...of the war-weary

It had already been a long time since the battery had stopped firing and under the big trees it was completely dark. From far away, they could see the column arriving. Only the first of the vehicles had turned on its lights which illuminated little more than four or five yards ahead of it, and they could see them for a long while, suspended in the darkness like two pale moons trembling faintly, not seeming to advance, imperceptibly growing larger as they approached along the forest path. Having come up to the battery, the first truck stopped and, behind it, the row of vehicles became motionless. Two officers got out and while unfolding their maps headed toward the artillerymen's radio truck. The trucks of the convoy were canvas topped and nothing was moving inside. The canvas flaps were open at the rear of each one, and as they approached, the artillerymen and the cavalrymen saw two rows of soldiers sitting opposite each other on benches set lengthwise in the truck. As a matter of fact, they could make out only the first men in each row, those closest to the rear of the vehicle, with behind them, in the dark, motionless and silent shapes whose presence they could divine - their berating and something else that emanated from them, more silent tan silence itself or rather as if silence and darkness had themselves been something tangible, something that enveloped the two rows of soldiers or rather emerged from them and remained there, stagnant, compact and unbreathable, enclosed under the dark canvas. Packed against each other like children, docilely sitting face to face, their rifles vertical between their knees which touched each other, they seemed like those frightened animals which huddle in the back of a cage and keep perfectly still, like rabbits, merely breathing. The cavalrymen asked them if they belonged to that North African infantry division whose arrival as reinforcements had been repeatedly announced, but they continued to keep silent...

[The Acacia, Simon, C.]