Memoirs of the Foreign Legion by Maurice Magnus

THE Pole took up the _truc_ work reluctantly at first; he was frightened that he was going to be reprimanded too, but it was understood he was to do it on the quiet. He was another one of those who did not have much to say. No one knew his history or why he was there. He had enlisted for fifteen years, and at the end of that period had signed again for another fifteen years. He was still a young man--was born in Hamburg of Polish parents, but was quite German in manner and sentiment. He looked the Slav type, high cheek bones, fair hair, a _retroussé_ nose, which was rather red at the tip from over-indulgence in alcohol, and not big in frame, but rather medium-sized. He was very suspicious, and I had the feeling that he mistrusted everybody and everything. I tried to be friendly with him, but he would not let me, nor would he be friendly with any of the others, not even superficially. But he mistrusted me more than the others.

I wasn't his class, I always read that in his expression and attitude, though he never cringed or was servile. The others were _merde_, as he expressed himself, though he did not treat them with bald contempt. They were his equals, and he looked at them as such, but he harboured a secret disdain for whatever they did. He did his work well and conscientiously, as most of the Germans who were there. He had had syphilis, and he warned us all not to drink from his cup or use his eating utensils. Whether he did this for humane reasons or because he did not want the others to use his things, I could never find out; anyway the warning was effectual.