His twitching arms writhed upwards, as though he were calling the
heavens to witness.

"You want to know what was the most awful thing?" he groaned, turning to
the Philosopher abruptly. "The disillusionment was the most awful thing
--the going off. The war wasn't. The war is what it has to be. Did it
surprise you to find out that war is horrible? The only surprising thing
was the going off. To find out that the women are horrible--that was the
surprising thing. That they can smile and throw roses, that they can
give up their men, their children, the boys they have put to bed a
thousand times and pulled the covers over a thousand times, and petted
and brought up to be men. That was the surprise! That they gave us up--
that they sent us--_sent_ us! Because every one of them would have
been ashamed to stand there without a hero. That was the great
disillusionment. Do you think we should have gone if they had not sent
us? Do you think so? Just ask the stupidest peasant out there why he'd
like to have a medal before going back on furlough. Because if he has a
medal his girl will like him better, and the other girls will run after
him, and he can use his medal to hook other men's women away from under
their noses. That's the reason, the only reason. The women sent us. No
general could have made us go if the women hadn't allowed us to be
stacked on the trains, if they had screamed out that they would never
look at us again if we turned into murderers. Not a single man would
have gone off if they had sworn never to give themselves to a man who
has split open other men's skulls and shot and bayoneted human beings.
Not one man, I tell you, would have gone. I didn't want to believe that
they could stand it like that. 'They're only pretending,' I thought.
'They're just restraining themselves. But when the first whistle blows,
they'll begin to scream and tear us out of the train, and rescue us.'