John Passos - Three Soldiers

“You look quite restored, my friend,” said a chanting clerical voice.

“I suppose I am.”

“Splendid, splendid… But do you mind moving into the end of the room? That’s it.” He followed Andrews, saying in a deprecatory tone: “We’re going to have just a little bit of a prayer and then I have some interesting things to tell you boys.”

The red-headed “Y” man had left his seat and stood in the center of the room, his paper still dangling from his hand, saying in a bored voice: “Please fellows, move down to the end… Quiet, please… Quiet, please.”

The soldiers shambled meekly to the folding chairs at the end of the room and after some chattering were quiet. A couple of men left, and several tiptoed in and sat in the front row. Andrews sank into a chair with a despairing sort of resignation, and burying his face in his hands stared at the floor between his feet.

“Fellers,” went on the bored voice of the “Y” man, “let me introduce the Reverend Dr. Skinner, who-” the “Y” man’s voice suddenly took on deep patriotic emotion-“who has just come back from the Army of Occupation in Germany.”

At the words “Army of Occupation,” as if a spring had been touched, everybody clapped and cheered.

The Reverend Dr. Skinner looked about his audience with smiling confidence and raised his hands for silence, so that the men could see the chubby pink palms.

“First, boys, my dear friends, let us indulge in a few moments of silent prayer to our Great Creator,” his voice rose and fell in the suave chant of one accustomed to going through the episcopal liturgy for the edification of well-dressed and well-fed congregations. “Inasmuch as He has vouchsafed us safety and a mitigation of our afflications, and let us pray that in His good time He may see fit to return us whole in limb and pure in heart to our families, to the wives, mothers, and to those whom we will some day honor with the name of wife, who eagerly await our return; and that we may spend the remainder of our lives in useful service of the great country for whose safety and glory we have offered up our youth a willing sacrifice… Let us pray!”

Silence fell dully on the room. Andrews could hear the self-conscious breathing of the men about him, and the rustling of the snow against the tin roof. A few feet scraped. The voice began again after a long pause, chanting:

“Our Father which art in Heaven… ”

At the “Amen” everyone lifted his head cheerfully. Throats were cleared, chairs scraped. Men settled themselves to listen.

“Now, my friends, I am going to give you in a few brief words a little glimpse into Germany, so that you may be able to picture to yourselves the way your comrades of the Army of Occupation manage to make themselves comfortable among the Huns… I ate my Christmas dinner in Coblenz. What do you think of that? Never had I thought that a Christmas would find me away from my home and loved ones. But what unexpected things happen to us in this world! Christmas in Coblenz under the American flag!”

He paused a moment to allow a little scattered clapping to subside.

“The turkey was fine, too, I can tell you… Yes, our boys in Germany are very, very comfortable, and just waiting for the word, if necessary, to continue their glorious advance to Berlin. For I am sorry to say, boys, that the Germans have not undergone the change of heart for which we had hoped. They have, indeed, changed the name of their institutions, but their spirit they have not changed… How grave a disappointment it must be to our great President, who has exerted himself so to bring the German people to reason, to make them understand the horror that they alone have brought deliberately upon the world! Alas! Far from it. Indeed, they have attempted with insidious propaganda to undermine the morale of our troops… ” A little storm of muttered epithets went through the room. The Reverend Dr. Skinner elevated his chubby pink palms and smiled benignantly… “to undermine the morale of our troops; so that the most stringent regulations have had to be made by the commanding general to prevent it. Indeed, my friends, I very much fear that we stopped too soon in our victorious advance; that Germany should have been utterly crushed. But all we can do is watch and wait, and abide by the decision of those great men who in a short time will be gathered together at the Conference at Paris… Let me, boys, my dear friends, express the hope that you may speedily be cured of your wounds, ready again to do willing service in the ranks of the glorious army that must be vigilant for some time yet, I fear, to defend, as Americans and Christians, the civilization you have so nobly saved from a ruthless foe… Let us all join together in singing the hymn, ‘Stand up, stand up for Jesus,’ which I am sure you all know.”

The men got to their feet, except for a few who had lost their legs, and sang the first verse of the hymn unsteadily. The second verse petered out altogether, leaving only the “Y” man and the Reverend Dr. Skinner singing away at the top of their lungs.

The Reverend Dr. Skinner pulled out his gold watch and looked at it frowning.

“Oh, my, I shall miss the train,” he muttered. The “Y” man helped him into his voluminous trench coat and they both hurried out of the door.

“Those are some puttees he had on, I’ll tell you,” said the legless man who was propped in a chair near the stove.

Andrews sat down beside him, laughing. He was a man with high cheekbones and powerful jaws to whose face the pale brown eyes and delicately pencilled lips gave a look of great gentleness. Andrews did not look at his body.

“Somebody said he was a Red Cross man giving out cigarettes… Fooled us that time,” said Andrews.

“Have a butt? I’ve got one,” said the legless man. With a large shrunken hand that was the transparent color of alabaster he held out a box of cigarettes.

“Thanks.” When Andrews struck a match he had to lean over the legless man to light his cigarette for him. He could not help glancing down the man’s tunic at the drab trousers that hung limply from the chair. A cold shudder went through him; he was thinking of the zigzag scars on his own thighs.

“Did you get it in the legs, too, Buddy?” asked the legless man, quietly.

“Yes, but I had luck… How long have you been here?”

“Since Christ was a corporal. Oh, I doan know. I’ve been here since two weeks after my outfit first went into the lines… That was on November 16th, 1917 Didn’t see much of the war, did I?… Still, I guess I didn’t miss much.”

“No… But you’ve seen enough of the army.”

“That’s true… I guess I wouldn’t mind the war if it wasn’t for the army.”

“They’ll be sending you home soon, won’t they?”

“Guess so… Where are you from?”

“New York,” said Andrews.

“I’m from Cranston, Wisconsin. D’you know that country? It’s a great country for lakes. You can canoe for days an’ days without a portage. We have a camp on Big Loon Lake. We used to have some wonderful times there… lived like wild men. I went for a trip for three weeks once without seeing a house. Ever done much canoeing?”

“Not so much as I’d like to.”

“That’s the thing to make you feel fit. First thing you do when you shake out of your blankets is jump in an’ have a swim. Gee, it’s great to swim when the morning mist is still on the water an’ the sun just strikes the tops of the birch trees. Ever smelt bacon cooking? I mean out in the woods, in a frying pan over some sticks of pine and beech wood… Some great old smell, isn’t it?… And after you’ve paddled all day, an’ feel tired and sunburned right to the palms of your feet, to sit around the fire with some trout roastin’ in the ashes and hear the sizzlin’ the bacon makes in the pan… O boy!” He stretched his arms wide.