A Fable

‘Oh sure,’ the sergeant-major said. ‘He knows he’s gone. That aint the question. He aint kicking about that. He just refuses to let them do it that way—swears he’s going to make them shoot him not in the front but in the back, like any top-sergeant or shave-tail that thinks he’s too tough to be scared and too hard to be hurt. You know: make the whole world see that not the enemy but his own men did it.’

‘Why didn’t they just hold him and do it?’ Buchwald said.

‘Now now,’ the sergeant-major said. ‘You dont just hold a French major-general and shoot him in the face.’

‘Then how are we supposed to do it?’ Buchwald said. The sergeant-major looked at him. ‘Oh,’ Buchwald said. ‘Maybe I get it now. French soldiers dont. Maybe next time it will be an American general and three Frogs will get a trip to New York.’

‘Yeah,’ the sergeant-major said. ‘If they just let me pick the general. You ready now?’

‘Yes,’ Buchwald said. But he didn’t move. He said: ‘Yeah. Why us, anyway? If he’s a Frog general, why didn’t the Frogs do it? Why did it have to be us?’

‘Maybe because an American doughfoot is the only bastard they could bribe with a trip to Paris,’ the sergeant-major said. ‘Come on.’

But still Buchwald didn’t move, his pale hard eyes thoughtful and steady. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Give.’

‘If you’re going to back out, why didn’t you do it before you left Blois?’ the sergeant-major said.

Buchwald said something unprintable. ‘Give,’ he said. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

‘Right,’ the sergeant-major said. ‘They rationed it. The Frogs will have to shoot that Frog regiment, because it’s Frog. They had to bring a Kraut general over here Wednesday to explain why they were going to shoot the Frog regiment, and the Limeys won that. Now they got to shoot this Frog general to explain why they brought the Kraut general over here, and we won that. Maybe they drew straws. All right now?’

‘Yes,’ Buchwald said, suddenly and harshly. He cursed. ‘Yes. Let’s get it over with.’

‘Wait!’ the Iowan said. ‘No! I——’

‘Dont forget your map,’ Buchwald said. ‘We wont be back here.’

‘I haven’t,’ the Iowan said. ‘What you think I been holding onto it this long for?’

‘Good,’ Buchwald said. ‘Then when they send you back home to prison for mutiny, you can mark Leavenworth on it too.’ They returned to the corridor and followed it. It was empty, lighted by spaced weak electric bulbs. They had seen no other sign of life and suddenly it was as though they apparently were not going to until they were out of it again. The narrow corridor had not descended, there were no more steps. It was as if the earth it tunnelled through had sunk as an elevator sinks, holding the corridor itself intact, immune, empty of any life or sound save that of their boots, the white-washed stone sweating in furious immobility beneath the whole concentrated weight of history, stratum upon stratum of dead tradition impounded by the Hôtel above them—monarchy revolution empire and republic, duke farmer-general and sans culotte, levee tribunal and guillotine, liberty fraternity equality and death and the people the People always to endure and prevail, the group, the clump, huddled now, going quite fast until the Iowan cried again:

‘No, I tell you! I aint——’ until Buchwald stopped, stopping them all, and turned and said to the Iowan in a calm and furious murmur:

‘Beat it.’

‘What?’ the Iowan cried. ‘I cant! Where would I go?’

‘How the hell do I know?’ Buchwald said. ‘I aint the one that’s dissatisfied here.’

‘Come on,’ the sergeant-major said. They went on. They reached a door; it was locked. The sergeant-major unlocked and opened it.

‘Do we report?’ Buchwald said.

‘Not to me,’ the sergeant-major said. ‘You can even keep the pistol for a souvenir. The car’ll be waiting where you got out of it,’ and was about to close the door until Buchwald after one rapid glance into the room turned and put his foot against the door and said again in that harsh calm furious controlled voice:

‘Christ, cant the sons of bitches even get a priest for him?’

‘They’re still trying,’ the sergeant-major said. ‘Somebody sent for the priest out at the compound two hours ago and he aint got back yet. They cant seem to find him.’

‘So we’re supposed to wait for him,’ Buchwald said in that tone of harsh calm unbearable outrage.