Thirst. Pain. Shattered, creaking bones. Fire burning inside me, consuming all my strength. “Water! Water!” I tried to shout. But the words were swallowed up. A murky whirlpool of smoke curled and spun around in front of my eyes. Acrid smoke blocked my breathing, stinging my lips, almost choking me. “Water! Water!” I spat in despair. “Water!” a shattered groan burst from my dry mouth.
A wet, searing heat blazed in my mouth. A red-hot fire ate at my innards. A clear, blinding fire lit up suddenly. Fire . . . flame . . . Dry, discordant whistles pierced my ears. An iron saw creaked over my bones, cutting deep and scattering splinters all around, sawing mercilessly.
Smoke covered my eyes once more, heavy, sulfurous smoke, salty and thick. “Water! Water!”
Everything in front of me was blurred. A dense darkness enveloped my eyes. Voices and other sounds filtered through this pitch-black curtain: people running, the sound of frantic breathing, the thunderous roar of guns, the sound of iron scraping and setting my teeth on edge. Suddenly consciousness returned to me. Thousands of bottles of cool, clear water surrounded me. I grabbed the bottles and drank out of them, drank quickly, greedily, gurgling and slurping, with lust and insanity. A hollow, strident bubbling sound came from the mouths of the bottles as I dashed their contents down. Plop . . . plop, the water bubbled. But my thirst wasn’t quenched. It grew worse, more violent, until it nearly drove me crazy. I grabbed another bottle, and another. Plop, plop, plop. “Drink, drink! Water!” I croaked. “Water!”
Plop . . . plop . . . plop. A bubbling sound that grew louder, a pump that beat strongly. I ran over the smoke-covered hills in a frenzy, holding bottles of water. Ran until I was breathless and floated on plains covered with low, leaden skies. My hands were stretched out to heaven, and my fingers were clenched in a plea: “Water, water!” I wailed. Burning flames ran wild inside me, boiling lead was poured into my body, my insides ached and screamed out loud, my whole body writhed in agony. A giant gun was drying everything out, and I ran around doubled-up with pain. A heavy, suffocating smoke arose from the soil, as if thousands of huge bonfires had been lit around me with wet branches, which gave off damp steam. I tried to break through to the fire, crawling and winding between the glowing embers. Between the damp branches. I picked them up in my hand and licked them with my tongue: “Water, water, water!” But I swallowed only fire and embers. Only flames.
The pump beat again, strongly and without mercy, until my shattered bones creaked with pain. Thick smoke covered the rocks, like the smoke of a steam engine. A hot breeze blew and caught fire. The sound of shots came to my ears. A cruel, stabbing explosion accompanied by cries and the sobbing of wounded men. My comrades had all been killed, and I was left alone. The snarl of battle had died down, the day was dwindling, the sun was about to set, the skies were turning the color of charcoal, the rocks were frozen. Soon I would feel nothing. I’d sink . . . sink into a whirlpool . . . A circle of smoke curled in front me, going around and expanding, going around and opening up. I was sinking into a black cave, sliding and slipping over a muddy path. Faded lines of light dancing up and down. Abyss. Darkness. Blackness.
The trumpet cheered again. Sizzling sounds, the hoarse yelps of dogs. Something hammered at me, hitting hard. The sound of drums rising. The rattle of train wheels rushing by, the creaking of iron wheels being stopped suddenly: a mighty, thunderous waterfall. The reverberation of an explosion of rocks hammered my head. Hammered it with a mighty wind, a storm.
I was sinking. The black circles went on spreading, expanding, opening a dark maw, to swallow, to sweep away. I wanted to stretch my hand out to the sides, to hold onto something. But everything was hollow, empty. I couldn’t hold anything tightly. Like those bows in the heavens, that I had tried to grasp a long time ago. Bows . . .
Everything was uprooted from me: the pain, the thirst, and the fire . . . A dull, cracked sliver of light still danced about, but it was dying away, fading and growing dimmer. The flicker of a faint thought, which was vague, cloudy, hurt, and battered between blank, vacant walls . . . To return . . . to return . . . I was drowning, diving, diving deep down. Sleep . . . slumber . . . a paralyzing slumber. A warm stream poured inside me and rose. I was dragged into an infinite vacuum, into a blank chasm that was mummified, fossilized, and I could do nothing, nothing at all . . .
Weariness . . . slumber . . . drums . . . darkness . . .