A young Mexican soldier, looking under 20 years old, shot in the abdomen, with some intestines protruding, futilely trying to stuff them back with dirty hands, his face pale as paper, his eyes unfocused due to severe pain and blood loss.
His rifle lay discarded beside him, the magazine empty.
Bertolini looked at him. Enemy soldier, child, dying person.
The young Mexican soldier also saw him, dressed in Italian officer's attire, his eyes first startled, then closed resignedly, awaiting the final bullet.
Bertolini remained silent for a few seconds and did not shoot.
He walked over, crouched down, and took out the last bit of bandage from his first aid kit, recklessly pressing it onto the other's wound, despite knowing it was futile. Then, he picked up the other's canteen, unscrewed it, found there was still half a jug of water, and brought it to the other's lips.
The Mexican soldier opened his eyes, looked at him in surprise, and swallowed a few mouthfuls instinctively.
