Battle of the Rhine

During the first half of 1946, Michael was obsessed with studying.This sounds very strange, because Michael has never had a spark with "learning" in his life.During that time, he read newspapers every day and bought a book to teach himself German.When he was diligently reading those words under the eaves, the old lady Michel exclaimed more than once, maybe Michael was hit by a shell, or he was hysterical because of the war, and called Mary to take him to the hospital to "check his brain." ".In this regard, Mary said that there is no harm in learning a foreign language, at least it is better than drinking and smoking.

John Hunter, who suffered from alcoholism, claimed that alcohol could numb the excruciating pain of his amputated limb. "I'm no fucking better than you! Clever Mike, he chose a good road... Who doesn't know that the Germans on the Western Front will pee their pants in fear when they see you!"

"Smart Mike" wouldn't be foolish enough to refute the ravings of a drunk man copying words from a book.To be honest, German is similar to English in many ways, but it is more complicated than English, and the pronunciation is very... "hard", he used the word to describe it.Mary was also reading, she no longer subscribed to the family magazines, and it was easier and quicker to buy lace tablecloths than to weave them herself.She practiced bookkeeping and typing in her spare time. "What's that you're reading?" Mary didn't look up, "It sounds like you're about to quarrel with someone."

"Hands up, put your guns down," Michael repeated. "Oh, this book is a little dated."

"Yeah, didn't the Germans surrender?"

"They should come out with something new, more everyday—"

"How do you say 'I love you'?"

Michael turned over the textbook from cover to cover. He knew how to say "I" and "you". He also knew that "I" was the subject and "you" was the object.But how do you spell the word "love"?Michael flipped through the textbook again, checked the word list, "...sorry," he scratched his chin, now that he had plenty of time to shave and wash his face, his chin was always clean, "there's no teaching here' love' the word."

"Did they teach you 'hands up' and 'guns down'?"

"And 'The War Is Over'..."

"Mike," Mary put down her pen, "the war is indeed over. I think you need to plan for the future."

She has been feeling a little depressed recently because of the incident in the factory.The war was over, and the original workers returned to the factory.Most of the working girls had gone home and were housewives again, and the streets were full of women with big bellies and prams.Michael didn't think Mary had to go home.He can take care of himself. In the army, he learned to cook canned food, wash clothes at night, add anti-flea powder to the washing water, and he can even shave his comrades. More complex tasks, such as repairing firearms, he also Well done. "I've thought about it," Michael continued flipping through the German book, "I want to learn how to fix cars."

"Why repair a car?"

Mary asks a lot of questions, as she did when she was a child.Why do you want to learn to repair cars? Michael raised his head, and a few flying insects were buzzing around the light bulb. "Isn't machinery just repairing cars?"

"You never tell about your time in Europe," Mary said, putting a piece of paper into the typewriter, "tell me about it—John goes on and on about fighting the Japanese on the island every day, how he digs holes, how he uses that A gun that shoots out flames... Helen said she was bored to death, and heard it a thousand times. But you never mention your war in Europe, why?"

"There's nothing to mention." Michael scratched his neck, Quincy's military badge was dangling on his chest, the metal had already been simmered by body heat, "It's just marching...fighting, hold your gun. M1 Submachine guns are good, rattling, sound like a typewriter . . . better than a carbine, I think."

"The one you pressed under the pillow?"

Michael rooted on the couch—Mary had to get up early for work, and he wasn't sure if he was going to snore.Tim occasionally complained that he slept poorly, kicked his legs, kicked people... He also heard that many veterans often had nightmares after returning home and woke up with a yell.Helen always complained about John, who was suffering from somnambulism, which made the whole family uncomfortable.Mary had at first persuaded him to go back to his bedroom, to assure him that he was free from those bad habits.But Michael doesn't believe it because he also has nightmares.He dreamed that he was walking in the middle of the foggy forest, the forest on the border between France and Germany, where they had suffered so much.But his most recurring nightmares were his crimes by the Rhine: he sat under a tree, Quincy's body at his feet, blue eyes like dead pigeons.It was he who killed Quincy, with a gun, or simply with his hands.Whenever Michael had such a nightmare, he always fell into deep doubt after waking up—did he really kill Quincy?

"That's not a submachine gun, that's a Luger, a German pistol." Michael looked back at the sofa, the pillows were replaced by pillows, and the pillowcases were bought by Mary at the store, with big hearts printed on them, "Everyone wants to Got a Ruger, great loot. I had a hard time getting one... nice, isn't it?"

Mary pursed her lips, "Not as practical as your shotgun."

"You're right. In terms of combat, the Ruger is far worse than the Thompson submachine gun." Michael stretched, "It just looks good. I was lucky to get a Ruger. Someone asked me to buy it, but I didn't sell it to anyone. he."

"Tell me about German women," said Mary, not interested in guns. "Aren't they beautiful and fashionable?"

"I've never met a few German women," Michael said with a clear conscience, and he answered very smoothly, "Tim's girlfriend is one, Juta, with big eyes; and Peter's girlfriend... Germany has lost the war, and women aren't fashionable. Jutta's wearing a coat, which is supposed to be a nice coat, but it's dirty, totally dirty...nowhere to wash it, I guess."

"You're going to rape them, aren't you?" Mary asked suddenly. She tapped the typewriter vigorously. It sounded almost indistinguishable from the sound of M1 firing bullets. "A German woman with big eyes?"

"I swear to God I never raped a woman, no matter what country." That's true, he never raped a woman, he didn't even visit brothels, "Uta is Tim's girlfriend!"

"War, that's what happens." Da da da, Mary almost smashed the typewriter. "Don't have fun? Relax? I don't blame you, Mike."

"I definitely didn't do it," Michael sat up, and grabbed Mary's hand. "Don't mess with the typewriter—I'd admit it if I did, but I didn't, and you can't make me admit I didn't." crime."

"Let go, you hurt me." Mary shook off Michael's hand and rubbed her wrist, "Well, even if you haven't done it—"

"I really haven't done it!"

Michael was innocent about women.He never raped a woman, went to brothels, or even whistled at young girls on the sidewalk.Tim mockingly praised him as a decent Puritan, the moral standard of the Allied forces in Europe.Of course, the moral standard has also been seduced by the devil, and the bad thing Michael thinks he did is no higher than raping a woman.Although he tried his best to make up for his mistakes, the sin he committed was a sin, and more than 100 dollars, chocolate and candy were not an indulgence, which could send him back to heaven from hell.

Luckily, Mary wouldn't ask about men in Germany. As a girl in a small town in the United States, she probably couldn't imagine a man doing that to a man, Michael thought sadly, lying on the sofa and staring at the dark ceiling.The military registration card on his chest was like a spark. After several months, this spark reminded him of the big mistakes he made every now and then.But Michael didn't feel pain, Carl Quincy, the name brought him more of some other emotions.