The Devastation of Silence by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2023-02-05T03:01:29+00:00

V.

My friend interrupted the waiter and requested two more teas to be served twenty minutes apart. The table was mired in porcelain, white shards lined in blue, handsome pastoral scenes, I had drunk my coffee long before, I too ordered a tea, he patted his coat, confirmed the tickets were still there, following which he adopted an irritated look, wanted to know once and for all if I remembered the day they recorded my voice, nothing beyond that interested him, I’d already told him that no, I hadn’t forgotten what he’d asked of me, I remembered it in perfect detail, my memory is excellent, as long as you don’t ask me the names of flowers, which are quite irrelevant in these modern times, this marvelous post-war era, frivolities … I know how to assemble and disassemble a machine gun, but what use do I have for flowers? Now, on the morning following Slingshot’s death, we stood for Appel without incident, despite the rumors circulating that our allies had won a crucial victory in Flanders, the origins of such rumors were unknown, however the sound of planes had indeed been drawing nearer, and we had grown hopeful that someday soon the American tanks would arrive to liberate us. Timóteo celebrated to such an extent that he vomited, I don’t know what the man had in his stomach that was worth vomiting but that is what happened. There is no such thing as an impossibility. He regurgitated a greenish-yellow phlegm, it must have been bile, gastric acids, perhaps he’d consumed some kind of herb … It wasn’t unheard of that men would touch herbs to their lips, wild radish as well, snails, locusts, weevils, others tried chewing on bedbugs, sprinkling them on rinds rummaged up from the trash, it was an interminable battle and impossible to win, our beds were teeming with the tiny creatures, they had taken control of the barrack, had seized the war by its helm. If a general had ever awoken to find bedbugs in his living quarters, the war would have come screeching to a halt, ended that very instant … Paradise is a bed free of blood-sucking parasites, those creatures that keep us from carrying out our mission to spill our blood for God and country, to die for our homelands, or at least to lose an arm or leg for them—they rob us of our precious liquids, it is hell.

We stood there against the wall, groomed and in orderly, single-file rows, Schiller meandered among us, his cat in his arms, it would seem it had only run off for the day, and had returned with its fur all a mess, the Commander resolved to descend the platform in front of the Kommandantur and set about inspecting the men with a smile, their shaved and reddened heads beneath their caps, their irritated skin, the view pleased him, and yet, however satisfied he may have been, Schiller wasted no time in rattling off some incomprehensible phrases, he

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