeless," said Eisenstein, burying his face in his hands. "I often think of shooting myself." "Better shoot someone else," said the Frenchman. "It will be more useful."
Fuselli who did not understand laughed too, thinking to himself, "They'll let the dinner get cold if they don't sit down soon." "Get maman, Dan," said Yvonne. Fuselli went into the shop through the room with the long oak table. In the dim light that came from the kitchen he saw the old woman's white bonnet. Her face was in shadow but there was a faint gleam of light in her small beady eyes.
Fuselli had pushed himself in behind a big hogshead that had a pleasant tang of old wood damp with sour wine. At last the heads of the shadows on the cobbles came together for a moment and the cousin clattered across the court and out into the empty streets. Her rapid footsteps died away. Yvonne's shadow was still in the door: "Dan," she said softly.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking