Two Little Soldiers
Every Sunday, as soon as they were free, the little soldiers would go fora walk. They turned to the right on leaving the barracks, crossedCourbevoie with rapid strides, as though on a forced march; then, as thehouses grew scarcer, they slowed down and followed the dusty road whichleads to Bezons.They were small and thin, lost in their ill-fitting capes, too large andtoo long, whose sleeves covered their hands; their ample red trousersfell in folds around their ankles. Under the high, stiff shako one couldjust barely perceive two thin, hollow-cheeked Breton faces, with theircalm, naive blue eyes. They never spoke during their journey, goingstraight before them, the same idea in each one's mind taking the placeof conversation. For at the entrance of the little forest of Champiouxthey had found a spot which reminded them of home, and they did not feelhappy anywhere else.At the crossing of the Colombes and Chatou roads, when they arrived underthe trees, they would take off their heavy, oppressive headgear and wipetheir foreheads.They always stopped for a while on the bridge at Bezons, and looked atthe Seine. They stood there several minutes, bending over the railing,watching the white sails, which perhaps reminded them of their home, andof the fishing smacks leaving for the open.As soon as they had crossed the Seine, they would purchase provisions atthe delicatessen, the baker's, and the wine merchant's. A piece ofbologna, four cents' worth of bread, and a quart of wine, made up theluncheon which they carried away, wrapped up in their handkerchiefs. Butas soon as they were out of the village their gait would slacken and theywould begin to talk.Before them was a plain with a few clumps of trees, which led to thewoods, a little forest which seemed to remind them of that other forestat Kermarivan. The wheat and oat fields bordered on the narrow path, andJean Kerderen said each time to Luc Le Ganidec:"It's just like home, just like Plounivon.""Yes, it's just like home."And they went on, side by side, their minds full of dim memories of home.They saw the fields, the hedges, the forests, and beaches.Each time they stopped near a large stone on the edge of the privateestate, because it reminded them of the dolmen of Locneuven.As soon as they reached the first clump of trees, Luc Le Ganidec wouldcut off a small stick, and, whittling it slowly, would walk on, thinkingof the folks at home.Jean Kerderen carried the provisions.From time to time Luc would mention a name, or allude to some boyishprank which would give them food for plenty of thought. And the homecountry, so dear and so distant, would little by little gain possessionof their minds, sending them back through space, to the well-known formsand noises, to the familiar scenery, with the fragrance of its greenfields and sea air. They no longer noticed the smells of the city. Andin their dreams they saw their friends leaving, perhaps forever, for thedangerous fishing grounds.They were walking slowly, Luc Le Ganidec and Jean Kerderen, contented andsad, haunted by a sweet sorrow, the slow and penetrating sorrow of acaptive animal which remembers the days of its freedom.And when Luc had finished whittling his stick, they came to a littlenook, where every Sunday they took their meal. They found the twobricks, which they had hidden in a hedge, and they made a little fire ofdry branches and roasted their sausages on the ends of their knives.When their last crumb of bread had been eaten and the last drop of winehad been drunk, they stretched themselves out on the grass side by side,without speaking, their half-closed eyes looking away in the distance,their hands clasped as in prayer, their red-trousered legs mingling withthe bright colors of the wild flowers.Towards noon they glanced, from time to time, towards the village ofBezons, for the dairy maid would soon be coming. Every Sunday she wouldpass in front of them on the way to milk her cow, the only cow in theneighborhood which was sent out to pasture.Soon they would see the girl, coming through the fields, and it pleasedthem to watch the sparkling sunbeams reflected from her shining pail.They never spoke of her. They were just glad to see her, withoutunderstanding why.She was a tall, strapping girl, freckled and tanned by the open air--agirl typical of the Parisian suburbs.Once, on noticing that they were always sitting in the same place, shesaid to them:"Do you always come here?"Luc Le Ganidec, more daring than his friend, stammered:"Yes, we come here for our rest."That was all. But the following Sunday, on seeing them, she smiled withthe kindly smile of a woman who understood their shyness, and she asked:"What are you doing here? Are you watching the grass grow?"Luc, cheered up, smiled: "P'raps."She continued: "It's not growing fast, is it?"He answered, still laughing: "Not exactly."She went on. But when she came back with her pail full of milk, shestopped before them and said:"Want some? It will remind you of home."She had, perhaps instinctively, guessed and touched the right spot.Both were moved. Then not without difficulty, she poured some milk intothe bottle in which they had brought their wine. Luc started to drink,carefully watching lest he should take more than his share. Then hepassed the bottle to Jean. She stood before them, her hands on her hips,her pail at her feet, enjoying the pleasure that she was giving them.Then she went on, saying: "Well, bye-bye until next Sunday!"For a long time they watched her tall form as it receded in the distance,blending with the background, and finally disappeared.The following week as they left the barracks, Jean said to Luc:"Don't you think we ought to buy her something good?"They were sorely perplexed by the problem of choosing something to bringto the dairy maid. Luc was in favor of bringing her some chitterlings;but Jean, who had a sweet tooth, thought that candy would be the bestthing. He won, and so they went to a grocery to buy two sous' worth, ofred and white candies.This time they ate more quickly than usual, excited by anticipation.Jean was the first one to notice her. "There she is," he said; and Lucanswered: "Yes, there she is."She smiled when she saw them, and cried:"Well, how are you to-day?"They both answered together:"All right! How's everything with you?"Then she started to talk of simple things which might interest them; ofthe weather, of the crops, of her masters.They didn't dare to offer their candies, which were slowly melting inJean's pocket. Finally Luc, growing bolder, murmured:"We have brought you something."She asked: "Let's see it."Then Jean, blushing to the tips of his ears, reached in his pocket, anddrawing out the little paper bag, handed it to her.She began to eat the little sweet dainties. The two soldiers sat infront of her, moved and delighted.At last she went to do her milking, and when she came back she again gavethem some milk.They thought of her all through the week and often spoke of her: Thefollowing Sunday she sat beside them for a longer time.The three of them sat there, side by side, their eyes looking far away inthe distance, their hands clasped over their knees, and they told eachother little incidents and little details of the villages where they wereborn, while the cow, waiting to be milked, stretched her heavy headtoward the girl and mooed.Soon the girl consented to eat with them and to take a sip of wine.Often she brought them plums pocket for plums were now ripe. Herpresence enlivened the little Breton soldiers, who chattered away liketwo birds.One Tuesday something unusual happened to Luc Le Ganidec; he asked forleave and did not return until ten o'clock at night.Jean, worried and racked his brain to account for his friend's havingobtained leave.The following Friday, Luc borrowed ten sons from one of his friends, andonce more asked and obtained leave for several hours.When he started out with Jean on Sunday he seemed queer, disturbed,changed. Kerderen did not understand; he vaguely suspected something,but he could not guess what it might be.They went straight to the usual place, and lunched slowly. Neither washungry.Soon the girl appeared. They watched her approach as they always did.When she was near, Luc arose and went towards her. She placed her pailon the ground and kissed him. She kissed him passionately, throwing herarms around his neck, without paying attention to Jean, without evennoticing that he was there.Poor Jean was dazed, so dazed that he could not understand. His mind wasupset and his heart broken, without his even realizing why.Then the girl sat down beside Luc, and they started to chat.Jean was not looking at them. He understood now why his friend had goneout twice during the week. He felt the pain and the sting whichtreachery and deceit leave in their wake.Luc and the girl went together to attend to the cow.Jean followed them with his eyes. He saw them disappear side by side,the red trousers of his friend making a scarlet spot against the whiteroad. It was Luc who sank the stake to which the cow was tethered. Thegirl stooped down to milk the cow, while he absent-mindedly stroked theanimal's glossy neck. Then they left the pail in the grass anddisappeared in the woods.Jean could no longer see anything but the wall of leaves through whichthey had passed. He was unmanned so that he did not have strength tostand. He stayed there, motionless, bewildered and grieving-simple,passionate grief. He wanted to weep, to run away, to hide somewhere,never to see anyone again.Then he saw them coming back again. They were walking slowly, hand inhand, as village lovers do. Luc was carrying the pail.After kissing him again, the girl went on, nodding carelessly to Jean.She did not offer him any milk that day.The two little soldiers sat side by side, motionless as always, silentand quiet, their calm faces in no way betraying the trouble in theirhearts. The sun shone down on them. From time to time they could hearthe plaintive lowing of the cow. At the usual time they arose to return.Luc was whittling a stick. Jean carried the empty bottle. He left it atthe wine merchant's in Bezons. Then they stopped on the bridge, as theydid every Sunday, and watched the water flowing by.Jean leaned over the railing, farther and farther, as though he had seensomething in the stream which hypnotized him. Luc said to him:"What's the matter? Do you want a drink?"He had hardly said the last word when Jean's head carried away the restof his body, and the little blue and red soldier fell like a shot anddisappeared in the water.Luc, paralyzed with horror, tried vainly to shout for help. In thedistance he saw something move; then his friend's head bobbed up out ofthe water only to disappear again.Farther down he again noticed a hand, just one hand, which appeared andagain went out of sight. That was all.The boatmen who had rushed to the scene found the body that day.Luc ran back to the barracks, crazed, and with eyes and voice full oftears, he related the accident: "He leaned--he--he was leaning--so farover--that his head carried him away--and--he--fell--he fell----"Emotion choked him so that he could say no more. If he had only known.
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