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Dvr H.Adler
PAL/30765
650, G.T.Coy R.A.S.C
“B”Platoon
C.M.F

10 January 1945

At last, darling, I have seen Adina and Dido. The day before yesterday I made a 80 km journey to spend an agreeable evening with these good and charming friends…My conversation with Adina, your letter to her which she gave me permission to read- your recent letters to me, all have left me with the clear impression that you are mistaken darling; you are making too much of the state of my soul and my financial situation…. Let’s begin with the most important: the state of my soul. My soul? Well yes, darling, What’s up with this soul? It is sensitive. Certainly. And so?  There are plenty of people with sensitive souls, my God. But you have got it into your head that I am wasting myself, that my “isolation” is dangerous for my moral state, that a black beast has seized me, that a cruel depression overwhelms me…. And since you are so far away you have asked your good friend Adina to help me, to save me… I’m afraid that it’s the tone of my last letters that have caused this mistake. That’s why I begin to hate my whining tone and I don’t know what to do about it…. The fact is that I am quite normal. There is no black beast seizing my soul. It is nothing else but desire, great, healthy, normal, and logical, the desire which fills my whole soul, the desire to be with you forever and ever. It’s nothing but that…Depression? My God yes, it attacks me sometimes, caused by being far from you, darling…

And a thought. Eight years of war, and me. All this carrion flesh spread about.. And again, what comes next….When I think about it, I see it’s my fault. My stupid letters empty of everything and filled with tasteless lamentations; it’s not surprising that you are alarmed… The truth is quite simple; my spirit is occupied recently with a very simple but vast and complicated problem above my comprehension. It irritates, annoys and annoys me and makes me write those stupid letters The problem is the humble daily life of an ordinary men in relation with events of historical and global importance. Imagine an illiterate Italian peasant born and brought up somewhere in the Fontamara- world with precise limits, who by the accident of history finds himself suddenly dead on the icy steppes of Stalingrad. And at the same time, for the same reasons, his hovel in Fontamara inhabited by his wife, his kids, his pigs and his goats is destroyed by a bomb. You see in that a hidden meaning too vast to grasp; too difficult to digest. *** mixture of good and evil in everything!!!!***

Or again. Man invents penicillin, the marvellous serum, and the greatest since the discoveries of Pasteur, destined to save millions of people from sickness and death. At the same time, is invented the V1 and the V2, destined to destroy and assassinate the greatest number of people. And now, imagine the man who invented a marvellous device capable of catching the V1 and V2 in full flight and sending them back to explode on the houses and heads of the Nazis.  That also would be a marvellous invention, destined to save millions of men from death or hideous servitude, which is worse. There also is a meaning there.. I remember that Tolstoy in war and Peace seeks this meaning somewhere. “Movement of peoples from west to east” etc, unhappily I cant remember well what Tolstoy concluded.  All that sometimes makes for miseries and a very sad letter follows.  That’s all. You see yourself that this is not grave and there’s nothing to fret about.

Don’t forget that I am a dialectical materialist and an active member of a movement that basically is the reply, the only reply to all these complex problems..

You are so troubled about my financial situation that you have become quite pathetic…

You don’t picture accurately the present situation of Italy. And outside your work in the military hospital, all you understand of the war is Cairo filled with troops, luxurious and cheap grub, croissant cafes and good red steak restaurants. But Italy, my friend is a country ravaged by war. And that here on paper is a phrase that even with the richest imagination cannot be well understood. But here it is a terrible daily reality that penetrates every hole of life, even in the humblest little house p above all in those. In a word, there is no café, there are no good red steaks, there is no mayonnaise, nor eggs. There is nothing.  It is true; there is snow, ice and all the rigours of winter plus the most touching misery. (Yes, in the rear, life becomes more regular little by little, but I am not there.)  And since there is misery, there is only one way of warming oneself with money: wine and women. Now as to wine, I am astonished to find that I have lost the habit of alcohol. There was a time when I liked to drink. But it’s no longer the case. I can still drink a glass or two, but no more. It’s curious. Because logical would demand that a fellow like me in my present circumstances, full of memories of a rather storm life and full of a longing for tenderness, would rather find consolation in drink. However it’s not like that. Understand it if you can.  As for women – no. NO!  So the buying power of my money is very limited. A tea and cake in a NAAFI and cigarettes. That is truly a ridiculously small expense. (She has written to her friend Adina, saying Henry is too poor to buy cigarettes and coffee; living in terrible conditions etc etc; he shouldn’t buy gifts for her.)…..

From 15 January I will have a raise of 30 shillings a month (3 years service). I will immediately put in your account 60 shilling a month and so you will receive in Jerusalem regularly each month 3 pounds more than now… So you had better not squabble with me about those presents; tell me at least if you like them, if you want them and if they are good. At least that I have the right to know. That’s all.  I abstain from all political conversation and reserve it for another letter.

I kiss you,

Henry.

12 January 1945.

I held on to this letter for two days because I wanted to withdraw all the first part. But after long reflection I decided to send it as it is and not hide my emptiness.