Egging himself outside, he stumbled to the fountain where GI's were standing, and splashed water on his face; removing his helmet, he splashed his head, staring into the shallow white tiled pool. A single fish was swimming: or was it a trick of the mind? Alive? Or coloration? And that bubble: were there still bubbles in the world?
He splashed his face again, the tank forgotten.
Water, air, trees, a grey-grey something, a gnarled something!
A lizard scuttled up a branch, stopped, flicked its tail, puffed its body, and stared inquisitively.
A cat slunk out of a bombed house and crossed the square and brushed against a GI, meowing, wobbling.
"I'll be damned ... a mangy cat," croaked Zinc, his hands in the fountain: he flopped water over his face and soaked his shirt.
Dennison heard Zinc's words faintly: it would be hours before the tank deafness wore off.
More crewmen milled around, jostling, swearing. A fat guy pounded Landel on his back as though he had won the war: he had seen Landel's bus knock out the Nazi machine. Landel pointed overhead. Planes roared by; low on the horizon, a dozen Fortresses crawled through a dusty sky.
Dennison picked up the cat and stroked it.
As the line of men washed and drank, a boy scuttled from one of the houses, carrying a clay bottle of water: he offered it to the men nervously, speaking French, talking jerkily, as if something had injured his tongue. He could not get it into his head that the crewmen were temporarily deaf; his mother had told him they might not understand his French; he thought that was the trouble.