352
PARTISAN REVIEW
parade ground in front of the barracks and report, then back to the bar–
racks to wash, clean up, inspection, and then eat. Line up again at 7, and
off to work.
We have already been issued rifles (the first day) and we have drilled,
marched, learned the manual of arms, bayonet drill (are they ugly-look–
ing, the bayonets!), gas mask drill, riflery, hand grenade throwing, ele–
mentary skirmishing, scouting, anti-aircraft defense, tent-pitching, etc.
We are supposed to be here for 13 weeks of basic training, but they are
pushing us through .at a terrific clip and we should be through
m
half the
time. The rush is obviously in preparation for war. Later on we will be
transferred to regular army regiments, and there is a chance that I might
get somewhere nearer home. Just a chance, though.
These two weeks in the army seem like an eternity already. When I
think of the future (a year is bad enough, but you hope that it is
only
a
year, and no war} I feel an immense despair, a despair without sharpness
because there is no chance for an alternative to this.
I read a little of Tolstoy, but I don't get much of a chance except
during the weekend, since we work up to 6 P.M. and lights are out at
9 P.M. and there is no place to which to go to read. fll manage to get
through the book soon, though.
Dear
B--:
Yes, as y<m predict I've gotten used to it at last; I've found a couple
of guys it is possible to spend time with; I tolerate, even am interested,
by my bunk mates. Though it is not the attitude that you advise, the
"Enormous Room" point of view. The interest and value of my army
experience will make themselves evident only upon recollection. While
you are in it, you are just miserable. I intended to keep the kind of
journal you suggest in your letter, but have discovered that it is impos–
sible for two reasons:
l)
The only free hours we have are from 6 to 9 in the evening (and
the weekend} in which time I have to write letters, relax, read, polish
shoes, keep clean, etc. It is just impossible to keep a journal at the same
time.
2) A journal requires a certain amount of reflection on one's part,
a leisurely devotion of one's mind to sentiments and meanings. I have
found it possible only to observe and hope, impossible to reflect or think.
Bob sent me some volumes of poetry-1 hadn't taken any with me–
and for the first time since I've been in the army I read some verse. What
an immense effect it had! It destroyed the character of permanency that
this life has come to assume. The old life of books and freedom flooded
back into my mind, and, strangely enough, without any poignancy. But
on the march, slogging along with pack and rifle, when I watched the free
people race by in their motor cars, I was attacked by intensely poignant
feelings. When they ·stopped their cars to look at us, I averted my eyes,
feeling embarrassed and envious. But reading a poem was actually being
free; not merely envying freedom.
