Milan: A city in northwest Italy.
Every afternoon, we go to the hospital. Crossing the city at dusk, there are three roads leading to the hospital. Two are along the canal, but they are too long, so people always cross the bridge of the canal to go to the hospital. There are three bridges on the river, all of which can be walked, whichever you choose. One of them has a woman selling fried chestnuts on it. Standing in front of her charcoal fire, I was warm all over. I put the fried chestnuts in my pocket and warmed them for a while. This hospital is both old and beautiful. As soon as you enter the gate, it is a yard. Go through, and there is another door opposite. Go out to the hospital. Funeral ceremonies usually begin in the yard. There are several new brick houses opposite the old hospital. Every afternoon, we gather there and sit in surgical chairs that can cure our diseases. Everyone was very polite and asked each other what the disease was.
The doctor came to my operating chair and said, "What did you like best before the war? Play ball? "
"Yes, playing football," I said.
"Well," he said, "you will play football again. You will definitely play better than before."
My knee is sick, my calf is stiff from knee to ankle, and I have no stomach. The medical instrument can flexibly bend the knee joint like riding a tricycle. But at present, it can't bend, and the medical instrument will tilt when it turns to the knee joint, which is invalid. The doctor said, "Everything will be fine. Young man, you are a lucky man. You will play football again, like a champion. "
There is a major sitting in the operating chair next to it. One of his hands is as small as a doll's. The soaring traction belt caught the little hand and slapped the stiff fingers. When it was his turn to check, the major blinked at me and asked the doctor, "Chief physician, can I still play football?" His swordsmanship was superb and he was the best swordsman in Italy before the war.
The doctor went back to the back clinic and took a picture with a shriveled hand, almost as small as the major's. I took it before plastic surgery, and it looks a little bigger after treatment. The major held the photo in his hand, looked at it carefully and asked, "Is it a gunshot wound?"
"Work-related injury", the doctor replied.
"Very interesting, very interesting," said the major, and returned the photo to the doctor.
"You should have confidence?"
"No," replied the major.
Three young men about my age come to the hospital every day. They are all from Milan. One wants to be a lawyer, one wants to be a painter and the other wants to be a soldier. Sometimes, after a day's treatment, we walk back together and go to the Ke Hua Cafe next door to Scala. Because four people walk together, they dare to cut corners and cross densely populated areas. People there hate us officers. When we walked by. Someone in a hotel shouted, "Abassogliuiciali!" In addition, there is a young man who sometimes goes the same way with us and makes up five partners. At that time, his nose was destroyed and needed plastic surgery, and his face was temporarily covered with black silk. He went straight to the front from the military academy and was injured an hour later. The doctors rebuilt him, but because he came from a very old family, the doctors could never correct his nose. He has been to South America and works in a bank. That was a long time ago. None of us know how the war will develop, only that the war is going on and on, but we don't have to go to the front anymore.
Scala: The famous opera house in Milan.
② Italian: "Down with the officers!"
We all wear the same medal, except the young man with black silk on his face; He didn't stay in the front for long, so he didn't get the medal. The tall, pale man who wants to be a lawyer won three medals, while each of us has only one. Because he is the captain of the Italian commando, he has been on the front line for a long time, so he is somewhat detached. Actually, we're all a little detached. There is no deeper friendship except meeting in the hospital every afternoon. However, whenever we cross the "forbidden zone" of the city, go to Ke Hua Cafe, or walk side by side in the dark, when the lights in the hotel are flashing, the songs are endless, or the men and women on the sidewalk are bustling, we have to push through the crowd and squeeze into the street. We feel that we are closely connected because of some similar experience, which is beyond the understanding of those who hate us.
We are all familiar with Ke Hua Cafe, which is rich and warm, and the lights are not too dazzling. There is always a period of noise and smoke every day. Girls often sit at the table with some illustrated newspapers on the wall shelf. The girls in Ke Hua are very patriotic. I found that the most patriotic girl in Italy is the girl in the cafe.
-I think they are patriotic.
At first, because I was wearing a medal, my friends were very polite to me and asked me how I got the medal. I showed them the awards, which were full of grandiose words, such as "RATELLANZA", "ABNEGAZIONE", ① and so on. However, through these words, we see the real meaning: I won the prize only because I am an American. Since then, my friends' attitude towards me has changed a little. Although compared with outsiders, I am still their friend. Yes, I'm their friend. But after reading the comments on the awards, they no longer regard me as a bosom friend, because they went through different experiences to get the medals. It is true that I was injured, but everyone knows that being injured in wartime was just an accident. However, I have never felt guilty about being rewarded. Sometimes at dusk, after getting drunk, I imagine that I have experienced everything my friends have done to get a medal. However, in the autumn night, the shops on the roadside are closed, and a person walks on an empty street, trying to walk beside the street lamp. At this time, I don't think I can take that risk. How afraid I am of death! I often lie in bed alone at night, afraid of dying, and worried about the situation after returning to the front.
Italian: meaning "friendship" and "self-denial".
However, these three men wearing medals are like three brave falcons. Although people who have never hunted may think I am a vulture, I am not. The three of them knew this very well, so they parted ways with me. However, the young man who was injured on the first day of the front line is still my good friend, because he doesn't know what kind of person he will become now. I like him because I don't think he will become an eagle. Now, others will never regard him as a confidant again.
As for the major, an outstanding swordsman, he doesn't believe that people are brave. Whenever we sit in the operating chair, he always takes pains to correct my Italian grammar. However, he praised my fluency in spoken English. We chatted casually in Italian. One day, I told him that Italian was easy to learn and easy to say, so I lost interest. "Hey, that's right," said the major. "Then why don't you learn grammar?" So he taught me grammar. Soon, I felt that Italian had changed completely, so that I didn't dare to talk to him when the grammatical concepts were vague in my mind.
I'm sure the major doesn't believe in mechanical therapy, but he always goes to the hospital on time and never misses a day. For a time, we didn't trust anyone. One day, the major even said that these things were nonsense. At that time, that kind of medical equipment had just come out, and we were just doing experiments. This is really an idiotic idea. He said, "In theory, just like any theory." When I couldn't learn Italian grammar well, he called me a shameful fool, called himself a fool, and took pains to teach me. The major is not tall, but he sits straight in the operating chair, his right hand reaches into the machine, and the traction belt is held between his fingers to make it rotate, and his eyes are staring straight at the wall.
"What are you going to do if the war is over?" The major asked me, "attention, the grammar is correct!" "
"Go back to America."
"Are you married?"
"No, but I really want to."
"You are so stupid." He looks annoyed. "Men must never get married."
"Why, Mr. Major?"
"Don't call me Mr. Major."
"Why shouldn't men get married?"
"You shouldn't, you shouldn't," he said angrily. "Even if a person is doomed to lose everything, at least he should not let himself fall to the point of losing everything. He shouldn't put himself in that position. He should look for something that won't be lost. "
He said, staring straight ahead, looking very angry and miserable.
"But why must we lose it?"
"I will definitely lose it," he said, looking at the wall. Then he looked down at the shaper, pulled his little hand out of the belt and patted his thigh hard. "I will definitely lose it," he almost growled. "Don't argue with me!" Then he shouted to the nurse in charge of the machine, "Come on, turn this damn thing off!" " "
He went back to another consulting room for phototherapy and massage. After a while, I heard him borrow the phone from the doctor. Later, the door closed. I was sitting in another chair when he returned to this room. Wearing a cloak and hat, he went straight to where I was sitting and put an arm on my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, patting me on the shoulder with his good hand. "I was so rude just now. My wife just died. Please forgive me. "
"Oh ..." I said regretfully. "I'm very sorry."
He stood there biting his lower lip. "Forget the pain," he said. "It's so hard!"
His eyes crossed me and looked out of the window. Then he cried. "I can't forget my sadness," he choked up. Then he burst into tears, looked up again, looked blankly, bit his lip and burst into tears. Then, he straightened up and walked past the rows of surgical chairs as a soldier, sweeping them away.
The doctor told me that the major's wife was very young and died of pneumonia; The major didn't marry her until she was disabled and could no longer fight. She was only ill for a few days. No one expected her to die. Within three days after her death, the major did not go to the hospital. Later, when he came to see a doctor as usual, there was a black veil on the sleeve of the military uniform. At that time, there were big picture frames hanging on the wall of the hospital, and different shapes of various cases were photographed before and after treatment. On the opposite wall of the major's operating chair, there are three photos, all of which are similar to his case, but they have all been reshaped and are completely normal hands. I don't know where the doctor got these photos. I always thought that we were the first people to test medical equipment. However, the major was indifferent to those photos. He just looked out of the window and stared.