While the bombardment was knocking the trench to pieces at Fossalta, he lay very flat and sweated and prayed oh jesus christ get me out of here. Dear jesus please get me out. Christ please please please christ. If you’ll only keep me from getting killed I’ll do anything you say. I believe in you and I’ll tell every one in the world that you are the only one that matters. Please please dear jesus. The shelling moved further up the line. We went to work on the trench and in the morning the sun came up and the day was hot and muggy and cheerful and quiet. The next night back at Mestre he did not tell the girl he went upstairs with at the Villa Rossa about Jesus. And he never told anybody.

From “Chapter VII” by Ernest Hemingway

I have not posted a snippet from Hemingway’s works in a while. I miss his writing. I miss the apparent simplicity that hides carefully crafted and expressive sentences. I miss the rhythm of his prose, building up to a crescendo toward an inexorable climax—“If you’ll only keep me from getting killed I’ll do anything you say … please please dear jesus.” And then it might drop you to the ground where the cruel reality lies—“And he never told anybody.”

The soldier was not a true believer. Hemingway makes this clear because he doesn’t even capitalize the names of Jesus or Christ in his invocations. Does this behavior sound familiar? It does to me.