第4部分(第3/7 頁)

e　plete　marble　quality　of　all　looking　alike。　Sculpture　had　always　seemed　a　dull　business……still；　bronzes　looked　like　something。　But　marble　busts　all　looked　like　a　cemetery。　There　was　one　fine　cemetery　though……the　one　at　Pisa。　Genoa　was　the　place　to　see　the　bad　marbles。　This　had　been　the　villa　of　a　very　wealthy　German　and　the　busts　must　have　cost　him　plenty。　I　wondered　who　had　done　them　and　how　much　he　got。　I　tried　to　make　out　whether　they　were　members　of　the　family　or　what；　but　they　were　all　uniformly　classical。　You　could　not　tell　anything　about　them。

I　sat　on　a　chair　and　held　my　cap。　We　were　supposed　to　wear　steel　helmets　even　in　Gorizia　but　they　were　unfortable　and　too　bloody　theatrical　in　a　town　where　the　civilian　inhabitants　had　not　been　evacuated。　I　wore　one　when　we　went　up　to　the　posts　and　carried　an　English　gas　mask。　We　were　just　beginning　to　get　some　of　them。　They　were　a　real　mask。　Also　we　were　required　to　wear　an　automatic　pistol；　even　doctors　and　sanitary　officers。　I　felt　it　against　the　back　of　the　chair。　You　were　liable　to　arrest　if　you　did　not　have　one　worn　in　plain　sight。　Rinaldi　carried　a　holster　stuffed　with　toilet　paper。　I　wore　a　real　one　and　felt　like　a　gunman　until　I　practised　firing　it。　It　was　an　Astra　7。65　caliber　with　a　short　barrel　and　it　jumped　so　sharply　when　you　let　it　off　that　there　was　no　question　of　hitting　anything。　I　practised　with　it；　holding　below　the　target　and　trying　to　master　the　jerk　of　the　ridiculous　short　barrel　until　I　could　hit　within　a　yard　of　where　I　aimed　at　twenty　paces　and　then　the　ridiculousness　of　carrying　a　pistol　at　all　came　over　me　and　I　soon　forgot　it　and　carried　it　flopping　against　the　small　of　my　back　with　no　feeling　at　all　except　a　vague　sort　of　shame　when　I　met　English…speaking　people。　I　sat　now　in　the　chair