Davy, "the Nose" fell apart right when we walked in there.
Him the toughest of all of us and the captain.
I had to slap him a couple of times,
make him think about getting these people some help
and he finally pulled himself together.
Don't tell me it didn't happen.
I was nineteen when I walked into those gates--
the smell made it pretty obvious what had happened.
When those...people...came out of the barracks
looking like walking dead things,
well, I lost my lunch. Damn near thought one of 'em
might try to eat what I lost, they was that bad off.
Davy could talk some of their language and he was giving them
all our chocolate and rations and coffee.
Told the rest of the platoon we could just go hungry a few days.
Davy made us bathe 'em real gentle, and make 'em
broth and feed the ones as couldn't feed themselves.
By the time the Red Cross got there we had done
what we could. We didn't give 'em much.
Just some bad food and a bath.
There wasn't enough food, enough love
to fill up the hole that camp made in the world, I tell ya.
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