Read Online The Burning of the World: A Memoir of 1914 by Bela Zombory-Moldovan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bela Zombory-Moldovan
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further up before they, too, dissolved and dispersed.
“The castle’s burning,” said the orderly, who was pushing the cart beside me.
The end of the baronial castle of the princes of Horyniec, of the art treasures and vast wealth, of the gallery of ancestral portraits and of the canopied, silk-draped Empire bed. Sic transit .
We had to push the cart, as by now the two poor beasts could scarcely keep it moving. I took out a cigarette and hunted for matches. Reaching into my trouser pocket, I discovered my trusty companion, sharer of my fate, the comrade that connected me to my former life: my watch. I was so filled with joy that I could kiss it. I had something, after all. Not just an object, but a true and staunch friend. I held it in my left hand and marveled at it as it measured off the seconds. It was actually running. I had no idea when I had last wound it.
The orderly clicked his lighter, made from a Mannlicher cartridge case. “Sir!” I turned towards him and held out the cigarette with my right hand.
“That’s quite a tremor, sir. It’s the head wound that’s causing that.”
I’d noticed myself that, especially when I turned in a certain way, the trembling in my lower arm turned into a positive shaking. If that was the worst of it . . . It would go away eventually. All that mattered for now was that, with each step, I was getting further and further from mortal danger, and for a few weeks, at least, I would return to life. After that, what would be, would be.
We crossed a bridge over some little stream. A rickety structure: I was surprised that it took our weight. The sound of clean running water made me so thirsty that I yearned to lie down in it. I had no interest in eating, but oh, to drink, and drink, and keep drinking!
“We’ll get to a larger settlement soon,” said the orderly. “There are troops stationed there, and we can get something to eat and drink. There’s a proper road from there that will take us to Lubaczow, if these nags can keep going. If not, we’ll get other horses.”
The Ruthene carter watered the little horses from a pail. Each of them drank almost a full pail. Where they put it all is a mystery.
With the cart stopped, my ears rang dully in the sudden silence, as if I were hearing everything from under water. My throat was so dry I could barely swallow.
“I think I have a bit of fever,” I told the orderly.
“That’s very likely, but please try to hold out until we get to Lubaczow. I have no drugs or dressings here. Try to sleep.”
Sleep would be a fine thing, but I had to treat my head as if it were made of glass. Whatever I tried to rest my head on would shake about, and the pain made my eyes practically jump out my head. I tried resting my elbows on my knees and propping my chin on the palms of my hands, as we trundled down the hill. Ahead, and to our right, a larger settlement gradually came into view. The orderly said it was called Basznia. [4]
A little further on, we did indeed join a relatively good, metaled road, and the cart no longer pitched about so much. There were woods to one side of the road as we got nearer the settlement. At the edge of the woods stood a guard post—the first troops we had seen on our journey so far.
The commanding officer appeared, and there was some discussion. The cart waited. Those who had been on foot sat down; they were exhausted by now. We could take a rest. They brought us food and drink, and checked my bandages at the aid point. But we could not spend much time here: the front was heading this way, and the last train from Lubaczow would leave at sunset.
We were directed to the kitchen to wait. A cow was just being slaughtered, five or six paces away from me: a small, dun-colored, peasant’s milch cow. It was the first time I had seen this done. One man twisted a rope around its horns, passed it through a pulley fixed to the ground, and hauled the animal’s head right down to its forelegs. Another man took an
“The castle’s burning,” said the orderly, who was pushing the cart beside me.
The end of the baronial castle of the princes of Horyniec, of the art treasures and vast wealth, of the gallery of ancestral portraits and of the canopied, silk-draped Empire bed. Sic transit .
We had to push the cart, as by now the two poor beasts could scarcely keep it moving. I took out a cigarette and hunted for matches. Reaching into my trouser pocket, I discovered my trusty companion, sharer of my fate, the comrade that connected me to my former life: my watch. I was so filled with joy that I could kiss it. I had something, after all. Not just an object, but a true and staunch friend. I held it in my left hand and marveled at it as it measured off the seconds. It was actually running. I had no idea when I had last wound it.
The orderly clicked his lighter, made from a Mannlicher cartridge case. “Sir!” I turned towards him and held out the cigarette with my right hand.
“That’s quite a tremor, sir. It’s the head wound that’s causing that.”
I’d noticed myself that, especially when I turned in a certain way, the trembling in my lower arm turned into a positive shaking. If that was the worst of it . . . It would go away eventually. All that mattered for now was that, with each step, I was getting further and further from mortal danger, and for a few weeks, at least, I would return to life. After that, what would be, would be.
We crossed a bridge over some little stream. A rickety structure: I was surprised that it took our weight. The sound of clean running water made me so thirsty that I yearned to lie down in it. I had no interest in eating, but oh, to drink, and drink, and keep drinking!
“We’ll get to a larger settlement soon,” said the orderly. “There are troops stationed there, and we can get something to eat and drink. There’s a proper road from there that will take us to Lubaczow, if these nags can keep going. If not, we’ll get other horses.”
The Ruthene carter watered the little horses from a pail. Each of them drank almost a full pail. Where they put it all is a mystery.
With the cart stopped, my ears rang dully in the sudden silence, as if I were hearing everything from under water. My throat was so dry I could barely swallow.
“I think I have a bit of fever,” I told the orderly.
“That’s very likely, but please try to hold out until we get to Lubaczow. I have no drugs or dressings here. Try to sleep.”
Sleep would be a fine thing, but I had to treat my head as if it were made of glass. Whatever I tried to rest my head on would shake about, and the pain made my eyes practically jump out my head. I tried resting my elbows on my knees and propping my chin on the palms of my hands, as we trundled down the hill. Ahead, and to our right, a larger settlement gradually came into view. The orderly said it was called Basznia. [4]
A little further on, we did indeed join a relatively good, metaled road, and the cart no longer pitched about so much. There were woods to one side of the road as we got nearer the settlement. At the edge of the woods stood a guard post—the first troops we had seen on our journey so far.
The commanding officer appeared, and there was some discussion. The cart waited. Those who had been on foot sat down; they were exhausted by now. We could take a rest. They brought us food and drink, and checked my bandages at the aid point. But we could not spend much time here: the front was heading this way, and the last train from Lubaczow would leave at sunset.
We were directed to the kitchen to wait. A cow was just being slaughtered, five or six paces away from me: a small, dun-colored, peasant’s milch cow. It was the first time I had seen this done. One man twisted a rope around its horns, passed it through a pulley fixed to the ground, and hauled the animal’s head right down to its forelegs. Another man took an
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