THE MOON IS DOWN

Born in Salinas, California, in 1902, JOHN STEINBECK grew up in a fertile agricultural valley about twenty-five miles from the Pacific Coastâ€”and both valley and coast would serve as settings for some of his best fiction. In 1919 he went to Stanford University, where he intermittently enrolled in literature and writing courses until he left in 1925 without taking a degree. During the next five years he supported himself as a laborer and journalist in New York City, all the time working on his first novel, Cup of Gold (1929). After marriage and a move to Pacific Grove, he published two California books, The Pastures of Heaven (1932) and To a God Unknown (1933), and worked on short stories later collected in The Long Valley (1938). Popular success and financial security came only with Tortilla Flat (1935), stories about Montereyâ€™s paisanos. A ceaseless experimenter throughout his career, Steinbeck changed courses regularly. Three powerful novels of the late 1930s focused on the California laboring class: In Dubious Battle (1936), Of Mice and Men (1937), and the book considered by many his finest, The Grapes of Wrath (1939). Early in the 1940s, Steinbeck became a filmmaker with The Forgotten Village (1941) and a serious student of marine biology with Sea of Cortez (1941). He devoted his services to the war, writing Bombs Away (1942) and the controversial play-novelette The Moon Is Down (1942). Cannery Row (1945), The Wayward Bus (1948), another experimental drama, Burning Bright (1950), and The Log from the Sea of Cortez (1951) preceded publication of the monumental East of Eden (1952), an ambitious saga of the Salinas Valley and his own familyâ€™s history. The last decades of his life were spent in New York City and Sag Harbor with his third wife, with whom he traveled widely. Later books include Sweeet Thursday (1954), The Short Reign of Pippin IV: A Fabrication (1957), Once There Was a War (1958), The Winter of Our Discontent (1961), Travels with Charley in Search of America (1962), America and Americans (1966), and the post-humously published Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters (1969), Viva Zapata! (1975), The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights (1976), and Working Days: The Journals of The Grapes of Wrath (1989). He died in 1968, having won a Nobel Prize in 1962.

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DONALD v. COERS is Associate Vice President for Academic Affairs at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville, Texas. He is the author of John Steinbeck as Propagandist: The Moon Is Down Goes to War (1991) and co-editor of After The Grapes of Wrath: Essays on John Steinbeck (1995).

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First published in the United States of America by The Viking Press 1942
Published in a Viking Compass Edition 1970
Published in Penguin Books 1982
This edition with an introduction by Donald V. Coers
published in Penguin Books 1995

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Copyright John Steinbeck, 1942

Copyright renewed Elaine A. Steinbeck, Thorn Steinbeck, and John Steinbeck IV, 19/0
Introduction copyright Â© Donald V. Coers, 1995
All rights reserved

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Steinbeck, John, 1902-1968.
The moon is down/John Steinbeck; introduction by Donald
V. Coers.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-440-67413-6

I. Title.
PS3537.T3234M6 1995
813â€™.52â€”dc20 95-14803

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INTRODUCTION

By the summer of 1940, a little more than a year after the publication of The Grapes of Wrath, the Nazis had engulfed much of Europe. John Steinbeck was by then a world-class author. He was also both a clear-eyed political realist who understood that U.S. involvement in the war was inevitable, and a patriot eager to contribute to the Alliesâ cause. That spring he had been in Mexico writing the screenplay for The Forgotten Village, and he had been troubled because it seemed to him that in Latin America the Nazis were outclassing the Allies in propaganda. He was so concerned, in fact, that on June 26, four days after France signed an armistice with Germany, he met with President Roosevelt to discuss the problem. There is no record to indicate that the president took any advice Steinbeck may have offered, but the writerâs enthusiasm for fighting fascism was not dampened. Over the next two or three years he served voluntarily in several of the government intelligence and information agencies created between 1940 and 1942.

Two of the organizations Steinbeck worked for were precursors of the CIA: the Office of Coordinator of Information (COI) and the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Both were headed by Colonel William J. âWild Billâ Donovan, a Republican New York lawyer who was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor during the First World War. Despite his political conservatism, Donovan was an open-minded administrator who encouraged fresh ideas and was willing to employ unorthodox techniques and outrÃ© people to achieve his goals. He was also particularly interested in civilian morale and, consequently, in propaganda.

While Steinbeck was working for the COI, probably in midsummer of 1941, he and Donovan discussed the idea that Steinbeck might write a work of propaganda. At the same time, Steinbeckâs duties at COI brought him into contact with displaced citizens from the recently occupied countries of Europe, among them Norway and Denmark (invaded in April of 1940), and France, Belgium, and the Netherlands (overrun in May and June). The refugees intrigued Steinbeck with stories about the activities of underground resistance movements in their native lands. Over twenty years later Steinbeck recounted in an article entitled âReflections on a Lunar Eclipseâ how the exilesâ information helped him decide what kind of propaganda he would write.

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The experiences of the victim nations, while they differed in some degree with national psychologies, had many things in common. At the time of invasion there had been confusion; in some of the nations there were secret Nazi parties, there were spies and turncoats. [The Norwegian Nazi, Vidkun] Quisling has left his name as a synonym for traitor. Then there were collaborators, some moved by fear and others simply for advancement and profit. Finally there were the restrictive measures of the Germans, their harsh demands and savage punishments. All of these factors had to be correlated and understood before an underground movement could form and begin to take action.

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By September 1941 Steinbeck had decided to write a work of fiction using what he had learned about the psychological effects of enemy occupation upon the populace of conquered nations. Because he âdid not believe people are very different in essentials,â he originally set his story in America:

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I wrote my fictional account about a medium-sized American town with its countryside of a kind I knew well. There would be collaborators certainly. Donât forget the Bund meetings in our cities, the pro-German broadcasts before the war and the kind of man who loves any success: âMussolini made the trains run on time.â âHitler saved Germany from communism.â It was not beyond reason that our town would have its cowards, its citizens who sold out for profit. But under this, I did and do believe, would be the hard core that could not be defeated. And so I wrote my account basing its fiction on facts extracted from towns already under the Nazi heel.

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Steinbeck submitted his âfictional accountâ for approval to another of Donovanâs agencies, the Foreign Information Service. Officials there rejected it because they feared that postulating an American defeat might be demoralizing. Steinbeckâs refugee friends, certain that his story would boost morale in their already occupied homelands, urged him to circumvent official objections by shifting the setting. He took their advice and placed the story in an unnamed country, âcold and stern like Norway, cunning and implacable like Denmark, reasonable like France.â

Steinbeck finished his revised version just in time for Pearl Harbor, and Viking Press published it as a short novel, The Moon Is Down, in early March of 1942. The next month it played on Broadway, and a year later premiered as a movie. Its title comes from the beginning of act 2 of Macbeth. Just before Banquo and Fleance encounter Macbeth on his way to murder Duncan, Banquo asks his son, âHow goes the night, boy?â Fleance replies, âThe moon is down; I have not heard the clock,â foreshadowing the descent of evil on the kingdom. Steinbeckâs allusion suggests that the Nazis had brought a similar spiritual darkness to Europe.

The Moon Is Down appeared in bookstores during the bleakest days of the war for the United States. While Americans reeled from Pearl Harbor, the Japanese overran much of Southeast Asia and seized strategic islands dotting vast expanses of the Pacific Ocean until they were poised within striking distance of the northern coast of Australia. The Doolittle raids, Americaâs first flicker of hope, were still a month away, and it would be three months before the first Japanese defeat, the Battle of Midway. The picture looked equally grim for Americaâs allies in Europe. Hitlerâs crushing offenses continued unchecked, and the first shots in the watershed Battle of Stalingrad would not be fired for another nine or ten months. As U.S. factories frenetically retooled from consumer goods to war matÃ©riel, German U-boats lurked along the Gulf and Atlantic coasts, sinking Allied ships faster than they could be replaced and threatening supply lines to Britain. The Alliesâ great fear in March 1942 was that they might not be able to hold out long enough for American troops and industrial might to help reverse the course of the war.

Understandably, when The Moon Is Down came out late that dreary winter, the critics were more interested in predicting its potential as propaganda than in weighing its merits as literature. But Steinbeckâs method was far subtler than that of the overcooked rant customarily served up in this country at the time. His anonymous setting, for instance, is simply a peace-loving country, very much like Norway, which is invaded suddenly and without provocation by a much stronger neighbor, very much like Germany. To be sure, Steinbeck leaves no doubt whom he has in mind. Officers in the invading army allude to âthe Leaderâ of their homeland and to his bringing a ânew orderâ to Europe. There is a reference to the Leaderâs countryâs having fought Belgium and France twenty years earlierâan unsubtle reminder of Germanyâs repeat performance in the European theater. Beyond such hints, Steinbeck refused to adopt the contemporary Teutonic stereotypes. There are no heel-clicking Huns, no depraved, monocled intellectuals, no thundering sieg heils in his fable-like tale. Instead, Steinbeck depicts his putative Germans as human beings with normal feelings. They offer the citizens of the conquered country justifications for their invasion. They plead for understanding. They miss their families. They want their victims to accept them. Yet nothing can disguise their theft of freedom, and eventually the local patriotsâ desire to regain it impels them to resist. The militarily superior invaders retaliate, but the impression remains that ultimately the patriots will prevail because a society of free individuals is stronger in the long run than a totalitarian power dependent on herd men. In the mayorâs words, âIt is always the herd men who win battles and the free men who win wars.â

Steinbeckâs affirmative, toned-down approach to propaganda in The Moon Is Down touched off the fiercest literary battle of the Second World War. Many critics liked the novel, but some did not, and their number included such formidable names as Clifton Fadiman and James Thurber. In effect, the detractors accused Steinbeck of naÃ¯vetÃ©. The creator of the savvy, muscular realism of The Grapes of Wrath was now being soft on the Nazis by depicting them as human beings and by infusing his story with a fuzzy, fairy-tale atmosphere. Doubtless well-intentioned but poorly conceived, Steinbeckâs propaganda would surely demoralize the victims of Nazi aggression in occupied Europeâthe very people he wanted to help. The proper way to raise a fighting spirit among a brutalized populace, one critic intoned, was with hard-hitting hype bearing a title like âGuts in the Mud,â not with âsoft and dreamyâ stuff like The Moon Is Down.

The controversy raged for months in major newspapers and magazinesâmost prominently The New York Times, the Herald Tribune, The New Yorker, The New Republic, and the Saturday Review. To be sure, The Moon Is Down had its defenders. In fact, more critics praised than criticized it. But the attacks blindsided Steinbeck. For years he had been praised as a skilled artist with socially enlightened viewsâa proletarian writer with polish. Suddenly he found himself savaged for a well-meaning contribution to the war effort. The criticism was corrosive, calling into question not only his artistic instincts, but, far worse, his political acumen, his credentials as an antifascist, and his very patriotism. Steinbeck was wounded, and his wounds were still tender over ten years later when he referred sarcastically to his detractors, chiefly Fadiman and Thurber, in an essay entitled âMy Short Novels.â

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The war came on, and I wrote The Moon Is Down as a kind of celebration of the durability of democracy. I couldnât conceive that the book would be denounced. I had written of Germans as men, not supermen, and this was considered a very weak attitude to take. I couldnât make much sense out of this, and it seems absurd now that we know the Germans were men, and thus fallible, even defeatable. It was said that I didnât know anything about war, and this was perfectly true, though how Park Avenue commandos found me out I canât conceive.

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The debate died long before the war ended, and after the war the political and philosophical issues it had spawned were moot. There were early indications that, as Steinbeck had intended, The Moon Is Down had found a receptive audience in Nazi-occupied Europe. King Haakon VII gave him a medal honoring the novelâs influence in Norway, and European scholars occasionally mentioned its wartime popularity, but for nearly a half century the supporting details remained scattered and anecdotal. No one knew how effective Steinbeckâs contribution had been.

Over the last few years new evidence has emerged that documents the extraordinarily positive reception of The Moon Is Down in Nazi-occupied Western Europe, and confirms the novelâs success as propaganda. Throughout Norway, Denmark, Holland, and France, it was translated, printed on clandestine presses, and distributed, sometimes under the very nose of the Gestapo. The underground operations involved lawyers, book dealers, retired military personnel, housewives, businesspeople, students, and teachers who took great risks to disseminate The Moon Is Down because it spoke so directly to them and to their situation and so persuasively supported their cause. Their explanations of its effectiveness are remarkably similar: Somehow an author living thousands of miles away in a land of peace sensed precisely how they felt as victims of Nazi aggression. It never occurred to them that the novel was sympathetic to their enemy. In fact, they regarded it as far more effective than the prevailing formula propaganda, which struck them as comical because it was so absurdly exaggerated. And the Nazis certainly did not think the novel treated them favorably. They banned it wherever they were in control. A member of the resistance in Italy reported that mere possession of it meant an automatic death sentence.

In spite of the Nazisâ efforts to suppress The Moon Is Down, hundreds of thousands of copies of the Norwegian, Danish, Dutch, and French clandestine editions circulated during the occupation. It was easily the most popular work of propaganda in occupied Western Europe. The efforts put forth by the resistance and by ordinary citizens to distribute the novel within their respective countries, and the risks they took in doing so, bear witness to the importance they attached to it.

The illegal Norwegian-language edition of The Moon Is Down was translated in Sweden by a forty-year-old exile named Nils Lie. Before the invasion of his homeland, Lie had been chief consultant for Gyldendal Publishers. Gyldendal had brought out translations of Tortilla Flat, Of Mice and Men, and The Grapes of Wrath in 1938, 1939, and 1940, respectively. Late in 1942, several thousand copies of Lieâs translation of The Moon Is Down were printed by a Swedish press on tissue-thin paper, bound with soft covers, and smuggled into Norway. Some were spirited across isolated points along the thousand-mile border between Sweden and Norway, and a few were dropped from airplanes, but the bulk were cached in luggage carried by regular rail lines. Most of the small, easily concealed pamphlet editions got past the control stations; apparently, a few did not, because officials in the Nazi puppet government in Norway were almost immediately aware of the existence of the special translation. They were so uneasy about its possible effects on the Norwegian people that, in December, when thirty-six copies were confiscated in courier luggage shipped to Oslo from Sweden, six were sent immediately to the head of the state police and to the president of the puppet government himselfâthe infamous Quisling. Thousands of unconfiscated copies were delivered by the Norwegian resistance to reliable citizens, who passed them along to friends. Frits von der Lippe, a wartime employee at Gyldendal in Oslo, related nearly forty years later how he became a typical âdistributorâ of the novel:

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An astonishing thing happened [to me] in 1943. In the middle of the day in Osloâs main thoroughfare, Karl Johan Street, among uniformed people and civilians who might be dangerous, a man came up on the side of me and said, whispering, âFollow me. I have something for you. Something you shall distribute.â I knew the face, but not the name. I said to him, âWhy here, now?â He said, âI came this morning, and I leave tonight, when I have delivered what I have in the suitcase.â âBack to Sweden?â I said. âYes.â Then we went from Karl Johan over to Stortengade, the next street, and went into a house with an elevator with seven stops and traveled up and down, up and down, until we were alone. Then this man gave me four or five packages and said, âGo straight home.â And he put me out on the fifth stop and went down the elevator, and Iâve not seen him since. I went home and opened up one of the small packages and found the small copies of Natt uten mÃ¥ne [the Norwegian title of The Moon Is Down].

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Such was the popularity of The Moon Is Down in Norway during the occupation that in the middle of June of 1945, just five weeks after the liberation, a new legal edition was in bookstores. At that time in Norway an average printing for a novel was between one thousand and two thousand copies. The Moon Is Down came out in two printings of ten thousand copies each, both of which quickly sold out. The play version was performed immediately after the Oslo national theater reopened, only four months after the liberation. A Norwegian critic hailed The Moon Is Down as âthe epic of the Norwegian underground.â

A uniquely qualified witness to the novelâs effectiveness as propaganda in Norway was William Colby, later director of the Central Intelligence Agency under two presidents, Nixon and Ford. One of the few Americans on the scene during the occupation, Colby served during the early spring of 1945 in a special operations unit of ski paratroopers attached to the Office of Strategic Services. He had read The Moon Is Down three years earlier and was âtremendously impressedâ by how well Steinbeck had captured the Norwegian national mood.

In occupied Denmark, the first illegal Danish-language edition of The Moon Is Down was translated by two young law students, JÃ¸rgen Jacobsen and Paul Lang. They had received a copy of the American edition shortly before Christmas of 1942, along with a request for a Danish translation from a student resistance group known simply as the Danish Students. Its members hoped that distribution of the novel in Denmark would embolden the resistance movement there. Jacobsen and Lang completed their translation in one week. They worked day and night with a concise Oxford English Dictionary in one hand and a glass of beer in the other, glancing over their shoulders for the Gestapo. An anonymous comrade in the Danish Students delivered it to another member for printing. A short time after that, other printers with connections to the student resistance were assembling separate clandestine editions of Jacobsen and Langâs translation. Perhaps the most productive of these printers was Mogens Staffeldt, a Copenhagen bookseller then in his late twenties who had been involved in resistance activities from the day the Germans invaded his country. Staffeldt hocked his life insurance policy to buy the mimeograph machine he used to crank out copies of The Moon Is Down in his bookstore. That bookstore, located on the town square, was on the bottom floor of the building which housed Gestapo headquarters for Copenhagen. But the steady traffic of Gestapo entering and leaving the building twenty-four hours a day failed to slow Staffeldtâs operations. At the time, the Nazis regarded Denmark as a âmodel protectorateâ and were eager to mollify its citizenry. Staffeldt turned that attitude to his advantage. On several occasions when loyal Danish students came to his bookstore to pick up disguised bundles of The Moon Is Down and other forbidden titles for delivery to various distribution centers, Staffeldt stepped out of his store, summoned passing Gestapo officers, and enlisted their aid in loading the anti-Nazi literature. âDonât just stand there,â he would scold; âhelp these kids!â The enemyâs secret police invariably responded by scrambling about in unwitting service to the Danish resistance.

Staffeldt alone mimeographed fifteen thousand copies of The Moon Is Down. The Danish students delivered them to reliable contacts in other bookshops or in large businesses such as banks or shipping firms. These contacts in turn sold them to trusted customers or employees. The proceeds went to the resistance. Eventually the translation was in such demand that many citizens retyped it and ran off new mimeograph editions for further circulation among their friends. Each mimeograph master yielded a limited number of copies, so the entire novel had to be retyped again and again. Later in the occupation another Danish translation with a different title appeared. It too was widely distributed.

As in Norway, the appeal of The Moon Is Down in occupied Denmark was attested to after the war ended by the immediate publication of a regular trade edition. The first run was of five thousand copies. That was followed by a second printing of eight thousand copies in 1961, a third of ten thousand in 1962, and additional printings in 1974, 1976, and 1980âremarkable quantities for a country whose population today is only five million.

The illegal Dutch-language version of The Moon Is Down was prepared by Ferdinand Sterneberg, who was a forty-three-year-old actor living in Amsterdam when the Nazis overran his country in May of 1940. Early in 1944 a friend with ties to an underground publishing firm known as De Bizige Bij (the Busy Bee) brought him an English-language edition and asked him to translate it. Sterneberg, a longtime admirer of Steinbeck, agreed. The Busy Bee edition came out later that year in a run of over one thousand copies. These sold at a high priceâtoday roughly equivalent to between two and three hundred dollars apieceâbecause the proceeds were directed to a resistance organization providing relief for actors and actresses thrown out of work for refusing to join the Nazi-sponsored cultural guild.

Sterneberg, who used the nom de guerre Tjebbo Hemelrijk, also prepared a Dutch-language stage version of The Moon Is Down, from which he gave dramatic readings in Amsterdam, in The Hague, and in the countryside. According to Sterneberg, he presented his one-man show to audiences of between twenty-five and fifty people, whom he always prepared for the possibility of a Gestapo raid. Immediately before and after these readings Sterneberg and his friends sold copies of his translation. After more than fifty performances he was forced to quit. He had been hiding in his apartment two Jewish friends, a brother and sister. They lived with him throughout the occupation, and escaped discovery during those years only because of meticulous precautions. âUntrustworthyâ neighbors lived in the apartment below, so Sternebergâs friends could not move around, use the bathroom, draw water, or even talk when he was gone. Sterneberg could not in good conscience continue leaving them in such danger and discomfort for the long periods of absence his readings required.

After the war Sterneberg and his fellow actors gave many performances of the dramatic version of The Moon Is Down. The Busy Bee also brought out a new edition of the novel. Ironically, because the publishers had access to better quality paper during the war than immediately following the liberation, the new edition was inferior to the one published secretly during the occupation. Several fine Dutch editions have been published since.

The French clandestine edition of The Moon Is Down was released in February 1944, six months before the liberation of Paris. Its printing of fifteen hundred copies was the largest of the entire war undertaken by a Parisian underground press aptly named Editions de Minuit (Midnight Editions). The translation was by Yvonne Paraf, a young woman who had adopted the nom de guerre Yvonne Desvignes. She was a childhood friend of the printer for Midnight Editions. Paraf worked from an English-language edition of The Moon Is Down published two years earlier in Sweden. She knew that a French translation had already been published in Switzerland in 1943, but she and other members of the French resistance wanted a new one, because Swiss officials had censored passages that might have offended the Germans. The Swiss had deleted Steinbeckâs references to England, to the war in Russia, and to the occupation of Belgium by the invading army of the same country that had occupied it twenty years previously, all of which served indirectly to identify the unnamed country to which that army belonged. At that time the Swiss felt vulnerable to German invasion and were trying hard to avoid displeasing their powerful neighbor.

In France, as in Denmark and Holland, sales of illegal editions of The Moon Is Down helped fund the resistance. The money earned by Parafâs translation was turned over to the National Committee of Writers, which used it to support the families of patriotic printers and typographers shot or deported by the Nazis. According to the French patriotic press, the impact of The Moon Is Down in occupied France was âimmense and incontestable.â Immediately after liberation, Midnight Editions published the novel in a volume identical in every detail to the clandestine version. It was included, in fact, as one of several works in a special collection constituting Midnight Editionsâ first public issue. The single printing of The Moon Is Down was of 5,325 numbered copies.

The Moon Is Down also enjoyed unusual popularity in European countries that escaped German occupation. The expurgated French-language Swiss edition mentioned earlier was published in Lausanne in 1943 by Marguerat. A German-language Swiss edition appeared in Zurich the same year, published by Humanitas Verlag. Theaters in Basel performed the play version to enthusiastic audiences, and then the Schauspielhaus in Zurich produced a highly acclaimed run of approximately two hundred performances. In England, Heinemann published its first edition of the novel in 1942, following with a so-called âMiddle East Editionâ the next year. The English Theater Guild published the dramatic version in 1943, the same year the play opened at Londonâs Whitehall Theatre. The Swedes brought out two editions in 1942 besides the one intended for distribution by the resistance in Norway: a Swedish translation published by Bonniers and an English-language version printed by the Continental Book Companyâthe edition Paraf used for her French translation. Soviet magazines serialized two different Russian translations of the novel in 1943: a complete version published in Znamya, and excerpts in Ogonyok. Despite the virtually unanimous disapproval of Soviet critics, who regarded it as vague and unrealistic, The Moon Is Down was the best-known work of American literature in the Soviet Union during the war.

There is also evidence that the novel was distributed within the Axis itself. During a visit to Florence more than a decade after the war ended, Steinbeck was approached by an Italian who had opposed Mussolini. He had translated The Moon Is Down, mimeographed five hundred copies, and then circulated them among fellow members of the resistance. They had been in great demand.

The Nazis were not the only fascists against whom The Moon Is Down served effectively as propaganda. Far to the east, a well-known Chinese professor of literature, Chien Gochuen, had obtained a copy of an English edition through the office of the British press attachÃ© in Chongqing, Chinaâs wartime capital. Chien recognized immediately its potential propaganda value for his country, much of it then occupied by the Japanese. He completed his translation in 1942, and beginning early the next year it ran as installments under Chienâs nom de guerre, Châin Ko Chuan, in the first seven issues of New China magazine. Ten thousand copies of each of those issues were publishedâa remarkable number given the formidable wartime shortages in China. Shortly after the last of the installments appeared, the publishers compiled them in a single edition for circulation throughout China. Forty years later, a spokesman for the book company that published New China magazine remembered that the Chinese people were encouraged by âthe patriotic eagerness of [Steinbeckâs] characters to resist their conquerors.â

Today, at a half centuryâs distance from the controversy ignited by the publication of The Moon Is Down, it is clear that Fadiman, Thurber, and other critics who had prophesied its failure as propaganda were entirely wrong. Evidence of its success in Nazi-occupied Europe and in China is compelling: the dedication of those who translated, printed, and distributed it at considerable risk; the impressive number of editions and copies publishedâduring the occupation, on makeshift machinery and under taxing conditions, as well as after the war by recently liberated publishing houses; and the accounts of former members of the resistance and others who witnessed firsthand the force of its ideas.

But beyond the obvious conclusion that Steinbeck was right and his critics wrong about what would constitute effective propaganda, several questions arise. Why were the hostile American critics so mistaken, and how do we account for the difference between their reaction and that of the Europeans? Why did the American detractors fail to appreciate what so appealed to the Europeans? And finally, what does the stunning wartime European reception of The Moon Is Down tell us about the genius of John Steinbeck?

The French writer and philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre offers a theory that probably accounts for the criticsâ divergence of opinion. In his postwar essay What Is Literature? he contends that we can have no true understanding of a literary work unless we know who an author is writing for. To illustrate his point, Sartre recalls a wartime literary controversy similar to that surrounding The Moon Is Down. Another highly popular work of anti-Nazi fiction published in France during the war was a short novel entitled The Silence of the Sea, written by Jean Bruller, a member of the French resistance better known by his nom de guerre, Vercors. Like Steinbeck, Bruller portrayed the Germans as human beings, often intelligent, if misguided, and frequently polite and likable. The Silence of the Sea succeeded as propaganda within occupied France, but it found a hostile audience in French men and women living abroad, many of whom in fact accused Bruller of collaboration. Sartreâs explanation for the mixed reception is that Bruller was writing for compatriots living under the Nazis. He was among them, sharing their feelings and the routines of their existence. He realized that to stereotype all Germans as ogres would have been laughable to those who had daily contact with the enemy and who knew better.

Like Bruller, Steinbeck revealed in his approach to propaganda not only a shrewd psychological perception of what would work and what would not, but also a respect for his European audience. The crude oversimplifications of most propaganda are, after all, patronizing. There is no such condescension in Steinbeckâs approach. But Steinbeckâs understanding of what would appeal to a European audience under the unusual conditions of the day is all the more remarkable because, unlike Bruller, who had the advantage of being on the scene and of writing about people he knew well, Steinbeck was a foreigner living thousands of miles away.

Steinbeckâs own explanation for the perceptiveness that made his propaganda so effective is simple. During his visit to Norway in 1946 to receive King Haakonâs medal, he was asked on several occasions how he knew so well what the resistance there was doing. His answer was, âI put myself in your place and thought what I would do.â That reply explains more than the success of The Moon Is Down in occupied Europe; it reminds us what readers of Steinbeck all over the world had already recognized as among the writerâs major attributes: his sure sense of audience, and his empathy with the oppressed. European partisans who ran considerable risk to publish and distribute The Moon Is Down because they believed it would help their cause agreed about the source of its power: a Danish publisher ascribed it to âSteinbeckâs sincere sentiment ... a human quality which penetratesâ; a Norwegian reviewer to his ability to capture âour feelings ... our problems, our hopes, our sorrowsâ; the Dutch translator to Steinbeckâs insight, âespecially into [our] reaction against the ones who took over the countryâ; and the French translator to the authorâs masterful understanding. All are acknowledgments of the sympathy and the social intuition that John Steinbeck had already demonstrated in works of the middle and late 1930s, most notably Of Mice and Men, In Dubious Battle, and The Grapes of Wrath. The success of The Moon Is Down as propaganda, then, underscores Steinbeckâs signal literary strengths.

Most works of propaganda do not survive the crises that produce them. The Moon Is Down is an exception. Since 1945 it has appeared in at least ninety-two editions in the United States, England, Denmark, Norway, the Netherlands, Spain, Mexico, Hungary, France, Belgium, Turkey, Germany, Switzerland, pre-Communist Mainland China, Taiwan, Japan, Egypt, Sweden, Italy, Portugal, Brazil, Korea, India, Greece, Iran, Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Burma. The novelâs endurance suggests that while The Moon Is Down may have been conceived, written, and used as propaganda, it is probably best described as a work of literature that served as propaganda. Judged by purely artistic standards, it is not among the authorâs best efforts. Scholars and reviewers have most frequently criticized its wooden characters and transparent didacticism, flaws characteristic of novels of ideas. But few literary works in our time have demonstrated so triumphantly the power of ideas in the face of cold steel and brute force, and few have spoken so reassuringly to so many people of different countries and cultures. Against the fiercest assault on freedom during this century, John Steinbeck calmly reaffirmed in The Moon Is Down the bedrock principles of democracy: the worth of the individual, and the power deriving from free citizens sharing common commitments.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING

PRIMARY WORKS BY JOHN STEINBECK

âAbout Ed Ricketts.â In John Steinbeck and Ed Ricketts, The Log from the Sea of Cortez. New York: Viking Press, 1951.

âLetters to Alicia.â Weekend with Newsday, December 11, 1965, 3W.

The Moon Is Down: Play in Two Parts. New York: Dramatists Play Service, 1942.

âMy Short Novels.â Steinbeck and His Critics, edited by E. W. Tedlock, Jr., and C. V. Wicker. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1957, 38-40.

âReflections on a Lunar Eclipse.â Herald Tribune (New York) Book Week, October 6, 1963, 3.

Steinbeck: A Life in Letters. Edited by Elaine Steinbeck and Robert Wallsten. New York: Viking Press, 1975.

SECONDARY SOURCES

BOOKS

Astro, Richard. John Steinbeck and Edward F. Ricketts: The Shaping of a Novelist. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1973.

Benson, Jackson J. Looking for Steinbeckâs Ghost. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1988.

â. The True Adventures of John Steinbeck, Writer. New York: Viking Press, 1984.

Brown, Anthony Cave. The Last Hero: Wild Bill Donovan. New York: Times Books, 1982.

Coers, Donald V. John Steinbeck as Propagandist: The Moon Is Down Goes to War. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1991.

DebÃ»-Bridel, Jacques. Les Ãditions de Minuit: Historique et bibliographie. Paris: Editions de Minuit, 1945.

Fontenrose, Joseph. John Steinbeck: An Introduction and Interpretation. New York: Barnes and Noble, 1963.

French, Warren. John Steinbeckâs Fiction Revisited. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1994.

Goldstone, Adrian H., and John R. Payne. John Steinbeck: A Bibliographical Catalogue of the Adrian H. Goldstone Collection. Austin: University of Texas Humanities Research Center, 1974.

HÃ¦strup, JÃ¸rgen. From Occupied to Ally: Danish Resistance Movement, 1940â45. Translated by Reginald Spink. Copenhagen: Det Berlingske Bogtrykkeri, 1963.

Hayashi. Tetsumaro. The Moon Is Down: Three Explications. Steinbeckâs World War II Fiction, no. 1. Muncie, Ind.: Steinbeck Research Institute, Ball State University, 1986.

Lampe, David. The Savage Canary: The Story of the Resistance in Denmark. London: Cassell, 1957.

Levant, Howard. The Novels of John Steinbeck: A Critical Study. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1974.

Lisca, Peter. The Wide World of John Steinbeck. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1958.

Marks, Lester. Thematic Design in the Novels of John Steinbeck. The Hague: Mouton, 1969.

McCarthy, Paul. John Steinbeck. New York: Frederick Ungar, 1979. Millichap, Joseph R. Steinbeck and Film. New York: Frederick Ungar, 1983.

Parini, Jay. John Steinbeck: A Biography. New York: Henry Holt, 1995.

Petrow, Richard. The Bitter Years: The Invasion and Occupation of Denmark and Norway, April 1940âMay 1945. New York: Morrow, 1974.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. What Is Literature? Translated by Bernard Frechtman. New York: Philosophical Library, 1949.

Timmerman, John H. John Steinbeckâs Fiction: The Aesthetics of the Road Taken. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1986.

ARTICLES

Benson, Jackson J. âThrough a Political Glass, Darkly: The Example of John Steinbeck.â Studies in American Fiction, Spring 1984, 45-59.

Clancy, Charles J. âThe Moon Is Down.â In A Study Guide to Steinbeck, part 2, edited by Tetsumaro Hayashi. Metuchen, New Jersey: Scarecrow Press, 1979.

Coers, Donald V. â âJohn Believed in Manâ: An Interview with Mrs. John Steinbeck.â In After The Grapes of Wrath: Essays on John Steinbeck in Honor of Tetsumaro Hayashi, edited by Donald V. Coers, Paul D. Ruffin, and Robert J. DeMott. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1995.

Ditsky, John. âSteinbeckâs âEuropeanâ Play-Novella: The Moon Is Down.â Steinbeck Quarterly, WinterâSpring 1987, 9-18. Reprinted in The Short Novels of John Steinbeck, edited by Jackson J. Benson. Durham: Duke University Press, 1990.

French, Warren. âThe Moon Is Down: John Steinbeckâs âTimes.â â Steinbeck Quarterly, SummerâFall 1978, 77-87.

Hyman, Stanley Edgar. âSome Notes on John Steinbeck.â Antioch Review, June 1942. Reprinted in Steinbeck and His Critics, edited by E. W. Tedlock, Jr., and C. V. Wicker. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1957.

Lewis, Cliff. âArt for Politics: John Steinbeck and FDR.â In After The Grapes of Wrath: Essays on John Steinbeck in Honor of Tetsumaro Hayashi, edited by Donald V. Coers, Paul D. Ruffin, and Robert J. DeMott. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1995.

Morsberger, Robert E. âSteinbeckâs War.â In The Steinbeck Question: New Essays in Criticism, edited by Donald R. Noble. Troy, NY: Whitson Publishing Company, 1993.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. âAmerican Novelists in French Eyes.â Atlantic Monthly, August 1946, 114â18.

Schulberg, Budd. âJohn Steinbeck: A Lion in Winter.â In The Four Seasons of Success. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1972. Reprinted in Conversations with John Steinbeck, edited by Thomas Fensch. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988.

Shiraga, Eiko. âThree Strong Women in Steinbeckâs The Moon Is Down.â In After The Grapes of Wrath: Essays on John Steinbeck in Honor of Tetsumaro Hayashi, edited by Donald V. Coers, Paul D. Ruffin, and Robert J. DeMott. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1995.

Simmonds, Roy S. âThe Metamorphosis of The Moon Is Down, March 1942-March 1943.â In After The Grapes of Wrath: Essays on John Steinbeck in Honor of Tetsumaro Hayashi, edited by Donald V. Coers, Paul D. Ruffin, and Robert J. DeMott. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1995.

â. âSteinbeck and World War II: The Moon Goes Down.â Steinbeck Quarterly, Winter-Spring 1984, 14-34.

Weeks, Donald. âSteinbeck against Steinbeck.â Pacific Spectator, Autumn 1947. Reprinted in John Steinbeck, edited by Harold Bloom. New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1987.

TO

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PAT COVICI

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A GREAT EDITOR AND

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A GREAT FRIEND

1

By ten-forty-five it was all over. The town was occupied, the defenders defeated, and the war finished. The invader had prepared for this campaign as carefully as he had for larger ones. On this Sunday morning the postman and the policeman had gone fishing in the boat of Mr. Corell, the popular storekeeper. He had lent them his trim sailboat for the day. The postman and the policeman were several miles at sea when they saw the small, dark transport, loaded with soldiers, go quietly past them. As officials of the town, this was definitely their business, and these two put about, but of course the battalion was in possession by the time they could make port. The policeman and the postman could not even get into their own offices in the Town Hall, and when they insisted on their rights they were taken prisoners of war and locked up in the town jail.

The local troops, all twelve of them, had been away, too, on this Sunday morning, for Mr. Corell, the popular storekeeper, had donated lunch, targets, cartridges, and prizes for a shooting-competition to take place six miles back in the hills, in a lovely glade Mr. Corell owned. The local troops, big, loose-hung boys, heard the planes and in the distance saw the parachutes, and they came back to town at double-quick step. When they arrived, the invader had flanked the road with machine guns. The loose-hung soldiers, having very little experience in war and none at all in defeat, opened fire with their rifles. The machine guns clattered for a moment and six of the soldiers became dead riddled bundles and three half-dead riddled bundles, and three of the soldiers escaped into the hills with their rifles.

By ten-thirty the brass band of the invader was playing beautiful and sentimental music in the town square while the townsmen, their mouths a little open and their eyes astonished, stood about listening to the music and staring at the gray-helmeted men who carried sub-machine guns in their arms.

By ten-thirty-eight the riddled six were buried, the parachutes were folded, and the battalion was billeted in Mr. Corellâs warehouse by the pier, which had on its shelves blankets and cots for a battalion.

By ten-forty-five old Mayor Orden had received the formal request that he grant an audience to Colonel Lanser of the invaders, an audience which was set for eleven sharp at the Mayorâs five-room palace.

The drawing-room of the palace was very sweet and comfortable. The gilded chairs covered with their worn tapestry were set about stiffly like too many servants with nothing to do. An arched marble fireplace held its little basket of red flameless heat, and a hand-painted coal scuttle stood on the hearth. On the mantel, flanked by fat vases, stood a large, curly porcelain clock which swarmed with tumbling cherubs. The wallpaper of the room was dark red with gold figures, and the woodwork was white, pretty, and clean. The paintings on the wall were largely preoccupied with the amazing heroism of large dogs faced with imperiled children. Nor water nor fire nor earthquake could do in a child so long as a big dog was available.

Beside the fireplace old Doctor Winter sat, bearded and simple and benign, historian and physician to the town. He watched in amazement while his thumbs rolled over and over on his lap. Doctor Winter was a man so simple that only a profound man would know him as profound. He looked up at Joseph, the Mayorâs servingman, to see whether Joseph had observed the rolling wonders of his thumbs.

âEleven oâclock?â Doctor Winter asked.

And Joseph answered abstractedly, âYes, sir. The note said eleven.â

âYou read the note?â

âNo, sir, His Excellency read the note to me.â

And Joseph went about testing each of the gilded chairs to see whether it had moved since he had last placed it. Joseph habitually scowled at furniture, expecting it to be impertinent, mischievous, or dusty. In a world where Mayor Orden was the leader of men, Joseph was the leader of furniture, silver, and dishes. Joseph was elderly and lean and serious, and his life was so complicated that only a profound man would know him to be simple. He saw nothing amazing about Doctor Winterâs rolling thumbs; in fact he found them irritating. Joseph suspected that something pretty important was happening, what with foreign soldiers in the town and the local army killed or captured. Sooner or later Joseph would have to get an opinion about it all. He wanted no levity, no rolling thumbs, no nonsense from furniture. Doctor Winter moved his chair a few inches from its appointed place and Joseph waited impatiently for the moment when he could put it back again.

Doctor Winter repeated, âEleven oâclock, and theyâll be here then, too. A time-minded people, Joseph.â

And Joseph said, without listening, âYes, sir.â

âA time-minded people,â the doctor repeated.

âYes, sir,â said Joseph.

âTime and machines.â

âYes, sir.â

âThey hurry toward their destiny as though it would not wait. They push the rolling world along with their shoulders.â

And Joseph said, âQuite right, sir,â simply because he was getting tired of saying, âYes, sir.â

Joseph did not approve of this line of conversation, since it did not help him to have an opinion about anything. If Joseph remarked to the cook later in the day, âA time-minded people, Annie,â it would not make any sense. Annie would ask, âWho?â and then âWhy?â and finally say, âThatâs nonsense, Joseph.â Joseph had tried carrying Doctor Winterâs remarks below-stairs before and it had always ended the same: Annie always discovered them to be nonsense.

Doctor Winter looked up from his thumbs and watched Joseph disciplining the chairs. âWhatâs the Mayor doing?â

âDressing to receive the colonel, sir.â

âAnd you arenât helping him? He will be ill dressed by himself.â

âMadame is helping him. Madame wants him to look his best. SheââJoseph blushed a littleââMadame is trimming the hair out of his ears, sir. It tickles. He wonât let me do it.â

âOf course it tickles,â said Doctor Winter.

âMadame insists,â said Joseph.

Doctor Winter laughed suddenly. He stood up and held his hands to the fire and Joseph skillfully darted behind him and replaced the chair where it should be.

âWe are so wonderful,â the doctor said. âOur country is falling, our town is conquered, the Mayor is about to receive the conqueror, and Madame is holding the struggling Mayor by the neck and trimming the hair out of his ears.â

âHe was getting very shaggy,â said Joseph. âHis eyebrows, too. His Excellency is even more upset about having his eyebrows trimmed than his ears. He says it hurts. I doubt if even Madame can do it.â

âShe will try,â Doctor Winter said.

âShe wants him to look his best, sir.â

Through the glass window of the entrance door a helmeted face looked in and there was a rapping on the door. It seemed that some warm light went out of the room and a little grayness took its place.

Doctor Winter looked up at the clock and said, âThey are early. Let them in, Joseph.â

Joseph went to the door and opened it. A soldier stepped in, dressed in a long coat. He was helmeted and he carried a sub-machine gun over his arm. He glanced quickly about and then stepped aside. Behind him an officer stood in the doorway. The officerâs uniform was common and it had rank showing only on the shoulders.

The officer stepped inside and looked at Doctor Winter. He was rather like an overdrawn picture of an English gentleman. He had a slouch, his face was red, his nose long but rather pleasing; he seemed about as unhappy in his uniform as most British general officers are. He stood in the doorway, staring at Doctor Winter, and he said, âAre you Mayor Orden, sir?â

Doctor Winter smiled. âNo, no, I am not.â

âYou are an official, then?â

âNo, I am the town doctor and I am a friend of the Mayor.â

The officer said, âWhere is Mayor Orden?â

âDressing to receive you. You are the colonel?â

âNo, I am not. I am Captain Bentick.â He bowed and Doctor Winter returned the bow slightly. Captain Bentick continued, as though a little embarrassed at what he had to say. âOur military regulations, sir, prescribe that we search for weapons before the commanding officer enters a room. We mean no disrespect, sir.â And he called over his shoulder, âSergeant!â

The sergeant moved quickly to Joseph, ran his hands over his pockets, and said, âNothing, sir.â

Captain Bentick said to Doctor Winter, âI hope you will pardon us.â And the sergeant went to Doctor Winter and patted his pockets. His hands stopped at the inside coat pocket. He reached quickly in, brought out a little, flat, black leather case, and took it to Captain Bentick. Captain Bentick opened the case and found there a few simple surgical instrumentsâtwo scalpels, some surgical needles, some clamps, a hypodermic needle. He closed the case again and handed it back to Doctor Winter.

Doctor Winter said, âYou see, I am a country doctor. One time I had to perform an appendectomy with a kitchen knife. I have always carried these with me since then.â

Captain Bentick said, âI believe there are some firearms here?â He opened a little leather book that he carried in his pocket.

Doctor Winter said, âYou are thorough.â

âYes, our local man has been working here for some time.â

Doctor Winter said, âI donât suppose you would tell who that man is?â

Bentick said, âHis work is all done now. I donât suppose there would be any harm in telling. His name is Corell.â

And Doctor Winter said in astonishment, âGeorge Corell? Why, that seems impossible! Heâs done a lot for this town. Why, he even gave prizes for the shooting-match in the hills this morning.â And as he said it his eyes began to understand what had happened and his mouth closed slowly, and he said, âI see; that is why he gave the shooting-match. Yes, I see. But George Corellâthat sounds impossible!â

The door to the left opened and Mayor Orden came in; he was digging in his right ear with his little finger. He was dressed in his official morning coat, with his chain of office about his neck. He had a large, white, spraying mustache and two smaller ones, one over each eye. His white hair was so recently brushed that only now were the hairs struggling to be free, to stand up again. He had been Mayor so long that he was the Idea-Mayor in the town. Even grown people when they saw the word âmayor,â printed or written, saw Mayor Orden in their minds. He and his office were one. It had given him dignity and he had given it warmth.

From behind him Madame emerged, small and wrinkled and fierce. She considered that she had created this man out of whole cloth, had thought him up, and she was sure that she could do a better job if she had it to do again. Only once or twice in her life had she ever understood all of him, but the part of him which she knew, she knew intricately and well. No little appetite or pain, no carelessness or meanness in him escaped her; no thought or dream or longing in him ever reached her. And yet several times in her life she had seen the stars.

She stepped around the Mayor and she took his hand and pulled his finger out of his outraged ear and pushed his hand to his side, the way she would take a babyâs thumb away from his mouth.

âI donât believe for a moment it hurts as much as you say,â she said, and to Doctor Winter, âHe wonât let me fix his eyebrows.â

âIt hurts,â said Mayor Orden.

âVery well, if you want to look like that there is nothing I can do about it.â She straightened his already straight tie. âIâm glad youâre here, Doctor,â she said. âHow many do you think will come?â And then she looked up and saw Captain Bentick. âOh,â she said, âthe colonel!â

Captain Bentick said, âNo, maâam, Iâm only preparing for the colonel. Sergeant!â

The sergeant, who had been turning over pillows, looking behind pictures, came quickly to Mayor Orden and ran his hands over his pockets.

Captain Bentick said, âExcuse him, sir, itâs regulations.â

He glanced again at the little book in his hand. âYour Excellency, I think you have firearms here. Two items, I believe?â

Mayor Orden said, âFirearms? Guns, you mean, I guess. Yes, I have a shotgun and a sporting-rifle.â He said deprecatingly, âYou know, I donât hunt very much any more. I always think Iâm going to, and then the season opens and I donât get out. I donât take the pleasure in it I used to.â

Captain Bentick insisted. âWhere are these guns, Your Excellency?â

The Mayor rubbed his cheek and tried to think. âWhy, I thinkââ He turned to Madame. âWerenât they in the back of that cabinet in the bedroom with the walking-sticks?â

Madame said, âYes, and every stitch of clothing in that cabinet smells of oil. I wish youâd put them somewhere else.â

Captain Bentick said, âSergeant!â and the sergeant went quickly into the bedroom.

âItâs an unpleasant duty. Iâm sorry,â said the captain.

The sergeant came back, carrying a double-barreled shotgun and a rather nice sporting-rifle with a shoulder strap. He leaned them against the side of the entrance door.

Captain Bentick said, âThatâs all, thank you, Your Excellency. Thank you, Madame.â

He turned and bowed slightly to Doctor Winter. âThank you, Doctor. Colonel Lanser will be here directly. Good morning!â

And he went out of the front door, followed by the sergeant with the two guns in one hand and the sub-machine gun over his right arm.

Madame said, âFor a moment I thought he was the colonel. He was a rather nice-looking young man.â

Doctor Winter said sardonically, âNo, he was just protecting the colonel.â

Madame was thinking, âI wonder how many officers will come?â And she looked at Joseph and saw that he was shamelessly eavesdropping. She shook her head at him and frowned and he went back to the little things he had been doing. He began dusting all over again.

And Madame said, âHow many do you think will come?â

Doctor Winter pulled out a chair outrageously and sat down again. âI donât know,â he said.

âWellââshe frowned at Josephââweâve been talking it over. Should we offer them tea or a glass of wine? If we do, I donât know how many there will be, and if we donât, what are we to do?â

Doctor Winter shook his head and smiled. âI donât know. Itâs been so long since we conquered anybody or anybody conquered us. I donât know what is proper.â

Mayor Orden had his finger back in his itching ear. He said, âWell, I donât think we should. I donât think the people would like it. I donât want to drink wine with them. I donât know why.â

Madame appealed to the doctor then. âDidnât people in the old daysâthe leaders, that isâcompliment each other and take a glass of wine?â

Doctor Winter nodded. âYes, indeed they did.â He shook his head slowly. âMaybe that was different. Kings and princes played at war the way Englishmen play at hunting. When the fox was dead they gathered at a hunt breakfast. But Mayor Orden is probably right: the people might not like him to drink wine with the invader.â

Madame said, âThe people are down listening to the music. Annie told me. If they can do that, why shouldnât we keep civilized procedure alive?â

The Mayor looked steadily at her for a moment and his voice was sharp. âMadame, I think with your permission we will not have wine. The people are confused now. They have lived at peace so long that they do not quite believe in war. They will learn and then they will not be confused any more. They elected me not to be confused. Six town boys were murdered this morning. I think we will have no hunt breakfast. The people do not fight wars for sport.â

Madame bowed slightly. There had been a number of times in her life when her husband had become the Mayor. She had learned not to confuse the Mayor with her husband.

Mayor Orden looked at his watch and when Joseph came in, carrying a small cup of black coffee, he took it absentmindedly. âThank you,â he said, and he sipped it. âI should be clear,â he said apologetically to Doctor Winter. âI should beâdo you know how many men the invader has?â

âNot many,â the doctor said. âI donât think over two hundred and fifty; but all with those little machine guns.â

The Mayor sipped his coffee again and made a new start. âWhat about the rest of the country?â

The doctor raised his shoulders and dropped them again.

âWas there no resistance anywhere?â the Mayor went on hopelessly.

And again the doctor raised his shoulders. âI donât know. The wires are cut or captured. There is no news.â

âAnd our boys, our soldiers?â

âI donât know,â said the doctor.

Joseph interrupted. âI heardâthat is, Annie heardââ

âWhat, Joseph?â

âSix men were killed, sir, by the machine guns. Annie heard three were wounded and captured.â

âBut there were twelve.â

âAnnie heard that three escaped.â

The Mayor turned sharply. âWhich ones escaped?â he demanded.

âI donât know, sir. Annie didnât hear.â

Madame inspected a table for dust with her finger. She said, âJoseph, when they come, stay close to your bell. We might want some little thing. And put on your other coat, Joseph, the one with the buttons.â She thought for a moment. âAnd, Joseph, when you finish what you are told to do, go out of the room. It makes a bad impression when you just stand around listening. Itâs provincial, thatâs what it is.â

âYes, Madame,â Joseph said.

âWe wonât serve wine, Joseph, but you might have some cigarettes handy in that little silver conserve box. And donât strike the match to light the colonelâs cigarette on your shoe. Strike it on the match-box.â

âYes, Madame.â

Mayor Orden unbuttoned his coat and took out his watch and looked at it and put it back and buttoned his coat again, one button too high. Madame went to him and rebuttoned it correctly.

Doctor Winter asked, âWhat time is it?â

âFive of eleven.â

âA time-minded people,â the doctor said. âThey will be here on time. Do you want me to go away?â

Mayor Orden looked startled. âGo? Noâno, stay.â He laughed softly. âIâm a little afraid,â he said apologetically. âWell, not afraid, but Iâm nervous.â And he said helplessly, âWe have never been conquered, for a long timeââ He stopped to listen. In the distance there was a sound of band music, a march. They all turned in its direction and listened.

Madame said, âHere they come. I hope not too many try to crowd in here at once. It isnât a very big room.â

Doctor Winter said sardonically, âMadame would prefer the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles?â

She pinched her lips and looked about, already placing the conquerors with her mind. âIt is a very small room,â she said.

The band music swelled a little and then grew fainter. There came a gentle tap on the door.

âNow, who can that be? Joseph, if it is anyone, tell him to come back later. We are very busy.â

The tap came again. Joseph went to the door and opened it a crack and then a little wider. A gray figure, helmeted and gantleted, appeared.

âColonel Lanserâs compliments,â the head said. âColonel Lanser requests an audience with Your Excellency.â

Joseph opened the door wide. The helmeted orderly stepped inside and looked quickly about the room and then stood aside. âColonel Lanser!â he announced.

A second helmeted figure walked into the room, and his rank showed only on his shoulders. Behind him came a rather short man in a black business suit. The colonel was a middle-aged man, gray and hard and tired-looking. He had the square shoulders of a soldier, but his eyes lacked the blank look of the ordinary soldier. The little man beside him was bald and rosy-cheeked, with small black eyes and a sensual mouth.

Colonel Lanser took off his helmet. With a quick bow, he said, âYour Excellency!â He bowed to Madame. âMadame!â And he said, âClose the door, please, Corporal.â Joseph quickly shut the door and stared in small triumph at the soldier.

Lanser looked questioningly at the doctor, and Mayor Orden said, âThis is Doctor Winter.â

âAn official?â the colonel asked.

âA doctor, sir, and, I might say, the local historian.â

Lanser bowed slightly. He said, âDoctor Winter, I do not mean to be impertinent, but there will be a page in your history, perhapsââ

And Doctor Winter smiled. âMany pages, perhaps.â

Colonel Lanser turned slightly toward his companion. âI think you know Mr. Corell,â he said.

The Mayor said, âGeorge Corell? Of course I know him. How are you, George?â

Doctor Winter cut in sharply. He said, very formally, âYour Excellency, our friend, George Corell, prepared this town for the invasion. Our benefactor, George Corell, sent our soldiers into the hills. Our dinner guest, George Corell, has made a list of every firearm in the town. Our friend, George Corell!â

Corell said angrily, âI work for what I believe in! That is an honorable thing.â

Ordenâs mouth hung a little open. He was bewildered. He looked helplessly from Winter to Corell. âThis isnât true,â he said. âGeorge, this isnât true! You have sat at my table, you have drunk port with me. Why, you helped me plan the hospital! This isnât true!â

He was looking very steadily at Corell and Corell looked belligerently back at him. There was a long silence. Then the Mayorâs face grew slowly tight and very formal and his whole body was rigid. He turned to Colonel Lanser and he said, âI do not wish to speak in this gentlemanâs company.â

Corell said, âI have a right to be here! I am a soldier like the rest. I simply do not wear a uniform.â

The Mayor repeated, âI do not wish to speak in this gentlemanâs presence.â

Colonel Lanser said, âWill you leave us now, Mr. Corell?â

And Corell said, âI have a right to be here!â

Lanser repeated sharply, âWill you leave us now, Mr. Corell? Do you outrank me?â

âWell, no, sir.â

âPlease go, Mr. Corell,â said Colonel Lanser.

And Corell looked at the Mayor angrily, and then he turned and went quickly out of the doorway. Doctor Winter chuckled and said, âThatâs good enough for a paragraph in my history.â Colonel Lanser glanced sharply at him but he did not speak.

Now the door on the right opened, and straw-haired red-eyed Annie put an angry face into the doorway. âThereâs soldiers on the back porch, Madame,â she said. âJust standing there.â

âThey wonât come in,â Colonel Lanser said. âItâs only military procedure.â

Madame said icily, âAnnie, if you have anything to say, let Joseph bring the message.â

âI didnât know but theyâd try to get in,â Annie said. âThey smelled the coffee.â

âAnnie!â

âYes, Madame,â and she withdrew.

The colonel said, âMay I sit down?â And he explained, âWe have been a long time without sleep.â

The Mayor seemed to start out of sleep himself. âYes,â he said, âof course, sit down!â

The colonel looked at Madame and she seated herself and he settled tiredly into a chair. Mayor Orden stood, still half dreaming.

The colonel began, âWe want to get along as well as we can. You see, sir, this is more like a business venture than anything else. We need the coal mine here and the fishing. We will try to get along with just as little friction as possible.â

The Mayor said, âI have had no news. What about the rest of the country?â

âAll taken,â said the colonel. âIt was well planned.â

âWas there no resistance anywhere?â

The colonel looked at him compassionately. âI wish there had not been. Yes, there was some resistance, but it only caused bloodshed. We had planned very carefully.â

Orden stuck to his point. âBut there was resistance?â

âYes, but it was foolish to resist. Just as here, it was destroyed instantly. It was sad and foolish to resist.â

Doctor Winter caught some of the Mayorâs anxiousness about the point. âYes,â he said, âfoolish, but they resisted?â

And Colonel Lanser replied, âOnly a few and they are gone. The people as a whole are quiet.â

Doctor Winter said, âThe people donât know yet what has happened.â

âThey are discovering,â said Lanser. âThey wonât be foolish again.â He cleared his throat and his voice became brisk. âNow, sir, I must get to business. Iâm really very tired, but before I can sleep I must make my arrangements.â He sat forward in his chair. âI am more engineer than soldier. This whole thing is more an engineering job than conquest. The coal must come out of the ground and be shipped. We have technicians, but the local people will continue to work the mine. Is that clear? We do not wish to be harsh.â

And Orden said, âYes, thatâs clear enough. But suppose the people do not want to work the mine?â

The colonel said, âI hope they will want to, because they must. We must have the coal.â

âBut if they donât?â

âThey must. They are an orderly people. They donât want trouble.â He waited for the Mayorâs reply and none came. âIs that not so, sir?â the colonel asked.

Mayor Orden twisted his chain. âI donât know, sir. They are orderly under their own government. I donât know how they would be under yours. It is untouched ground, you see. We have built our government over four hundred years.â

The colonel said quickly, âWe know that, and so we are going to keep your government. You will still be the Mayor, you will give the orders, you will penalize and reward. In that way, they will not give trouble.â

Mayor Orden looked at Doctor Winter. âWhat are you thinking about?â

âI donât know,â said Doctor Winter. âIt would be interesting to see. Iâd expect trouble. This might be a bitter people.â

Mayor Orden said, âI donât know, either.â He turned to the colonel. âSir, I am of this people, and yet I donât know what they will do. Perhaps you know. Or maybe it would be different from anything you know or we know. Some people accept appointed leaders and obey them. But my people have elected me. They made me and they can un-make me. Perhaps they will if they think I have gone over to you. I just donât know.â

The colonel said, âYou will be doing them a service if you keep them in order.â

âA service?â

âYes, a service. It is your duty to protect them from harm. They will be in danger if they are rebellious. We must get the coal, you see. Our leaders do not tell us how; they order us to get it. But you have your people to protect. You must make them do the work and thus keep them safe.â

Mayor Orden asked, âBut suppose they donât want to be safe?â

âThen you must think for them.â

Orden said, a little proudly, âMy people donât like to have others think for them. Maybe they are different from your people. I am confused, but that I am sure of.â

Now Joseph came in quickly and he stood leaning forward, bursting to speak. Madame said, âWhat is it, Joseph? Get the silver box of cigarettes.â

âPardon, Madame,â said Joseph. âPardon, Your Excellency.â

âWhat do you want?â the Mayor asked.

âItâs Annie,â he said. âSheâs getting angry, sir.â

âWhat is the matter?â Madame demanded.

âAnnie doesnât like the soldiers on the back porch.â

The colonel asked, âAre they causing trouble?â

âThey are looking through the door at Annie,â said Joseph. âShe hates that.â

The colonel said, âThey are carrying out orders. They are doing no harm.â

âWell, Annie hates to be stared at,â said Joseph.

Madame said, âJoseph, tell Annie to take care.â

âYes, Madame,â and Joseph went out.

The colonelâs eyes dropped with tiredness. âThereâs another thing, Your Excellency,â he said. âWould it be possible for me and my staff to stay here?â

Mayor Orden thought a moment and he said, âItâs a small place. There are larger, more comfortable places.â

Then Joseph came back with the silver box of cigarettes and he opened it and held it in front of the colonel. When the colonel took one, Joseph ostentatiously lighted it. The colonel puffed deeply.

âIt isnât that,â he said. âWe have found that when a staff lives under the roof of the local authority, there is more tranquillity.â

âYou mean,â said Orden, âthe people feel there is collaboration involved?â

âYes, I suppose that is it.â

Mayor Orden looked hopelessly at Doctor Winter, and Winter could offer him nothing but a wry smile. Orden said softly, âAm I permitted to refuse this honor?â

âIâm sorry,â the colonel said. âNo. These are the orders of my leader.â

âThe people will not like it,â Orden said.

âAlways the people! The people are disarmed. The people have no say.â

Mayor Orden shook his head. âYou do not know, sir.â

From the doorway came the sound of an angry womanâs voice, and a thump and a manâs cry. Joseph came scuttling through the door. âSheâs thrown boiling water,â Joseph said. âSheâs very angry.â

There were commands through the door and the clump of feet. Colonel Lanser got up heavily. âHave you no control over your servants, sir?â he asked.

Mayor Orden smiled. âVery little,â he said. âSheâs a good cook when she is happy. Was anyone hurt?â he asked Joseph.

âThe water was boiling, sir.â

Colonel Lanser said, âWe just want to do our job. Itâs an engineering job. You will have to discipline your cook.â

âI canât,â said Orden. âSheâll quit.â

âThis is an emergency. She canât quit.â

âThen sheâll throw water,â said Doctor Winter.

The door opened and a soldier stood in the opening. âShall I arrest this woman, sir?â

âWas anyone hurt?â Lanser asked.

âYes, sir, scalded, and one man bitten. We are holding her, sir.â

Lanser looked helpless, then he said, âRelease her and go outside and off the porch.â

âYes, sir,â and the door closed behind the soldier.

Lanser said, âI could have her shot; I could lock her up.â

âThen we would have no cook,â said Orden.

âLook,â said the colonel. âWe are instructed to get along with your people.â

Madame said, âExcuse me, sir, I will just go and see if the soldiers hurt Annie,â and she went out.

Now Lanser stood up. âI told you Iâm very tired, sir. I must have some sleep. Please co-operate with us for the good of all.â When Mayor Orden made no reply, âFor the good of all,â Lanser repeated. âWill you?â

Orden said, âThis is a little town. I donât know. The people are confused and so am I.â

âBut will you try to co-operate?â

Orden shook his head. âI donât know. When the town makes up its mind what it wants to do, Iâll probably do that.â

âBut you are the authority.â

Orden smiled. âYou wonât believe this, but it is true: authority is in the town. I donât know how or why, but it is so. This means we cannot act as quickly as you can, but when a direction is set, we all act together. I am confused. I donât know yet.â

Lanser said wearily, âI hope we can get along together. It will be so much easier for everyone. I hope we can trust you. I donât like to think of the means the military will take to keep order.â

Mayor Orden was silent.

âI hope we can trust you,â Lanser repeated.

Orden put his finger in his ear and wiggled his hand. âI donât know,â he said.

Madame came through the door then. âAnnie is furious,â she said. âShe is next door, talking to Christine. Christine is angry, too.â

âChristine is even a better cook than Annie,â said the Mayor.

2

Upstairs in the little palace of the Mayor the staff of Colonel Lanser made its headquarters. There were five of them besides the colonel. There was Major Hunter, a haunted little man of figures, a little man who, being a dependable unit, considered all other men either as dependable units or as unfit to live. Major Hunter was an engineer, and except in case of war no one would have thought of giving him command of men. For Major Hunter set his men in rows like figures and he added and subtracted and multiplied them. He was an arithmetician rather than a mathematician. None of the humor, the music, or the mysticism of higher mathematics ever entered his head. Men might vary in height or weight or color, just as 6 is different from 8, but there was little other difference. He had been married several times and he did not know why his wives became very nervous before they left him.

Captain Bentick was a family man, a lover of dogs and pink children and Christmas. He was too old to be a captain, but a curious lack of ambition had kept him in that rank. Before the war he had admired the British country gentleman very much, wore English clothes, kept English dogs, smoked in an English pipe a special pipe mixture sent him from London, and subscribed to those country magazines which extol gardening and continually argue about the relative merits of English and Gordon setters. Captain Bentick spent all his holidays in Sussex and liked to be mistaken for an Englishman in Budapest or Paris. The war changed all that outwardly, but he had sucked on a pipe too long, had carried a stick too long, to give them up too suddenly. Once, five years before, he had written a letter to the Times about grass dying in the Midlands and had signed it Edmund Twitchell, Esq.; and, furthermore, the Times had printed it.

If Captain Bentick was too old to be a captain, Captain Loft was too young. Captain Loft was as much a captain as one can imagine. He lived and breathed his captaincy. He had no unmilitary moments. A driving ambition forced him up through the grades. He rose like cream to the top of milk. He clicked his heels as perfectly as a dancer does. He knew every kind of military courtesy and insisted on using it all. Generals were afraid of him because he knew more about the deportment of a soldier than they did. Captain Loft thought and believed that a soldier is the highest development of animal life. If he considered God at all, he thought of Him as an old and honored general, retired and gray, living among remembered battles and putting wreaths on the graves of his lieutenants several times a year. Captain Loft believed that all women fall in love with a uniform and he did not see how it could be otherwise. In the normal course of events he would be a brigadier-general at forty-five and have his picture in the illustrated papers, flanked by tall, pale, masculine women wearing lacy picture hats.

Lieutenants Prackle and Tonder were snot-noses, undergraduates, lieutenants, trained in the politics of the day, believing the great new system invented by a genius so great that they never bothered to verify its results. They were sentimental young men, given to tears and to furies. Lieutenant Prackle carried a lock of hair in the back of his watch, wrapped in a bit of blue satin, and the hair was constantly getting loose and clogging the balance wheel, so that he wore a wrist watch for telling time. Prackle was a dancing-partner, a gay young man who nevertheless could scowl like the Leader, could brood like the Leader. He hated degenerate art and had destroyed several canvases with his own hands. In cabarets he sometimes made pencil sketches of his companions which were so good that he had often been told he should have been an artist. Prackle had several blond sisters of whom he was so proud that he had on occasion caused a commotion when he thought they had been insulted. The sisters were a little disturbed about it because they were afraid someone might set out to prove the insults, which would not have been hard to do. Lieutenant Prackle spent nearly all his time off duty daydreaming of seducing Lieutenant Tonderâs blond sister, a buxom girl who loved to be seduced by older men who did not muss her hair as Lieutenant Prackle did.

Lieutenant Tonder was a poet, a bitter poet who dreamed of perfect, ideal love of elevated young men for poor girls. Tonder was a dark romantic with a vision as wide as his experience. He sometimes spoke blank verse under his breath to imaginary dark women. He longed for death on the battlefield, with weeping parents in the background, and the Leader, brave but sad in the presence of the dying youth. He imagined his death very often, lighted by a fair setting sun which glinted on broken military equipment, his men standing silently around him, with heads sunk low, as over a fat cloud galloped the Valkyries, big-breasted, mothers and mistresses in one, while Wagnerian thunder crashed in the background. And he even had his dying words ready.

These were the men of the staff, each one playing war as children play âRun, Sheep, Run.â Major Hunter thought of war as an arithmetical job to be done so he could get back to his fireplace; Captain Loft as the proper career of a properly brought-up young man; and Lieutenants Prackle and Tonder as a dreamlike thing in which nothing was very real. And their war so far had been playâfine weapons and fine planning against unarmed, planless enemies. They had lost no fights and suffered little hurt. They were, under pressure, capable of cowardice or courage, as everyone is. Of them all, only Colonel Lanser knew what war really is in the long run.

Lanser had been in Belgium and France twenty years before and he tried not to think what he knewâthat war is treachery and hatred, the muddling of incompetent generals, the torture and killing and sickness and tiredness, until at last it is over and nothing has changed except for new weariness and new hatreds. Lanser told himself he was a soldier, given orders to carry out. He was not expected to question or to think, but only to carry out orders; and he tried to put aside the sick memories of the other war and the certainty that this would be the same. This one will be different, he said to himself fifty times a day; this one will be very different.

In marching, in mobs, in football games, and in war, outlines become vague; real things become unreal and a fog creeps over the mind. Tension and excitement, weariness, movementâall merge in one great gray dream, so that when it is over, it is hard to remember how it was when you killed men or ordered them to be killed. Then other people who were not there tell you what it was like and you say vaguely, âYes, I guess thatâs how it was.â

This staff had taken three rooms on the upper floor of the Mayorâs palace. In the bedrooms they had put their cots and blankets and equipment, and in the room next to them and directly over the little drawing-room on the ground floor they had made a kind of club, rather an uncomfortable club. There were a few chairs and a table. Here they wrote letters and read letters. They talked and ordered coffee and planned and rested. On the walls between the windows there were pictures of cows and lakes and little farmhouses, and from the windows they could look down over the town to the waterfront, to the docks where the shipping was tied up, to the docks where the coal barges pulled up and took their loads and went out to sea. They could look down over the little town that twisted past the square to the waterfront, and they could see the fishing-boats lying at anchor in the bay, the sails furled, and they could smell the drying fish on the beach, right through the window.

There was a large table in the center of the room and Major Hunter sat beside it. He had his drawing-board in his lap and resting on the table, and with a T-square and triangle he worked at a design for a new railroad siding. The drawing-board was unsteady and the major was growing angry with its unsteadiness. He called over his shoulder, âPrackle!â And then, âLieutenant Prackle!â

The bedroom door opened and the lieutenant came out, half his face covered with shaving-cream. He held the brush in his hand. âYes?â he said.

Major Hunter jiggled his drawing-board. âHasnât that tripod for my board turned up in the baggage?â

âI donât know, sir,â said Prackle. âI didnât look.â

âWell, look now, will you? Itâs bad enough to have to work in this light. Iâll have to draw this again before I ink it.â

Prackle said, âJust as soon as I finish shaving, Iâll look.â

Hunter said irritably, âThis siding is more important than your looks. See if there is a canvas case like a golf bag under that pile in there.â

Prackle disappeared into the bedroom. The door to the right opened and Captain Loft came in. He wore his helmet, a pair of field glasses, sidearm, and various little leather cases strung all over him. He began to remove his equipment as soon as he entered.

âYou know, that Bentickâs crazy,â he said. âHe was going out on duty in a fatigue cap, right down the street.â

Loft put his field glasses on the table and took off his helmet, then his gas-mask bag. A little pile of equipment began to heap up on the table.

Hunter said, âDonât leave that stuff there. I have to work here. Why shouldnât he wear a cap? There hasnât been any trouble. I get sick of these tin things. Theyâre heavy and you canât see.â

Loft said primly, âItâs bad practice to leave it off. Itâs bad for the people here. We must maintain a military standard, an alertness, and never vary it. Weâll just invite trouble if we donât.â

âWhat makes you think so?â Hunter asked.

Loft drew himself up a little. His mouth thinned with certainty. Sooner or later everyone wanted to punch Loft in the nose for his sureness about things. He said, âI donât think it. I was paraphrasing Manual X-12 on deportment in occupied countries. It is very carefully worked out.â He began to say, âYouââ and then changed it to, âEverybody should read X-12 very closely.â

Hunter said, âI wonder whether the man who wrote it was ever in occupied country. These people are harmless enough. They seem to be good, obedient people.â

Prackle came through the door, his face still half covered with shaving-soap. He carried a brown canvas tube, and behind him came Lieutenant Tonder. âIs this it?â Prackle asked.

âYes. Unpack it, will you, and set it up.â

Prackle and Tonder went to work on the folding tripod and tested it and put it near Hunter. The major screwed his board to it, tilted it right and left, and finally settled gruntingly behind it.

Captain Loft said, âDo you know you have soap on your face, Lieutenant?â

âYes, sir,â Prackle said. âI was shaving when the major asked me to get the tripod.â

âWell, you had better get it off,â Loft said. âThe colonel might see you.â

âOh, he wouldnât mind. He doesnât care about things like that.â

Tonder was looking over Hunterâs shoulder as he worked.

Loft said, âWell, he may not, but it doesnât look right.â

Prackle took a handkerchief and rubbed the soap from his cheek. Tonder pointed to a little drawing on the corner of the majorâs board. âThatâs a nice-looking bridge, Major. But where in the world are we going to build a bridge?â

Hunter looked down at the drawing and then over his shoulder at Tonder. âHuh? Oh, that isnât any bridge weâre going to build. Up here is the work drawing.â

âWhat are you doing with a bridge, then?â

Hunter seemed a little embarrassed. âWell, you know, in my back yard at home Iâve got a model railroad line. I was going to bridge a little creek for it. Brought the line right down to the creek, but I never did get the bridge built. I thought Iâd kind of work it out while I was away.â

Lieutenant Prackle took from his pocket a folded rotogravure page and he unfolded it and held it up and looked at it. It was a picture of a girl, all legs and dress and eyelashes, a well-developed blonde in black openwork stockings and a low bodice, and this particular blonde peeped over a black lace fan. Lieutenant Prackle held her up and he said, âIsnât she something?â Lieutenant Tonder looked critically at the picture and said, âI donât like her.â

âWhat donât you like about her?â

âI just donât like her,â said Tonder. âWhat do you want her picture for?â

Prackle said, âBecause I do like her and I bet you do, too.â

âI do not,â said Tonder.

âYou mean to say you wouldnât take a date with her if you could?â Prackle asked.

Tonder said, âNo.â

âWell, youâre just crazy,â and Prackle went to one of the curtains. He said, âIâm just going to stick her up here and let you brood about her for a while.â He pinned the picture to the curtain.

Captain Loft was gathering his equipment into his arms now, and he said, âI donât think it looks very well out here, Lieutenant. Youâd better take it down. It wouldnât make a good impression on the local people.â

Hunter looked up from his board. âWhat wouldnât?â He followed their eyes to the picture. âWhoâs that?â he asked.

âSheâs an actress,â said Prackle.

Hunter looked at her carefully. âOh, do you know her?â

Tonder said, âSheâs a tramp.â

Hunter said, âOh, then you know her?â

Prackle was looking steadily at Tonder. He said, âSay, how do you know sheâs a tramp?â

âShe looks like a tramp,â said Tonder.

âDo you know her?â

âNo, and I donât want to.â

Prackle began to say, âThen how do you know?â when Loft broke in. He said, âYouâd better take the picture down. Put it up over your bed if you want to. This roomâs kind of official here.â

Prackle looked at him mutinously and was about to speak when Captain Loft said, âThatâs an order, Lieutenant,â and poor Prackle folded his paper and put it into his pocket again. He tried cheerily to change the subject. âThere are some pretty girls in this town, all right,â he said. âAs soon as we get settled down and everything going smoothly, Iâm going to get acquainted with a few.â

Loft said, âYouâd better read X-12. Thereâs a section dealing with sexual matters.â And he went out, carrying his duffel, glasses, and equipment. Lieutenant Tonder, still looking over Hunterâs shoulder, said, âThatâs cleverâthe coal cars come right through the mines to the ship.â

Hunter came slowly out of his work and he said, âWe have to speed it up; weâve got to get that coal moving. Itâs a big job. Iâm awful thankful that the people here are calm and sensible.â

Loft came back into the room without his equipment. He stood by the window, looking out toward the harbor, toward the coal mine, and he said, âThey are calm and sensible because we are calm and sensible. I think we can take credit for that. Thatâs why I keep harping on procedure. It is very carefully worked out.â

The door opened and Colonel Lanser came in, removing his coat as he entered. His staff gave him military courtesy ânot very rigid, but enough. Lanser said, âCaptain Loft, will you go down and relieve Bentick? He isnât feeling well, says heâs dizzy.â

âYes, sir,â said Loft. âMay I suggest, sir, that I only recently came off duty?â

Lanser inspected him closely. âI hope you donât mind going, Captain.â

âNot at all, sir; I just mention it for the record.â

Lanser relaxed and chuckled. âYou like to be mentioned in the reports, donât you?â

âIt does no harm, sir.â

âAnd when you have enough mentions,â Lanser went on, âthere will be a little dangler on your chest.â

âThey are the milestones in a military career, sir.â

Lanser sighed. âYes, I guess they are. But they wonât be the ones youâll remember, Captain.â

âSir?â Loft asked.

âYouâll know what I mean laterâperhaps.â

Captain Loft put his equipment on rapidly. âYes, sir,â he said, and went out and his footsteps clattered down the wooden stairs, and Lanser watched him go with a little amusement. He said quietly, âThere goes a born soldier.â And Hunter looked up and poised his pencil and he said, âA born ass.â

âNo,â said Lanser, âheâs being a soldier the way a lot of men would be politicians. Heâll be on the General Staff before long. Heâll look down on war from above and so heâll always love it.â

Lieutenant Prackle said, âWhen do you think the war will be over, sir?â

âOver? Over? What do you mean?â

Lieutenant Prackle continued, âHow soon will we win?â

Lanser shook his head. âOh, I donât know. The enemy is still in the world.â

âBut we will lick them,â said Prackle.

Lanser said, âYes?â

âWonât we?â

âYes; yes, we always do.â

Prackle said excitedly, âWell, if itâs quiet around Christmas, do you think there will be some furloughs granted?â

âI donât know,â said Lanser. âSuch orders will have to come from home. Do you want to get home for Christmas?â

âWell, Iâd kind of like to.â

âMaybe you will,â said Lanser, âmaybe you will.â

Lieutenant Tonder said, âWe wonât drop out of this occupation, will we, sir, after the war is over?â

âI donât know,â said the Colonel. âWhy?â

âWell,â said Tonder, âitâs a nice country, nice people. Our menâsome of themâmight even settle here.â

Lanser said jokingly, âYouâve seen some place you like, perhaps?â

âWell,â said Tonder, âthere are some beautiful farms here. If four or five of them were thrown together, it would be a nice place to settle, I think.â

âYou have no family land, then?â Lanser asked.

âNo, sir, not any more. Inflation took it away.â

Lanser was tired now of talking to children. He said, âAh, well, we still have a war to fight. We still have coal to take out. Do you suppose we can wait until it is over before we build up these estates? Such orders will come from above. Captain Loft can tell you that.â His manner changed. He said, âHunter, your steel will be in tomorrow. You can get your tracks started this week.â

There was a knock at the door and a sentry put his head in. He said, âMr. Corell wishes to see you, sir.â

âSend him in,â said the colonel. And he said to the others, âThis is the man who did the preliminary work here. We might have some trouble with him.â

âDid he do a good job?â Tonder asked.

âYes, he did, and he wonât be popular with the people here. I wonder whether he will be popular with us.â

âHe deserves credit, certainly,â Tonder said.

âYes,â Lanser said, âand donât think he wonât claim it.â

Corell came in, rubbing his hands. He radiated good-will and good-fellowship. He was dressed still in his black business suit, but on his head there was a patch of white bandage, stuck to his hair with a cross of adhesive tape. He advanced to the center of the room and said, âGood morning, Colonel. I should have called yesterday after the trouble downstairs, but I knew how busy you would be.â

The colonel said, âGood morning.â Then with a circular gesture of his hand. âThis is my staff, Mr. Corell.â

âFine boys,â said Corell. âThey did a good job. Well, I tried to prepare for them well.â

Hunter looked down at his board and he took out an inking-pen and dipped it and began to ink in his drawing.

Lanser said, âYou did very well. I wish you hadnât killed those six men, though. I wish their soldiers hadnât come back.â

Corell spread his hands and said comfortably, âSix men is a small loss for a town of this size, with a coal mine, too.â

Lanser said sternly, âI am not averse to killing people if that finishes it. But sometimes it is better not to.â

Corell had been studying the officers. He looked sideways at the lieutenants, and he said, âCould weâperhapsâtalk alone, Colonel?â

âYes, if you wish. Lieutenant Prackle and Lieutenant Tonder, will you go to your room, please?â And the colonel said to Corell, âMajor Hunter is working. He doesnât hear anything when heâs working.â Hunter looked up from his board and smiled quietly and looked down again. The young lieutenants left the room, and when they were gone Lanser said, âWell, here we are. Wonât you sit down?â

âThank you, sir,â and Corell sat down behind the table.

Lanser looked at the bandage on Corellâs head. He said bluntly, âHave they tried to kill you already?â

Corell felt the bandage with his fingers. âThis? Oh, this was a stone that fell from a cliff in the hills this morning.â

âYouâre sure it wasnât thrown?â

âWhat do you mean?â Corell asked. âThese arenât fierce people. They havenât had a war for a hundred years. Theyâve forgotten about fighting.â

âWell, youâve lived among them,â said the colonel. âYou ought to know.â He stepped close to Corell. âBut if you are safe, these people are different from any in the world. Iâve helped to occupy countries before. I was in Belgium twenty years ago and in France.â He shook his head a little as though to clear it, and he said gruffly, âYou did a good job. We should thank you. I mentioned your work in my report.â

âThank you, sir,â said Corell. âI did my best.â

Lanser said, a little wearily, âWell, sir, now what shall we do? Would you like to go back to the capital? We can put you on a coal barge if youâre in a hurry, or on a destroyer if you want to wait.â

Corell said, âBut I donât want to go back. Iâll stay here.â

Lanser studied this for a moment and he said, âYou know, I havenât a great many men. I canât give you a very adequate bodyguard.â

âBut I donât need a bodyguard. I tell you these arenât violent people.â

Lanser looked at the bandage for a moment. Hunter glanced up from his board and remarked, âYouâd better start wearing a helmet.â He looked down at his work again.

Now Corell moved forward in his chair. âI wanted particularly to talk to you, Colonel. I thought I might help with the civil administration.â

Lanser turned on his heel and walked to the window and looked out, and then he swung around and said quietly, âWhat have you in mind?â

âWell, you must have a civil authority you can trust. I thought perhaps that Mayor Orden might step down now andâwell, if I were to take over his office, it and the military would work very nicely together.â

Lanserâs eyes seemed to grow large and bright. He came close to Corell and he spoke sharply. âHave you mentioned this in your report?â

Corell said, âWell, yes, naturallyâin my analysis.â

Lanser interrupted. âHave you talked to any of the town people since we arrivedâoutside of the Mayor, that is?â

âWell, no. You see, they are still a bit startled. They didnât expect it.â He chuckled. âNo, sir, they certainly didnât expect it.â

But Lanser pressed his point. âSo you donât really know whatâs going on in their minds?â

âWhy, theyâre startled,â said Corell. âTheyâreâwell, theyâre almost dreaming.â

âYou donât know what they think of you?â Lanser asked.

âI have many friends here. I know everyone.â

âDid anyone buy anything in your store this morning?â

âWell, of course, business is at a standstill,â Corell answered. âNo oneâs buying anything.â

Lanser relaxed suddenly. He went to a chair and sat down and crossed his legs. He said quietly, âYours is a difficult and brave branch of the service. It should be greatly rewarded.â

âThank you, sir.â

âYou will have their hatred in time,â said the colonel.

âI can stand that, sir. They are the enemy.â

Now Lanser hesitated a long moment before he spoke, and then he said softly, âYou will not even have our respect.â

Corell jumped to his feet excitedly. âThis is contrary to the Leaderâs words!â he said. âThe Leader has said that all branches are equally honorable.â

Lanser went on very quietly, âI hope the Leader knows. I hope he can read the minds of soldiers.â And then almost compassionately he said, âYou should be greatly rewarded.â For a moment he sat quietly and then he pulled himself together and said, âNow we must come to exactness. I am in charge here. My job is to get coal out. To do that I must maintain order and discipline, and to do that I must know what is in the minds of these people. I must anticipate revolt. Do you understand that?â

âWell, I can find out what you wish to know, sir. As Mayor here, I will be very effective,â said Corell.

Lanser shook his head. âI have no orders about this. I must use my own judgment. I think you will never again know what is going on here. I think no one will speak to you; no one will be near to you except those people who will live on money, who can live on money. I think without a guard you will be in great danger. It will please me if you go back to the capital, there to be rewarded for your fine work.â

âBut my place is here, sir,â said Corell. âI have made my place. It is all in my report.â

Lanser went on as though he had not heard. âMayor Orden is more than a mayor,â he said. âHe is his people. He knows what they are doing, thinking, without asking, because he will think what they think. By watching him I will know them. He must stay. That is my judgment.â

Corell said, âMy work, sir, merits better treatment than being sent away.â

âYes, it does,â Lanser said slowly. âBut to the larger work I think you are only a detriment now. If you are not hated yet, you will be. In any little revolt you will be the first to be killed. I think I will suggest that you go back.â

Corell said stiffly, âYou will, of course, permit me to wait for a reply to my report to the capital?â

âYes, of course. But I shall recommend that you go back for your own safety. Frankly, Mr. Corell, you have no value here. Butâwell, there must be other plans and other countries. Perhaps you will go now to some new town in some new country. You will win new confidence in a new field. You may be given a larger town, even a city, a greater responsibility. I think I will recommend you highly for your work here.â

Corellâs eyes were shining with gratification. âThank you, sir,â he said. âIâve worked hard. Perhaps you are right. But you must permit me to wait for the reply from the capital.â

Lanserâs voice was tight. His eyes were slitted. He said harshly, âWear a helmet, keep indoors, do not go out at night, and, above all, do not drink. Trust no woman nor any man. Do you understand that?â

Corell looked pityingly at the colonel. âI donât think you understand. I have a little house. A pleasant country girl waits on me. I even think sheâs a little fond of me. These are simple, peaceful people. I know them.â

Lanser said, âThere are no peaceful people. When will you learn it? There are no friendly people. Canât you understand that? We have invaded this countryâyou, by what they call treachery, prepared for us.â His face grew red and his voice rose. âCanât you understand that we are at war with these people?â

Corell said, a little smugly, âWe have defeated them.â

The colonel stood up and swung his arms helplessly, and Hunter looked up from his board and put his hand out to protect his board from being jiggled. Hunter said, âCareful now, sir. Iâm inking in. I wouldnât want to do it all over again.â

Lanser looked down at him and said, âSorry,â and went on as though he were instructing a class. He said, âDefeat is a momentary thing. A defeat doesnât last. We were defeated and now we attack. Defeat means nothing. Canât you understand that? Do you know what they are whispering behind doors?â

Corell asked, âDo you?â

âNo, but I suspect.â

Then Corell said insinuatingly, âAre you afraid, Colonel? Should the commander of this occupation be afraid?â

Lanser sat down heavily and said, âMaybe thatâs it.â And he said disgustedly, âIâm tired of people who have not been at war who know all about it.â He held his chin in his hand and said, âI remember a little old woman in Brusselsâsweet face, white hair; she was only four feet eleven; delicate old hands. You could see the veins almost black against her skin. And her black shawl and her blue-white hair. She used to sing our national songs to us in a quivering, sweet voice. She always knew where to find a cigarette or a virgin.â He dropped his hand from his chin, and he caught himself as though he had been asleep. âWe didnât know her son had been executed,â he said. âWhen we finally shot her, she had killed twelve men with a long, black hatpin. I have it yet at home. It has an enamel button with a bird over it, red and blue.â

Corell said, âBut you shot her?â

âOf course we shot her.â

âAnd the murders stopped?â asked Corell.

âNo, the murders did not stop. And when we finally retreated, the people cut off stragglers and they burned some and they gouged the eyes from some, and some they even crucified.â

Corell said loudly, âThese are not good things to say, Colonel.â

âThey are not good things to remember,â said Lanser.

Corell said, âYou should not be in command if you are afraid.â

And Lanser answered softly, âI know how to fight, you see. If you know, at least you do not make silly errors.â

âDo you talk this way to the young officers?â

Lanser shook his head. âNo, they wouldnât believe me.â

âWhy do you tell me, then?â

âBecause, Mr. Corell, your work is done. I remember one timeââ and as he spoke there was a tumble of feet on the stairs and the door burst open. A sentry looked in and Captain Loft brushed past him. Loft was rigid and cold and military; he said, âThereâs trouble, sir.â

âTrouble?â

âI have to report, sir, that Captain Bentick has been killed.â

Lanser said, âOhâyesâBentick!â

There was the sound of a number of footsteps on the stairs and two stretcher-bearers came in, carrying a figure covered with blankets.

Lanser said, âAre you sure heâs dead?â

âQuite sure,â Loft said stiffly.

The lieutenants came in from the bedroom, their mouths a little open, and they looked frightened. Lanser said, âPut him down there,â and he pointed to the wall beside the windows. When the bearers had gone, Lanser knelt and lifted a corner of the blanket and then quickly put it down again. And still kneeling, he looked at Loft and said, âWho did this?â

âA miner,â said Loft.

âWhy?â

âI was there, sir.â

âWell, make your report, then! Make your report, damn it, man!â

Loft drew himself up and said formally, âI had just relieved Captain Bentick, as the colonel ordered. Captain Bentick was about to leave to come here when I had some trouble about a recalcitrant miner who wanted to quit work. He shouted something about being a free man. When I ordered him to work, he rushed at me with his pick. Captain Bentick tried to interfere.â He gestured slightly toward the body.

Lanser, still kneeling, nodded slowly. âBentick was a curious man,â he said. âHe loved the English. He loved everything about them. I donât think he liked to fight very much.... You captured the man?â

âYes, sir,â Loft said.

Lanser stood up slowly and spoke as though to himself. âSo it starts again. We will shoot this man and make twenty new enemies. Itâs the only thing we know, the only thing we know.â

Prackle said, âWhat do you say, sir?â

Lanser answered, âNothing, nothing at all. I was just thinking.â He turned to Loft and said, âPlease give my compliments to Mayor Orden and my request that he see me immediately. It is very important.â

Major Hunter looked up, dried his inking-pen carefully, and put it away in a velvet-lined box.

3

In the town the people moved sullenly through the streets. Some of the light of astonishment was gone from their eyes, but still a light of anger had not taken its place. In the coal shaft the workingmen pushed the coal cars sullenly. The small tradesmen stood behind their counters and served the people, but no one communicated with them. The people spoke to one another in monosyllables, and everyone was thinking of the war, thinking of himself, thinking of the past and how it had suddenly been changed.

In the drawing-room of the palace of Mayor Orden a small fire burned and the lights were on, for it was a gray day outside and there was frost in the air. The room was itself undergoing a change. The tapestry-covered chairs were pushed back, the little tables out of the way, and through the doorway to the right Joseph and Annie were struggling to bring in a large square dining-table. They had it on its side. Joseph was in the drawing-room and Annieâs red face showed through the door. Joseph maneuvered the legs around sideways, and he cried, âDonât push, Annie! Now!â

âI am ânow-ing,â â said Annie the red-nosed, the red-eyed, the angry. Annie was always a little angry and these soldiers, this occupation, did not improve her temper. Indeed, what for years had been considered simply a bad disposition was suddenly become a patriotic emotion. Annie had gained some little reputation as an exponent of liberty by throwing hot water on the soldiers. She would have thrown it on anyone who cluttered up her porch, but it just happened that she had become a heroine; and since anger had been the beginning of her success, Annie went on to new successes by whipping herself into increased and constant anger.

âDonât scuff the bottom,â Joseph said. The table wedged in the doorway. âSteady!â Joseph warned.

âI am steady,â said Annie.

Joseph stood off and studied the table, and Annie crossed her arms and glared at him. He tested a leg. âDonât push,â he said. âDonât push so hard.â And by himself he got the table through while Annie followed with crossed arms. âNow, up she goes,â said Joseph, and at last Annie helped him settle it on four legs and move it to the center of the room. âThere,â Annie said. âIf His Excellency hadnât told me to, I wouldnât have done it. What right have they got moving tables around?â

âWhat right coming in at all?â said Joseph.

âNone,â said Annie.

âNone,â repeated Joseph. âI see it like they have no right at all, but they do it, with their guns and their parachutes; they do it, Annie.â

âThey got no right,â said Annie. âWhat do they want with a table in here, anyway? This isnât a dining-room.â

Joseph moved a chair up to the table and he set it carefully at the right distance from the table, and he adjusted it. âTheyâre going to hold a trial,â he said. âTheyâre going to try Alexander Morden.â

âMolly Mordenâs husband?â

âMolly Mordenâs husband.â

âFor bashing that fellow with a pick?â

âThatâs right,â said Joseph.

âBut heâs a nice man,â Annie said. âTheyâve got no right to try him. He gave Molly a big red dress for her birthday. What right have they got to try Alex?â

âWell,â Joseph explained, âhe killed this fellow.â

âSuppose he did; the fellow ordered Alex around. I heard about it. Alex doesnât like to be ordered. Alexâs been an alderman in his time, and his father, too. And Molly Morden makes a nice cake,â Annie said charitably. âBut her frosting gets too hard. Whatâll they do with Alex?â

âShoot him,â Joseph said gloomily.

âThey canât do that.â

âBring up the chairs, Annie. Yes, they can. Theyâll just do it.â

Annie shook a very rigid finger in his face. âYou remember my words,â she said angrily. âPeople arenât going to like it if they hurt Alex. People like Alex. Did he ever hurt anybody before? Answer me that!â

âNo,â said Joseph.

âWell, there, you see! If they hurt Alex, people are going to be mad and Iâm going to be mad. I wonât stand for it!â

âWhat will you do?â Joseph asked her.

âWhy, Iâll kill some of them myself,â said Annie.

âAnd then theyâll shoot you,â said Joseph.

âLet them! I tell you, Joseph, things can go too farâtramping in and out all hours of the night, shooting people.â

Joseph adjusted a chair at the head of the table, and he became in some curious way a conspirator. He said softly, âAnnie.â

She paused and, sensing his tone, walked nearer to him. He said, âCan you keep a secret?â

She looked at him with a little admiration, for he had never had a secret before. âYes. What is it?â

âWell, William Deal and Walter Doggel got away last night.â

âGot away? Where?â

âThey got away to England, in a boat.â

Annie sighed with pleasure and anticipation. âDoes everybody know it?â

âWell, not everybody,â said Joseph. âEverybody butââ and he pointed a quick thumb toward the ceiling.

âWhen did they go? Why didnât I hear about it?â

âYou were busy.â Josephâs voice and face were cold. âYou know that Corell?â

âYes.â

Joseph came close to her. âI donât think heâs going to live long.â

âWhat do you mean?â Annie asked.

âWell, people are talking.â

Annie sighed with tension. âAh-h-h!!â

Joseph at last had opinions. âPeople are getting together,â he said. âThey donât like to be conquered. Things are going to happen. You keep your eyes peeled, Annie. Thereâre going to be things for you to do.â

Annie asked, âHow about His Excellency? Whatâs he going to do? How does His Excellency stand?â

âNobody knows,â said Joseph. âHe doesnât say anything.â

âHe wouldnât be against us,â Annie said.

âHe doesnât say,â said Joseph.

The knob turned on the left-hand door, and Mayor Orden came in slowly. He looked tired and old. Behind him Doctor Winter walked. Orden said, âThatâs good, Joseph. Thank you, Annie. It looks very well.â

They went out and Joseph looked back through the door for a moment before he closed it.

Mayor Orden walked to the fire and turned to warm his back. Doctor Winter pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. âI wonder how much longer I can hold this position?â Orden said. âThe people donât quite trust me and neither does the enemy. I wonder whether this is a good thing.â

âI donât know,â said Winter. âYou trust yourself, donât you? Thereâs no doubt in your own mind?â

âDoubt? No. I am the Mayor. I donât understand many things.â He pointed to the table. âI donât know why they have to hold this trial in here. Theyâre going to try Alex Morden here for murder. You remember Alex? He has that pretty little wife, Molly.â

âI remember,â said Winter. âShe used to teach in the grammar school. Yes, I remember. Sheâs so pretty, she hated to get glasses when she needed them. Well, I guess Alex killed an officer, all right. Nobodyâs questioned that.â

Mayor Orden said bitterly, âNobody questions it. But why do they try him? Why donât they shoot him? This is not a matter of doubt or certainty, justice or injustice. Thereâs none of that here. Why must they try himâand in my house?â

Winter said, âI would guess it is for the show. Thereâs an idea about it: if you go through the form of a thing, you have it, and sometimes people are satisfied with the form of a thing. We had an armyâsoldiers with gunsâbut it wasnât an army, you see. The invaders will have a trial and hope to convince the people that there is justice involved. Alex did kill the captain, you know.â

âYes, I see that,â Orden said.

And Winter went on, âIf it comes from your house, where the people expect justiceââ

He was interrupted by the opening of the door to the right. A young woman entered. She was about thirty and quite pretty. She carried her glasses in her hand. She was dressed simply and neatly and she was very excited. She said quickly, âAnnie told me to come right in, sir.â

âWhy, of course,â said the Mayor. âYouâre Molly Morden.â

âYes, sir; I am. They say that Alex is to be tried and shot.â

Orden looked down at the floor for a moment, and Molly went on, âThey say you will sentence him. It will be your words that send him out.â

Orden looked up, startled. âWhatâs this? Who says this?â

âThe people in the town.â She held herself very straight and she asked, half pleadingly, half demandingly, âYou wouldnât do that, would you, sir?â

âHow could the people know what I donât know?â he said.

âThat is a great mystery,â said Doctor Winter. âThat is a mystery that has disturbed rulers all over the worldâhow the people know. It disturbs the invaders now, I am told, how news runs through censorships, how the truth of things fights free of control. It is a great mystery.â

The girl looked up, for the room had suddenly darkened, and she seemed to be afraid. âItâs a cloud,â she said. âThereâs word snow is on the way, and itâs early, too.â Doctor Winter went to the window and squinted up at the sky, and he said, âYes, itâs a big cloud; maybe it will pass over.â

Mayor Orden switched on a lamp that made only a little circle of light. He switched it off again and said, âA light in the daytime is a lonely thing.â

Now Molly came near to him again. âAlex is not a murdering man,â she said. âHeâs a quick-tempered man, but heâs never broken a law. Heâs a respected man.â

Orden rested his hand on her shoulder and he said, âI have known Alex since he was a little boy. I knew his father and his grandfather. His grandfather was a bear-hunter in the old days. Did you know that?â

Molly ignored him. âYou wouldnât sentence Alex?â

âNo,â he said. âHow could I sentence him?â

âThe people said you would, for the sake of order.â

Mayor Orden stood behind a chair and gripped its back with his hands. âDo the people want order, Molly?â

âI donât know,â she said. âThey want to be free.â

âWell, do they know how to go about it? Do they know what method to use against an armed enemy?â

âNo,â Molly said, âI donât think so.â

âYou are a bright girl, Molly; do you know?â

âNo, sir, but I think the people feel that they are beaten if they are docile. They want to show these soldiers theyâre unbeaten.â

âTheyâve had no chance to fight. Itâs no fight to go against machine guns,â Doctor Winter said.

Orden said, âWhen you know what they want to do, will you tell me, Molly?â

She looked at him suspiciously. âYesââ she said.

âYou mean âno.â You donât trust me.â

âBut how about Alex?â she questioned.

âIâll not sentence him. He has committed no crime against our people,â said the Mayor.

Molly was hesitant now. She said, âWill theyâwill they kill Alex?â

Orden stared at her and he said, âDear child, my dear child.â

She held herself rigid. âThank you.â

Orden came close to her and she said weakly, âDonât touch me. Please donât touch me. Please donât touch me.â And his hand dropped. For a moment she stood still, then she turned stiffly and went out of the door.

She had just closed the door when Joseph entered. âExcuse me, sir, the colonel wants to see you. I said you were busy. I knew she was here. And Madame wants to see you, too.â

Orden said, âAsk Madame to come in.â

Joseph went out and Madame came in immediately.

âI donât know how I can run a house,â she began; âitâs more people than the house can stand. Annieâs angry all the time.â

âHush!â Orden said.

Madame looked at him in amazement. âI donât know whatââ

âHush!â he said. âSarah, I want you to go to Alex Mordenâs house. Do you understand? I want you to stay with Molly Morden while she needs you. Donât talk, just stay with her.â

Madame said, âIâve a hundred thingsââ

âSarah, I want you to stay with Molly Morden. Donât leave her alone. Go now.â

She comprehended slowly. âYes,â she said. âYes, I will. When will it be over?â

âI donât know,â he said. âIâll send Annie when itâs time.â

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and went out. Orden walked to the door and called, âJoseph, Iâll see the colonel now.â

Lanser came in. He had on a new pressed uniform with a little ornamental dagger at the belt. He said, âGood morning, Your Excellency. I wish to speak to you informally.â He glanced at Doctor Winter. âI should like to speak to you alone.â

Winter went slowly to the door and as he reached it Orden said, âDoctor!â

Winter turned. âYes?â

âWill you come back this evening?â

âYou will have work for me?â the doctor asked.

âNoâno. I just wonât like to be alone.â

âI will be here,â said the doctor.

âAnd, Doctor, do you think Molly looked all right?â

âOh, I think so. Close to hysteria, I guess. But sheâs good stock. Sheâs good, strong stock. She is a Kenderly, you know.â

âIâd forgotten,â Orden said. âYes, she is a Kenderly, isnât she?â

Doctor Winter went out and shut the door gently behind him.

Lanser had waited courteously. He watched the door close. He looked at the table and the chairs about it. âI will not tell you, sir, how sorry I am about this. I wish it had not happened.â

Mayor Orden bowed, and Lanser went on, âI like you, sir, and I respect you, but I have a job to do. You surely recognize that.â

Orden did not answer. He looked straight into Lanserâs eyes.

âWe do not act alone or on our own judgment.â

Between sentences Lanser waited for an answer but he received none.

âThere are rules laid down for us, rules made in the capital. This man has killed an officer.â

At last Orden answered, âWhy didnât you shoot him then? That was the time to do it.â

Lanser shook his head. âIf I agreed with you, it would make no difference. You know as well as I that punishment is largely for the purpose of deterring the potential criminal. Thus, since punishment is for others than the punished, it must be publicized. It must even be dramatized.â He thrust a finger in back of his belt and flipped his little dagger.

Orden turned away and looked out of the window at the dark sky. âIt will snow tonight,â he said.

âMayor Orden, you know our orders are inexorable. We must get the coal. If your people are not orderly, we will have to restore that order by force.â His voice grew stern. âWe must shoot people if it is necessary. If you wish to save your people from hurt, you must help us to keep order. Now, it is considered wise by my government that punishment emanate from the local authority. It makes for a more orderly situation.â

Orden said softly, âSo the people did know. That is a mystery.â And louder he said, âYou wish me to pass sentence of death on Alexander Morden after a trial here?â

âYes, and you will prevent much bloodshed later if you will do it.â

Orden went to the table and pulled out the big chair at its head and sat down. And suddenly he seemed to be the judge, with Lanser the culprit. He drummed with his fingers on the table. He said, âYou and your government do not understand. In all the world yours is the only government and people with a record of defeat after defeat for centuries and every time because you did not understand people.â He paused. âThis principle does not work. First, I am the Mayor. I have no right to pass sentence of death. There is no one in this community with that right. If I should do it, I would be breaking the law as much as you.â

âBreaking the law?â said Lanser.

âYou killed six men when you came in. Under our law you are guilty of murder, all of you. Why do you go into this nonsense of law, Colonel? There is no law between you and us. This is war. Donât you know you will have to kill all of us or we in time will kill all of you? You destroyed the law when you came in, and a new law took its place. Donât you know that?â

Lanser said, âMay I sit down?â

âWhy do you ask? That is another lie. You could make me stand if you wished.â

Lanser said, âNo; it is true whether you believe it or not: personally, I have respect for you and your office, andââhe put his forehead in his hand for a momentââyou see, what I think, sir, I, a man of a certain age and certain memories, is of no importance. I might agree with you, but that would change nothing. The military, the political pattern I work in has certain tendencies and practices which are invariable.â

Orden said, âAnd these tendencies and practices have been proven wrong in every single case since the beginning of the world.â

Lanser laughed bitterly. âI, an individual man with certain memories, might agree with you, might even add that one of the tendencies of the military mind and pattern is an inability to learn, an inability to see beyond the killing which is its job. But I am not a man subject to memories. The coal miner must be shot publicly, because the theory is that others will then restrain themselves from killing our men.â

Orden said, âWe need not talk any more, then.â

âYes, we must talk. We want you to help.â

Orden sat quietly for a while and then he said, âIâll tell you what Iâll do. How many men were on the machine guns which killed our soldiers?â

âOh, not more than twenty, I guess,â said Lanser.

âVery well. If you will shoot them, I will condemn Morden.â

âYouâre not serious!â said the colonel.

âBut I am serious.â

âThis canât be done. You know it.â

âI know it,â said Orden. âAnd what you ask cannot be done.â

Lanser said, âI suppose I knew. Corell will have to be Mayor after all.â He looked up quickly. âYou will stay for the trial?â

âYes, Iâll stay. Then Alex wonât be so lonely.â

Lanser looked at him and smiled a little sadly. âWe have taken on a job, havenât we?â

âYes,â said the Mayor, âthe one impossible job in the world, the one thing that canât be done.â

âAnd that is?â

âTo break manâs spirit permanently.â

Ordenâs head sank a little toward the table, and he said, without looking up, âItâs started to snow. It didnât wait for night. I like the sweet, cool smell of the snow.â

4

By eleven oâlock the snow was falling heavily in big, soft puffs and the sky was not visible at all. People were scurrying through the falling snow, and snow piled up in the doorways and it piled up on the statue in the public square and on the rails from the mine to the harbor. Snow piled up and the little cartwheels skidded as they were pushed along. And over the town there hung a blackness that was deeper than the cloud, and over the town there hung a sullenness and a dry, growing hatred. The people did not stand in the streets long, but they entered the doors and the doors closed and there seemed to be eyes looking from behind the curtains, and when the military went through the street or when the patrol walked down the main street, the eyes were on the patrol, cold and sullen. And in the shops people came to buy little things for lunch and they asked for the goods and got it and paid for it and exchanged no good-day with the seller.

In the little palace drawing-room the lights were on and the lights shone on the falling snow outside the window. The court was in session. Lanser sat at the head of the table with Hunter on his right, then Tonder, and, at the lower end, Captain Loft with a little pile of papers in front of him. On the opposite side, Mayor Orden sat on the colonelâs left and Prackle was next to himâPrackle, who scribbled on his pad of paper. Beside the table two guards stood with bayonets fixed, with helmets on their heads, and they were little wooden images. Between them was Alex Morden, a big young man with a wide, low forehead, with deep-set eyes and a long, sharp nose. His chin was firm and his mouth sensual and wide. He was wide of shoulder, narrow of hip, and in front of him his manacled hands clasped and unclasped. He was dressed in black trousers, a blue shirt open at the neck, and a dark coat shiny from wear.

Captain Loft read from the paper in front of him. â âWhen ordered back to work, he refused to go, and when the order was repeated, the prisoner attacked Captain Loft with the pick-ax he carried. Captain Bentick interposed his bodyââ â

Mayor Orden coughed and, when Loft stopped reading, said, âSit down, Alex. One of you guards get him a chair.â The guard turned and pulled up a chair unquestioningly.

Loft said, âIt is customary for the prisoner to stand.â

âLet him sit down,â Orden said. âOnly we will know. You can report that he stood.â

âIt is not customary to falsify reports,â said Loft.

âSit down, Alex,â Orden repeated.

And the big young man sat down and his manacled hands were restless in his lap.

Loft began, âThis is contrary to allââ

The colonel said, âLet him be seated.â

Captain Loft cleared his throat. â âCaptain Bentick interposed his body and received a blow on the head which crushed his skull.â A medical report is appended. Do you wish me to read it?â

âNo need,â said Lanser. âMake it as quick as you can.â

â âThese facts have been witnessed by several of our soldiers, whose statements are attached. This military court finds that the prisoner is guilty of murder and recommends a death sentence.â Do you wish me to read the statements of the soldiers?â

Lanser sighed. âNo.â He turned to Alex. âYou donât deny that you killed the captain, do you?â

Alex smiled sadly. âI hit him,â he said. âI donât know that I killed him.â

Orden said, âGood work, Alex!â And the two looked at each other as friends.

Loft said, âDo you mean to imply that he was killed by someone else?â

âI donât know,â said Alex. âI only hit him, and then somebody hit me.â

Colonel Lanser said, âDo you want to offer any explanation? I canât think of anything that will change the sentence, but we will listen.â

Loft said, âI respectfully submit that the colonel should not have said that. It indicates that the court is not impartial.â

Orden laughed dryly. The colonel looked at him and smiled a little. âHave you any explanation?â he repeated.

Alex lifted a hand to gesture and the other came with it. He looked embarrassed and put them in his lap again. âI was mad,â he said. âI have a pretty bad temper. He said I must work. I am a free man. I got mad and I hit him. I guess I hit him hard. It was the wrong man.â He pointed at Loft. âThatâs the man I wanted to hit, that one.â

Lanser said, âIt doesnât matter whom you wanted to hit. Anybody would have been the same. Are you sorry you did it?â He said aside to the table, âIt would look well in the record if he were sorry.â

âSorry?â Alex asked. âIâm not sorry. He told me to go to workâme, a free man! I used to be alderman. He said I had to work.â

âBut if the sentence is death, wonât you be sorry then?â

Alex sank his head and really tried to think honestly. âNo,â he said. âYou mean, would I do it again?â

âThatâs what I mean.â

âNo,â Alex said thoughtfully, âI donât think Iâm sorry.â

Lanser said, âPut in the record that the prisoner was overcome with remorse. Sentence is automatic. Do you understand?â he said to Alex. âThe court has no leeway. The court finds you guilty and sentences you to be shot immediately. I do not see any reason to torture you with this any more. Captain Loft, is there anything I have forgotten?â

âYouâve forgotten me,â said Orden. He stood up and pushed back his chair and stepped over to Alex. And Alex, from long habit, stood up respectfully. âAlexander, I am the elected Mayor.â

âI know it, sir.â

âAlex, these men are invaders. They have taken our country by surprise and treachery and force.â

Captain Loft said, âSir, this should not be permitted.â

Lanser said, âHush! Is it better to hear it, or would you rather it were whispered?â

Orden went on as though he had not been interrupted. âWhen they came, the people were confused and I was confused. We did not know what to do or think. Yours was the first clear act. Your private anger was the beginning of a public anger. I know it is said in town that I am acting with these men. I can show the town, but youâyou are going to die. I want you to know.â

Alex dropped his head and then raised it. âI know, sir.â

Lanser said, âIs the squad ready?â

âOutside, sir.â

âWho is commanding?â

âLieutenant Tonder, sir.â

Tonder raised his head and his chin was hard and he held his breath.

Orden said softly, âAre you afraid, Alex?â

And Alex said, âYes, sir.â

âI canât tell you not to be. I would be, too, and so would these youngâgods of war.â

Lanser said, âCall your squad.â Tonder got up quickly and went to the door. âTheyâre here, sir.â He opened the door wide and the helmeted men could be seen.

Orden said, âAlex, go, knowing that these men will have no rest, no rest at all until they are gone, or dead. You will make the people one. Itâs a sad knowledge and little enough gift to you, but it is so. No rest at all.â

Alex shut his eyes tightly. Mayor Orden leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. âGood-by, Alex,â he said.

The guard took Alex by the arm and the young man kept his eyes tightly closed, and they guided him through the door. The squad faced about, and their feet marched away down out of the house and into the snow, and the snow muffled their footsteps.

The men about the table were silent. Orden looked to ward the window and saw a little round spot being rubbed clear of snow by a quick hand. He stared at it, fascinated, and then he looked quickly away. He said to the colonel, âI hope you know what you are doing.â

Captain Loft gathered his papers and Lanser asked, âIn the square, Captain?â

âYes, in the square. It must be public,â Loft said.

And Orden said, âI hope you know.â

âMan,â said the colonel, âwhether we know or not, it is what must be done.â

Silence fell on the room and each man listened. And it was not long. From the distance there came a crash of firing. Lanser sighed deeply. Orden put his hand to his forehead and filled his lungs deeply. Then there was a shout outside. The glass of the window crashed inward and Lieutenant Prackle wheeled about. He brought his hand up to his shoulder and stared at it.

Lanser leaped up, crying, âSo, it starts! Are you badly hurt, Lieutenant?â

âMy shoulder,â said Prackle.

Lanser took command. âCaptain Loft, there will be tracks in the snow. Now, I want every house searched for firearms. I want every man who has one taken hostage. You, sir,â he said to the Mayor, âare placed in protective custody. And understand this, please: we will shoot, five, ten, a hundred for one.â

Orden said quietly, âA man of certain memories.â

Lanser stopped in the middle of an order. He looked over slowly at the Mayor and for a moment they understood each other. And then Lanser straightened his shoulders. âA man of no memories!â he said sharply. And then, âI want every weapon in town gathered. Bring in everyone who resists. Hurry, before their tracks are filled.â

The staff found their helmets and loosed their pistols and started out. And Orden went to the broken window. He said sadly, âThe sweet, cool smell of the snow.â

5

The days and the weeks dragged on, and the months dragged on. The snow fell and melted and fell and melted and finally fell and stuck. The dark buildings of the little town wore bells and hats and eyebrows of white and there were trenches through the snow to the doorways. In the harbor the coal barges came empty and went away loaded, but the coal did not come out of the ground easily. The good miners made mistakes. They were clumsy and slow. Machinery broke and took a long time to fix. The people of the conquered country settled in a slow, silent, waiting revenge. The men who had been traitors, who had helped the invadersâand many of them believed it was for a better state and an ideal way of lifeâfound that the control they took was insecure, that the people they had known looked at them coldly and never spoke.

And there was death in the air, hovering and waiting. Accidents happened on the railroad, which clung to the mountains and connected the little town with the rest of the nation. Avalanches poured down on the tracks and rails were spread. No train could move unless the tracks were first inspected. People were shot in reprisal and it made no difference. Now and then a group of young men escaped and went to England. And the English bombed the coal mine and did some damage and killed some of both their friends and their enemies. And it did no good. The cold hatred grew with the winter, the silent, sullen hatred, the waiting hatred. The food supply was controlledâissued to the obedient and withheld from the disobedientâso that the whole population turned coldly obedient. There was a point where food could not be withheld, for a starving man cannot mine coal, cannot lift and carry. And the hatred was deep in the eyes of the people, beneath the surface.

Now it was that the conqueror was surrounded, the men of the battalion alone among silent enemies, and no man might relax his guard for even a moment. If he did, he disappeared, and some snowdrift received his body. If he went alone to a woman, he disappeared and some snowdrift received his body. If he drank, he disappeared. The men of the battalion could sing only together, could dance only together, and dancing gradually stopped and the singing expressed a longing for home. Their talk was of friends and relatives who loved them and their longings were for warmth and love, because a man can be a soldier for only so many hours a day and for only so many months in a year, and then he wants to be a man again, wants girls and drinks and music and laughter and ease, and when these are cut off, they become irresistibly desirable.

And the men thought always of home. The men of the battalion came to detest the place they had conquered, and they were curt with the people and the people were curt with them, and gradually a little fear began to grow in the conquerors, a fear that it would never be over, that they could never relax or go home, a fear that one day they would crack and be hunted through the mountains like rabbits, for the conquered never relaxed their hatred. The patrols, seeing lights, hearing laughter, would be drawn as to a fire, and when they came near, the laughter stopped, the warmth went out, and the people were cold and obedient. And the soldiers, smelling warm food from the little restaurants, went in and ordered the warm food and found that it was oversalted and overpeppered.

Then the soldiers read the news from home and from the other conquered countries, and the news was always good, and for a little while they believed it, and then after a while they did not believe it any more. And every man carried in his heart the terror. âIf home crumbled, they would not tell us, and then it would be too late. These people will not spare us. They will kill us all.â They remembered stories of their men retreating through Belgium and retreating out of Russia. And the more literate remembered the frantic, tragic retreat from Moscow, when every peasantâs pitchfork tasted blood and the snow was rotten with bodies.

And they knew when they cracked, or relaxed, or slept too long, it would be the same here, and their sleep was restless and their days were nervous. They asked questions their officers could not answer because they did not know. They were not told, either. They did not believe the reports from home, either.

Thus it came about that the conquerors grew afraid of the conquered and their nerves wore thin and they shot at shadows in the night. The cold, sullen silence was with them always. Then three soldiers went insane in a week and cried all night and all day until they were sent away home. And others might have gone insane if they had not heard that mercy deaths awaited the insane at home, and a mercy death is a terrible thing to think of. Fear crept in on the men in their billets and it made them sad, and it crept into the patrols and it made them cruel.

The year turned and the nights grew long. It was dark at three oâclock in the afternoon and not light again until nine in the morning. The jolly lights did not shine out on the snow, for by law every window must be black against the bombers. And yet when the English bombers came over, some light always appeared near the coal mine. Sometimes the sentries shot a man with a lantern and once a girl with a flashlight. And it did no good. Nothing was cured by the shooting.

And the officers were a reflection of their men, more restrained because their training was more complete, more resourceful because they had more responsibility, but the same fears were a little deeper buried in them, the same longings were more tightly locked in their hearts. And they were under a double strain, for the conquered people watched them for mistakes and their own men watched them for weakness, so that their spirits were taut to the breaking-point. The conquerors were under a terrible spiritual siege and everyone knew, conquered and conquerors, what would happen when the first crack appeared.

From the upstairs room of the Mayorâs palace the comfort seemed to have gone. Over the windows black paper was tacked tightly and there were little piles of precious equipment about the roomâthe instruments and equipment that could not be jeopardized, the glasses and masks and helmets. And discipline here at least was laxer, as though these officers knew there must be some laxness somewhere or the machine would break. On the table were two gasoline lanterns which threw a hard, brilliant light and they made great shadows on the walls, and their hissing was an undercurrent in the room.

Major Hunter went on with his work. His drawing-board was permanently ready now, for the bombs tore out his work nearly as fast as he put it in. And he had little sorrow, for to Major Hunter building was life and here he had more building than he could project or accomplish. He sat at his drawing-board with a light behind him and his T-square moved up and down the board and his pencil was busy.

Lieutenant Prackle, his arm still in a sling, sat in a straight chair behind the center table, reading an illustrated paper. At the end of the table Lieutenant Tonder was writing a letter. He held his pen pinched high and occasionally he looked up from his letter and gazed at the ceiling, to find words to put in his letter.

Prackle turned a page of the illustrated paper and he said, âI can close my eyes and see every shop on this street here.â And Hunter went on with his work and Tonder wrote a few more words. Prackle continued, âThere is a restaurant right behind here. You canât see it in the picture. Itâs called Burdenâs.â

Hunter did not look up. He said, âI know the place. They had good scallops.â

âSure they did,â Prackle said. âEverything was good there. Not a single bad thing did they serve. And their coffeeââ

Tonder looked up from his letter and said, âThey wonât be serving coffee nowâor scallops.â

âWell, I donât know about that,â said Prackle. âThey did and they will again. And there was a waitress there.â He described her figure with his hand, with the good hand. âBlonde, so and so.â He looked down at the magazine. âShe had the strangest eyesâhas, I meanâalways kind of moist-looking as though she had just been laughing or crying.â He glanced at the ceiling and he spoke softly. âI was out with her. She was lovely. I wonder why I didnât go back oftener. I wonder if sheâs still there.â

Tonder said gloomily, âProbably not. Working in a factory, maybe.â

Prackle laughed. âI hope they arenât rationing girls at home.â

âWhy not?â said Tonder.

Prackle said playfully, âYou donât care much for girls, do you? Not much, you donâ!â

Tonder said, âI like them for what girls are for. I donât let them crawl around my other life.â

And Prackle said tauntingly, âIt seems to me that they crawl all over you all the time.â

Tonder tried to change the subject. He said, âI hate these damn lanterns. Major, when are you going to get that dynamo fixed?â

Major Hunter looked up slowly from his board and said, âIt should be done by now. Iâve got good men working on it. Iâll double the guard on it from now on, I guess.â

âDid you get the fellow that wrecked it?â Prackle asked.

And Hunter said grimly, âIt might be any one of five men. I got all five.â He went on musingly, âItâs so easy to wreck a dynamo if you know how. Just short it and it wrecks itself.â He said, âThe light ought to be on any time now.â

Prackle still looked at his magazine. âI wonder when we will be relieved. I wonder when we will go home for a while. Major, wouldnât you like to go home for a rest?â

Hunter looked up from his work and his face was hopeless for a moment. âYes, of course.â He recovered himself. âIâve built this siding four times. I donât know why a bomb always knocks out this particular siding. Iâm getting tired of this piece of track. I have to change the route every time because of the craters. Thereâs no time to fill them in. The ground is frozen too hard. It seems to be too much work.â

Suddenly the electric lights came on and Tonder automatically reached out and turned off the two gasoline lanterns. The hissing was gone from the room.

Tonder said, âThank God for that! That hissing gets on my nerves. It makes me think thereâs whispering.â He folded the letter he had been writing and he said, âItâs strange more letters donât come through. Iâve only had one in two weeks.â

Prackle said, âMaybe nobody writes to you.â

âMaybe,â said Tonder. He turned to the major. âIf anything happenedâat home, I meanâdo you think they would let us knowâanything bad, I mean, any deaths or anything like that?â

Hunter said, âI donât know.â

âWell,â Tonder went on, âI would like to get out of this god-forsaken hole!â

Prackle broke in, âI thought you were going to live here after the war?â And he imitated Tonderâs voice. âPut four or five farms together. Make a nice place, a kind of family seat. Wasnât that it? Going to be a little lord of the valley, werenât you? Nice, pleasant people, beautiful lawns and deer and little children. Isnât that the way it was, Tonder?â

As Prackle spoke, Tonderâs hand dropped. Then he clasped his temples with his hands and he spoke with emotion. âBe still! Donât talk like that! These people! These horrible people! These cold people! They never look at you.â He shivered. âThey never speak. They answer like dead men. They obey, these horrible people. And the girls are frozen!â

There was a light tap on the door and Joseph came in with a scuttle of coal. He moved silently through the room and set the scuttle down so softly that he made no noise, and he turned without looking up at anyone and went toward the door again. Prackle said loudly, âJoseph!â And Joseph turned without replying, without looking up, and he bowed very slightly. And Prackle said still loudly, âJoseph, is there any wine or any brandy?â Joseph shook his head.

Tonder started up from the table, his face wild with anger, and he shouted, âAnswer, you swine! Answer in words!â

Joseph did not look up. He spoke tonelessly. âNo, sir; no, sir, there is no wine.â

And Tonder said furiously, âAnd no brandy?â

Joseph looked down and spoke tonelessly again. âThere is no brandy, sir.â He stood perfectly still.

âWhat do you want?â Tonder said.

âI want to go, sir.â

âThen go, goddamn it!â

Joseph turned and went silently out of the room and Tonder took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face. Hunter looked up at him and said, âYou shouldnât let him beat you so easily.â

Tonder sat down in his chair and put his hands to his temples and he said brokenly, âI want a girl. I want to go home. I want a girl. Thereâs a girl in this town, a pretty girl. I see her all the time. She has blond hair. She lives beside the old-iron store. I want that girl.â

Prackle said, âWatch yourself. Watch your nerves.â

At that moment the lights went out again and the room was in darkness. Hunter spoke while the matches were being struck and an attempt was being made to light the lanterns; he said, âI thought I had all of them. I must have missed one. But I canât be running down there all the time. Iâve got good men down there.â

Tonder lighted the first lantern and then he lighted the other, and Hunter spoke sternly to Tonder. âLieutenant, do your talking to us if you have to talk. Donât let the enemy hear you talk this way. Thereâs nothing these people would like better than to know your nerves are getting thin. Donât let the enemy hear you.â

Tonder sat down again. The light was sharp on his face and the hissing filled the room. He said, âThatâs it! The enemyâs everywhere! Every man, every woman, even children! The enemyâs everywhere! Their faces look out of doorways. The white faces behind the curtains, listening. We have beaten them, we have won everywhere, and they wait and obey, and they wait. Half the world is ours. Is it the same in other places, Major?â

And Hunter said, âI donât know.â

âThatâs it,â Tonder said. âWe donât know. The reports âeverything in hand. Conquered countries cheer our soldiers, cheer the new order.â His voice changed and grew soft and still softer. âWhat do the reports say about us? Do they say we are cheered, loved, flowers in our paths? Oh, these horrible people waiting in the snow!â

And Hunter said, âNow thatâs off your chest, do you feel better?â

Prackle had been beating the table softly with his good fist, and he said, âHe shouldnât talk that way. He should keep things to himself. Heâs a soldier, isnât he? Then let him be a soldier.â

The door opened quietly and Captain Loft came in and there was snow on his helmet and snow on his shoulders. His nose was pinched and red and his overcoat collar was high about his ears. He took off his helmet and the snow fell to the floor and he brushed his shoulders. âWhat a job!â he said.

âMore trouble?â Hunter asked.

âAlways trouble. I see theyâve got your dynamo again. Well, I think I fixed the mine for a while.â

âWhatâs your trouble?â Hunter asked.

âOh, the usual thing with meâthe slow-down and a wrecked dump car. I saw the wrecker, though. I shot him. I think I have a cure for it, Major, now. I just thought it up. Iâll make each man take out a certain amount of coal. I canât starve the men or they canât work, but Iâve really got the answer. If the coal doesnât come out, no food for the families. Weâll have the men eat at the mine, so thereâs no dividing at home. That ought to cure it. They work or their kids donât eat. I told them just now.â

âWhat did they say?â

Loftâs eyes narrowed fiercely. âSay? What do they ever say? Nothing! Nothing at all! But weâll see whether the coal comes out now.â He took off his coat and shook it, and his eyes fell on the entrance door and he saw that it was open a crack. He moved silently to the door, jerked it open, then closed it. âI thought I had closed that door tight,â he said.

âYou did,â said Hunter.

Prackle still turned the pages of his illustrated paper. His voice was normal again. âThose are monster guns weâre using in the east. I never saw one of them. Did you, Captain?â

âOh, yes,â said Captain Loft. âIâve seen them fired. Theyâre wonderful. Nothing can stand up against them.â

Tonder said, âCaptain, do you get much news from home?â

âA certain amount,â said Loft.

âIs everything well there?â

âWonderful!â said Loft. âThe armies move ahead everywhere.â

âThe British arenât defeated yet?â

âThey are defeated in every engagement.â

âBut they fight on?â

âA few air raids, no more.â

âAnd the Russians?â

âItâs all over.â

Tonder said insistently, âBut they fight on?â

âA little skirmishing, no more.â

âThen we have just about won, havenât we, Captain?â Tonder asked.

âYes, we have.â

Tonder looked closely at him and said, âYou believe this, donât you, Captain?â

Prackle broke in, âDonât let him start that again!â

Loft scowled at Tonder. âI donât know what you mean.â

Tonder said, âI mean this: weâll be going home before long, wonât we?â

âWell, the reorganization will take some time,â Hunter said. âThe new order canât be put into effect in a day, can it?â

Tonder said, âAll our lives, perhaps?â

And Prackle said, âDonât let him start it again!â

Loft came very close to Tonder and he said, âLieutenant, I donât like the tone of your questions. I donât like the tone of doubt.â

Hunter looked up and said, âDonât be hard on him, Loft. Heâs tired. Weâre all tired.â

âWell, Iâm tired, too,â said Loft, âbut I donât let treasonable doubts get in.â

Hunter said, âDonât bedevil him, I tell you! Whereâs the colonel, do you know?â

âHeâs making out his report. Heâs asking for reinforcements,â said Loft. âItâs a bigger job than we thought.â

Prackle asked excitedly, âWill he get themâthe reinforcements?â

âHow would I know?â

Tonder smiled. âReinforcements!â he said softly. âOr maybe replacements. Maybe we could go home for a while.â And he said, smiling, âMaybe I could walk down the street and people would say, âHello,â and theyâd say, âThere goes a soldier,â and theyâd be glad for me and theyâd be glad of me. And thereâd be friends about, and I could turn my back to a man without being afraid.â

Prackle said, âDonât start that again! Donât let him get out of hand again!â

And Loft said disgustedly, âWe have enough trouble now without having the staff go crazy.â

But Tonder went on, âYou really think replacements will come, Captain?â

âI didnât say so.â

âBut you said they might.â

âI said I didnât know. Look, Lieutenant, weâve conquered half the world. We must police it for a while. You know that.â

âBut the other half?â Tonder asked.

âThey will fight on hopelessly for a while,â said Loft.

âThen we must be spread out all over.â

âFor a while,â said Loft.

Prackle said nervously, âI wish youâd make him shut up. I wish you would shut him up. Make him stop it.â

Tonder got out his handkerchief and blew his nose, and he spoke a little like a man out of his head. He laughed embarrassedly. He said, âI had a funny dream. I guess it was a dream. Maybe it was a thought. Maybe a thought or a dream.â

Prackle said, âMake him stop, Captain!â

Tonder said, âCaptain, is this place conquered?â

âOf course,â said Loft.

A little note of hysteria crept into Tonderâs laughter. He said, âConquered and weâre afraid; conquered and weâre surrounded.â His laughter grew shrill. âI had a dreamâor a thoughtâout in the snow with the black shadows and the faces in the doorways, the cold faces behind curtains. I had a thought or a dream.â

Prackle said, âMake him stop!â

Tonder said, âI dreamed the Leader was crazy.â

And Loft and Hunter laughed together and Loft said, âThe enemy have found out how crazy. Iâll have to write that one home. The papers would print that one. The enemy have learned how crazy the Leader is.â

And Tonder went on laughing. âConquest after conquest, deeper and deeper into molasses.â His laughter choked him and he coughed into his handkerchief. âMaybe the Leader is crazy. Flies conquer the flypaper. Flies capture two hundred miles of new flypaper!â His laughter was growing more hysterical now.

Prackle leaned over and shook him with his good hand, âStop it! You stop it! You have no right!â

And gradually Loft recognized that the laughter was hysterical and he stepped close to Tonder and slapped him in the face. He said, âLieutenant, stop it!â

Tonderâs laughter went on and Loft slapped him again in the face and he said, âStop it, Lieutenant! Do you hear me?â

Suddenly Tonderâs laughter stopped and the room was quiet except for the hissing of the lanterns. Tonder looked in amazement at his hand and he felt his bruised face with his hand and he looked at his hand again and his head sank down toward the table. âI want to go home,â he said.

6

There was a little street not far from the town square where small peaked roofs and little shops were mixed up together. The snow was beaten down on the walks and in the street, but it piled high on the fences and it puffed on the roof peaks. It drifted against the shuttered windows of the little houses. And into the yards paths were shoveled. The night was dark and cold and no light showed from the windows to attract the bombers. And no one walked in the streets, for the curfew was strict. The houses were dark lumps against the snow. Every little while the patrol of six men walked down the street, peering about, and each man carried a long flashlight. The hushed tramp of their feet sounded in the street, the squeaks of their boots on the packed snow. They were muffled figures deep in thick coats; under their helmets were knitted caps which came down over their ears and covered their chins and mouths. A little snow fell, only a little, like rice.

The patrol talked as they walked, and they talked of things that they longed forâof meat and of hot soup and of the richness of butter, of the prettiness of girls and of their smiles and of their lips and their eyes. They talked of these things and sometimes they talked of their hatred of what they were doing and of their loneliness.

A small, peak-roofed house beside the iron shop was shaped like the others and wore its snow cap like the others. No light came from its shuttered windows and its storm doors were tightly closed. But inside a lamp burned in the small living-room and the door to the bedroom was open and the door to the kitchen was open. An iron stove was against the back wall with a little coal fire burning in it. It was a warm, poor, comfortable room, the floor covered with worn carpet, the walls papered in warm brown with an old-fashioned fleur-de-lis figure in gold. And on the back wall were two pictures, one of fish lying dead on a plate of ferns and the other of grouse lying dead on a fir bough. On the right wall there was a picture of Christ walking on the waves toward the despairing fishermen. Two straight chairs were in the room and a couch covered with a bright blanket. There was a little round table in the middle of the room, on which stood a kerosene lamp with a round flowered shade on it, and the light in the room was warm and soft.

The inner door, which led to the passage, which in turn led to the storm door, was beside the stove.

In a cushioned old rocking-chair beside the table Molly Morden sat alone. She was unraveling the wool from an old blue sweater and winding the yarn on a ball. She had quite a large ball of it. And on the table beside her was her knitting with the needles sticking in it, and a large pair of scissors. Her glasses lay on the table beside her, for she did not need them for knitting. She was pretty and young and neat. Her golden hair was done up on the top of her head and a blue bow was in her hair. Her hands worked quickly with the raveling. As she worked, she glanced now and then at the door to the passage. The wind whistled in the chimney softly, but it was a quiet night, muffled with snow.

Suddenly she stopped her work. Her hands were still. She looked toward the door and listened. The tramping feet of the patrol went by in the street and the sound of their voices could be heard faintly. The sound faded away. Molly ripped out new yarn and wound it on the ball. And again she stopped. There was a rustle at the door and then three short knocks. Molly put down her work and went to the door.

âYes?â she called.

She unlocked the door and opened it and a heavily cloaked figure came in. It was Annie, the cook, red-eyed and wrapped in mufflers. She slipped in quickly, as though practiced at getting speedily through doors and getting them closed again behind her. She stood there red-nosed, sniffling and glancing quickly around the room.

Molly said, âGood evening, Annie. I didnât expect you tonight. Take your things off and get warm. Itâs cold out.â

Annie said, âThe soldiers brought winter early. My father always said a war brought bad weather, or bad weather brought a war. I donât remember which.â

âTake off your things and come to the stove.â

âI canât,â said Annie importantly. âTheyâre coming.â

âWho are coming?â Molly said.

âHis Excellency,â said Annie, âand the doctor and the two Anders boys.â

âHere?â Molly asked. âWhat for?â

Annie held out her hand and there was a little package in it. âTake it,â she said. âI stole it from the colonelâs plate. Itâs meat.â

And Molly unwrapped the little cake of meat and put it in her mouth and she spoke around her chewing. âDid you get some?â

Annie said, âI cook it, donât I? I always get some.â

âWhen are they coming?â

Annie sniffled. âThe Anders boys are sailing for England. Theyâve got to. Theyâre hiding now.â

âAre they?â Molly asked. âWhat for?â

âWell, it was their brother, Jack, was shot today for wrecking that little car. The soldiers are looking for the rest of the family. You know how they do.â

âYes,â Molly said, âI know how they do. Sit down, Annie.â

âNo time,â said Annie. âIâve got to get back and tell His Excellency itâs all right here.â

Molly said, âDid anybody see you come?â

Annie smiled proudly. âNo, Iâm awful good at sneaking.â

âHow will the Mayor get out?â

Annie laughed. âJoseph is going to be in his bed in case they look in, right in his nightshirt, right next to Madame!â And she laughed again. She said, âJoseph better lie pretty quiet.â

Molly said, âItâs an awful night to be sailing.â

âItâs better than being shot.â

âYes, so it is. Why is the Mayor coming here?â

âI donât know. He wants to talk to the Anders boys. Iâve got to go now, but I came to tell you.â

Molly said, âHow soon are they coming?â

âOh, maybe half, maybe three-quarters of an hour,â Annie said. âIâll come in first. Nobody bothers with old cooks.â She started for the door and she turned midway, and as though accusing Molly of saying the last words she said truculently, âIâm not so old!â And she slipped out of the door and closed it behind her.

Molly went on knitting for a moment and then she got up and went to the stove and lifted the lid. The glow of the fire lighted her face. She stirred the fire and added a few lumps of coal and closed the stove again. Before she could get to her chair, there was a knocking on the outer door. She crossed the room and said to herself, âI wonder what she forgot.â She went into the passage and she said, âWhat do you want?â

A manâs voice answered her. She opened the door and a manâs voice said, âI donât mean any harm. I donât mean any harm.â

Molly backed into the room and Lieutenant Tonder followed her in. Molly said, âWho are you? What do you want? You canât come in here. What do you want?â

Lieutenant Tonder was dressed in his great gray overcoat. He entered the room and took off his helmet and he spoke pleadingly. âI donât mean any harm. Please let me come in.â

Molly said, âWhat do you want?â

She shut the door behind him and he said, âMiss, I only want to talk, thatâs all. I want to hear you talk. Thatâs all I want.â

âAre you forcing yourself on me?â Molly asked.

âNo, miss, just let me stay a little while and then Iâll go.â

âWhat is it you want?â

Tonder tried to explain. âCan you understand thisâcan you believe this? Just for a little while, canât we forget this war? Just for a little while. Just for a little while, canât we talk together like peopleâtogether?â

Molly looked at him for a long time and then a smile came to her lips. âYou donât know who I am, do you?â

Tonder said, âIâve seen you in the town I know youâre lovely. I know I want to talk to you.â

And Molly still smiled. She said softly, âYou donât know who I am.â She sat in her chair and Tonder stood like a child, looking very clumsy. Molly continued, speaking quietly, âWhy, youâre lonely. Itâs as simple as that, isnât it?â

Tonder licked his lips and he spoke eagerly. âThatâs it,â he said. âYou understand. I knew you would. I knew youâd have to.â His words came tumbling out. âIâm lonely to the point of illness. Iâm lonely in the quiet and the hatred.â And he said pleadingly, âCanât we talk, just a little bit?â

Molly picked up her knitting. She looked quickly at the front door. âYou can stay not more than fifteen minutes. Sit down a little, Lieutenant.â

She looked at the door again. The house creaked. Tonder became tense and he said, âIs someone here?â

âNo, the snow is heavy on the roof. I have no man any more to push it down.â

Tonder said gently, âWho did it? Was it something we did?â

And Molly nodded, looking far off. âYes.â

He sat down. âIâm sorry.â After a moment he said, âI wish I could do something. Iâll have the snow pushed off the roof.â

âNo,â said Molly, âno.â

âWhy not?â

âBecause the people would think I had joined with you. They would expel me. I donât want to be expelled.â

Tonder said, âYes, I see how that would be. You all hate us. But Iâll take care of you if youâll let me.â

Now Molly knew she was in control, and her eyes narrowed a little cruelly and she said, âWhy do you ask? You are the conqueror. Your men donât have to ask. They take what they want.â

âThatâs not what I want,â Tonder said. âThatâs not the way I want it.â

And Molly laughed, still a little cruelly. âYou want me to like you, donât you, Lieutenant?â

He said simply, âYes,â and he raised his head and he said, âYou are so beautiful, so warm. Your hair is bright. Oh, Iâve seen no kindness in a womanâs face for so long!â

âDo you see any in mine?â she asked.

He looked closely at her. âI want to.â

She dropped her eyes at last. âYouâre making love to me, arenât you, Lieutenant?â

And he said clumsily, âI want you to like me. Surely I want you to like me. Surely I want to see that in your eyes. I have seen you in the streets. I have watched you pass by. Iâve given orders that you mustnât be molested. Have you been molested?â

And Molly said quietly, âThank you; no, Iâve not been molested.â

His words rushed on. âWhy, Iâve even written a poem for you. Would you like to see my poem?â

And she said sardonically, âIs it a long poem? You have to go very soon.â

He said, âNo, itâs a little tiny poem. Itâs a little bit of a poem.â He reached inside his tunic and brought out a folded paper and handed it to her. She leaned close to the lamp and put on her glasses and she read quietly.

Â 

Â 

Your eyes in their deep heavens
Possess me and will not depart;
A sea of blue thoughts rushing
And pouring over my heart.

Â 

Â 

Â 

She folded the paper and put it in her lap. âDid you write this, Lieutenant?â

âYes.â

She said a little tauntingly, âTo me?â

And Tonder answered uneasily, âYes.â

She looked at him steadily, smiling. âYou didnât write it, Lieutenant, did you?â

He smiled back like a child caught in a lie. âNo.â

Molly asked him, âDo you know who did?â

Tonder said, âYes, Heine wrote it. Itâs âMit deinen blauen Augen.â Iâve always loved it.â He laughed embarrassedly and Molly laughed with him, and suddenly they were laughing together. He stopped laughing just as suddenly and a bleakness came into his eyes. âI havenât laughed like that since forever.â He said, âThey told us the people would like us, would admire us. They do not. They only hate us.â And then he changed the subject as though he worked against time. âYou are so beautiful. You are as beautiful as the laughter.â

Molly said, âYouâre beginning to make love to me, Lieutenant. You must go in a moment.â

And Tonder said, âMaybe I want to make love to you. A man needs love. A man dies without love. His insides shrivel and his chest feels like a dry chip. Iâm lonely.â

Molly got up from her chair. She looked nervously at the door and she walked to the stove and, coming back, her face grew hard and her eyes grew punishing and she said, âDo you want to go to bed with me, Lieutenant?â

âI didnât say that! Why do you talk that way?â

Molly said cruelly, âMaybe Iâm trying to disgust you. I was married once. My husband is dead. You see, Iâm not a virgin.â Her voice was bitter.

Tonder said, âI only want you to like me.â

And Molly said, âI know. You are a civilized man. You know that love-making is more full and whole and delightful if there is liking, too.â

Tonder said, âDonât talk that way! Please donât talk that way!â

Molly glanced quickly at the door. She said, âWe are a conquered people, Lieutenant. You have taken the food away. Iâm hungry. Iâll like you better if you feed me.â

Tonder said, âWhat are you saying?â

âDo I disgust you, Lieutenant? Maybe Iâm trying to. My price is two sausages.â

Tonder said, âYou canât talk this way!â

âWhat about your own girls, Lieutenant, after the last war? A man could choose among your girls for an egg or a slice of bread. Do you want me for nothing, Lieutenant? Is the price too high?â

He said, âYou fooled me for a moment. But you hate me, too, donât you? I thought maybe you wouldnât.â

âNo, I donât hate you,â she said, âIâm hungry andâI hate you!â

Tonder said, âIâll give you anything you need, butââ

And she interrupted him. âYou want to call it something else? You donât want a whore. Is that what you mean?â

Tonder said, âI donât know what I mean. You make it sound full of hatred.â

Molly laughed. She said, âItâs not nice to be hungry. Two sausages, two fine, fat sausages can be the most precious things in the world.â

âDonât say those things,â he said. âPlease donât!â

âWhy not? Theyâre true.â

âThey arenât true! This canât be true!â

She looked at him for a moment and then she sat down and her eyes fell to her lap and she said, âNo, itâs not true. I donât hate you. Iâm lonely, too. And the snow is heavy on the roof.â

Tonder got up and moved near to her. He took one of her hands in both of his and he said softly, âPlease donât hate me. Iâm only a lieutenant. I didnât ask to come here. You didnât ask to be my enemy. Iâm only a man, not a conquering man.â

Mollyâs fingers encircled his hand for a moment and she said softly, âI know; yes, I know.â

And Tonder said, âWe have some little right to life in all this death.â

She put her hand to his cheek for a moment and she said, âYes.â

âIâll take care of you,â he said. âWe have some right to life in all the killing.â His hand rested on her shoulder. Suddenly she grew rigid and her eyes were wide and staring as though she saw a vision. His hand released her and he asked, âWhatâs the matter? What is it?â Her eyes stared straight ahead and he repeated, âWhat is it?â

Molly spoke in a haunted voice. âI dressed him like a little boy for his first day in school. And he was afraid. I buttoned his shirt and tried to comfort him, but he was beyond comfort. And he was afraid.â

Tonder said, âWhat are you saying?â

And Molly seemed to see what she described. âI donât know why they let him come home. He was confused. He didnât know what was happening. He didnât even kiss me when he went away. He was afraid, and very brave, like a little boy on his first day of school.â

Tonder stood up. âThat was your husband.â

Molly said, âYes, my husband. I went to the Mayor, but he was helpless. And then he marched awayânot very well nor steadilyâand you took him out and you shot him. It was more strange than terrible then. I didnât quite believe it then.â

Tonder said, âYour husband!â

âYes; and now in the quiet house, I believe it. Now with the heavy snow on the roof, I believe it. And in the loneliness before daybreak, in the half-warmed bed, I know it then.â

Tonder stood in front of her. His face was full of misery. âGood night,â he said. âGod keep you. May I come back?â

And Molly looked at the wall and at the memory. âI donât know,â she said.

âIâll come back.â

âI donât know.â

He looked at her and then he quietly went out of the door, and Molly still stared at the wall. âGod keep me!â She stayed for a moment staring at the wall. The door opened silently and Annie came in. Molly did not even see her.

Annie said disapprovingly, âThe door was open.â

Molly looked slowly toward her, her eyes still wide open. âYes. Oh, yes, Annie.â

âThe door was open. There was a man came out. I saw him. He looked like a soldier.â

And Molly said, âYes, Annie.â

âWas it a soldier here?â

âYes, it was a soldier.â

And Annie asked suspiciously, âWhat was he doing here?â

âHe came to make love to me.â

Annie said, âMiss, what are you doing? You havenât joined them, have you? You arenât with them, like that Corell?â

âNo, Iâm not with them, Annie.â

Annie said, âIf the Mayorâs here and they come back, itâll be your fault if anything happens; itâll be your fault!â

âHe wonât come back. I wonât let him come back.â

But the suspicion stayed with Annie. She said, âShall I tell them to come in now? Do you say itâs safe?â

âYes, itâs safe. Where are they?â

âTheyâre out behind the fence,â said Annie.

âTell them to come in.â

And while Annie went out, Molly got up and smoothed her hair and she shook her head, trying to be alive again. There was a little sound in the passage. Two tall, blond young men entered. They were dressed in pea-jackets and dark turtle-neck sweaters. They wore stocking caps perched on their heads. They were wind-burned and strong and they looked almost like twins, Will Anders and Tom Anders, the fishermen.

âGood evening, Molly. Youâve heard?â

âAnnie told me. Itâs a bad night to go.â

Tom said, âItâs better than a clear night. The planes see you on a clear night. Whatâs the Mayor want, Molly?â

âI donât know. I heard about your brother. Iâm sorry.â

The two were silent and they looked embarrassed. Tom said, âYou know how it is, better than most.â

âYes; yes, I know.â

Annie came in the door again and she said in a hoarse whisper, âTheyâre here!â And Mayor Orden and Doctor Winter came in. They took off their coats and caps and laid them on the couch. Orden went to Molly and kissed her on the forehead.

âGood evening, dear.â

He turned to Annie. âStand in the passage, Annie. Give us one knock for the patrol, one when itâs gone, and two for danger. You can leave the outer door open a crack so you can hear if anyone comes.â

Annie said, âYes, sir.â She went into the passage and shut the door behind her.

Doctor Winter was at the stove, warming his hands. âWe got word you boys were going tonight.â

âWeâve got to go,â Tom said.

Orden nodded. âYes, I know. We heard you were going to take Mr. Corell with you.â

Tom laughed bitterly. âWe thought it would be only right. Weâre taking his boat. We canât leave him around. It isnât good to see him in the streets.â

Orden said sadly, âI wish he had gone away. Itâs just a danger to you, taking him.â

âIt isnât good to see him in the streets,â Will echoed his brother. âIt isnât good for the people to see him here.â

Winter asked, âCan you take him? Isnât he cautious at all?â

âOh, yes, heâs cautious, in a way. At twelve oâlock, though, he walks to his house usually. Weâll be behind the wall. I think we can get him through his lower garden to the water. His boatâs tied up there. We were on her today getting her ready.â

Orden repeated, âI wish you didnât have to. Itâs just an added danger. If he makes a noise, the patrol might come.â

Tom said, âHe wonât make a noise, and itâs better if he disappears at sea. Some of the town people might get him and then there would be too much killing. No, itâs better if he goes to sea.â

Molly took up her knitting again. She said, âWill you throw him overboard?â

Will blushed. âHeâll go to sea, maâam.â He turned to the Mayor. âYou wanted to see us, sir?â

âWhy, yes, I want to talk to you. Doctor Winter and I have tried to thinkâthereâs so much talk about justice, injustice, conquest. Our people are invaded, but I donât think theyâre conquered.â

There was a sharp knock on the door and the room was silent. Mollyâs needles stopped, and the Mayorâs outstretched hand remained in the air. Tom, scratching his ear, left his hand there and stopped scratching. Everyone in the room was motionless. Every eye was turned toward the door. Then, first faintly and then growing louder, there came the tramp of the patrol, the squeak of their boots in the snow, and the sound of their talking as they went by. They passed the door and their footsteps disappeared in the distance. There was a second tap on the door. And in the room the people relaxed.

Orden said, âIt must be cold out there for Annie.â He took up his coat from the couch and opened the inner door and handed his coat through. âPut this around your shoulders, Annie,â he said and closed the door.

âI donât know what Iâd do without her,â he said. âShe gets everywhere, she sees and hears everything.â

Tom said, âWe should be going pretty soon, sir.â

And Winter said, âI wish youâd forget about Mr. Corell.â

âWe canât. It isnât good to see him in the streets.â He looked inquiringly at Mayor Orden.

Orden began slowly. âI want to speak simply. This is a little town. Justice and injustice are in terms of little things. Your brotherâs shot and Alex Mordenâs shot. Revenge against a traitor. The people are angry and they have no way to fight back. But itâs all in little terms. Itâs people against people, not idea against idea.â

Winter said, âItâs funny for a doctor to think of destruction, but I think all invaded people want to resist. We are disarmed; our spirits and bodies arenât enough. The spirit of a disarmed man sinks.â

Will Anders asked, âWhatâs all this for, sir? What do you want of us?â

âWe want to fight them and we canât,â Orden said. âTheyâre using hunger on the people now. Hunger brings weakness. You boys are sailing for England. Maybe nobody will listen to you, but tell them from usâfrom a small townâto give us weapons.â

Tom asked, âYou want guns?â

Again there was a quick knock on the door and the people froze where they were, and from outside there came the sound of the patrol, but at double step, running. Will moved quickly toward the door. The running steps came abreast of the house. There were muffled orders and the patrol ran by, and there was a second tap at the door.

Molly said, âThey must be after somebody. I wonder who this time.â

âWe should be going,â Tom said uneasily. âDo you want guns, sir? Shall we ask for guns?â

âNo, tell them how it is. We are watched. Any move we make calls for reprisal. If we could have simple, secret weapons, weapons of stealth, explosives, dynamite to blow up rails, grenades, if possible, even poison.â He spoke angrily. âThis is no honorable war. This is a war of treachery and murder. Let us use the methods that have been used on us! Let the British bombers drop their big bombs on the works, but let them also drop us little bombs to use, to hide, to slip under the rails, under tanks. Then we will be armed, secretly armed. Then the invader will never know which of us is armed. Let the bombers bring us simple weapons. We will know how to use them!â

Winter broke in. âTheyâll never know where it will strike. The soldiers, the patrol, will never know which of us is armed.â

Tom wiped his forehead. âIf we get through, weâll tell them, sir, butâwell, Iâve heard it said that in England there are still men in power who do not dare to put weapons in the hands of common people.â

Orden stared at him. âOh! I hadnât thought of that. Well, we can only see. If such people still govern England and America, the world is lost, anyway. Tell them what we say, if they will listen. We must have help, but if we get itââhis face grew very hardââif we get it, we will help ourselves.â

Winter said, âIf they will even give us dynamite to hide, to bury in the ground to be ready against need, then the invader can never rest again, never! We will blow up his supplies.â

The room grew excited. Molly said fiercely, âYes, we could fight his rest, then. We could fight his sleep. We could fight his nerves and his certainties.â

Will asked quietly, âIs that all, sir?â

âYes.â Orden nodded. âThatâs the core of it.â

âWhat if they wonât listen?â

âYou can only try, as you are trying the sea tonight.â

âIs that all, sir?â

The door opened and Annie came quietly in. Orden went on, âThatâs all. If you have to go now, let me send Annie out to see that the way is clear.â He looked up and saw that Annie had come in. Annie said, âThereâs a soldier coming up the path. He looks like the soldier that was here before. There was a soldier here with Molly before.â

The others looked at Molly. Annie said, âI locked the door.â

âWhat does he want?â Molly asked. âWhy does he come back?â

There was a gentle knocking at the outside door. Orden went to Molly. âWhat is this, Molly? Are you in trouble?â

âNo,â she said, âno! Go out the back way. You can get out through the back. Hurry, hurry out!â

The knocking continued on the front door. A manâs voice called softly. Molly opened the door to the kitchen. She said, âHurry, hurry!â

The Mayor stood in front of her. âAre you in trouble, Molly? You havenât done anything?â

Annie said coldly, âIt looks like the same soldier. There was a soldier here before.â

âYes,â Molly said to the Mayor. âYes, there was a soldier here before.â

The Mayor said, âWhat did he want?â

âHe wanted to make love to me.â

âBut he didnât?â Orden said.

âNo,â she said, âhe didnât. Go now, and Iâll take care.â

Orden said, âMolly, if youâre in trouble, let us help you.â

âThe trouble Iâm in no one can help me with,â she said. âGo now,â and she pushed them out of the door.

Annie remained behind. She looked at Molly. âMiss, what does this soldier want?â

âI donât know what he wants.â

âAre you going to tell him anything?â

âNo.â Wonderingly, Molly repeated, âNo.â And then sharply she said, âNo, Annie, Iâm not!â

Annie scowled at her. âMiss, youâd better not tell him anything!â And she went out and closed the door behind her.

The tapping continued on the front door and a manâs voice could be heard through the door.

Molly went to the center lamp, and her burden was heavy on her. She looked down at the lamp. She looked at the table, and she saw the big scissors lying beside her knitting. She picked them up wonderingly by the blades. The blades slipped through her fingers until she held the long shears and she was holding them like a knife, and her eyes were horrified. She looked down into the lamp and the light flooded up in her face. Slowly she raised the shears and placed them inside her dress.

The tapping continued on the door. She heard the voice calling to her. She leaned over the lamp for a moment and then suddenly she blew out the light. The room was dark except for a spot of red that came from the coal stove. She opened the door. Her voice was strained and sweet. She called, âIâm coming, Lieutenant, Iâm coming!â

7

In the dark, clear night a white, half-withered moon brought little light. The wind was dry and singing over the snow, a quiet wind that blew steadily, evenly from the cold point of the Pole. Over the land the snow lay very deep and dry as sand. The houses snuggled down in the hollows of banked snow, and their windows were dark and shuttered against the cold, and only a little smoke rose from the banked fires.

In the town the footpaths were frozen hard and packed hard. And the streets were silent, too, except when the miserable, cold patrol came by. The houses were dark against the night, and a little lingering warmth remained in the houses against the morning. Near the mine entrance the guards watched the sky and trained their instruments on the sky and turned their listening-instruments against the sky, for it was a clear night for bombing. On nights like this the feathered steel spindles came whistling down and roared to splinters. The land would be visible from the sky tonight, even though the moon seemed to throw little light.

Down toward one end of the village, among the small houses, a dog complained about the cold and the loneliness. He raised his nose to his god and gave a long and fulsome account of the state of the world as it applied to him. He was a practiced singer with a full bell throat and great versatility of range and control. The six men of the patrol slogging dejectedly up and down the streets heard the singing of the dog, and one of the muffled soldiers said, âSeems to me heâs getting worse every night. I suppose we ought to shoot him.â

And another answered, âWhy? Let him howl. He sounds good to me. I used to have a dog at home that howled. I never could break him. Yellow dog. I donât mind the howl. They took my dog when they took the others,â he said factually, in a dull voice.

And the corporal said, âCouldnât have dogs eating up food that was needed.â

âOh, Iâm not complaining. I know it was necessary. I canât plan the way the leaders do. It seems funny to me, though, that some people here have dogs, and they donât have even as much food as we have. Theyâre pretty gaunt, though, dogs and people.â

âTheyâre fools,â said the corporal. âThatâs why they lost so quickly. They canât plan the way we can.â

âI wonder if weâll have dogs again after itâs over,â said the soldier. âI suppose we could get them from America or some place and start the breeds again. What kind of dogs do you suppose they have in America?â

âI donât know,â said the corporal. âProbably dogs as crazy as everything else they have.â And he went on, âMaybe dogs are no good, anyway. It might be just as well if we never bothered with them, except for police work.â

âIt might be,â said the soldier. âIâve heard the Leader doesnât like dogs. Iâve heard they make him itch and sneeze.â

âYou hear all kinds of things,â the corporal said. âListen!â The patrol stopped and from a great distance came the bee hum of planes.

âThere they come,â the corporal said. âWell, there arenât any lights. Itâs been two weeks, hasnât it, since they came before?â

âTwelve days,â said the soldier.

The guards at the mine heard the high drone of the planes. âTheyâre flying high,â a sergeant said. And Captain Loft tilted his head back so that he could see under the rim of his helmet. âI judge over 20,000 feet,â he said. âMaybe theyâre going on over.â

âArenât very many.â The sergeant listened. âI donât think there are more than three of them. Shall I call the battery?â

âJust see theyâre alert, and then call Colonel Lanserâno, donât call him. Maybe they arenât coming here. Theyâre nearly over and they havenât started to dive yet.â

âSounds to me like theyâre circling. I donât think there are more than two,â the sergeant said.

In their beds the people heard the planes and they squirmed deep into their featherbeds and listened. In the palace of the Mayor the little sound awakened Colonel Lanser, and he turned over on his back and looked at the dark ceiling with wide-open eyes, and he held his breath to listen better and then his heart beat so that he could not hear as well as he could when he was breathing. Mayor Orden heard the planes in his sleep and they made a dream for him and he moved and whispered in his sleep.

High in the air the two bombers circled, mud-colored planes. They cut their throttles and soared, circling. And from the belly of each one tiny little objects dropped, hundreds of them, one after another. They plummeted a few feet and then little parachutes opened and drifted small packages silently and slowly downward toward the earth, and the planes raised their throttles and gained altitude, and then cut their throttles and circled again, and more of the little objects plummeted down, and then the planes turned and flew back in the direction from which they had come.

The tiny parachutes floated like thistledown and the breeze spread them out and distributed them as seeds on the ends of thistledown are distributed. They drifted so slowly and landed so gently that sometimes the ten-inch packages of dynamite stood upright in the snow, and the little parachutes folded gently down around them. They looked black against the snow. They landed in the white fields and among the woods of the hills and they landed in trees and hung down from the branches. Some of them landed on the housetops of the little town, some in the small front yards, and one landed and stood upright in the snow crown on top of the head of the village statue of St. Albert the Missionary.

One of the little parachutes came down in the street ahead of the patrol and the sergeant said, âCareful! Itâs a time bomb.â

âIt ainât big enough,â a soldier said.

âWell, donât go near it.â The sergeant had his flashlight out and he turned it on the object, a little parachute no bigger than a handkerchief, colored light blue, and hanging from it a package wrapped in blue paper.

âNow donât anybody touch it,â the sergeant said. âHarry, you go down to the mine and get the captain. Weâll keep an eye on this damn thing.â

The late dawn came and the people moving out of their houses in the country saw the spots of blue against the snow. They went to them and picked them up. They unwrapped the paper and read the printed words. They saw the gift and suddenly each finder grew furtive, and he concealed the long tube under his coat and went to some secret place and hid the tube.

And word got to the children about the gift and they combed the countryside in a terrible Easter egg hunt, and when some lucky child saw the blue color, he rushed to the prize and opened it and then he hid the tube and told his parents about it. There were some people who were frightened, who turned the tubes over to the military, but they were not very many. And the soldiers scurried about the town in another Easter egg hunt, but they were not so good at it as the children were.

In the drawing-room of the palace of the Mayor the dining-table remained with the chairs about as it had been placed the day Alex Morden was shot. The room had not the grace it had when it was still the palace of the Mayor. The walls, bare of standing chairs, looked very blank. The table with a few papers scattered about on it made the room look like a business office. The clock on the mantel struck nine. It was a dark day now, overcast with clouds, for the dawn had brought the heavy snow clouds.

Annie came out of the Mayorâs room; she swooped by the table and glanced at the papers that lay there. Captain Loft came in. He stopped in the doorway, seeing Annie.

âWhat are you doing here?â he demanded.

And Annie said sullenly, âYes, sir.â

âI said, what are you doing here?â

âI thought to clean up, sir.â

âLet things alone, and go along.â

And Annie said, âYes, sir,â and she waited until he was clear of the door, and she scuttled out.

Captain Loft turned back through the doorway and he said, âAll right, bring it in.â A soldier came through the door behind him, his rifle hung over his shoulder by a strap, and in his arms he held a number of the blue packages, and from the ends of the packages there dangled the little strings and pieces of blue cloth.

Loft said, âPut them on the table.â The soldier gingerly laid the packages down. âNow go upstairs and report to Colonel Lanser that Iâm here with theâthings,â and the soldier wheeled about and left the room.

Loft went to the table and picked up one of the packages, and his face wore a look of distaste. He held up the little blue cloth parachute, held it above his head and dropped it, and the cloth opened and the package floated to the floor. He picked up the package again and examined it.

Now Colonel Lanser came quickly into the room, followed by Major Hunter. Hunter was carrying a square of yellow paper in his hand. Lanser said, âGood morning, Captain,â and he went to the head of the table and sat down. For a moment he looked at the little pile of tubes, and then he picked one up and held it in his hand. âSit down, Hunter,â he said. âHave you examined these?â

Hunter pulled out a chair and sat down. He looked at the yellow paper in his hand. âNot very carefully,â he said. âThere are three breaks in the railroad all within ten miles.â

âWell, take a look at them and see what you think,â Lanser said.

Hunter reached for a tube and stripped off the outer covering, and inside was a small package next to the tube. Hunter took out a knife and cut into the tube. Captain Loft looked over his shoulder. Then Hunter smelled the cut and rubbed his fingers together, and he said, âItâs silly. Itâs commercial dynamite. I donât know what per cent of nitroglycerin until I test it.â He looked at the end. âIt has a regular dynamite cap, fulminate of mercury, and a fuseâabout a minute, I suppose.â He tossed the tube back onto the table. âItâs very cheap and very simple,â he said.

The colonel looked at Loft. âHow many do you think were dropped?â

âI donât know, sir,â said Loft. âWe picked up about fifty of them, and about ninety parachutes they came in. For some reason the people leave the parachutes when they take the tubes, and then there are probably a lot we havenât found yet.â

Lanser waved his hand. âIt doesnât really matter,â he said. âThey can drop as many as they want. We canât stop it, and we canât use it against them, either. They havenât conquered anybody.â

Loft said fiercely, âWe can beat them off the face of the earth!â

Hunter was prying the copper cap out of the top of one of the sticks, and Lanser said, âYesâwe can do that. Have you looked at this wrapper, Hunter?â

âNot yet, I havenât had time.â

âItâs kind of devilish, this thing,â said Colonel Lanser. âThe wrapper is blue, so that itâs easy to see. Unwrap the outer paper and hereââhe picked up the small packageââhere is a piece of chocolate. Everybody will be looking for it. Iâll bet our own soldiers steal the chocolate. Why, the kids will be looking for them, like Easter eggs.â

A soldier came in and laid a square of yellow paper in front of the colonel and retired, and Lanser glanced at it and laughed harshly. âHereâs something for you, Hunter. Two more breaks in your line.â

Hunter looked up from the copper cap he was examining, and he asked, âHow general is this? Did they drop them everywhere?â

Lanser was puzzled. âNow, thatâs the funny thing. Iâve talked to the capital. This is the only place theyâve dropped them.â

âWhat do you make of that?â Hunter asked.

âWell, itâs hard to say. I think this is a test place. I suppose if it works here theyâll use it all over, and if it doesnât work here they wonât bother.â

âWhat are you going to do?â Hunter asked.

âThe capital orders me to stamp this out so ruthlessly that they wonât drop it any place else.â

Hunter said plaintively, âHow am I going to mend five breaks in the railroad? I havenât rails right now for five breaks.â

âYouâll have to rip out some of the old sidings, I guess,â said Lanser.

Hunter said, âThatâll make a hell of a roadbed.â

âWell, anyway, it will make a roadbed.â

Major Hunter tossed the tube he had torn apart onto the pile, and Loft broke in, âWe must stop this thing at once, sir. We must arrest and punish people who pick these things up, before they use them. We have to get busy so these people wonât think we are weak.â

Lanser was smiling at him, and he said, âTake it easy, Captain. Letâs see what we have first, and then weâll think of remedies.â

He took a new package from the pile and unwrapped it. He took the little piece of chocolate, tasted it, and he said, âThis is a devilish thing. Itâs good chocolate, too. I canât even resist it myself. The prize in the grab-bag.â Then he picked up the dynamite. âWhat do you think of this really, Hunter?â

âWhat I told you. Itâs very cheap and very effective for small jobs, dynamite with a cap and a one-minute fuse. Itâs good if you know how to use it. Itâs no good if you donât.â

Lanser studied the print on the inside of the wrapper. âHave you read this?â

âGlanced at it,â said Hunter.

âWell, I have read it, and I want you to listen to it carefully,â said Lanser. He read from the paper, ââTo the unconquered people: Hide this. Do not expose yourself. You will need this later. It is a present from your friends to you and from you to the invader of your country. Do not try to do large things with it.â â He began to skip through the bill. âNow here, ârails in the country.â And, âwork at night.â And, âtie up transportation.â Now here, âInstructions: rails. Place stick under rail close to the joint, and tight against a tie. Pack mud or hard-beaten snow around it so that it is firm. When the fuse is lighted you have a slow count of sixty before it explodes.â â

He looked up at Hunter and Hunter said simply, âIt works.â Lanser looked back at his paper and he skipped through. ââBridges: Weaken, do not destroy.â And here, âtransmission poles,â and here, âculverts, trucks.â â He laid the blue handbill down. âWell, there it is.â

Loft said angrily, âWe must do something! There must be a way to control this. What does headquarters say?â

Lanser pursed his lips and his fingers played with one of the tubes. âI could have told you what theyâd say before they said it. I have the orders. âSet booby traps and poison the chocolate.â â He paused for a moment and then he said, âHunter, Iâm a good, loyal man, but sometimes when I hear the brilliant ideas of headquarters, I wish I were a civilian, an old, crippled civilian. They always think they are dealing with stupid people. I donât say that this is a measure of their intelligence, do I?â

Hunter looked amused. âDo you?â

Lanser said sharply, âNo, I donât. But what will happen? One man will pick up one of these and get blown to bits by our booby trap. One kid will eat chocolate and die of strychnine poisoning. And then?â He looked down at his hands. âThey will poke them with poles, or lasso them, before they touch them. They will try the chocolate on the cat. Goddamn it, Major, these are intelligent people. Stupid traps wonât catch them twice.â

Loft cleared his throat. âSir, this is defeatist talk,â he said. âWe must do something. Why do you suppose it was only dropped here, sir?â

And Lanser said, âFor one of two reasons: either this town was picked at random or else there is communication between this town and the outside. We know that some of the young men have got away.â

Loft repeated dully, âWe must do something, sir.â

Now Lanser turned on him. âLoft, I think Iâll recommend you for the General Staff. You want to get to work before you even know what the problem is. This is a new kind of conquest. Always before, it was possible to disarm a people and keep them in ignorance. Now they listen to their radios and we canât stop them. We canât even find their radios.â

A soldier looked in through the doorway. âMr. Corell to see you, sir.â

Lanser replied, âTell him to wait.â He continued to talk to Loft. âThey read the handbills; weapons drop from the sky for them. Now itâs dynamite, Captain. Pretty soon it may be grenades, and then poison.â

Loft said anxiously, âThey havenât dropped poison yet.â

âNo, but they will. Can you think what will happen to the morale of our men or even to you if the people had some of those little game darts, you know, those silly things you throw at a target, the points coated perhaps with cyanide, silent, deadly little things that you couldnât hear coming, that would pierce the uniform and make no noise? And what if our men knew that arsenic was about? Would you or they drink or eat comfortably?â

Hunter said dryly, âAre you writing the enemyâs campaign, Colonel?â

âNo, Iâm trying to anticipate it.â

Loft said, âSir, we sit here talking when we should be searching for this dynamite. If there is organization among these people, we have to find it, we have to stamp it out.â

âYes,â said Lanser, âwe have to stamp it out, ferociously, I suppose. You take a detail, Loft. Get Prackle to take one. I wish we had more junior officers. Tonderâs getting killed didnât help us a bit. Why couldnât he let women alone?â

Loft said, âI donât like the way Lieutenant Prackle is acting, sir.â

âWhatâs he doing?â

âHe isnât doing anything, but heâs jumpy and heâs gloomy.â

âYes,â Lanser said, âI know. Itâs a thing Iâve talked about so much. You know,â he said, âI might be a major-general if I hadnât talked about it so much. We trained our young men for victory and youâve got to admit theyâre glorious in victory, but they donât quite know how to act in defeat. We told them they were brighter and braver than other young men. It was a kind of shock to them to find out that they arenât a bit braver or brighter than other young men.â

Loft said harshly, âWhat do you mean by defeat? We are not defeated?â

And Lanser looked coldly up at him for a long moment and did not speak, and finally Loftâs eyes wavered, and he said, âSir.â

âThank you,â said Lanser.

âYou donât demand it of the others, sir.â

âThey donât think about it, so it isnât an insult. When you leave it out, itâs insulting.â

âYes, sir,â said Loft.

âGo on, now, try to keep Prackle in hand. Start your search. I donât want any shooting unless thereâs an overt act, do you understand?â

âYes, sir,â said Loft, and he saluted formally and went out of the room.

Hunter regarded Colonel Lanser amusedly. âWerenât you rough on him?â

âI had to be. Heâs frightened. I know his kind. He has to be disciplined when heâs afraid or heâll go to pieces. He relies on discipline the way other men rely on sympathy. I suppose youâd better get to your rails. You might as well expect that tonight is the time when theyâll really blow them, though.â

Hunter stood up and he said, âYes. I suppose the orders are coming in from the capital?â

âYes.â

âAre theyââ

âYou know what they are,â Lanser interrupted. âYou know what theyâd have to be. Take the leaders, shoot the leaders, take hostages, shoot the hostages, take more hostages, shoot themââhis voice had risen but now it sank almost to a whisperââand the hatred growing and the hurt between us deeper and deeper.â

Hunter hesitated. âHave they condemned any from the list of names?â and he motioned slightly toward the Mayorâs bedroom.

Lanser shook his head. âNo, not yet. They are just arrested so far.â

Hunter said quietly, âColonel, do you want me to recommendâmaybe youâre overtired, Colonel? Could Iâyou knowâcould I report that youâre overtired?â

For a moment Lanser covered his eyes with his hand, and then his shoulders straightened and his face grew hard. âIâm not a civilian, Hunter. Weâre short enough of officers already. You know that. Get to your work, Major. I have to see Corell.â

Hunter smiled. He went to the door and opened it, and he said out of the door, âYes, heâs here,â and over his shoulder he said to Lanser, âItâs Prackle. He wants to see you.â

âSend him in,â said Lanser.

Prackle came in, his face sullen, belligerent. âColonel Lanser, sir, I wish toââ

âSit down,â said Lanser. âSit down and rest a moment. Be a good soldier, Lieutenant.â

The stiffness went out of Prackle quickly. He sat down beside the table and rested his elbows on it. âI wishââ

And Lanser said, âDonât talk for a moment. I know what it is. You didnât think it would be this way, did you? You thought it would be rather nice.â

âThey hate us,â Prackle said. âThey hate us so much.â

Lanser smiled. âI wonder if I know what it is. It takes young men to make good soldiers, and young men need young women, is that it?â

âYes, thatâs it.â

âWell,â Lanser said kindly, âdoes she hate you?â

Prackle looked at him in amazement. âI donât know, sir. Sometimes I think sheâs only sorry.â

âAnd youâre pretty miserable?â

âI donât like it here, sir.â

âNo, you thought it would be fun, didnât you? Lieutenant Tonder went to pieces and then he went out and they got a knife in him. I could send you home. Do you want to be sent home, knowing we need you here?â

Prackle said uneasily, âNo, sir, I donât.â

âGood. Now Iâll tell you, and I hope youâll understand it. Youâre not a man any more. You are a soldier. Your comfort is of no importance and, Lieutenant, your life isnât of much importance. If you live, you will have memories. Thatâs about all you will have. Meanwhile you must take orders and carry them out. Most of the orders will be unpleasant, but thatâs not your business. I will not lie to you, Lieutenant. They should have trained you for this, and not for flower-strewn streets. They should have built your soul with truth, not led along with lies.â His voice grew hard. âBut you took the job, Lieutenant. Will you stay with it or quit it? We canât take care of your soul.â

Prackle stood up. âThank you, sir.â

âAnd the girl,â Lanser continued, âthe girl, Lieutenant, you may rape her, or protect her, or marry herâthat is of no importance so long as you shoot her when it is ordered.â

Prackle said wearily, âYes, sir, thank you, sir.â

âI assure you it is better to know. I assure you of that. It is better to know. Go now, Lieutenant, and if Corell is still waiting, send him in.â And he watched Lieutenant Prackle out of the doorway.

When Mr. Corell came in, he was a changed man. His left arm was in a cast, and he was no longer the jovial, friendly, smiling Corell. His face was sharp and bitter, and his eyes squinted down like little dead pigâs eyes.

âI should have come before, Colonel,â he said, âbut your lack of co-operation made me hesitant.â

Lanser said, âYou were waiting for a reply to your report, I remember.â

âI was waiting for much more than that. You refused me a position of authority. You said I was valueless. You did not realize that I was in this town long before you were. You left the Mayor in his office, contrary to my advice.â

Lanser said, âWithout him here we might have had more disorder than we have.â

âThat is a matter of opinion,â Corell said. âThis man is a leader of a rebellious people.â

âNonsense,â said Lanser; âheâs just a simple man.â

With his good hand Corell took a black notebook from his right pocket and opened it with his fingers. âYou forgot, Colonel, that I had my sources, that I had been here a long time before you. I have to report to you that Mayor Orden has been in constant contact with every happening in this community. On the night when Lieutenant Tonder was murdered, he was in the house where the murder was committed. When the girl escaped to the hills, she stayed with one of his relatives. I traced her there, but she was gone. Whenever men have escaped, Orden has known about it and has helped them. And I even strongly suspect that he is somewhere in the picture of these little parachutes.â

Lanser said eagerly, âBut you canât prove it.â

âNo,â Corell said, âI canât prove it. The first thing I know; the last I only suspect. Perhaps now you will be willing to listen to me.â

Lanser said quietly, âWhat do you suggest?â

âThese suggestions, Colonel, are a little stronger than suggestions. Orden must now be a hostage and his life must depend on the peacefulness of this community. His life must depend on the lighting of one single fuse on one single stick of dynamite.â

He reached into his pocket again and brought out a little folding book, and he flipped it open and laid it in front of the colonel. âThis, sir, was the answer to my report from headquarters. You will notice that it gives me certain authority.â

Lanser looked at the little book and he spoke quietly. âYou really did go over my head, didnât you?â He looked up at Corell with frank dislike in his eyes. âI heard youâd been injured. How did it happen?â

Corell said, âOn the night when your lieutenant was murdered I was waylaid. The patrol saved me. Some of the townsmen escaped in my boat that night. Now, Colonel, must I express more strongly than I have that Mayor Orden must be held hostage?â

Lanser said, âHe is here, he hasnât escaped. How can we hold him more hostage than we are?â

Suddenly in the distance there was a sound of an explosion, and both men looked around in the direction from which it came. Corell said, âThere it is, Colonel, and you know perfectly well that if this experiment succeeds there will be dynamite in every invaded country.â

Lanser repeated quietly, âWhat do you suggest?â

âJust what I have said. Orden must be held against rebellion.â

âAnd if they rebel and we shoot Orden?â

âThen that little doctor is next; although he holds no position, heâs next authority in the town.â

âBut he holds no office.â

âHe has the confidence of the people.â

âAnd when we shoot him, what then?â

âThen we have authority. Then rebellion will be broken. When we have killed the leaders, the rebellion will be broken.â

Lanser asked quizzically, âDo you really think so?â

âIt must be so.â

Lanser shook his head slowly and then he called, âSentry!â The door opened and a soldier appeared in the doorway. âSergeant,â said Lanser, âI have placed Mayor Orden under arrest, and I have placed Doctor Winter under arrest. You will see to it that Orden is guarded and you will bring Winter here immediately.â

The sentry said, âYes, sir.â

Lanser looked up at Corell and he said, âYou know, I hope you know what youâre doing. I do hope you know what youâre doing.â

8

In the little town the news ran quickly. It was communicated by whispers in doorways, by quick, meaningful looksââThe Mayorâs been arrestedââand through the town a little quiet jubilance ran, a fierce little jubilance, and people talked quietly together and went apart, and people going in to buy food leaned close to the clerks for a moment and a word passed between them.

The people went into the country, into the woods, searching for dynamite. And children playing in the snow found the dynamite, and by now even the children had their instructions. They opened the packages and ate the chocolate, and then they buried the dynamite in the snow and told their parents where it was.

Far out in the country a man picked up a tube and read the instructions and he said to himself, âI wonder if this works.â He stood the tube up in the snow and lighted the fuse, and he ran back from it and counted, but his count was fast. It was sixty-eight before the dynamite exploded. He said, âIt does work,â and he went hurriedly about looking for more tubes.

Almost as though at a signal the people went into their houses and the doors were closed, the streets were quiet. At the mine the soldiers carefully searched every miner who went into the shaft, searched and re-searched, and the soldiers were nervous and rough and they spoke harshly to the miners. The miners looked coldly at them, and behind their eyes was a little fierce jubilance.

In the drawing-room of the palace of the Mayor the table had been cleaned up, and a soldier stood guard at Mayor Ordenâs bedroom door. Annie was on her knees in front of the coal grate, putting little pieces of coal on the fire. She looked up at the sentry standing in front of Mayor Ordenâs door and she said truculently, âWell, what are you going to do to him?â The soldier did not answer.

The outside door opened and another soldier came in, holding Doctor Winter by the arm. He closed the door behind Doctor Winter and stood against the door inside the room. Doctor Winter said, âHello, Annie, howâs His Excellency?â

And Annie pointed at the bedroom and said, âHeâs in there.â

âHe isnât ill?â Doctor Winter said.

âNo, he didnât seem to be,â said Annie. âIâll see if I can tell him youâre here.â She went to the sentry and spoke imperiously. âTell His Excellency that Doctor Winter is here, do you hear me?â

The sentry did not answer and did not move, but behind him the door opened and Mayor Orden stood in the doorway. He ignored the sentry and brushed past him and stepped into the room. For a moment the sentry considered taking him back, and then he returned to his place beside the door. Orden said, âThank you, Annie. Donât go too far away, will you? I might need you.â

Annie said, âNo, sir, I wonât. Is Madame all right?â

âSheâs doing her hair. Do you want to see her, Annie?â

âYes, sir,â said Annie, and she brushed past the sentry, too, and went into the bedroom and shut the door.

Orden said, âIs there something you want, Doctor?â

Winter grinned sardonically and pointed over his shoulder to his guard. âWell, I guess Iâm under arrest. My friend here brought me.â

Orden said, âI suppose it was bound to come. What will they do now, I wonder?â And the two men looked at each other for a long time and each one knew what the other one was thinking.

And then Orden continued as though he had been talking. âYou know, I couldnât stop it if I wanted to.â

âI know,â said Winter, âbut they donât know.â And he went on with a thought he had been having. âA time-minded people,â he said, âand the time is nearly up. They think that just because they have only one leader and one head, we are all like that. They know that ten heads lopped off will destroy them, but we are a free people; we have as many heads as we have people, and in a time of need leaders pop up among us like mushrooms.â

Orden put his hand on Winterâs shoulder and he said, âThank you. I knew it, but itâs good to hear you say it. The little people wonât go under, will they?â He searched Winterâs face anxiously.

And the doctor reassured him, âWhy, no, they wonât. As a matter of fact, they will grow stronger with outside help.â

The room was silent for a moment. The sentry shifted his position a little and his rifle clinked on a button.

Orden said, âI can talk to you, Doctor, and I probably wonât be able to talk again. There are little shameful things in my mind.â He coughed and glanced at the rigid soldier, but the soldier gave no sign of having heard. âI have been thinking of my own death. If they follow the usual course, they must kill me, and then they must kill you.â And when Winter was silent, he said, âMustnât they?â

âYes, I guess so.â Winter walked to one of the gilt chairs, and as he was about to sit down he noticed that its tapestry was torn, and he petted the seat with his fingers as though that would mend it. And he sat down gently because it was torn.

And Orden went on, âYou know, Iâm afraid, I have been thinking of ways to escape, to get out of it. I have been thinking of running away. I have been thinking of pleading for my life, and it makes me ashamed.â

And Winter, looking up, said, âBut you havenât done it.â

âNo, I havenât.â

âAnd you wonât do it.â

Orden hesitated. âNo, I wonât. But I have thought of it.â

And Winter said, gently, âHow do you know everyone doesnât think of it? How do you know I havenât thought of it?â

âI wonder why they arrested you, too,â Orden said. âI guess they will have to kill you, too.â

âI guess so,â said Winter. He rolled his thumbs and watched them tumble over and over.

âYou know so.â Orden was silent for a moment and then he said, âYou know, Doctor, I am a little man and this is a little town, but there must be a spark in little men that can burst into flame. I am afraid, I am terribly afraid, and I thought of all the things I might do to save my own life, and then that went away, and sometimes now I feel a kind of exultation, as though I were bigger and better than I am, and do you know what I have been thinking, Doctor?â He smiled, remembering. âDo you remember in school, in the Apology? Do you remember Socrates says, âSomeone will say, âAnd are you not ashamed, Socrates, of a course of life which is likely to bring you to an untimely end?â To him I may fairly answer, âThere you are mistaken: a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether he is doing right or wrong.â â â Orden paused, trying to remember.

Doctor Winter sat tensely forward now, and he went on with it, ââActing the part of a good man or of a bad.â I donât think you have it quite right. You never were a good scholar. You were wrong in the denunciation, too.â

Orden chuckled. âDo you remember that?â

âYes,â said Winter, eagerly, âI remember it well. You forgot a line or a word. It was graduation, and you were so excited you forgot to tuck in your shirt-tail and your shirt-tail was out. You wondered why they laughed.â

Orden smiled to himself, and his hand went secretly behind him and patrolled for a loose shirt-tail. âI was Socrates,â he said, âand I denounced the School Board. How I denounced them! I bellowed it, and I could see them grow red.â

Winter said, âThey were holding their breaths to keep from laughing. Your shirt-tail was out.â

Mayor Orden laughed. âHow long ago? Forty years?â

âForty-six.â

The sentry by the bedroom door moved quietly over to the sentry by the outside door. They spoke softly out of the corners of their mouths like children whispering in school. âHow long you been on duty?â

âAll night. Canât hardly keep my eyes open.â

âMe too. Hear from your wife on the boat yesterday?â

âYes! She said say hello to you. Said she heard you was wounded. She donât write much.â

âTell her Iâm all right.â

âSureâwhen I write.â

The Mayor raised his head and looked at the ceiling and he muttered, âUmâumâum. I wonder if I can rememberâhow does it go?â

And Winter prompted him, ââAnd now, O menââ

And Orden said softly, ââAnd now, O men who have condemned meââ â

Colonel Lanser came quietly into the room; the sentries stiffened. Hearing the words, the colonel stopped and listened.

Orden looked at the ceiling, lost in trying to remember the old words. ââAnd now, O men who have condemned me,â â he said, ââI would fain prophesy to youâfor I am about to dieâandâin the hour of deathâmen are gifted with prophetic power. And Iâprophesy to you who are my murderersâthat immediately after myâmy deathââ â

And Winter stood up, saying, âDeparture.â

Orden looked at him. âWhat?â

And Winter said, âThe word is âdeparture,â not âdeath.â You made the same mistake before. You made that mistake forty-six years ago.â

âNo, it is death. It is death.â Orden looked around and saw Colonel Lanser watching him. He asked, âIsnât it âdeathâ?â

Colonel Lanser said, ââDeparture.â It is âimmediately after my departure.â â

Doctor Winter insisted, âYou see, thatâs two against one. âDepartureâ is the word. It is the same mistake you made before.â

Then Orden looked straight ahead and his eyes were in his memory, seeing nothing outward. And he went on, ââI prophesy to you who are my murderers that immediately after myâdeparture punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you.â â

Winter nodded encouragingly, and Colonel Lanser nodded, and they seemed to be trying to help him to remember. And Orden went on, ââMe you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your livesâ!â â

Lieutenant Prackle entered excitedly, crying, âColonel Lanser!â

Colonel Lanser said, âShhââ and he held out his hand to restrain him.

. And Orden went on softly, ââBut that will not be as you suppose; far otherwise.â â His voice grew stronger. ââFor I say that there will be more accusers of you than there are nowâ ââhe made a little gesture with his hand, a speech-making gestureââ âaccusers whom hitherto I have restrained; and as they are younger they will be more inconsiderate with you, and you will be more offended at them.ââ He frowned, trying to remember.

And Lieutenant Prackle said, âColonel Lanser, we have found some men with dynamite.â

And Lanser said, âHush.â

Orden continued, ââIf you think that by killing men you can prevent someone from censuring your evil lives, you are mistaken.â â He frowned and thought and he looked at the ceiling, and he smiled embarrassedly and he said, âThatâs all I can remember. It is gone away from me.â

And Doctor Winter said, âItâs very good after forty-six years, and you werenât very good at it forty-six years ago.â

Lieutenant Prackle broke in, âThe men have dynamite, Colonel Lanser.â

âDid you arrest them?â

âYes, sir. Captain Loft andââ

Lanser said, âTell Captain Loft to guard them.â He recaptured himself and he advanced into the room and he said, âOrden, these things must stop.â

And the Mayor smiled helplessly at him. âThey cannot stop, sir.â

Colonel Lanser said harshly, âI arrested you as a hostage for the good behavior of your people. Those are my orders.â

âBut that wonât stop it,â Orden said simply. âYou donât understand. When I have become a hindrance to the people, they will do without me.â

Lanser said, âTell me truly what you think. If the people know you will be shot if they light another fuse, what will they do?â

The Mayor looked helplessly at Doctor Winter. And then the bedroom door opened and Madame came out, carrying the Mayorâs chain of office in her hand. She said, âYou forgot this.â

Orden said, âWhat? Oh, yes,â and he stooped his head and Madame slipped the chain of office over his head, and he said, âThank you, dear.â

Madame complained, âYou always forget it. You forget it all the time.â

The Mayor looked at the end of the chain he held in his handâthe gold medallion with the insignia of his office carved on it. Lanser pressed him. âWhat will they do?â

âI donât know,â said the Mayor. âI think they will light the fuse.â

âSuppose you ask them not to?â

Winter said, âColonel, this morning I saw a little boy building a snow man, while three grown soldiers watched to see that he did not caricature your leader. He made a pretty good likeness, too, before they destroyed it.â

Lanser ignored the doctor. âSuppose you ask them not to?â he repeated.

Orden seemed half asleep; his eyes were drooped, and he tried to think. He said, âI am not a very brave man, sir. I think they will light it, anyway.â He struggled with his speech. âI hope they will, but if I ask them not to, they will be sorry.â

Madame said, âWhat is this all about?â

âBe quiet a moment, dear,â the Mayor said.

âBut you think they will light it?â Lanser insisted.

The Mayor spoke proudly. âYes, they will light it. I have no choice of living or dying, you see, sir, butâI do have a choice of how I do it. If I tell them not to fight, they will be sorry, but they will fight. If I tell them to fight, they will be glad, and I who am not a very brave man will have made them a little braver.â He smiled apologetically. âYou see, it is an easy thing to do, since the end for me is the same.â

Lanser said, âIf you say yes, we can tell them you said no. We can tell them you begged for your life.â

And Winter broke in angrily, âThey would know. You do not keep secrets. One of your men got out of hand one night and he said the flies had conquered the flypaper, and now the whole nation knows his words. They have made a song of it. The flies have conquered the flypaper. You do not keep secrets, Colonel.â

From the direction of the mine a whistle tooted shrilly. And a quick gust of wind sifted dry snow against the windows.

Orden fingered his gold medallion. He said quietly, âYou see, sir, nothing can change it. You will be destroyed and driven out.â His voice was very soft. âThe people donât like to be conquered, sir, and so they will not be. Free men cannot start a war, but once it is started, they can fight on in defeat. Herd men, followers of a leader, cannot do that, and so it is always the herd men who win battles and the free men who win wars. You will find that is so, sir.â

Lanser was erect and stiff. âMy orders are clear. Eleven oâclock was the deadline. I have taken hostages. If there is violence, the hostages will be executed.â

And Doctor Winter said to the colonel, âWill you carry out the orders, knowing they will fail?â

Lanserâs face was tight. âI will carry out my orders no matter what they are, but I do think, sir, a proclamation from you might save many lives.â

Madame broke in plaintively, âI wish you would tell me what all this nonsense is.â

âIt is nonsense, dear.â

âBut they canât arrest the Mayor,â she explained to him.

Orden smiled at her. âNo,â he said, âthey canât arrest the Mayor. The Mayor is an idea conceived by free men. It will escape arrest.â

From the distance there was a sound of an explosion. And the echo of it rolled to the hills and back again. The whistle at the coal mine tooted a shrill, sharp warning. Orden stood very tensely for a moment and then he smiled. A second explosion roaredânearer this time and heavierâand its echo rolled back from the mountains. Orden looked at his watch and then he took his watch and chain and put them in Doctor Winterâs hand. âHow did it go about the flies?â he asked.

âThe flies have conquered the flypaper,â Winter said.

Orden called, âAnnie!â The bedroom door opened instantly and the Mayor said, âWere you listening?â

âYes, sir.â Annie was embarrassed.

And now an explosion roared near by and there was a sound of splintering wood and breaking glass, and the door behind the sentries puffed open. And Orden said, âAnnie, I want you to stay with Madame as long as she needs you. Donât leave her alone.â He put his arm around Madame and he kissed her on the forehead and then he moved slowly toward the door where Lieutenant Prackle stood. In the doorway he turned back to Doctor Winter. âCrito, I owe a cock to Asclepius,â he said tenderly. âWill you remember to pay the debt?â

Winter closed his eyes for a moment before he answered, âThe debt shall be paid.â

Orden chuckled then. âI remembered that one. I didnât forget that one.â He put his hand on Prackleâs arm, and the lieutenant flinched away from him.

And Winter nodded slowly. âYes, you remembered. The debt shall be paid.â

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