Читать книгу All Quiet on the Western Front - Erich Maria Remarque - Страница 23

17

an hour passes. the hospital orderlies go to and fro with bottles and pails. one of them glances at franz, and then walks away. they are waiting. they want the bed.

his lips have fallen away, his mouth has becomelarger, his teeth stick out and look as though they were made of chalk. the flesh melts. the forehead bulges more prominently, the cheekbones protrude. the skeleton is working itself through.

the world should pass by this bed and say: “this is franz kemmerich, nineteen and a half years old. he doesn’t want to die. let him not die.”

in a few hours it will be over.

so you may still.

there are splendid artificial limbs now, you'd hardly know there was anything missing.

look here though, these fingers...