"Kat, in any case we must see one another again, if it is peace time before you come back."
"Do you think that I will be marked A1 again with this leg?" he asks bitterly.
"With rest it will get better. The joint is all right. It may limp a bit."
"Give me another cigarette," he says.
"Perhaps we could do something together later on, Kat." I am very miserable, it is impossible that Kat—Kat my friend, Kat with the drooping shoulders and the poor, thin moustache, Kat, whom I know as I know no other man, Kat with whom I have shared these years—it is impossible that perhaps I shall not see Kat again.
"In any case give me your address at home, Kat. And here is mine, I will write it down for you."
I write his address in my pocket book. How forlorn I am already, though he still sits here beside me. Couldn't I shoot myself quickly in the foot so as to be able to go with him.
Suddenly Kat gurgles and turns green and yellow. "Let us go on," he stammers.
I jump up, eager to help him, I take him up and start off at a run, a slow steady pace, so as not to jolt his leg too much.
My throat is parched; everything dances red and black before my eyes, I stagger on doggedly and pitilessly and at last reach the dressing station.