In autumn, the war is going on, but we don't beat employees anymore. Milan is chilly in late autumn, and it gets dark early. In the blink of an eye, the light came on. It's good to look at the window along the street. There are a lot of game hanging outside the store: snowflakes are sprinkled on the fox's curly hair, and the cold wind blows up the furry tail; Stiff deer, hollowed out and hung heavily; Strings of birds are flying in the wind, and their feathers are dancing. This is a very cold autumn, and the wind is blowing from the mountains.

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. Funerals are usually held in the yard. Milan: A city in northwest Italy. Let's begin. 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 joint is sick, and my calf is stiff from knee to ankle, and I have no calf. 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, I dare to take a shortcut through the producer community. 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.

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" in the city, go to Ke Hua Cafe, or walk side by side in the dark, wine ① Scala: Milan's famous opera house. ② Italian: "Down with the officers!" When the lights in the shop are flashing and the songs are endless, or the men and women on the sidewalk are so busy that we have to push the crowd 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 girls in Italy are girls in coffee shops-I think they are still patriotic now.