Dec 17, 1943
Darling:
Your letters are like hypodermics of stimulation so keep them coming! I look up from them in dazed surprise to find myself still in India. They're the best morale boosters, next to you (which is certainly where I'd like to be!)
And now I will prosaically talk about guard duty. When you're on guard in India there is plenty of activity to keep you awake nights. The Dhobis (laundry men) sit chatting toothfully over open fires at all hours. Motorized boats chug up a nearby river. In the moony shadows the jackals rustle the underbrush, stalking after discarded bones and in the distance the bay like drunken Notre Dame students celebrating a victory over Southern Cal. (We think nothing of jackals. A moody white cat around here has battled them three hours and they run at the sight of her.)
Cows wander down from a nearby pasture and have to be herded back. (One white one can jump around a corner faster than a fly ducking a swatter.)
The boatmen hail each other over the splendid water acoustics, or sing mournful minors about "Lonesome was I for she had gone, etc." Dogs yelp at jackals and bad dreams. Rickshaws grind by accompanied by the clop-clop of sandals or padding of bare, calloused feet. And every so often a sentinel shouts "Corporal of the guard, post no. 8 -- where the hell is my relief?"
And who can go to sleep at a time like that?
All my love,
S.
No comments:
Post a Comment