Kaputt by Curzio Malaparte Read Free Book Online Page A

with the wind; the storm weighed down upon the horizon. It looked like an enormous, painfully breathing black lung. Swollen and empty like an enormous lung. I saw the sky expand and contract; I saw it breathe like a huge lung, its network of veins and bronchial tubes for a moment lighted by the sulphurous flashes of lightning. I pushed the little wooden gate open and went into the road. The carrion lay there, sideways in the puddle, its head resting on the dusty edge of the road. Its wrinkled belly was swollen. Its wide-open eye shone damp and round. Its dusty yellow mane, smeared and clotted with blood and mud, stood rigidly erect, like the manes on the helmets of ancient warriors. I sat on the roadside, my shoulders resting against the fence. A black bird flew by in slow silent flight. Soon it would rain. Invisible gusts of wind rushed through the sky, dust clouds ran along the road with a long soft hiss; particles of dirt clawed at my face and lashes, and crawled through my hair like ants. Soon it would rain. I went back into the house and stretched out on the bed. My arms and my legs ached. I was dripping with sweat. And suddenly I fell asleep.
    And then the carrion stench came in again. It stopped on the threshold. I was not quite awake; my eyes were still shut and I felt that the stench was gazing at me. It was now a soft and greasy stench; a thick, slimy, deep smell, a yellow smell, stained with green. I opened my eyes. It was sunrise. The room was enveloped in a spider web of uncertain whitish light. Things grew slowly out of the shadows, so slowly they became distorted and twisted like things pulled out of the neck of a bottle. A cupboard stood against the wall between the door and the window, the hangers dangled— empty, swaying. The wind made the window curtains flutter— there were heaps of paper, dirty rags, cigarette butts on the earthen floor, and the papers rustled in the wind.
    Suddenly the stench came in, and on the threshold stood a young foal. It was lean and hairy. It stank of decay, of carrion. It gazed fixedly at me and snorted. It came close to the bed, stretched its neck and sniffed at me. It stank horribly. As I started to get out of bed, it turned suddenly, knocked its side against the cupboard, and fled, neighing with fright. I drew on my boots and followed it out on the road. The foal was stretched alongside the dead mare. It gazed at me fixedly. " Asculta! —Listen here!" I called out to a passing Romanian soldier carrying a pail of water. I told him to take care of the foal.
    "It was foaled by the dead mare," said the soldier.
    "Yes," I replied, "it was foaled by the dead mare."
    The little foal was gazing fixedly at me, rubbing its back against the side of the carcass. The soldier approached and began stroking the foal's neck.
    "It must be taken away from its mother. If it stays here, it will end by rotting. It can be your squadron's mascot," I said.
    "Yes," said the soldier. "Yes, poor beast. It will bring luck to our squadron." Saying this he took off his trouser belt and looped it around the foal's neck. At first the foal did not want to get up, then it leaped up and backed, neighing and twisting its neck toward the dead mare. The soldier dragged it toward the camp in the woods. I stood watching it for a while; then I pulled open the door of my car and started the motor. I had forgotten my knapsack. I went back to the house, took my sack and kicking the door shut, I climbed into my car and drove off to Nemirovskoye.
    In the whitish light of dawn the river had a strange glitter. The sky was overcast; it looked like a winter sky. The wind blew along the river. Thick reddish clouds of dust passed low on the horizon like clouds escaping from a fire. Water birds among the reeds along the banks croaked raucously; flocks of wild ducks rose into flight, beating their wings slowly above the water, through thickets of willows shivering in the biting cold of the morning. And everywhere hung that