All Quiet on the Western Front / На Западном фронте без перемен. Книга для чтения на английском языке

�Chin up[34 - Chin up – Не вешай нос!], Franz.’

I promise him that I will come back tomorrow. Muller says that he will as well. He is still thinking about the flying boots and he wants to keep an eye on things.

Kemmerich groans. He is feverish[35 - He is feverish – Eго лихорадит]. We get hold of a medical orderly outside, and try and persuade him to give Kemmerich a shot of morphia.

He says no. �If we wanted to give morphia to everyone we’d need buckets of the stuff —’

�Only give it to officers, then, do you?’ snarls Kropp.

I step in quickly and the first thing I do is give the orderly a cigarette. He takes it. Then I ask him, �Are you allowed to give shots at all?’

He is annoyed. �If you think I can’t, what are you asking me for – ?’

I press a few more cigarettes into his hand. �Just as a favour —’

�Well, OK,’ he says. Kropp goes in with him, because he doesn’t trust him and wants to see him do it.

We wait outside.

Muller starts on again about the flying boots. �They would fit me perfectly. In these clodhoppers even my blisters get blisters. Do you think he’ll last until we come off duty tomorrow? If he goes during the night we’ve seen the last of the boots —’

Albert comes back and says, �Do you reckon —?’

�Had it,’ says Muller, and that’s that.

We walk back to camp. I’m thinking about the letter I shall have to write to Kemmerich’s mother tomorrow.

I’m shivering, I could do with a stiff drink. Muller is pulling up grass stems and he’s chewing on one. Suddenly little Kropp tosses his cigarette away, stamps on it like a madman, stares round with an unfocused and disturbed look on his face and stammers, �Shit! Shit! The whole damned thing is a load of shit!’

We walk on for a long time. Kropp calms down – we know what was wrong, it’s just the strain of being at the front, we all get that way from time to time.

Muller asks him, �What did Kantorek say in his letter?’

He laughs. �He calls us “young men of iron”.’

That makes the three of us laugh, though not because it is funny. Kropp curses. He is happy to be able to talk again —

And yes, that’s it, that is what they think, those hundred thousand Kantoreks. Young men of iron. Young? None of us is more than twenty. But young? Young men? That was a long time ago. We are old now.