De herinnerde soldaat Quotes

“And he climbs out of the tank and carefully steps back to her over his own beaten path, and she snatches up his hands in relief and kisses him, right there in the middle of that sad field among shell holes and flowers, it’s what hundreds of soldiers must have wished for hundreds of times in that very spot, and he has the confused idea that her presence here and her kiss must be a hallucination. And he closes his eyes and tries to cling to the daydream and the pleasant feeling, ignoring the booming of the guns and the stench of chloride, lime, and rot, and he’s amazed how well it works, it’s almost as if he’s really holding her in his arms. Are you coming, she says, and he opens his eyes and she’s still there, he tries to conceal his surprise, and then, when he realizes that he had it just the wrong way around, that the daydream is the reality and how unbelievable that is, he kisses her again, making sure to fix the moment in his memory, pointing out to himself her warm living body in his embrace, the damp patches of sweat on her dress, the brim of her hat getting in the way, her curls tickling his cheek, her wet lips against his, and it doesn’t happen again, thank God, he forgets nothing.”
― Anjet Daanje, The Remembered Soldier

“it’s a safe world, this life he shares with her, but beneath it lies a nameless threat, whatever he does, thinks, says, it’s there in the background, always, as if he glimpses it out of the corner of his eye and it moves again before he can look at it straight on, and the strange thing is somehow his fear always comes as a relief, his love for her was unknown territory, his fear is familiar.”
― Anjet Daanje, The Remembered Soldier

“And they lie in bed together smoking a Bastos, passing it back and forth, and she kisses the blisters on his hands and he strokes her cool thighs, but they don’t feel like making love, just this is good, so good, and he thinks to himself that he should remember this, this wonderful day,”
― Anjet Daanje, The Remembered Soldier

“And Amand lowers the boy’s eyelids and begins to undress him, his thick overcoat, his sturdy German boots, his French uniform trousers, and after that he takes off his own coat, boots, and trousers and puts on the boy’s, and the boy is so defenseless without his uniform that Amand tries to dress him up in his own clothes, but the lifeless limbs get in the way, and the boy’s shirt is stiff with mud and pus from the abdominal wound, he gives up, he leaves him behind there in the fog and the freezing cold, with his bare, pale legs, his shot-up belly, and his white face with closed eyelids and that blissful smile on his lips, he lies so lonely and lost in that place where his mother’s thoughts will never be able to find him.”
― Anjet Daanje, The Remembered Soldier

“And he rests his head in the crook of her neck and lies still on top of her, and he longs for freedom from thought, a merciful emptiness, and under him he feels her belly calmly rising and falling, rising and falling, and the longer they lie together that way, the more his breath falls into her rhythm, they become one body together, and her hand slides warily over his back, as if she is petting a horse so large she has to stand on her toes, the first time was in a barn, she whispers, and she waits for him to protest and when he doesn’t, she begins her story, and her words sink inside him and drive away the senselessness, the war and the death, and below that desire lies waiting, his desire for her wondrously fragile human body, beauty and love, it’s a story like all the others, it demands the courage to believe, and he chances it, and now that he knows that he too wants it her way, divine and godless,”
― Anjet Daanje, The Remembered Soldier

“She takes the box of matches and the pack of Bastos out of his inner pocket, pulls out two cigarettes, presses them between her lips, and lights them both, taking a deep drag with the ease of long habit, he sees the orange glow bright for a moment in the red half-light, and then, as if she’s done it hundreds of times before, she places the other cigarette between his lips, it’s still damp from her mouth like a gentle kiss. And he grows calm, he smoked with a comrade this way so often, keeping watch together at night, killing time by day, during shelling, sitting quietly as all around them the world was undone.”
― Anjet Daanje, The Remembered Soldier

“And he feels admiration for her, and tells her so, and she laughs, shy and flattered, and lets him take his first photograph, a photo of her, just tell me how you want me, she says, standing in front of the romanticized battlefield, and he issues hesitant instructions, but whatever he says, she does meekly, and he understands why she loves photography, why he used to love it too, it creates the illusion of complete control, a few square inches of the world in which no disappointment, fear, or sorrow exists.”
― Anjet Daanje, The Remembered Soldier