‘I’ve got plenty to tell you.’
He settled in front of me in a chair even more worn than mine before beginning to tell me the following story:
‘It was March, or maybe April of 1915 when I met him,’ he began. ‘I don’t remember exactly when. What I do remember was that on that day I had been making my way through a maze of trenches that crisscrossed each other, so much so that the muscles in my legs had begun to cramp due to the humidity and the boggy conditions underfoot. With every step I heard the incessant sound of machine gun fire and bombs dropping from German aeroplanes close by. It had been raining non-stop for several days and the water had caused the trenches to fill with mud and sludge, giving rise to numerous diseases. Not everyone was killed by an enemy bullet in battle. Indeed
