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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
All Quiet on the Western Front
by Erich Maria Remarque
Müller hasn't finished yet. He tackles Kropp again.
"Albert, if you were really at home now, what would you do?"
We count up: out of twenty, seven are dead, four wounded, one in a mad-house. That makes twelve.
"Three of them are lieutenants," says Müller. "Do you think they would still let Kantorek sit on them?"
We guess not: we wouldn't let ourselves be sat on for that matter.
"What do you mean by the three-fold theme in "William Tell'?" says Kropp reminiscently, and roars with laughter.
"How many children had Charles the Bald?" I interrupt gently.
"When was the battle of Zana?" Kropp wants to know.
"You lack the studious mind, Kropp, sit down, three minus--" I say.
"What offices did Lycurgus consider the most important for the state?" asks Müller, pretending to take off his pince-nez.
"Does it go: 'We Germans fear God and none else in the whole world,' or 'We, the Germans, fear God and--' " I submit.
"How many inhabitants has Melbourne?" asks Müller.
"How do you expect to succeed in life if you don't know that?" I ask Albert hotly.
At school nobody ever taught us how to light a cigarette in a storm of rain, nor how a fire could be made with wet wood--nor that it is best to stick a bayonet in the belly7 because there it doesn't get jammed, as it does in the ribs8.
Müller says thoughtfully: "What's the use? We'll have to go back and sit on the forms again."
I consider that out of the question. "We might take a special exam."
"That needs preparation. And if you do get through, what then? A student's life isn't any better.
If you have no money, you have to work like the devil."
"It's a bit better. But it's rot all the same, everything they teach you."
Kropp supports me: "How can a man take all that stuff seriously when he's once been out here?"
"Still you must have an occupation of some sort," insists Müller, as though he were Kantorek himself.
Albert cleans his nails with a knife. We are surprised at this delicacy9. But it is merely pensiveness11. He puts the knife away and continues: "That's just it. Kat and Detering and Haie will go back to their jobs because they had them already. Himmelstoss too. But we never had any.
How will we ever get used to one after this, here?"--he makes a gesture toward the front.
"What we'll want is a private income, and then we'll be able to live by ourselves in a wood," I say, but at once feel ashamed of this absurd idea.
"But what will really happen when we go back?" wonders Müller, and even he is troubled.
"I don't want to do anything," replies Kropp wearily. "You'll be dead one day, so what does it matter? I don't think we'll ever go back."
"When I think about it, Albert," I say after a while rolling over on my back, "when I hear the word 'peace-time,' it goes to my head: and if it really came, I think I would do some unimaginable thing--something, you know, that it's worth having lain here in the muck for. But I can't even imagine anything. All I do know is that this business about professions and studies and salaries and so on--it makes me sick, it is and always was disgusting. I don't see anything at all, Albert."
All at once everything seems to me confused and hopeless.
Kropp feels it too. "It will go pretty hard with us all. But nobody at home seems to worry much about it. Two years of shells and bombs--a man won't peel that off as easy as a sock."
We agree that it's the same for everyone; not only for us here, but everywhere, for everyone who is of our age; to some more, and to others less. It is the common fate of our generation.
Albert expresses it: "The war has ruined us for everything."
He is right. We are not youth any longer. We don't want to take the world by storm. We are fleeing. We fly from ourselves. From our life. We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world; and we had to shoot it to pieces. The first bomb, the first explosion, burst in our hearts.
We are cut off from activity, from striving, from progress. We believe in such things no longer, we believe in the war.
The Orderly Room shows signs of life. Himmelstoss seems to have stirred them up. At the head of the column trots15 the fat sergeant16-major. It is queer that almost all of the regular sergeant-majors are fat.
We get up.
No one knows, of course. Himmelstoss glowers19 at us wrathfully. "You know very well. You won't say, that's the fact of the matter. Out with it!"
Fatty looks round enquiringly; but Tjaden is not to be seen. He tries another way.
"Tjaden will report at the Orderly Room in ten minutes."
Then he steams off with Himmelstoss in his wake.
"I have a feeling that next time we go up wiring I'll be letting a bundle of wire fall on Himmelstoss's leg," hints Kropp.
"We'll have quite a lot of jokes with him," laughs Müller-- That is our sole ambition: to knock the conceit20 out of a postman.
I go into the hut and put Tjaden wise. He disappears.
Then we change our possy and lie down again to play cards. We know how to do that: to play cards, to swear, and to fight. Not much for twenty years;--and yet too much for twenty years.
Half an hour later Himmelstoss is back again. Nobody pays any attention to him. He asks for Tjaden. We shrug our shoulders.
"Then you'd better find him," he persists. "Haven't you been to look for him?"
Kropp lies back on the grass and says: "Have you ever been out here before?"
"That's none of your business," retorts Himmelstoss. "I expect an answer."
"Very good," says Kropp, getting up. "See up there where those little white clouds are. Those are anti-aircraft. We were over there yesterday. Five dead and eight wounded. And that's a mere10 nothing. Next time, when you go up with us, before they die the fellows will come up to you, click their heels, and ask stiffly: 'Please may I go? Please may I hop14 it? We've been waiting here a long time for someone like you.'"
He sits down again and Himmelstoss disappears like a comet.
"Three days C. B.," conjectures21 Kat.
"Next time I'll let fly," I say to Albert.
But that is the end. The case comes up for trial in the evening. In the Orderly Room sits our Lieutenant2, Bertink, and calls us in one after another.
I have to appear as a witness and explain the reason of Tjaden's insubordination.
The story of the bed-wetting makes an impression. Himmelstoss is recalled and I repeat my statement.
"Is that right?" Bertink asks Himmelstoss.
"Why didn't someone report the matter, then?" asks Bertink.
We are silent: he must know himself how much use it is in reporting such things. It isn't usual to make complaints in the army. He understands it all right though, and lectures Himmelstoss, making it plain to him that the front isn't a parade-ground. Then comes Tjaden's turn, he gets a long sermon and three days' open arrest. Bertink gives Kropp a wink23 and one day's open arrest. "It can't be helped," he says to him regretfully. He is a decent fellow.
Open arrest is quite pleasant. The clink was once a fowl-house; there we can visit the prisoners, we know how to manage it. Close arrest would have meant the cellar.
They used to tie us to a tree, but that is forbidden now. In many ways we are treated quite like men.
An hour later after Tjaden and Kropp are settled in behind their wire-netting we make our way into them. Tjaden greets us crowing. Then we play skat far into the night. Tjaden wins of course, the lucky wretch24.
When we break it up Kat says to me: "What do you say to some roast goose?"
"Not bad," I agree.
We climb up on a munition-wagon. The ride costs us two cigarettes. Kat has marked the spot exactly. The shed belongs to a regimental headquarters. I agree to get the goose and receive my instructions. The out-house is behind the wall and the door shuts with just a peg25.
Kat keeps watch below.
I wait a few moments to accustom27 my eyes to the darkness. Then I recognise the shed. Softly I steal across, lift the peg, pull it out and open the door.
I distinguish two white patches. Two geese, that's bad: if I grab one the other will cackle. Well, both of them--if I'm quick, it can be done.
I make a jump. I catch hold of one and the next instant the second. Like a madman I bash their heads against the wall to stun28 them. But I haven't quite enough weight. The beasts cackle and strike out with their feet and wings. I fight desperately29, but Lord! what a kick a goose has! They struggle and I stagger about. In the dark these white patches are terrifying. My arms have grown wings and I'm almost afraid of going up into the sky, as though I held a couple of captive balloons in my fists.
Then the row begins; one of them gets his breath and goes off like an alarm clock. Before I can do anything, something comes in from outside; I feel a blow, lie outstretched on the floor, and hear awful growls31. A dog. I steal a glance to the side, he makes a snap at my throat. I lie still and tuck my chin into my collar.
It's a bull dog. After an eternity32 he withdraws his head and sits down beside me. But if I make the least movement he growls. I consider. The only thing to do is to get hold of my small revolver, and that too before anyone arrives. Inch by inch I move my hand toward it.
I have the feeling that it lasts an hour. The slightest movement and then an awful growl30; I lie still, then try again. When at last I have the revolver my hand starts to tremble. I press it against the ground and say over to myself: Jerk the revolver up, fire before he has a chance to grab, and then jump up.
Slowly I take a deep breath and become calmer. Then I hold my breath, whip up the revolver, it cracks, the dog leaps howling to one side, I make for the door of the shed and fall head over heels over one of the scuttering geese.
At full speed I seize it again, and with a swing toss it over the wall and clamber up. No sooner am I on top than the dog is up again as lively as ever and springs at me. Quickly I let myself drop. Ten paces away stands Kat with the goose under his arm. As soon as he sees me we run.
At last we can take a breather. The goose is dead, Kat saw to that in a moment. We intend to roast it at once so that nobody will be any wiser. I fetch a dixie and wood from the hut and we crawl into a small deserted33 lean-to which we use for such purposes. The single window space is heavily curtained. There is a sort of hearth34, an iron plate set on some bricks. We kindle35 a fire.
Kat plucks and cleans the goose. We put the feathers carefully to one side. We intend to make two cushions out of them with the inscription36: "Sleep soft under shell-fire." The sound of the gunfire from the front penetrates37 into our refuge. The glow of the fire lights up our faces, shadows dance on the wall. Sometimes a heavy crash and the lean-to shivers. Aeroplane bombs.
Aeroplanes drone; the tack-tack of machine-guns breaks out. But no light that could be observed shows from us.
We sit opposite one another, Kat and I, two soldiers in shabby coats, cooking a goose in the middle of the night. We don't talk much, but I believe we have a more complete communion with one another than even lovers have.
We are two men, two minute sparks of life; outside is the night and the circle of death. We sit on the edge of it crouching39 in danger, the grease drips from our hands, in our hearts we are close to one another, and the hour is like the room: flecked over with the lights and shadows of our feelings cast by a quiet fire. What does he know of me or I of him? formerly40 we should not have had a single thought in common--now we sit with a goose between us and feel in unison41, are so intimate that we do not even speak.
It takes a long time to roast a goose, even when it is young and fat. So we take turns. One bastes42 it while the other lies down and sleeps. A grand smell gradually fills the hut.
The noises without increase in volume, pass into my dream and yet linger in my memory. In a half sleep I watch Kat dip and raise the ladle. I love him, his shoulders, his angular, stooping figure-
-and at the same time I see behind him woods and stars, and a clear voice utters words that bring me peace, to me, a soldier in big boots, belt, and knapsack, taking the road that lies before him under the high heaven, quickly forgetting and seldom sorrowful, for ever pressing on under the wide night sky.
A little soldier and a clear voice, and if anyone were to caress43 him he would hardly understand, this soldier with the big boots and the shut heart, who marches because he is wearing big boots, and has forgotten all else but marching. Beyond the sky-line is a country with flowers, lying so still that he would like to weep. There are sights there that he has not forgotten, because he never possessed44 them--perplexing, yet lost to him. Are not his twenty summers there?
Is my face wet, and where am I? Kat stands before me, his gigantic, stooping shadow falls upon me, like home. He speaks gently, he smiles and goes back to the fire.
Then he says: "It's done."
"Yes, Kat."
I stir myself. In the middle of the room shines the brown goose. We take out our collapsible forks and our pocket-knives and each cuts off a leg. With it we have army bread dipped in gravy45.
We eat slowly and with gusto.
"How does it taste, Kat?"
"Good! And yours?"
"Good, Kat."
We are brothers and press on one another the choicest pieces. Afterwards I smoke a cigarette and Kat a cigar. There is still a lot left.
"How would it be, Kat if we took a bit to Kropp and Tjaden?"
"Sure," says he.
We carve off a portion and wrap it up carefully in newspaper. The rest we thought of taking over to the hut. Kat laughs, and simply says: "Tjaden."
I agree, we will have to take it all.
So we go off to the fowl-house to waken them. But first we pack away the feathers.
Kropp and Tjaden take us for magicians. Then they get busy with their teeth. Tjaden holds a wing in his mouth with both hands like a mouth-organ, and gnaws46. He drinks the gravy from the pot and smacks47 his lips: "May I never forget you!"
We go to our hut. Again there is the lofty sky with the stars and the oncoming dawn, and I pass beneath it, a soldier with big boots and a full belly, a little soldier in the early morning--but by my side, stooping and angular, goes Kat, my comrade.
The outlines of the huts are upon us in the dawn like a dark, deep sleep.
SIX
There are rumours48 of an offensive. We go up to the front two days earlier than usual. On the way we pass a shelled school-house. Stacked up against its longer side is a high double wall of yellow, unpolished, brand-new coffins49. They still smell of resin50, and pine, and the forest. There are at least a hundred.
"That's a good preparation for the offensive," says Müller astonished.
"They're for us," growls Detering.
"Don't talk rot," says Kat to him angrily.
"You be thankful if you get so much as a coffin," grins Tjaden, "they'll slip you a waterproof51 sheet for your old Aunt Sally of a carcase."
The others jest too, unpleasant jests, but what else can a man do?--The coffins are really for us.
The organisation52 surpasses itself in that kind of thing.
Ahead of us everything is shimmering53. The first night we try to get our bearings. When it is fairly quiet we can hear the transports behind the enemy lines rolling ceaselessly until dawn. Kat says that they do not go back but are bringing up troops--troops, munitions54, and guns.
The English artillery55 has been strengthened, that we can detect at once. There are at least four more batteries of nine-inch guns to the right of the farm, and behind the poplars they have put in trench56-mortars. Besides these they have brought up a number of those little French beasts with instantaneous fuses.
We are now in low spirits. After we have been in the dug-outs two hours our own shells begin to fall in the trench. This is the third time in four weeks. If it were simply a mistake in aim no one would say anything, but the truth is that the barrels are worn out. The shots are often so uncertain that they land within our own lines. To-night two of our men were wounded by them.
The front is a cage in which we must await fearfully whatever may happen. We lie under the network of arching shells and live in a suspense57 of uncertainty58. Over us Chance hovers59. If a shot comes, we can duck, that is all; we neither know nor can determine where it will fall.
It is this Chance that makes us indifferent. A few months ago I was sitting in a dug-out playing skat; after a while I stood up and went to visit some friends in another dug-out. On my return nothing more was to be seen of the first one, it had been blown to pieces by a direct hit. I went back to the second and arrived just in time to lend a hand digging it out. In the interval60 it had been buried.
It is just as much a matter of chance that I am still alive as that I might have been hit. In a bombproof dug-out I may be smashed to atoms and in the open may survive ten hours'
bombardment unscathed. No soldier outlives a thousand chances. But every soldier believes in Chance and trusts his luck.
We must look out for our bread. The rats have become much more numerous lately because the trenches61 are no longer in good condition. Detering says it is a sure sign of a coming bombardment.
The rats here are particularly repulsive62, they are so fat--the kind we all call corpse-rats. They have shocking, evil, naked faces, and it is nauseating63 to see their long, nude64 tails.
They seem to be mighty hungry. Almost every man has had his bread gnawed65. Kropp wrapped his in his waterproof sheet and put it under his head, but he cannot sleep because they run over his face to get at it. Detering meant to outwit them: he fastened a thin wire to the roof and suspended his bread from it. During the night when he switched on his pocket-torch he saw the wire swing to and fro. On the bread was riding a fat rat.
At last we put a stop to it. We cannot afford to throw the bread away, because then we should have nothing left to eat in the morning, so we carefully cut off the bits of bread that the animals have gnawed.
The slices we cut off are heaped together in the middle of the floor. Each man takes out his spade and lies down prepared to strike. Detering, Kropp, and Kat hold their pocket-torches ready.
After a few minutes we hear the first shuffling66 and tugging67. It grows, now it is the sound of many little feet. Then the torches switch on and every man strikes at the heap, which scatters68 with a rush. The result is good. We toss the bits of rat over the parapet and again lie in wait.
Several times we repeat the process. At last the beasts get wise to it, or perhaps they have scented69 the blood. They return no more. Nevertheless, before morning the remainder of the bread on the floor has been carried off.
In the adjoining sector70 they attacked two large cats and a dog, bit them to death and devoured71 them.
Next day there was an issue of Edamer cheese. Each man gets almost a quarter of a cheese. In one way that is all to the good, for Edamer is tasty--but in another way it is vile72, because the fat red balls have long been a sign of a bad time coming. Our forebodings increase as rum is served out. We drink it of course; but are not greatly comforted.
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1
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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croaks
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的第三人称单数 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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cohesion
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| n.团结，凝结力 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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pensiveness
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| n.pensive（沉思的）的变形 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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glowers
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| v.怒视( glower的第三人称单数 ) | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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hoists
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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stun
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| vt.打昏，使昏迷，使震惊，使惊叹 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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penetrates
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| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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bastes
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| v.打( baste的第三人称单数 )；粗缝；痛斥；（烤肉等时）往上抹[浇]油 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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46
gnaws
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| 咬( gnaw的第三人称单数 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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48
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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49
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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50
resin
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| n.树脂，松香，树脂制品；vt.涂树脂 | |
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51
waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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52
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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53
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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54
munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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55
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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56
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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57
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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58
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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59
hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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60
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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61
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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62
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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63
nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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64
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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65
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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66
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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67
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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68
scatters
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| v.（使）散开， （使）分散，驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 )；撒 | |
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69
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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70
sector
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| n.部门，部分；防御地段，防区；扇形 | |
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71
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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72
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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