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train comes tonight. They took the name of the regiment and company.”
    Jacob cursed them. He paced back and forth, screaming his rage until it seemed to fill the dugout full and overflowing.
    â€œEnough—enough!” Clark yelled. “The fruit of sin—do you hear me! You’re no men, and you reap no fruits of men, but the fruits of sin! As ye sow, so shall ye reap! You lie with your women without shame. You sport and you have no shame for your sporting. You curse God, and in turn you are cursed by God! You made an idol of freedom, and now the idol’s smashed open. Allen there—with a slut in his arms. Kenton sharing his woman among the lot of you. Charles who would look from the face of God to the face of a woman! You whore and murder among yourselves! I call God to blast you for your crimes—I call God!” He fell on his knees; he stretched out his arms. His face grew livid and then deathly pale. Then he crumpled up on the floor.
    Ely tried to pick him up. He said: “Help me, Allen.”
    We put him on his bed. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving. Jacob tried to make him hear; Jacob was calmed suddenly.
    â€œWe’re taking yer words to heart—Clark, you hear me?”
    I went to Bess.
    She was crying softly, without hysteria, but in an agony of pain. She said to me: “Allen, I’m not a bad woman. He laid a curse of God on me.”
    â€œYou’re not—you’re not,” I said.
    â€œAllen—I’ll sleep no more. Even if I die, I’ll not sleep in peace.”
    Bending over, I tried to kiss her. She pushed me away. “Don’t kiss me, Allen.”
    Charley Green’s woman cried: “Who’s he to curse me? Who is he, the rotten mock of a man?”
    â€œAh—be quiet, Annie,” Charley groaned. I took Bess’ hand. I turned it over, put it to my lips. “You sleep,” I said, “sleep.”
    I turned to Clark. Jacob had dropped onto his bunk, a mass of helpless bones. Ely stood by Vandeer’s bed. The Jew stood just behind him, a bent figure for the ages, as filthy and ragged as any of us—but different.
    Ely said: “I’m afraid for him, Allen. We need a doctor.”
    I looked at Clark. He lay in bed, breathing hoarsely, sweating, his eyes wide open.
    â€œThere’s no doctor in the Pennsylvania huts. A leech won’t come here from the hospital.”
    â€œWe’ll bear him down there,” Ely said.
    I shook my head. “I can’t, Ely. There’s no strength left in me.”
    I watched Ely’s eyes pass round the dugout. His shaggy, bearded head turned slowly: Jacob of no use, Charley Green sick and unable to move, Henry Lane with great festering sores on his feet, Kenton by the fire, as if he heard nothing of Clark Vandeer’s raving.
    â€œYou’ll come?” Ely asked the Jew.
    â€œI’ll come,” I said. “Christ, I’ll come, Ely.”
    We took clothes wherever we could find them. Charley’s woman gave a blanket, a petticoat. She lay in bed half-naked, clinging close to him. She called me over.
    â€œIf he comes to his senses—plead him to take back the curse.”
    â€œThere’s no curse,” Ely said uncertainly.
    We picked up Clark, the three of us. Ely, myself, and the Jew. He was skin and bones and he couldn’t have weighed more than ninety or a hundred pounds, but he was more than enough for us. We could barely hold his weight.
    We went outside and tried to go through the snow. There was a sleet blowing; it was like moving through a morass that sucked in our legs. Sometimes we couldn’t move, had to stand still waiting for our bodies to gather the strength to go on. I tried to picture Ely going through this for two miles, to the commissary and back. Coming back empty-handed. Now going out with us again. What is it in Ely? I look at him sometimes, and try to understand. Where is the strength? All of us are