Part 11 (2/2)
”No, I won't let them touch me.”
”Captain Teschisso, I must remind you of the respect due ...”
”What's that? Major Cutemup ... did you think I was talking of you?
Not a thought of doing so. I meant those dogs of Austrians.”
”A-a-a-h! Then be off to the barber's.”
”Thanks. I'll have him fix me up in a minute.”
”Boy, hurry up. His Majesty is coming.”
Ten minutes later everything was s.h.i.+ning like a mirror. The soldiers were already at work in the adjoining room. Pinocchio had disappeared.
Teschisso had gone to be shaved. Fatina was arranging the white window-curtains. The Bersaglierino was seated on his bed, his right arm resting on his knee and his chin held in the hollow of his hand.
”What's the matter? What is it, Bersaglierino?”
He didn't answer, and Fatina, after having looked at him a minute with her large, soft eyes, came up nearer and sat down beside him on the little white bed.
”Tell me what's the trouble, Bersaglierino. Why are you crying? Why don't you make yourself handsome? Didn't you hear? The King is coming to give you the medal.”
”Why should I care about that? What do you think that means to me, Fatina?”
And then, since she seemed much astonished at his words, he continued, vehemently:
”Why, indeed, should I care about that?... After they have sent me away from here I shall go back to living alone like a dog ... to fighting every day for my existence. Who will get any satisfaction from the reward the King's hand has bestowed on me? No one. Perhaps the day will come when I shall have to pin the medal on my coat to keep the boys in the streets from making fun of me, the poor maimed creature who will wander about playing a street-organ.”
”Oh, Bersaglierino! I never imagined you could talk like that. I don't want you to talk so.”
And she spoke with so much feeling that he, fearing he had offended her, started to beg her pardon:
”Fatina ...”
”Tell me, aren't you glad to have done your duty, to have given your blood for your country? Didn't you volunteer? Didn't you go willingly through the barbed wire to open a road of victory for your country?
And now you are almost blaming yourself for the good you have done, for fear of the morrow. And you think yourself destined to end as a laughing-stock of horrid little children? Oh, but you are bad! Tell me, are you really so sure that you are alone in the world, that there is no one who will rejoice to see s.h.i.+ning on your breast the medal your country has bestowed on you?”
”Ah, if it were so, Fatina, if it were true!”
”Do you believe that no one has followed you in thought through all your dangers on the field of honor, that no one suffered, knowing you were wounded, or trembled at the thought of your bed of pain? Do you really believe that there is no one to rejoice at seeing you take up again your place in the world? You are young, full of ardor and intelligence ...”
”But I am poor, so poor!”
”You can get rich by working. You fought the war with weapons; continue it with the pen. Write what you have seen; you will make a name for yourself and some day will be the pride of your family.”
”I! Don't make fun of me, Fatina. I, wounded, maimed, will never find a woman to link her life with mine.”
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