第二天下午，我又去拜访巴克莱小姐。她不在花园里，于是我就从停救护车的别墅的边门走了进去。我在别墅里见到护士长，护士长说巴克莱小姐正在上班——“这是作战时期，你知道。”
我说我知道。
“你就是那位参加意大利军队的美国人吧？”她问道。
“是的，小姐。”
“你怎么会这么做？你为什么不参加我们的部队？”
“我不知道，”我说。“现在我可以参加吗？”
“现在恐怕不行啦。告诉我，你为什么参加意大利军队？”“我当时人在意大利，”我说，“并且我会讲意大利话。”“噢，”她说。“我也在学。
这是一种美丽的语言。”
“有人说学两星期就应该学会。”
“噢，我可不成。我已经学习了好几个月了。你要来的话，七点钟以后来看她吧。那时她下班了。但是千万别带来一大帮意大利人。”“就是为听听美丽的语言也不行吗？”
“不行。就是漂亮的军装也不行。”
“晚安，”我说。
“回头见，中尉。”
“回头见。”我行了礼，走出去。要像意大利军人那般向外国人行礼，可真不行，一学起来就好窘。意大利人的行礼大概永远不预备出口的。
这天天气炎热。我曾到上游①普拉伐桥头堡那儿去一趟。总攻击将从那儿开始。去年没法深入河的对岸，因为从山隘到浮桥只有一条路，路上受敌人机枪扫射和炮击的地段，约有一英里长。况且路不宽，既不足以运输全部进攻部队，同时奥军又可以把它变成屠宰场。但是现在意军已经渡了河，占据了对岸的敌人地带约有一英里半长。这是个怪讨厌的地点，奥军本不应该让意军占领的。照我想，大概是彼此让步，因为我们这边河上，奥军在下游地带也保留有一座桥头堡。奥军的战壕就挖在山坡上，距离意军阵地只有几码远。那儿本来有一个小镇，现在已成为一片瓦砾。只剩下一个残毁的火车站和一座被炸坏的铁路桥——这条桥现在无法修理和使用，因为它就暴露在敌人眼前。
我沿着窄路开车朝河边驶去，把车子留在山下的包扎站上，步行走过那座有个山肩掩护的浮桥，走进那些在废镇上和山坡边的战壕。人人都在掩蔽壕里。那儿搁着一排排的火箭，万一电话线被割断的话，这些火箭可以随时施放，请求炮队的帮助或者当作信号。那儿又静，又热，又脏。我隔着铁丝网望望奥军的阵地。一个人也看不见。我跟一位本来认识的上尉，在掩蔽壕里喝了一杯酒，就沿原路回桥。
有一条宽阔的新路正在修造，盘山而上，然后曲曲折折通向河上的桥。这条路一修好，总攻击就要开始了。新路下山时穿过森林，急峭地转折下山。当时的布置是，进攻部队充分利用这条新路，回程的空卡车、马车和载有伤员的救护车，则走那条狭窄的旧路回去。包扎站设在敌军那边河上的小山边，抬担架的人得把伤员抬过浮桥。
① 指伊孙左河，在意奥边境上，长约七十五英里。
总进攻开始时，我们就将这么行动。照我目前所能观察到的，这条新路的最后一英里，就是刚从高山转入平原的那一长段，会遭到敌军不断的猛轰。可能搞得一团糟。幸亏我找到一个可以躲躲车子的地方，车子开过那一段危险地带后可以在那儿歇一歇，等待伤员抬过浮桥来。我很想在新路上试试车，可惜路还没修好，不能通行。新修的道路相当宽阔，斜度也不坏，还有那些转弯处，从大山上森林空隙处露出来的，看来也相当动人。救护车装有金属制的刹车，况且下山时还没装人，大概不至于出毛病。我沿着窄路开车回去。
两个宪兵拦住了车子。原来有颗炮弹刚刚落下，而当我们等待的时候，路上又掉下来三颗炮弹。那些炮弹都是七十七毫米口径的，落下来时发出一股嗖嗖响的急风，一阵又有力又明亮的爆裂和闪光，接着路上冒起一股灰色的烟。宪兵挥手叫我们开走。我的车子经过炮弹掉下的地方时，避开地上的那些小坑，鼻子闻得到一股强烈的炸药和一股夹杂有炸裂的泥石和刚刚击碎的燧石等的味道。我开车子回到哥里察我们住的别墅，后来就去拜访巴克莱小姐，她正在上班，不得会面。
晚饭我吃得很快，就赶到英军医院所在地的别墅去。别墅实在又大又美丽，里边长有很好的树木。巴克莱小姐正坐在花园里一条长椅上。弗格逊小姐和她在一起。她们见到我，似乎很喜欢，一会儿弗格逊小姐便借口要走了。
“我让你们俩呆在这儿，”她说。“你们俩没有我也是很行的。”“别走，海伦，”巴克莱小姐说。
“我还是走吧。我得写几封信去。”
“晚安，”我说。
“晚安，亨利先生。”
“你可别写什么给检查员找麻烦的话。”
“你放心。我不过写写我们住的地方多美丽，意大利人多勇敢。”“你这样写会得奖章的。”
“那敢情好。晚安，凯瑟琳。”
“我等一会就来，”巴克莱小姐说。弗格逊小姐在黑暗中走了。“她人很好。”
“噢，她人很好。她是个护士。”
“难道你自己不是吗？”
“噢，我不是。我是个所谓的志愿救护队队员。我们拼命工作，可是人家不信任我们。”
“为什么不信任？”
“没有事情的时候，他们不信任我们。真正有事情要做的时候，他们就信任我们了。”
“到底有什么分别呢？”
“护士就好比是医生。要经过长期的训练。志愿队可只是一种短期训练班。”
“原来如此。”
“意大利人不让女人这么挨近前线。所以我们在这儿，行为还得特别检点。我们不出门。”
“我倒是可以进来的。”
“噢，那当然。我们又不是出家的。”
“我们丢下战争不谈吧。”
“那倒很困难。要丢也没地方丢它。”
“丢下就算了。”
“好的。”
我们在黑暗中对看着。我心里想，她长得实在美丽，我抓住了她的手。
她的手由我抓住，我就抓住了，并伸出手臂去抱她。
“不要，”她说。我就把手臂放在原处。
“为什么呢？”
“不要。”
“要的，”我说。“求求你啦。”我在黑暗中往前靠拢去吻她，一下子感到火辣辣的刺痛。她狠狠地打了我的脸。她的手打在我鼻子和眼睛上，反应之下，泪水立刻涌上眼来。
“真对不起，”她说。我觉得我占有某种优势。
“你做得对。”
“非常对不起，”她说。“我就是受不了不当班护士被人调情这一套。
我并没存心伤害你。我可是打疼了你吧？”
她在黑暗中看着我。我很生气，不过自己很有把握，好像是在下棋，所有步数，早已看得清清楚楚。
“你打得实在对，”我说。没有关系。”
“可怜的家伙。”
“你知道，我这一向就在过着一种奇怪的生活。连英语都不讲。而且你又是长得这么美丽。”我望望她。
“无聊的话少说。我已经道歉过了。我们俩还混得下去。”
“对啦，”我说。“况且我们已把战争丢下不谈了。”
她笑了起来。这是我第一次听见她笑。我注视她的脸。
“你真讨人喜欢，”她说。
“不见得吧。”
“是的。你是个可爱的人儿。假如你不介意的话，我倒喜欢吻吻你。”
我一边看着她的眼睛，一边伸出胳臂像方才那样搂她，吻着她。我狠狠地吻她，紧紧地搂着她，逼着她张开嘴唇；她的嘴唇可紧闭着。当时我还在生气，而当我这么搂她的时候，想不到她突然全身颤抖了一下。我搂住她，让她紧紧靠在我身上，我感觉到她的心在跳动，于是她的嘴唇张开了，她的头往后贴在我手上，接着竟扑在我肩上哭泣起来。
“噢，亲爱的，”她说。“你要好好地待我，答应吗？”该死，我心里在想。我抚摸她的头发，拍拍她的肩头。她还在哭。“你答应不答应？”她抬起头来望望我。“因为我们将要过一种奇异的生活。”
过了一会儿，我陪她走到别墅的门口，她走进去，我走回家。我回到我住的别墅，上楼走进房间。雷那蒂正躺在床上。他看一看我。“原来你和巴克莱小姐的关系有进展了？”
“我们是朋友。”
“瞧你那副发情的狗似的好模样。”
我起初听不懂“发情”这字眼儿。
“什么好模样？”
他解释了一下。
“你呢，”我说，“你自己就好比一条狗——”
“算了吧，”他说。“再说下去你我就要损人了。”他大笑起来。“晚安，”我说。
“晚安，小哈巴狗。”
我把枕头扔过去，扑灭了他的蜡烛，在黑暗中上了床。
雷那蒂捡起蜡烛，点上了，又继续看书。
The next afternoon I went to call on Miss Barkley again. She was not in the garden and I went to the side door of the villa where the ambulances drove up. Inside I saw the head nurse, who said Miss Barkley was on duty--"there's a war on, you know."
I said I knew.
"You're the American in the Italian army?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"How did you happen to do that? Why didn't you join up with us?"
"I don't know," I said. "Could I join now?"
"I'm afraid not now. Tell me. Why did you join up with the Italians?"
"I was in Italy," I said, "and I spoke Italian."
"Oh," she said. "I'm learning it. It's beautiful language."
"Somebody said you should be able to learn it in two weeks."
"Oh, I'll not learn it in two weeks. I've studied it for months now. You may come and see her after seven o'clock if you wish. She'll be off then. But don't bring a lot of Italians."
"Not even for the beautiful language?"
"No. Nor for the beautiful uniforms."
"Good evening," I said.
"A rivederci, Tenente."
"A rivederla." I saluted and went out. It was impossible to salute foreigners as an Italian, without embarrassment. The Italian salute never seemed made for export.
The day had been hot. I had been up the river to the bridgehead at Plava. It was there that the offensive was to begin. It had been impossible to advance on the far side the year before because there was only one road leading down from the pass to the pontoon bridge and it was under machine-gun and shell fire for nearly a mile. It was not wide enough either to carry all the transport for an offensive and the Austrians could make a shambles out of it. But the Italians had crossed and spread out a little way on the far side to hold about a mile and a half on the Austrian side of the river. It was a nasty place and the Austrians should not have let them hold it. I suppose it was mutual tolerance because the Austrians still kept a bridgehead further down the river. The Austrian trenches were above on the hillside only a few yards from the Italian lines. There had been a little town but it was all rubble. There was what was left of a railway station and a smashed permanent bridge that could not be repaired and used because it was in plain sight.
I went along the narrow road down toward the river, left the car at the dressing station under the hill, crossed the pontoon bridge, which was protected by a shoulder of the mountain, and went through the trenches in the smashed-down town and along the edge of the slope. Everybody was in the dugouts. There were racks of rockets standing to be touched off to call for help from the artillery or to signal with if the telephone wires were cut. It was quiet, hot and dirty. I looked across the wire at the Austrian lines. Nobody was in sight. I had a drink with a captain that I knew in one of the dugouts and went back across the bridge.
A new wide road was being finished that would go over the mountain and zig-zag down to the bridge. When this road was finished the offensive would start. It came down through the forest in sharp turns. The system was to bring everything down the new road and take the empty trucks, carts and loaded ambulances and all returning traffic up the old narrow road. The dressing station was on the Austrian side of the river under the edge of the hill and stretcher-bearers would bring the wounded back across the pontoon bridge. It would be the same when the offensive started. As far as I could make out the last mile or so of the new road where it started to level out would be able to be shelled steadily by the Austrians. It looked as though it might be a mess. But I found a place where the cars would be sheltered after they passed that last badlooking bit and could wait for the wounded to be brought across the pontoon bridge. I would have liked to drive over the new road but it was not yet finished. It looked wide and well made with a good grade and the turns looked very impressive where you could see them through openings in the forest on the mountain side. The cars would be all right with their good metal-to-metal brakes and anyway, coming down, they would not be loaded. I drove back up the narrow road.
Two carabinieri held the car up. A shell had fallen and while we waited three others fell up the road. They were seventy-sevens and came with a whishing rush of air, a hard bright burst and flash and then gray smoke that blew across the road. The carabinieri waved us to go on. Passing where the shells had landed I avoided the small broken places and smelled the high explosive and the smell of blasted clay and stone and freshly shattered flint. I drove back to Gorizia and our villa and, as I said, went to call on Miss Barkley, who was on duty.
At dinner I ate very quickly and left for the villa where the British had their hospital. It was really very large and beautiful and there were fine trees in the grounds. Miss Barkley was sitting on a bench in the garden. Miss Ferguson was with her. They seemed glad to see me and in a little while Miss Ferguson excused herself and went away.
"I'll leave you two," she said. "You get along very well without me."
"Don't go, Helen," Miss Barkley said.
"I'd really rather. I must write some letters."
"Good-night," I said.
"Good-night, Mr. Henry."
"Don't write anything that will bother the censor."
"Don't worry. I only write about what a beautiful place we live in and how brave the Italians are."
"That way you'll be decorated."
"That will be nice. Good-night, Catherine."
"I'll see you in a little while," Miss Barkley said. Miss Ferguson walked away in the dark.
"She's nice," I said.
"Oh, yes, she's very nice. She's a nurse."
"Aren't you a nurse?"
"Oh, no. I'm something called a V. A. D. We work very hard but no one trusts us."
"Why not?"
"They don't trust us when there's nothing going on. When there is really work they trust us."
"What is the difference?"
"A nurse is like a doctor. It takes a long time to be. A V. A. D. is a short cut."
"I see."
"The Italians didn't want women so near the front. So we're all on very special behavior. We don't go out."
"I can come here though."
"Oh, yes. We're not cloistered."
"Let's drop the war."
"It's very hard. There's no place to drop it."
"Let's drop it anyway."
"All right."
We looked at each other in the dark. I thought she was very beautiful and I took her hand. She let me take it and I held it and put my arm around under her arm.
"No," she said. I kept my arm where it was.
"Why not?"
"No."
"Yes," I said. "Please." I leaned forward in the dark to kiss her and there was a sharp stinging flash. She had slapped my face hard. Her hand had hit my nose and eyes, and tears came in my eyes from the reflex.
"I'm so sorry," she said. I felt I had a certain advantage.
"You were quite right."
"I'm dreadfully sorry," she said. "I just couldn't stand the nurse's-eveningoff aspect of it. I didn't mean to hurt you. I did hurt you, didn't I?"
She was looking at me in the dark. I was angry and yet certain, seeing it all ahead like the moves in a chess game.
"You did exactly right," I said. "I don't mind at all."
"Poor man."
"You see I've been leading a sort of a funny life. And I never even talk English. And then you are so very beautiful." I looked at her.
"You don't need to say a lot of nonsense. I said I was sorry. We do get along."
"Yes," I said. "And we have gotten away from the war."
She laughed. It was the first time I had ever heard her laugh. I watched her face.
"You are sweet," she said.
"No, I'm not."
"Yes. You are a dear. I'd be glad to kiss you if you don't mind."
I looked in her eyes and put my arm around her as I had before and kissed her. I kissed her hard and held her tight and tried to open her lips; they were closed tight. I was still angry and as I held her suddenly she shivered. I held her close against me and could feel her heart beating and her lips opened and her head went back against my hand and then she was crying on my shoulder.
"Oh, darling," she said. "You will be good to me, won't you?"
What the hell, I thought. I stroked her hair and patted her shoulder. She was crying.
"You will, won't you?" She looked up at me. "Because we're going to have a strange life."
After a while I walked with her to the door of the villa and she went in and I walked home. Back at the villa I went upstairs to the room. Rinaldi was lying on his bed. He looked at me.
"So you make progress with Miss Barkley?"
"We are friends."
"You have that pleasant air of a dog in heat."
I did not understand the word.
"Of a what?"
He explained.
"You," I said, "have that pleasant air of a dog who--"
"Stop it," he said. "In a little while we would say insulting things." He laughed.
"Good-night," I said.
"Good-night, little puppy."
I knocked over his candle with the pillow and got into bed in the dark.
Rinaldi picked up the candle, lit it and went on reading.