1914

4

HADN’T REALLY BEEN THAT bad either, in the train, just uncomfortable. Sitting on the floor they had devoured their provisions, sung every possible song, and booed Kaiser Willy, drinking right along. In the twenty or so stations where the convoy had stopped, they hadn’t been allowed off the train to take a look at the towns but—through windows open to air that was too hot, speckled with sparks, almost solid with a heat coming from who knew where anymore, August or the locomotive and probably both, piling up—at least they’d seen a few airplanes. Some of these, in flight, were crossing a perfectly smooth sky at various altitudes, following or encountering and passing by one another bound on some unimaginable mission; others were sitting around higgledy-piggledy, surrounded by men in leather helmets, on requisitioned fields lying next to the tracks.

The men had heard about them, looked at photos in the newspaper, but no one had yet actually seen any of them, these seemingly fragile airplanes, except Charles no doubt—always au courant with everything, he had even climbed inside or rather onto a few, since there were no cabins yet—but Anthime had looked for him in vain among his fellow passengers. The landscape having about exhausted its attractions, Anthime turned aside to find some other way to kill time: cards, at that point, seemed just the thing, and along with Bossis and Padioleau—Arcenel being still too disabled by his derrière to join them—Anthime managed to claim a corner to launch a game of manille[6] beneath the soon-empty canteens swinging by their straps from hooks.

Then, since three-handed manille was a tricky business, and with Padioleau falling asleep as Bossis grew drowsy as well, Anthime shut down the game to go exploring in the neighboring cars, looking vaguely for Charles without really wanting to see him, assuming he was off by himself, contemptuous as always of his fellow men but surrounded by them of necessity. Well, not at all: Anthime eventually spotted him comfortably installed by a window in a car with seats, taking pictures of the landscape in the company of a clutch of noncommissioned officers whose photos he was also taking, along with their addresses so he could send them their portraits later on. Anthime wandered off.

In the Ardennes, they’d hardly gotten off the train, hardly had the time to get used to this new landscape of dense forests and rolling hills, hadn’t even learned the name of this village where their first camp was or how long they’d be there—when some sergeants lined the men up and the captain made a speech at the foot of the cross on the main square. They were a little tired, didn’t feel much like muttering jokes to one another anymore but they listened to it, this speech, standing at attention looking at trees of a kind they’d never seen before, as the birds in these trees began to tune up, getting ready to play taps in the twilight.

The captain, named Vayssière, was a puny young man with a monocle, a curiously ruddy complexion, and a limp voice: Anthime had never seen him before, and his morphology gave no hint as to why or how he could ever have desired and pursued a combative vocation. You will all return home, Captain Vayssière promised in particular, raising his voice to the limit of its power. Yes, we will all go home to the Vendée. One vital point, however. If a few men do die while at war, it’s for lack of hygiene. Because it isn’t bullets that kill, it is uncleanliness that is fatal and which you must combat first of all. So wash, shave, comb your hair, and you will have nothing to fear.

After that pep talk, as the men were breaking ranks, Anthime happened to find himself next to Charles, near the field kitchen just being set up. Charles did not seem any more inclined than usual or than in the train to chat about the war or the factory, but regarding the latter, well, he clearly couldn’t slip off down one of his hallways claiming urgent correspondence to attend to as he’d always done before, so he was forced to deal with Anthime’s concerns. And they were both dressed alike now, which always helps communication. About the factory, Anthime asked anxiously, what are we going to do? I have Mme. Prochasson to take care of everything, explained Charles, she has the files in hand. It’s the same for you, you have Françoise in the accounts department, you’ll find everything in order when you get back. But when’s that, wondered Anthime. It won’t take long, Charles insisted, we’ll be back for the September orders. Hmm, said Anthime, we’ll see about that.

The men drifted around the camp a bit, long enough to inquire about the resources available in the area. Some fellows were already complaining that they’d found nothing to eat, no beer or even matches, and the price of wine, sold by locals who’d quickly discovered how to profit from the situation, was now exorbitant. Trains could be heard going by in the distance. As for the field kitchen, nothing to be hoped for there until it was completely operational. Since their travel provisions were all gone, after sharing some cold monkey meat and murky water they went to bed.