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Barbusse, Henri, 1873-1935

"Under Fire: the story of a squad"

It is the doorway.
"Forward! Forward!"
I lower my head and see no more; but again I hear the feet that sink
in the mud and come out again, the rattle of the bayonets, the heavy
exclamations, and the rapid breathing.
Once more there is a violent back-eddy. We pull up sharply, and
again I am thrown upon Poterloo and lean on his back, his strong
back and solid, like the trunk of a tree, like healthfulness and
like hope. He cries to me, "Cheer up, old man, we're there!"
We are standing still. It is necessary to go hack a little--Nom de
Dieu!--no, we are moving on again!
Suddenly a fearful explosion falls on us. I tremble to my skull; a
metallic reverberation fills my head; a scorching and suffocating
smell of sulphur pierces my nostrils. The earth has opened in front
of me. I feel myself lifted and hurled aside--doubled up, choked,
and half blinded by this lightning and thunder. But still my
recollection is clear; and in that moment when I looked wildly and
desperately for my comrade-in-arms, I saw his body go up, erect and
black, both his arms outstretched to their limit, and a flame in the
place of his head!
______
[note 1:] All these high roads are stone-paved, and traffic is
noisy.--Tr.



13
The Big Words


BARQUE notices that I am writing. He comes towards me on all fours
through the straw and lifts his intelligent face to me, with its
reddish forelock and the little quick eyes over which circumflex
accents fold and unfold them-selves.


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