“They are training an army of ten million.”
“I hope we get some of them. But the French will hog them all. We’ll never get any down here. All right. You stay here to-night and go out Tomorrow with the little car and send Gino back. I’ll send somebody with you that knows the road. Gino will tell you everything. They are shelling quite a little still but it is all over. You will want to see the Bainsizza.”
“I’m glad to see it. I am glad to be back with you again, Signor Maggiore.”
He smiled. “You are very good to say so. I am very tired of this war. If I was away I do not believe I would come back.”
“Is it so bad?”
“Yes. It is so bad and worse. Go get cleaned up and find your friend Rinaldi.”
I went out and carried my bags up the stairs. Rinaldi was not in the room but his things were there and I sat down on the bed and unwrapped my puttees and took the shoe off my right foot. Then I lay back on the bed. I was tired and my right foot hurt. It seemed silly to lie on the bed with one shoe off, so I sat up and unlaced the other shoe and dropped it on the floor, then lay back on the blanket again. The room was stuffy with the window closed but I was too tired to get up and open it. I saw my things were all in one corner of the room. Outside it was getting dark. I lay on the bed and thought about Catherine and waited for Rinaldi. I was going to try not to think about Catherine except at night before I went to sleep. But now I was tired and there was nothing to do, so I lay and thought about her. I was thinking about her when Rinaldi came in. He looked just the same. Perhaps he was a little thinner.
“Well, baby,” he said. I sat up on the bed. He came over, sat down and put his arm around me. “Good old baby.” He whacked me on the back and I held both his arms.
“Old baby,” he said. “Let me see your knee.”
“I’ll have to take off my pants.”
“Take off your pants, baby. We’re all friends here. I want to see what kind of a job they did.” I stood up, took off the breeches and pulled off the knee-brace. Rinaldi sat on the floor and bent the knee gently back and forth. He ran his finger along the scar; put his thumbs together over the kneecap and rocked the knee gently with his fingers.
“Is that all the articulation you have?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a crime to send you back. They ought to get complete articulation.”
“It’s a lot better than it was. It was stiff as a board.”
Rinaldi bent it more. I watched his hands. He had fine surgeon’s hands. I looked at the top of his head, his hair shiny and parted smoothly. He bent the knee too far.
“Ouch!” I said.
“You ought to have more treatment on it with the machines,” Rinaldi said.
“It’s better than it was.”
“I see that, baby. This is something I know more about than you.” He stood up and sat down on the bed. “The knee itself is a good job.” He was through with the knee. “Tell me all about everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I said. “I’ve led a quiet life.”
“You act like a married man,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “What’s the matter with you?”
“This war is killing me,” Rinaldi said, “I am very depressed by it.” He folded his hands over his knee.