This is where the first transcript of Juliet d’Orsey ends. But only because the choir across the road had begun to shout—and she ‘cannot resist the Mass.’
‘Please come again,’ she says.
And you will. For hers is the end of the story.
13 On the 27th of February, Robert had finally fallen asleep close to midnight. At exactly 4 a.m. on the morning of the 28th, the Germans set off a string of land-mines ranged along the St Eloi Salient. One of these blew up the trenches five hundred yards directly in front of the stained glass dugout. The blowing of the mines was a signal for the artillery to start firing and the whole of the countryside seemed to jump into flames. This was the beginning of the second phase of a battle the Canadians had thought was already over. But it was to rage for five more days. In it 30,000 men would die and not an inch of ground would be won. It began with Robert lying under his bunk with a rabbit, a hedgehog and a bird. After the landmines had gone up and after the first long salvo had been fired by the guns, there was a very brief moment of silence.
In this silence, Rodwell was heard to say to Levitt: ‘Some minuet.’
Three
MONDAY, 28 FEBRUARY 4 A.M.
When the mines went up the earth swayed. Forward. Back. Forward. Half-back. Then there was a sort of glottal stop—halfway to nowhere. The spaces that had been opened filled with smoke and things began to fall. Helmets, books, canned goods, gas masks and candles fell off the shelves. Then the shelves fell. Then the earth fell in clods.
Robert held to the wire until the swaying stopped. That was when he went under. He was lying on his stomach with the cages gathered into his arms before he realized where he was. For a moment he was deafened. All the sounds were muffled and interior—far away inside his head. The contents of a bag of flour and some talcum powder from a shaving kit were floating in the air. His eyes wouldn’t close because his lids were caked with what amounted to paste. His mouth and his nostrils were clogged with earth. Blood ran down the back of his throat because it couldn’t escape through his nose.
At first there was darkness, all the candles having been extinguished by the wave of concussion. Then, because the tarp had fallen at an angle, light began to filter through from the fires outside and Robert could see the shapes of the cages and the standing uprights of the bunk in front of him. The light was thick and foggy: yellow through the moving air.
It wasn’t till Rodwell spoke that Robert realized he could hear. After that, the pounding of the guns was less a noise than a brutal sensation of being repeatedly hit. The blows came upward into his stomach and groin. Someone—or a sandbag—was lying on his back. He couldn’t feel his legs. His feet were dead. He wondered where they were. As the pounding of the guns increased there was a howling, yawning noise that came from the other side of the dugout. Robert turned his head to see what was happening.
The roof was coming down.
The yawning noise was made by the spikes as they were drawn from the wooden supports. The roof was a single sheet of corrugated tin—piled with sandbags and earth. It didn’t ‘fall.’ It tipped—slowly angling upward over Robert’s side of the dugout and down towards the ground on the other side. As it did this, the earth and the sandbags slowly slid across the tin, making a sound like a long, deep wave retreating over a pebble beach. It seemed to go on forever. Robert waited—holding his breath—thinking they were going to be buried alive. But the heaving stopped at last and it appeared that whatever was going to collapse had done so. At least for the moment.
The bird shook its feathers.
The rabbit turned with its eyes shut tight and huddled in the corner of its cage facing Robert. The hedgehog lay on its side in a ball.
Robert said: ‘Captain Rodwell?’
‘Yes?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m on top of you.’
‘Can you move?’
‘No. The other bunk is lying on top of me and I think it’s full of earth.’
The wire was cutting into them both.
Levitt spoke from under the table.
‘Do you think I should come out?’ he asked.
‘We aren’t playing hide-and-seek,’ said Rodwell. ‘Please come out, by all means—if you’re so inclined.’
The flour and the dust had settled sufficiently for Robert now to be able to see the table and, under it, Levitt on his hands and knees. He crawled out—still clutching Clausewitz—and banged the book against the tails of his greatcoat and stamped his boots and slapped his arms, sending up clouds of talcum powder into the air. Lavender.
‘Where is Poole?’ said Robert—suddenly aware that nothing had been heard from the bugler.
‘Who is Poole?’ said Levitt.
‘God damn it!’ said Robert. ‘Poole, my batman! Where is he?’
‘Please don’t swear at me, Lieutenant Ross,’ said Levitt. ‘I really can’t bear it.’
Robert said: ‘Will you see what you can do about getting Captain Rodwell off my back?’
‘Yes,’ said Levitt, ‘but please don’t swear at me.’
Robert didn’t reply.
Levitt—who in fact was suffering from shock—stood quite still for a moment looking about the half-collapsed dugout.
Robert said: ‘What are you waiting for?’
Levitt said: ‘I’m looking for somewhere to put down my book.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Rodwell sensibly. ‘Then you can pull this stuff away.’
Robert watched Levitt’s feet beside him as Levitt started pulling things aside and throwing them over his shoulder. Rodwell said: ‘Don’t be so hasty. You’re hurting me.’ Slowly, the weight began to lift from Robert’s back and he realized his legs were still intact when the blood began to flow again and his toes began to burn with pins and needles. Then there was a sudden cry and a lurch and Rodwell’s feet appeared beside Levitt’s.
A wedge of chicken wire was sticking out of Rodwell’s knee. He plucked it away and threw it aside. ‘Ouch,’ he said—and laughed.
They dragged Robert out by his arms and pulled him to his feet. As soon as they let go, Robert sank to his knees.
‘Something broken?’ Rodwell asked.
Robert said his legs were just asleep and sat on the earth for a moment rubbing his shins. Rodwell collected the cages one by one—inspecting the contents with his fingers, prodding and cooing, muttering ‘so—so—so’ and then he placed the cages in a row near the step with the toad on top. All the animals had survived, although the hedgehog still had not unrolled himself.
Levitt was picking up books—dusting them off with his sleeve and making a pile of them on the top of the table. The roof—angled open—gave a view of an orange and rolling sky. Long, thick curls of smoke were blowing overhead as if there was a storm of fire.
Rodwell started lighting candles and setting them on top of the books—the only level surface in the dugout.
‘Would you please not put them there?’ said Levitt. ‘I’m doing my best to clean things up and get this place in order. You fellows just keep knocking everything down and putting things where they don’t belong! Leave my books alone!’ There was an edge of craziness in his voice that sounded dangerous. Rodwell said: ‘Certainly. Certainly. Anything to oblige,’ and took up the candles and stuck them in the earth where most of them promptly sizzled and went out.
Robert suddenly stood up.
Poole.
The ledge cut into the earth where he’d been lying had completely disappeared.
Robert began to pull aside debris. Rodwell helped.
‘Stop it! Stop it!’ said Levitt. ‘You’re doing it again! You’re messing everything up!’
Rodwell turned and struck him in the face.
Instantly, Levitt turned and ran from the dugout.
Rodwell said: ‘He’ll be back in a moment. Pay no attention,’ and they went on digging.
The debris was a mixture of clay and bricks and bits of timber. Some of it was hot and some of it was ic
y cold. It stank of sulphur and chlorine. Wherever it was wet, their fingers only made furrows and nothing could be pulled away. All they got for their frantic digging was clay beneath their fingernails. Robert began to sweat. Rodwell found a spoon and a fork on the floor and they used these as claws. It was futile. Still—they didn’t stop for a second. One by one, the remaining candles guttered and went out. The only light was reflected from the clouds of smoke beyond the angled roof. Robert felt someone come and kneel between them. Levitt returning. He too began to dig in silence. All that could be heard was the guns and the urgent breathing of the three men. Robert’s forearms and shoulders began to seize up with cramps. He was certain Poole, by now, must have suffocated in the clay. He had no idea how long it had been since the mines went off, but it must have been hours. (In fact, it was twelve minutes.) Robert was just about to give up when the man between himself and Rodwell spoke. ‘Who are we digging for?’ he asked.
Robert fell backwards.
It was Poole.
He’d gone outside to relieve himself and was caught between the dugout and the trench when the mines went up. Once the barrage had started, he didn’t dare move.
Robert heard himself saying: ‘Next time, stay in your place so we know where you are.’ He was angry with relief.
‘Yessir,’ said Poole. But he was smiling when he said it.