We are held prisoner in a house in Yekaterinburg that

looks across the river and the plain to the mountains.

In the bed of the river there are pebbles and

boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water

is clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels.

Troops go by the house and down the road and

the dust they raise powders the leaves of the trees.

Sometimes in the dark we hear the troops marching under

the window and guns going past pulled by motor-tractors. There

are many mules on the roads with boxes of ammunition.


Paraphrases from the novel A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway.