"I like those little pebbles," Japonica said.
"You're my pal," I said.
"Oh darling, let's just be together and make out and not say anything," she said. We stayed together and made out OK and we didn't say anything.
The next morning I got up early and ate breakfast below. I had some fine black bread and a bottle of margaux and a bottle of fresa and a bottle of barbera and a bottle of Gran Italia, tannic and lovely. I put the provolone in my pocket. My head felt very clear and cold and I wanted to talk facts. But there was nobody to talk to so I had a glass of cognac and a glass of brandy and a glass of kummel and a glass of vermouth. I thought about waking Japonica but decided against it. It seemed like happy hour-- I had no sense of time-- and I walked out into the Strand, heading for Harry's Bar & American Grill, which Pasquale told me was :
The Austrian 105mm. shell made a splendid sound as it hit the Strand, but that was all that I remember. Later there medics carrying me to Battalion Aid and I remember looking down for my legs but there was nothing there. "Don't look for your torso either," Nurse Fagin said later. I didn't like her calling me Ed the Head. Two weeks later Japonica visited me. She looked thin.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"A little," I said. I hadn't let the people at the hospital know that because I dislike effusiveness. I had to hold on to a definition of myself. It's the Code.
"I brought your wine flask," she said. We had a lovely little party right there the two of us and we had mozzarella and pumpernickel and we filled the goatskin with Marsala and fake Chianti and amontillado and....
--Norm Burnett Alexandria, VA