The driver came out of the door with the papers for the wounded in the car.
“Four for 105. Two for 132,” he said. They were hospitals beyond the river.
“You drive,” I said. I helped the soldier with the rupture up on the seat with us.
“You speak English?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“How you like this goddam war?”
“Rotten.”
“I say it’s rotten. Jesus Christ, I say it’s rotten.”
“Were you in the States?”
“Sure. In Pittsburg. I knew you was an American.”
“Don’t I talk Italian good enough?”
“I knew you was an American all right.”
“Another American,” said the driver in Italian looking at the hernia man.
“Listen, lootenant. Do you have to take me to that regiment?”
“Yes.”
“Because the captain doctor knew I had this rupture. I threw away the goddam truss so it would get bad and I wouldn’t have to go to the line again.”