would not be able to get them out of the trucks. They should not have gotten out, ever, of course. But what a trade it is.
“In our army, you know,” he told the girl, “practically no Generals have ever fought. It is quite strange and the top organization dislikes those who have fought.”
“Do Generals really fight?”
“Oh yes. When they are captains and lieutenants. Later, except in retreats, it is rather stupid.”
“Did you fight much? I know you did. But tell me.”
“I fought enough to be classified as a fool by the great thinkers.”
“Tell me.”
“When I was a boy, I fought against Erwin Rommel half way from Cortina to the Grappa, where we held. He was a captain then and I was an acting captain; really a sub-lieutenant.”
“Did you know him?”
“No. Not until after the war when we could talk together. He was very nice and I liked him. We used to ski together.”
“Did you like many Germans?”
“Very many. Ernst Udet I liked the best.”
“But they were in the wrong.”
“Of course. But who has not been?”
“I never could like them or take such a tolerant attitude as you do, since they killed my father and burned our villa on the Brenta and the day I saw a German officer shooting pigeons with a shot-gun in the Piazza San Marco.”
