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hen picked away the dried blood except over the cut。 It was nothing。 I had no handkerchief； but feeling with my fingers I washed away where the dried blood had been； with rainwater that dripped from the canvas； and wiped it clean with the sleeve of my coat。 I did not want to look conspicuous。 I knew I would have to get out before they got to Mestre because they would be taking care of these guns。 They had no guns to lose or forget about。 I was terrifically hungry。
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Lying on the floor of the flat…car with the guns beside me under the canvas I was wet； cold and very hungry。 Finally I rolled over and lay flat on my stomach with my head on my arms。 My knee was stiff； but it had been very satisfactory。 Valentini had done a fine job。 I had done half the retreat on foot and swum part of the Tagliamento with his knee。 It was his knee all right。 The other knee was mine。 Doctors did things to you and then it was not your body any more。 The head was mine； and the inside of the belly。 It was very hungry in there。 I could feel it turn over on itself。 The head was mine； but not to use； not to think with； only to remember and not too much remember。
I could remember Catherine but I knew I would get crazy if I thought about her when I was not sure yet I would see her； so I would not think about her； only about her a little； only about her with the car going slowly and clickingly； and some light through the canvas and my lying with Catherine on the floor of the car。 Hard
