Another examines my gaping wound.
“Iodine dressing, H. O. E.[2] Discharge to private life.”
And an automobile takes me speedily to the station where the sanitary train waits with steam up.
The sanitary train!... For two days each roll of the wheels sounds in my head like a great bell; and the belt which binds me seems tightened into the most atrocious notch; at each turn of the wheels, at every movement it seems to me that the stream will begin to flow again, and that this time it will all flow out until it is exhausted ... with my life.
Then, one evening, the rolling ceased; my stretcher was unhooked and they gave me something to drink.... I woke up in the hospital.
A white bed, lights, nurses in white, who speak, who smile, who glide over the floors without making a noise.
Can it be true? I no longer hear the noise, the hammering of cannon, and the infernal rolling of autos and caissons. It is strange.
“Take No. 7 to the operating room,” says the head doctor.
I am No. 7.
The operating room.... It is all bright and white; through haggard eyes I look at the shining knives, the reflection of the glass, but a sharp odor seizes me, sickens me, stifles me.