have one than the others were to listen to itâvote, and sign papers without necessarily having read them, a task he swiftly learned to carry outwith his left hand. In this regard it did seem that others worried more about his handicap than he seemed to himself, for he never mentioned his missing arm.
If he didnât, it was mostly because he had managed almost too quickly to dismiss it from his mind, except when he awakened each morning and looked for itâ but only for a second. Forced to become a lefty, he did so without any fuss: having successfully taught himself to write with his remaining handâand while he was at it to draw, too, more and more, which heâd never done with his right oneâhe abandoned without regret certain now impractical habits, like peeling a banana or tying his shoelaces. As regards bananas, never having particularly cared for this fruit (a recent addition, incidentally, at the market), Anthime switched easily to fruits with edible skins. Regarding shoelaces, he did not find it difficult to design and commission from the factory a prototype for shoes intended for his exclusive use, a single pair, at first, until the return of peace brought home men interested once again in lighter footwear, and Anthimeâs Pertinax moccasin became a great commercial success.
Anthime had also to renounce, whenever he wanted to reflect, wait patiently, seem relaxed, or appear preoccupied, those classic postures taken by crossing the arms or clasping the hands behind the back. At first he instinctively kept trying to adopt them, remembering only at the last moment that he could not follow through. Once heâd finally assumed the role of a one-armed man, however, Anthime did not capitulate so easily, using his empty right sleeve as an imaginary arm, wrapping it around his left one across his chest or grabbing the cuff firmly behind his back. However assumed this role was, though, when he automatically stretched out his arms upon awakening, he also mentally stretched the missing limb, with a tiny twitch in his right shoulder. Once fully alert, and once heâd decided that the day offered few things to do, it wasnât unusual for him to return to sleep after eventually masturbating, which, with his left hand, had not really posed a problem.
So: frequent idleness, to reduce which as much as possible Anthime trained himself to read his paper with a single hand and even to shuffle a deck of cards before tackling a game of solitaire. Managing at last tohold his trump cards under his chin, it took him a little more time before he risked playing silent games of manille at the Cercle Républicain with other cripples back from the front as well, all tacitly agreeing never to mention what theyâd seen. Of course Anthime played slower than the veterans whoâd lost one or both legs, but also faster than the gas victims who didnât have cards in Braille. But when players kept offering to help him and then peeked at his cards, he finally got fed up and stopped going to the Cercle.
The boredom of those weeks, the solitude, and thenâAnthime had the sudden impression one day, in front of the cathedral, that things might be looking up: as his gaze drifted over the pedestrians and pavement, he distractedly ran that gaze up the length of a cane tapping along the sidewalk across the street and wound up staring at a pair of glasses. Such canes were not yet white, as they would be painted only after the war, nor were the glasses completely black, and they werenât dark enough to prevent Anthime from recognizing behind them the face of Padioleau. Sent home from the front at almost the same time as Anthime, guided by hismother holding on to his arm, blinded by a gas that had smelled like geraniums, Padioleau immediately recognized his voice.
The joy of their reunion did not last long, though. Anthime swiftly realized that without his sight, Padioleau as well no longer had the heart for
If he didnât, it was mostly because he had managed almost too quickly to dismiss it from his mind, except when he awakened each morning and looked for itâ but only for a second. Forced to become a lefty, he did so without any fuss: having successfully taught himself to write with his remaining handâand while he was at it to draw, too, more and more, which heâd never done with his right oneâhe abandoned without regret certain now impractical habits, like peeling a banana or tying his shoelaces. As regards bananas, never having particularly cared for this fruit (a recent addition, incidentally, at the market), Anthime switched easily to fruits with edible skins. Regarding shoelaces, he did not find it difficult to design and commission from the factory a prototype for shoes intended for his exclusive use, a single pair, at first, until the return of peace brought home men interested once again in lighter footwear, and Anthimeâs Pertinax moccasin became a great commercial success.
Anthime had also to renounce, whenever he wanted to reflect, wait patiently, seem relaxed, or appear preoccupied, those classic postures taken by crossing the arms or clasping the hands behind the back. At first he instinctively kept trying to adopt them, remembering only at the last moment that he could not follow through. Once heâd finally assumed the role of a one-armed man, however, Anthime did not capitulate so easily, using his empty right sleeve as an imaginary arm, wrapping it around his left one across his chest or grabbing the cuff firmly behind his back. However assumed this role was, though, when he automatically stretched out his arms upon awakening, he also mentally stretched the missing limb, with a tiny twitch in his right shoulder. Once fully alert, and once heâd decided that the day offered few things to do, it wasnât unusual for him to return to sleep after eventually masturbating, which, with his left hand, had not really posed a problem.
So: frequent idleness, to reduce which as much as possible Anthime trained himself to read his paper with a single hand and even to shuffle a deck of cards before tackling a game of solitaire. Managing at last tohold his trump cards under his chin, it took him a little more time before he risked playing silent games of manille at the Cercle Républicain with other cripples back from the front as well, all tacitly agreeing never to mention what theyâd seen. Of course Anthime played slower than the veterans whoâd lost one or both legs, but also faster than the gas victims who didnât have cards in Braille. But when players kept offering to help him and then peeked at his cards, he finally got fed up and stopped going to the Cercle.
The boredom of those weeks, the solitude, and thenâAnthime had the sudden impression one day, in front of the cathedral, that things might be looking up: as his gaze drifted over the pedestrians and pavement, he distractedly ran that gaze up the length of a cane tapping along the sidewalk across the street and wound up staring at a pair of glasses. Such canes were not yet white, as they would be painted only after the war, nor were the glasses completely black, and they werenât dark enough to prevent Anthime from recognizing behind them the face of Padioleau. Sent home from the front at almost the same time as Anthime, guided by hismother holding on to his arm, blinded by a gas that had smelled like geraniums, Padioleau immediately recognized his voice.
The joy of their reunion did not last long, though. Anthime swiftly realized that without his sight, Padioleau as well no longer had the heart for
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