Free Youth Without God by Odon Von Horvath Page B

twilight, I waited for night; and as night fell, I slipped out of the camp. The sergeant was snoring already. Not a soul had seen me go. The dull moon hung over the tents. From the western sky drifted dark, ragged clouds—and then for longer and longer intervals the silver light was obscured.
    Z’s post lay on the north, where the wood and the camp almost touched. I took up my position there, under a tree.
    I could make out the sentry from here—it was G. Z’s turn had not come.
    G paced up and down.
    The clouds swept over the sky; but here, on the earth, nothing stirred. Only a bough creaked now and then. Then G would prick up his ears and stare into the wood. Frightened? A wood was never quite still, least of all at night.
    Minutes passed—and I saw Z. He muttered a word to G, who left his post. Z was alone. He looked up at the moon. His eyes were full of caution.
    Perhaps there was a man in the moon, sitting up there in his circle of yellow light, smoking his pipe, without a care in the world—and spitting down on us.
    The girl showed up at last, at half-past two orthereabouts. She came so soundlessly that I wasn’t aware of her till she stood at Z’s side. She seemed to appear from nowhere. They embraced and kissed. The girl had her back towards me. Z I could not see. She must be taller than he.
    Very quietly I got up, to go over and speak to them. If the girl heard me, she’d run off. And I had to have a word with her.
    They were still in each other’s arms.
    They’re weeds, I thought, they ought to be rooted up—I heard the old peasant’s words again: and I saw that old blind stumbling woman—and the girl, stretching and peeping over the hedge. She must have a beautiful back. I’d like to see her eyes too …
    A cloud suddenly darkened the moon—a little cloud, hemmed with silver light as it passed.
    I started to go over to the couple. Then I saw that the girl had taken off her clothes. Z was kneeling before her.
    How white she was!
    I waited. She seemed lovelier to me.
    Go on! Tell them it was you who broke that lock. You, and not N …
    But I had come to a standstill. Z was sitting on a tree-trunk, the girl on his knees. Her legs were strong and beautiful.
    While I still lingered, another cloud, deeper and heavier, came up, and no silver hem rimmed it as it passed. The earth was darkened. The sky was darkened. I could see nothing.
    I listened. Steps through the wood?
    I held my breath.
    Steps? Or only the storm, up there in the sky? Everything was black as pitch before me. Where are you, Adamand Eve? By the sweat of your brow must you earn your bread—but you haven’t thought of that, have you? Eve steals cameras, Adam winks his eyes while he should be on guard. I’ll tell him to-morrow, early to-morrow, who broke open his box. To-morrow. I’ll let nothing stand in my way—even if God should send me a thousand naked forms …
    The darkness grew even deeper. I was held close by the still, sooty night.
    I must go back now.
    I pushed out a groping hand. And touched a tree.
    I drew back—groped again, and shuddered: I’d felt something. My heart stopped.
    I wanted to cry out, but took hold of myself.
    My outstretched hand had felt not a tree, but a face.
    What lay before me? I stood, not daring to move.
    A delusion?
    No, I’d touched a nose, and lips.
    I sat down on the ground. Wait for that cloud to pass! Don’t move!
    And up there beyond the clouds, the man in the moon smoked his pipe. A few raindrops fell.
    Spit down on me from your yellow world!

20. THE LAST DAY BUT ONE
    MORNING AT LAST, GREY AND PALE.
    There was no one before me. The face had gone. I slipped back to the camp. The sergeant lay snoring on his back with his mouth open. Rain pattered on the canvas. For the first time in hours, I felt tired. I fell hungrily asleep.
    The regiment had gone before I woke. As soon as Z came back I’d tell him it was I, not N.
    It was the last day here but one. To-morrow we’d be striking camp and