Chapter 2 Chapter One

Walter Mosca felt a thrill and at the same time a loneliness that he couldn't get rid of on the way home.He remembered the scattered ruins outside Paris, and the familiar mileposts on the side of the road.This was the last-leg of his journey, and he wished he had reached his destination: the heart of the ruined Continent, a ruined city he thought was gone forever.The milestones leading to Germany were more dear to him than those leading to his native country. The train was speeding and shaking. This was a military vehicle going to the Weicheng District of Frankfurt to change defenses, but half of the passengers in this carriage were civilian employees recruited from the United States.Mosca touched his silk tie and smiled.He felt a little unaccustomed to sitting at the other end of the car, with American soldiers, and he would feel more at ease, and he thought that the twenty or so employees who were with him must have felt the same way.

There was a dim light at each end of the carriage.The windows were boarded up, as if on purpose to prevent the passengers in the carriage from seeing the rubble along the way.The seats are rows of long wooden benches, leaving only a narrow passage on the side of the carriage. Mosca stretched his legs out on the bench and spread his blue backpack under his head as a pillow.The lighting was poor, and he couldn't see people around him clearly. They arrived in Europe on the same warship.Like Mosca, everyone is excited; they want to get to Frankfurt as soon as possible.They talked loudly over the rumble of the train so that the other could hear them, and Mosca could hear Gerald speaking louder than anyone else.Mr. Gerald was the highest-ranking person on the ship. He carried a pair of golf clubs with him, and he told everyone as soon as he got on board that his position was equivalent to a colonel in the army.Looking at Gerald's happy look, Mosca had the illusion that he was playing golf on the ruins of a city. He saw Gerald hit the ball on the flattened road, and the ball rolled to a On the edge of the round pile of rubble, Gerald tapped the ball and the ball rolled into a rotting skull.

The train slowed down and entered a remote station.It was dark night outside.The compartment with the windows blocked was even darker.Mosca started to shudder, and could vaguely hear other people's voices in his ears, but the train accelerated as soon as it left the station and woke him up. At this moment, the voices of the surrounding waiters lowered.Mosca sat up and watched: Some of the soldiers on the other side of the carriage fell asleep on the benches, and three rings of candlelight illuminated the three poker booths, showing that there was a strong atmosphere of friendship at the other end of the carriage.He felt a faint nostalgia for the life he had just given up after so many years.In the dim light, Mosca could see what they were drinking from the kettle. He was sure it wasn't water, and he saw them open the military lunch box, take out the chocolate and chew.American soldiers are always well-supplied, Mosca thought with a grin: they have blankets on their backs, candles in their bags, water or fancy drinks in their jugs, and a bath towel in their satchels.Provides for good or bad luck should all be feared.

He stretched out his legs and lay down on the bench again, trying to sleep for a while, but his body was frozen stiff, like a hard bench beneath him.The train picked up speed and ran very fast.He looked at his watch.It was nearly midnight, a good eight hours to Frankfurt.He sat up again and pulled a bottle of wine from his little blue backpack.He leaned his head against the boarded window and drank from the bottle until he relaxed.He looked again at the soldiers at the far end of the carriage, and there was only one of three circles of candlelight left, and he must have hit a tuo just now; but in the dark behind him he heard Gerald and some of them. Individuals are still talking.They must have been drinking, for the Lord heard Gerald making a benefactor's wish, boasting of his future power and how he would use those able men.

Two of the candles at the other end of the carriage branched out, and the flickering candlelight shone on the aisle of the carriage. When the two candlelights passed in front of Mosca, he was startled and woke up from his doze.The GI with the candle had a grim look on his face, with silly hostility.The bright yellow light of the candles flushed the drunken face, and gave the staring eyes a sinister and cruel tone. "Hey, soldier," cried Gerald, "give us a candle!" The candle was placed silently next to Gerald's.Their conversation suddenly sounded, and the flickering candlelight cheered them up.They hooked up with the American soldier, but the American soldier hid his face in the shadow after putting the candle on the bench and ignored them.After a while they forgot about him and talked about themselves again, and only once did Gerald lean into the candlelight, as if to show his confidence, in a condescending way.But he said to the American soldier in a very kind tone: "Let me tell you, all of us have been in the army." Then he smiled and said to the others: "Thank God, everything is over."

One of the employees said: "Don't put it so bluntly, there are Russians." They forgot about the American soldier again.While the babble of voices and the rumble of the transcontinental train was rushing blindly forward, the American soldier who had been silent all this time suddenly yelled in panic like a drunk, "Shut up, shut up! Where does so much nonsense come from, use your stinky mouth." There was a surprised and embarrassed silence, and then Gerald put his head into the candlelight again and said softly to the American soldier, "Boy, you'd better go back to your side." The American soldier didn't answer, Gerald resumed what he had just said.

Gerald's voice stopped abruptly, he stood up, his whole body was illuminated by the candlelight, and he said softly, "My God, I'm hurt, and the soldier gave me a hit." He didn't panic, but he The words startled everyone. Mosca sat up, and the others also stood up.One of them knocked over the candle, which fell to the ground and went out.Mr. Gerald was still standing there, the candlelight on his body was not so bright, his voice was very low and frightening, "The soldier gave me a knife." After speaking, he sat down on the bench in the shadows. Two men walked briskly from the other end of the carriage where the soldiers were sitting.They hold candles in their hands.Mosca saw the officer's collar badge of one of them gleaming in the candlelight.

Gerald said over and over again: "I was stabbed, it was the soldier who did it." He no longer felt terror, but was surprised and bewildered, and Mosca saw him sitting on the bench.All three candles were shining on him, and there was a gap in his trouser leg, which opened all the way to his thigh, and dark red blood gushed out from the gap.The lieutenant bent down, moved the candle forward, and passed a password to the soldiers who came with him.The soldier ran back to the other side of the car and brought some blankets and a first aid kit.They spread out the blanket on the ground and put Gerald on it.The soldier was about to cut off the trouser legs.Gerald said, "Don't cut him, roll him up, he'll mend." The lieutenant looked at his wound.

"It's not serious, said the lieutenant, wrap it in a blanket." The lieutenant's young face was expressionless, and there was no sympathy in his voice, only routine politeness. "We had an ambulance waiting in Frankfurt, just in case, and found the next stop to make a call: "Then, he turned around and asked the people around him, "Where is he?" The drunken GI was gone. Mosca looked into the shadows and saw a figure in the corner of the bench in front of him.He didn't say anything. The lieutenant went back to the other side of the carriage with a pistol on his shoulders and walked back. He tried to illuminate the carriage with a flashlight, and found the huddled figure. He touched the soldier with the flashlight, and at the same time pulled the pistol out of its holster, Hiding behind his back, the soldier did not move.

The lieutenant poked him hard. "Get up, Mulroney." The soldier opened his eyes, and Mosca felt a wave of pity when he saw his gloomy gaze. The lieutenant held the flashlight in the soldier's eyes so that he could not keep his eyes open.He ordered Mulroney to his feet, and when he saw that Mulroney was empty-handed, he holstered the pistol, and then he turned the soldier hard and searched him.Finding nothing, he shone the flashlight on the stool.Mosca saw a blood-stained knife. The lieutenant picked up the knife and pushed the soldier to the other side of the carriage. The train started to decelerate and came to a slow stop. Mosca walked to the end of the car, opened the door and looked out. He saw the lieutenant go to the station to call for an ambulance.If you don't make a phone call, you won't have a car, because the French city where you park is already dead at night.

Mosca returned to his seat.Gerald's friends were leaning over to comfort him, and Gerald chattered irritably, "I know it's just a scratch, but why did he stab me? Isn't this crazy?" When the lieutenant returned to the car and told them that an ambulance would be waiting in Frankfurt, Tirard told him. "Please trust me. Lieutenant, I didn't mess with him, you can ask anyone, I'm fine, how could I mess with him like this?" "Simple, he's crazy," said the lieutenant.He added, "Sir, luckily for you, from what I know of Mulroney, he's aiming for your testicles:" Somehow this excites everyone, as if Mulroney's sinister intentions are making the event interesting and Gerald's thigh wound significant.The lieutenant fetched his bedding and settled Gerald on it: "You've done me a favor. I've been trying to get rid of Mulroney since the first day I joined my platoon. Now he can be quiet for two years." Mosca couldn't sleep.The train moved, and he walked to the door of the car, leaned against the door, and watched the shadowy and dark countryside receding outside.He recalled that he was sitting on a truck, in a tank, and when he was marching, when he crawled forward on the ground, the almost same village retreated back.He had made up his mind never to return to this country.He had been looking forward to returning home, and now he was away from home, and this strange ending made him feel strange.In this dark compartment.He thought of his first night at home. ... There was a sign on the door that said "Welcome Back Walter", and Mosca noticed that there were similar signs with different names on the other two doors.Walking in the door, the first thing he saw was a picture of himself, the one before leaving for Europe, with Mama and Gloria around him, Alf waving. The people in the family stood one by one, not knowing what to say for a moment. "You're old," Mom said, and everyone laughed. "No, I mean he looks more than three years older." "He hasn't changed," Gloria said. "It hasn't changed at all." "The hero returns home in triumph," Alf said. "Look, so many medals. Good job, Walter?" "What's the matter," Mosca said, "Women in the Army have all these things." He took off his field jacket and Mom took it.Alf went into the kitchen and brought out a plate with wine glasses. "My God," said Mosca, startled, "you've lost a leg." He'd forgotten all about his mother's letter to him about Alf.But his younger brother obviously expected Mosca's words: he pulled up his trouser legs. "It fits nicely," Mosca said. "You're out of luck, Alf." "That's nice," said Alf. "I wish I had two like that, and no athlete's foot, or toenails digging into the flesh." "Of course," said Mosca, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder and smiling. "He put it on for you, Walter," his mother said. "He knows I don't like to see him not wearing that, but he usually doesn't wear it at home." Alf raised his glass. "Here's to the hero's triumph," he said.Then he smiled and turned to Gloria and said, "To the faithful girl." "For our family," Gloria said. "For all our children," said the mother affectionately.Her eyes flicked to the brothers and to Gloria.Everyone looked at Mosca, expecting him to say something. "Let me drink this first before I can think of something else." They all finished their drinks with a smile. "It's supper," said the mother. "Alf, set the table for me." The two of them went to the kitchen. Mosca sat down in an armchair and "it was a long walk," he said. Gloria walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up Mosca's framed photograph.He turned his back to him, "I come here every house period, look at this photo, help your mother cook dinner, and then we all eat together, sit here after dinner, look at the photo and talk about you, every time in three years It’s like this every week, like visiting a grave on time, now that you’re back, this photo doesn’t look like you at all.” Mosca stood up and approached Gloria, put his arm around her shoulders, looked at the picture, and wondered why it annoyed him. He held his head up, with a smile on his face, he was standing like this on purpose, in order to show off their division emblem with black and white slashes.His face was immature, like a silly child.The military uniform fits neatly, standing under the scorching sun in the south, it is truly an American soldier who left a photo for his family who adores him. "Silly!" said Mosca. "Don't be kind to the photo, it's what we've survived for so long," she said after a moment of silence. "Oh, Wally," she said, "sometimes I don't receive your letters, and sometimes people say that a warship has sunk or that a battle has been fought. We shed so many tears looking at the photos. Counterattack on June 6 That day, we didn’t go to church. Your mother sat on the couch and I sat next to the radio. We sat for a whole day. I didn’t go to work. A table, which handkerchief is listening to Kuang's same words: Your mother sat there with a handkerchief in her hand, but she didn't cry. That night, I slept here, on your bed in your room, and I Brought the picture too. I put it on the dresser, said good night to it, and then I dreamed I'd never see you again, and now you're back, Walter Mosca alive, but You don't look like you in the photo now." She wanted to laugh, but she burst into tears. Mosca felt uncomfortable, and he kissed Gloria tenderly. "Three years is really a long time," he said.But he thought to himself: On the day of the counterattack, I drank a little too much in an English city, and I found a blonde lady, and she said that was the first time she drank whiskey that day, and the first time she lost her virginity.I celebrated the counterattack that day, and I was even more glad that I didn't participate in the counterattack. He really wanted to tell Gloria the truth, saying that he didn't miss them that day.He didn't think what they thought, but what he said was: "I don't like this picture—and you said I haven't changed at all when I first came in." "It's strange," Gloria said, "when you entered the door, you looked exactly like this photo, but the more you look at you, the more you feel that your face is different from before." Mother greeted them in the kitchen: "The meal is ready!" They walked to the dining room. The table is full of her favorite food, rare roast beef, small pieces of baked potatoes, green salad, and thick cheese.The tablecloth was spotless, and when he finished his meal to find the napkins on his plate untouched, everything seemed fine to him, but nothing like what he had dreamed of. "I say," said Alf, "it's very different from what soldiers eat, oh, Walter." "Yes," said Mosca.He fished a stubby dark brown cigar from his shirt pocket, and was about to light it when he saw them all staring at him with interest, Alf, Gloria, and Mom. He grinned and said, "I'm a grown man now," before lighting a cigarette, exaggerating the appearance of enjoying himself.The four of them laughed loudly, and the only remaining crack, the strangeness brought about by the change in appearance and behavior after his country was wiped away.The astonishment at his cigarette and the laughter that followed broke down the barrier between them.They got up and went into the living room, two women with their arms around Mosca's waist, Alf carrying a tray of whiskey and ginger ale. The women sat on the sofa next to Mosca, and Alf handed them the wine one by one, and then sat down in an armchair opposite.The room was illuminated by the soft yellow light of the floor lamp, and Alf said kindly, half-jokingly, "Here's a report on Walter Mosca's deeds," and he spoke in this tone throughout the evening. Mosca took a sip of his wine and said, "Let's look at the presents first." He walked to the blue backpack still placed by the door, took out three small boxes wrapped in brown paper, and handed them one by one. Mosca drank another glass of wine while they were opening the box. "Why," said Alf, "what the hell are these?" He was holding four thick silver cylinders. Mosca laughed, "Four of the best cigars in the world, specially made for Hermann Göring." Gloria opened her box, gasping for breath.There is a ring in the black and green velvet box.Standing up from the ring's square dark emerald surrounded by a halo of snare diamonds, she flung herself at Mosca with her arms outstretched, then turned to show the ring to his mother. His mother opened the box, and inside was a tightly rolled crimson silk roll. She was confused and didn't know what it was.The roll of silk fell to the floor and she picked it up. It was a huge square flag with a black swastika on a round white background.No one spoke, and for the first time in the quiet house they saw the symbol of the enemy. "Well," Mosca broke the silence, "just kidding, here is your gift." He picked up a small box lying on the floor.Mother opened the box, saw the blue and white diamonds, raised her head to thank Mosca, she threw the big flag into a small square, got up and picked up Mosca's blue backpack and said: "I will take the things in the bag." take it out," "That's a nice present of yours," Gloria said. "Where did you get it?" Mosca smiled and said, "It was snatched," and he said "robbed" in a funny tone to make them laugh. His mother came in with a stack of photographs. "It's all in your bag, Walter. Why don't you show it to us?" Sitting on the couch, she looked at the pictures one by one, handing them to Gloria and Alf as she read them. .From time to time they exclaimed and asked where the pictures were taken, while Mosca poured himself another glass of wine and drank.After a while he saw his mother staring at a photo, her face pale, and Mosca was a little flustered, wondering whether the obscene photos he had picked up were still protruding in it.But he remembered that he was sold to others when he was on the boat, and when he saw his mother handing the photo to Alf, he was angry at himself for being flustered just now. "Yo!" Alf said, "What is this?" Gloria walked over to look at the photo, and Mosca saw three pairs of eyes turn to him, waiting for his answer. Mosca leaned over to look at Alf. When he saw which photo it was, he was greatly relieved. He remembered that he was sitting on the tank that day. In the photo, a German anti-tank fighter lay huddled on the snow, with a black mark stretching from his body to the edge of the photo. Mosca stood on the dead body of the German, looking directly at the camera lens. , with an M-1 semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder, that is Mosca, wearing a winter coat, his body deformed, his appearance is ridiculous, he puts a blanket over his body, and his head and arms protrude from the cut-out blanket Come out, like a skirt.He stood there like a lucky hunter, ready to carry his kill home. But the burning tanks on the covered field were not photographed, and the charred corpses scattered like garbage on the snow were not photographed. The German soldier was an excellent anti-tank fighter. "One of my brothers took the picture with that German Leica camera." Mosca turned and took another sip of his drink, and looked back to see that they were still waiting there. "This is my first victim," he said, as jokingly as he could.Yet they sounded like Mosca was talking about the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the pyramids in Egypt. His mother was looking at some other pictures. "Where was this taken?" she asked.Mosca sat down beside her and said, "This is my first vacation in Paris." He put his arm around his mother's waist. "And this one?" his mother asked. "That's at Vitry." "What about this one?" "Aachen." What about this one, what about that one, and this one?Mosca introduced the place names and the process of taking the photos one by one.The wine helped, he remembered: this one was in Nancy, where he had stood in line for two hours to sleep with a girl, that one was in Dombas.There he saw a naked dead German with a scrotum the size of a melon.There was a piece of paper pasted on the door of the room, which said, "There are dead Germans inside." That was the truth.Mosca still can't figure out what the purpose of posting this note is. Even if it's a joke, what's the point of the joke?This one was in Hamm, where he had not had a woman for three months before he had one and had his first blight.These are pictures of Germans in different cities, men, women, and children, lying in graves that have been disfigured, emitting a strong stench. The background of all these photos seems to be a desert.He, the Conqueror, stands on the rubble and dust of workers, dwellings, and corpses—these rubble and dust are endless like rolling sand dunes. Mosca sat back on the sofa, smoking a cigarette, "How about some coffee?" he asked. "I'll cook." As he said that, he walked to the kitchen, and Gloria followed. They set up the cups together, and cut the cream cake that was taken out of the refrigerator.Coffee was brewing on the stove, and she hugged Mosca tightly: "Honey, I love you, I love you." They brought coffee into the living room.Now it was up to them to brief Mosca.They told Mosca how Gloria hadn't dated anyone in three years and how Alf had lost his leg in a car accident in an army camp in the South.And how his mother went out to work again, as a clerk in a department store.They each have their own unusual experience, thank God, the war is finally over.The Mosca family survived safely.Even if he lost a leg, according to Alf, with modern means of transportation, losing a leg is nothing. Fortunately, the family is now reunited safely in this small room. The enemy is far away across the ocean, they are completely defeated, their land is surrounded and occupied, they are struggling and dying from hunger and disease.They were defeated physically and mentally, and they could no longer threaten the Mosca family.Mosca fell asleep in a chair, and they—the family who loved him so much—watched him quietly, almost with tears of joy in their eyes.They could hardly believe that Mosca had come so far, had been out for so long, and now miraculously returned.Came back safe and sound. It was not until the third night after returning home that Mosca had the opportunity to be alone with Gloria, and the second night was spent at Gloria's house.There, Mosca's mother and Alf, together with Gloria's sister and father, arranged everything for the wedding.All the details were settled, not because they were nosy, but because they were too excited and enthusiastic.Everyone agrees that the wedding should be held as soon as possible, but there is one thing, after Mosca has a stable job.Mosca was most anxious about this one.Alf's performance surprised Mosca. Alf, who was always timid, has grown into a confident, calm, and open-minded man. Yiran is a seasoned head of the family. third night.Mother and Alf went out.Before leaving, Alf smiled and said to Mosca: "Look at the o'clock, we'll be back at eleven." The mother told Alf out of the door and said to Mosca: "If you go out with the Glory police , don’t forget to lock the door.” Mosca was amused by the doubt in her voice, as if she didn't think it would be nice to have him and Gloria alone at home. "God," he said, stretching his legs and lying down on the sofa. He tried to lighten up a little, but couldn't, so he got up and poured himself a glass of wine, and he stood by the window smiling, wondering what the evening would be like.He had spent a few nights with Gloria in a hotel before he left home.But I can't remember right now.He went to turn on the radio, and went to the kitchen to check the clock. It was almost half past eight.The little thing was half an hour late.He went to the window again, but it was too dark to see anything clearly.He turned around when he heard a knock at the door and Gloria entered. "Hello, Walter!" she said.Mosca noticed a tremor in her voice, and she took off her coat. She was wearing a shirt with only two or three buttons too far, and a wide pleated skirt. "Finally it's just the two of us together," he smiled, lying back and sleeping on the sofa. "Pour two glasses of wine," Gloria said, sitting on the sofa, leaning over and kissing him.He put his hand on her breast and they kissed for a long time. "I'm going to pour the wine," she said, pushing him away and sitting up. The two drank, the radio sang softly, and the soft light of the floor lamp filled the room.He lit two cigarettes, gave her one, they smoked, and after a while he stubbed out his own.But Gloria still held her throat.He took the cigarette from her hand and carefully pressed it into the ashtray. Mosca pushed Gloria down on top of him, and he unbuttoned her blouse, reached inside her bra, and kissed her.He moved his hand under her skirt. Gloria sat up and pushed him away, and Mosca was startled and instantly alert. "I don't want to do that," Gloria said.This childish remark annoyed Mosca, who couldn't wait to reach out again, and she got up and took a step back. "No, I mean it," she said. "Damn it," said Mosca, "were the two weeks before I went abroad all right, why not now?" I know. ’ Gloria smiled tenderly at him, and he suddenly became angry. "But it was different then, when you were going out and I loved you. It would only make you look down on me if I did that now. Don't be mad, Walter, I told Amy about it too , you've come back so often, I'll have to talk to someone else. Both Amy and I think it's best not to." Mosca lit a cigarette. "Your sister is stupid." "Walter, don't talk like that. I don't want to submit to you because I really love you." Mosca choked on the wine he drank, tried his best to hold back his smile and said, "Listen, if we hadn't slept together for those two weeks, I would have forgotten you in the back of my head. Not to mention Write to you, and you are nothing to me." He saw her blushing.She went to the armchair and sat down facing him. "I loved you before," she said.He saw her mouth tremble, and he threw the cigarette case at her and took a sip of his wine. "Just stay and talk like this. After you come back, we haven't had a chance to talk properly yet." Mosca said with deliberately unreasonable indifference, "Either go to the movies. Or sleep." She stood up, her eyes fixed on Mosca. "So it doesn't matter what you do?" "right". He thought she would put on her coat and go outside.But she stood there patiently waiting for him to comb his hair and put on his tie.Then they went to the cinema. It was about noon, a month later, when Mosca walked in to find Alf, his mother, and Gloria's older sister, Amy, drinking coffee in the kitchen. "Would you like raw coffee?" his mother asked. "Okay, let me wash my face first." Mosca walked into the laundry room, and when he dried his face and walked to the kitchen, he had a sneer on his face. "You're sorry Gloria, she waited for you for three years and never dated anyone, she lost a lot of opportunities." "A lot of what opportunities?" Mosca asked, and he laughed. "We get along well, things have to take their time." Amy said: "You had an appointment with her last night, and you never showed up. You didn't come back till now, and you didn't do it right." Seeing that Mosca was about to lose his temper, his mother quickly smoothed things over, "Gloria will be waiting for you here until two o'clock at night, you should call." "We all know what you're doing," said Amy. "You've left home a girl who's been waiting for you for three years, and gone off with a whore out there, who's had three abortions, and God knows how many more. " Mosca shrugged. "I can't watch over your sister every night." "I can't, you are a prominent person, how can you do this?" He unexpectedly found that she really hated him. "Didn't everyone say that I should have a stable job first?" Mosca reminded her. "I really didn't expect you to suffer so meanly. If you want to marry her, make it clear. It doesn't matter, she will find a man." Alf came out to speak. "Don't be silly. Of course Walter wants to marry her. Calm down, everybody. Walter's just coming back a little out of sorts, and he's working on it, and we should help him." Amy said sarcastically, "If Gloria sleeps with him, then nothing will happen, and you'll get used to it, won't you, Walter?" "That's getting worse and worse," said Alf. "Let's talk about the basics. You're angry because of Walter's illicit relationship with other people, and he doesn't want to hide the fact. At least he can." Cover-up. Isn't it? Gloria is too infatuated with Walter to abandon him. In my opinion, the best way is to fix the wedding date." "But my sister is working so hard, let him hang around, like in Germany, with those little whores all day long?" Mosca looked indifferently at his mother, who lowered her eyelids to avoid his gaze.There was a moment of silence in the room. "It's true," said Amy, calmly. "Your mother told Gloria about the German girl's letter to you. You should be ashamed, Walter, you should be ashamed of your conscience." "Those letters don't mean much," Mosca said, and he could see that they were all relieved and believed him. "He's going to get a job," his mother said, "and they can fill in here until they have a house and then move." Mosca took a sip of his coffee, feeling annoyed just now, and now he was anxious to get out of the room, away from this group of people who were talking too much nonsense and going too far. "But you must stop fooling around with those little whores," said Amy. Mosca interjected politely. "It's just that there is one thing that is difficult to handle. I don't want to set a wedding date." Everyone was stunned. "I don't really want to get married," he added with a grin. "What?" cried Amy, in exasperation. "What?" She was too angry to speak. "Don't wait three years for me to talk nonsense. What does it matter to me that she hasn't slept with a man for three years? Don't think I'm going to lose sleep thinking about it! Hell, has she been idle for three years? Can you become noble in just one year? I have a lot of things to worry about." "Come on, Walter," his mother said. "Hmm, shit," Mosca said.His mother got up from the table and went to the stove, and he knew she was crying. Everyone stood up at once, and Alf leaned against the table.Angrily said loudly: "Forget it, Walter, even if these arrangements are nosy." "It seems to me that you have been indulged by your family when you came back," said Amy, contemptuously. Mosca felt that he had nothing to say except what he really thought. "It's very annoying," he said, addressing Amy, but taking everyone in with his eyes. He stood up and wanted to leave, but Alf supported the table and moved to her, shouting angrily: "Damn it, you've gone too far, apologize quickly, did you hear me, apologize quickly." Mosca pushed him away, and he saw that Alf was not wearing a prosthetic leg, but it was too late.Alf fell, hitting his head on the floor.Both women screamed.Mosca hurriedly leaned over to help Alf. "Are you okay?" he asked.Alf shook his head, but he kept his face in his hands, sitting on the floor. "Mosca came out of the house. His mother was standing by the stove, weeping and wringing her hands. The last time Mosca came into the house, he found his mother waiting for him—she hadn’t been out all day. "Gloria called you," she said. Mosca nodded, indicating that he heard it. "Are you going to tidy up now?" her mother asked timidly. "Well," said Mosca. "do you need my help?" "No need," he said. He went into his bedroom and pulled out two new suitcases.他把一支烟夹在嘴唇上，两只手伸进口袋里去找火柴，然后又到厨房里去找。 他母亲仍然坐在椅子上，用手帕捂着脸，默默地流泪。 他拿起一盒火柴，正要走出厨房。 “你为什么要这样对待我？”他母亲说。“我到底怎么啦？”他没有丝毫怜悯，眼泪激不起感情，但他不想惹得母亲大哭大阎，尽量憋着气，平静地说话。 “你并没什么不对的地方，只是我想走，这不干你的事。” “为什么你老把我当陌生人一样？” 这句话触动了他，可他又做不出什么亲昵的举动。“我心里很乱，”他说，“如果你不出门，就帮我整理一下东西。”她和莫斯卡一起到卧室里去。她小心翼翼地把衣服叠上，莫斯卡把它们装到皮箱里去。 “要带点烟吗？”他母亲问。 “不用，我到船上再买。” “我马上去买点来，就不一定是你要吸的”。 “船上的烟五分钱一盒、”他说。他不愿意要母亲的任何东西。 “要买就买好一点的烟。”他母亲说着就走出了屋子。 莫斯卡坐在床边上，凝望着墙上接着的格洛丽亚的照片，一点儿激情也没有。他想，照片并没有起到预期的作用，真是糟糕，他意识到了他们尽了多大的努力，而他自己又是怎样无动于衷。他对他们的耐心感到惊讶。他搜肠刮肚地想找出几句话对母亲解释清楚，问她表明他是无能为力的，自己的行动受着她和他都无法支配的因素的控制。 客厅里电话铃响了，他走过去接电话。格洛丽亚的声音传了过来，没有热情，然而却是友好的。 “我听说你明天走。你说我是今晚去跟你告别呢，还是就在这电话里说再见？” “随你便吧，”莫斯卡说，“不过，我九点左右要出去。” “那我九点以前去，”她说。“你别担心，我只是去跟你道个别。”他知道她说的是真话，也知道她对他已经不在乎了，他已经不是她曾经爱过的那个莫斯卡了，可是她仍然想来友好地道别，真是奇怪。他母亲回来时，他已经拿定了主意。“妈妈，”他说，“我现在就走，格洛丽亚来过电话，她今晚要来，可我不想见她。” “你是说现在，这就走？” “是的，”莫斯卡说。 “可至少你临走前该在家里呆一夜。”她说。“阿尔夫一会儿就会回来，你怎么也该等着跟你弟弟道个别。” “再见了，妈妈。”他说，他俯身吻了母亲的脸颊。 “等等。”他母亲说：“你忘了拿运动包了。”她说着就去取来了那只小蓝背包。开始被里面装他用得着的东西，以前莫斯卡每次出去打篮球的时候，还有他上次离家参军前母亲都是这样做的，只是这次跟上一次一样，她装的不是缎面短裤，皮制的护膝和运动鞋，丽是刮脸刀、干净的替换内衣、毛巾和肥皂。然后她从镜台抽屉里找出一根绳子，把小蓝包系在箱子拎把上。 “唉，”她说，“我不知人们会怎么议论，他们也许说都是我不好，我不能使你感到幸福。不过你既然冷落了格洛丽亚，今晚也该见她一面，道个别，对她和蔼些，这样她会觉得好受些。” “对每一个人来说，这个世界都是冷峻的。”莫斯卡说。他又吻了吻她，莫斯卡刚要走出门，她一把拉住他。 “你回德国是为了那个姑娘吗？”莫斯卡明白，如果他说是，母亲的自尊心会得到安慰，她会觉得儿子的离家不是她的过错，可是他不能撒谎。 “我想不是的，”他说，“她现在很可能又找了个美国兵。”话出了口。而且是由衷之言，莫斯卡却意外地觉得听起来好象不是真话，好象是有意说谎来伤他母亲的心。 她吻了他，松手让他走了。走到街上，他转身看见母亲站在关着的窗前，白手帕捂在脸上。他把箱子放在地上，向她挥挥手，可是她已经离开了窗户。他怕她会到街上来出洋相，拎起箱子，快步往大马路走去，到那里能叫到出租汽车。 但他母亲并没有出来，而是坐在沙发上流泪，她感到惭愧，伤心，蒙受了耻辱。在她心灵深处有这样的念头：如果她的儿子在一处不知名的海滩上献身，埋在异国的土地上，坟墓上的白色十字粱混在数以千计的十字绍里面，那她会更加伤心。不过那就不会有羞辱，时过境迁。她会感到解脱和某种程度的骄傲。 如果那样就本会有现在这种郁闷的悲凉，这种他一去不变返之感，他此去一旦葬身异国他乡，她决不会去抚尸痛哭，不会去参加他的葬礼，不会给他的坟墓献花。 列车在往敌人的国土飞奔，莫斯卡迷迷糊糊地随着车厢的颠缀左右摇晃。他昏沉沉地走回到自己的座位躺了下来。他躺着，听着那个受伤的人的呻吟声，磨牙声，只有在睡着的时候才对这个疯狂的世界提出抗议：莫斯卡起身往士兵那边走去。大部分士兵都睡着了，只有一小圈亮光那是三支紧靠着的蜡烛。穆尔罗尼蜷缩在一张长凳上，打着鼾，两个士兵身边放着卡宾枪，边打牌边喝酒。 莫斯卡低声问道，“哪位朋友能借给我一条毯子？那个家伙太冷了。” 其中一个士兵递给他一条毯子。“谢谢，”莫斯卡说。 那士兵耸耸肩：“我反正不能睡觉，得看着这个家伙。” 莫斯卡扫了一眼睡着的穆尔罗尼。他的脸上没有表情，眼睛缓缓地睁开了。象不会说话的牲畜一样地盯着他，在他闭上眼睛之前，莫斯卡觉得他似乎在向自己致意，莫斯卡心想：这头可怜的矗猪。没做，一直睡到法兰克福，有人把他推醒了。