“To your better health.”
Afterward he held the glass in his hand and we looked at one another. Sometimes we talked and were good friends but tonight it was difficult.
“What’s the matter, father? You seem very tired.”
“I am tired but I have no right to be.”
“It’s the heat.”
“No. This is only the Spring. I feel very low.”
“You have the war disgust.”
“No. But I hate the war.”
“I don’t enjoy it,” I said. He shook his head and looked out of the window.
“You do not mind it. You do not see it. You must forgive me. I know you are wounded.”
“That is an accident.”
“Still even wounded you do not see it. I can tell. I do not see it myself but I feel it a little.”
“When I was wounded we were talking about it. Passini was talking.”
The priest put down the glass. He was thinking about something else.
“I know them because I am like they are,” he said.
“You are different though.”
“But really I am like they are.”