Across the River and Into the Trees Page 19

There had been smoke in the room from the open charcoal fire; no, there were logs, he thought. Anyway a liar lies best when there is a little smoke or when the sun has set.

  He had come close to lying twice himself, and had held it up, and merely exaggerated. I hope anyway, he thought.

  Now here was the frozen lagoon to ruin everything. But it was not ruined.

  A pair of pin-tails came, suddenly, from nowhere, slanting down fast in a dive no airplane ever made, and the Colonel heard their feathered trajectory and swung and killed the drake. He lay on the ice, hitting it as solid as a duck can hit ice, and, before he was down, the Colonel had killed his mate, who was climbing, long-necked and fast.

  She fell alongside the drake.

  So it is murder, the Colonel thought. And what isn�t nowadays? But, boy, you can still shoot.

  Boy, hell, he thought. You beat-up old bastard. But look at them come now.

  They were widgeon, and they came in a whisp that coagulated and then stretched to nothing. Then they coagulated again and the treacherous duck on the ice started to talk to them.

  Let them turn once more, the Colonel said to himself. Keep your head down, and do not move even your eyes.

  They are going to come in.

  They came in well, with treachery speaking to them.

  Their wings were suddenly set to alight, as when you lower the flaps. Then they saw it was ice and they rose, climbing.

  The shooter, who was not a Colonel now, nor anything but a gun handler, rose in the wooden barrel and got two. They hit the ice almost as solidly as the big ducks.

  Two is enough from one family, the Colonel said. Or was it one tribe?

  The Colonel heard a shot behind him, where he knew there was no other blind, and turned his head to look across the frozen lagoon to the far, sedge-lined shore.

  That does it, he thought.

  A bunch of mallards, that had been coming in low, were flaring up into the sky, seeming to stand on their tails as they climbed.

  He saw one fall, then heard another shot.

  It was the sullen boatman shooting at the ducks that would have come to the Colonel.

  How, how can he do that? the Colonel thought.

  The man had a shot-gun to shoot any cripples that might be escaping where the dog could not get them. For him to fire at ducks that were coming to the Colonel�s blind was, in shooting, as bad a thing as one man could do to another.

  The boatman was too far away to hear a shout. So the Colonel fired at him twice.

  It is too far for the pellets to reach, he thought, but at least he will know that I know what he is doing. What the hell is this all about? On a beautifully run shoot like this one too? This is the best organized and best run duck shoot I have ever shot at and I have had as much fun shooting here as I ever had in my life. What is the matter with that son of a bitch?

  He knew how bad his anger was for him. So he took two of the pills and washed them down with a drink of Gordon�s gin from his flask since there was no water.

  He knew the gin was bad for him too and he thought, everything is bad for me except rest and very light exercise. OK, rest and light exercise, boy. Do you suppose that is light exercise?

  You, beauty, he said to himself. I wish you were here now and we were in the double blind and if we could only just feel the backs of our shoulders touch. I�d look around and see you and I would shoot the high ducks well, to show off and try to put one in the blind without having it hit you. I�d try to pull one down like this, he said, hearing the wings in the air. He rose, turned, saw the single drake, long necked and beautiful, the wings fast moving and travelling to the sea. He saw him sharp and clear and in the sky with the mountains behind him. He met him, covered him and pulled as he swung as far back as he could swing the gun.

  The drake came down on the ice, just outside the perimeter of the blind, and broke the ice as he fell. It was the ice that had been broken to put out the decoys and it had re-frozen lightly. The calling hen looked at him as he lay and shifted her feet.

  �You never saw him before in your life,� the Colonel said to the hen. �I don�t believe you even saw him coming. Though you may have. But you didn�t say anything.�

  The drake had hit with his head down and his head was under the ice. But the Colonel could see the beautiful winter plumage on his breast and wings.

  I�d like to give her a vest made of the whole plumage the way the old Mexicans used to ornament their gods, he thought. But I suppose these ducks have to go to the market and no one would know how to skin and cure the skins anyway. It could be beautiful, though, with Mallard drake skins for the back and sprig for the front with two longitudinal stripes of teal. One coming down over each breast Be a hell of a vest. I�m pretty sure she�d like it.

  I wish that they would fly, the Colonel thought. A few fool ducks might come in. I have to stay ready for them if they do. But none came in and he had to think.

  There were no shots from the other blinds and only occasional shots from the sea.

  With the good light, the birds could see the ice and they no longer came in and instead went out to the open sea to raft up. So he had no shooting and he thought without intention, trying to find what had made it at the first. He knew he did not deserve it and he accepted it and he lived by it, but he sought, always, to understand it.

  One time it had been two sailors when he had been walking with the girl at night. They had whistled at her and, the Colonel thought, that was a harmless enough thing and he should have let it go.

  But there was something wrong with it. He sensed it before he knew it. Then he knew it solidly, because he had stopped under a light, in order that they might see what he wore on his shoulders, so that they might take the other side of the street.

  What he wore on each shoulder was a small eagle with wings out-stretched. It was embroidered onto the coat he wore in silver thread. It was not conspicuous, and it had been there a long time. But it was visible.

  The two sailors whistled again.

  �Stay over there against the wall if you want to watch it,� the Colonel had said to the girl. �Or look away.�

  �They are very big and young.�

  �They won�t be big for long,� the Colonel promised her.

  The Colonel walked over to the whistlers.

  �Where is your shore patrol?� he asked.

  �How would I know?� the biggest whistler said. �All I want is a good look at the dame.�

  �Do people like you have names and serial numbers?�

  �How would I know,� one said.

  The other said, �I wouldn�t tell a chicken Colonel if I had.�

  Old army boy, the Colonel thought, before he hit him. Sea lawyer. Knows all his rights.

  But he hit him with a left from nowhere and hit him three times as he started to go.

  The other one, the first whistler, had closed fast and well, for a man who had been drinking, and the Colonel gave him the elbow in the mouth and then, under the light, had a good right hand shot at him. When it was in, he glanced at the second whistler and saw that was okay.

  Then he threw a left hook. Then he put the right way into the body, coming up. He threw another left hook and then turned away and walked toward the girl because he did not want to hear the head hit the pavement.

  He checked on the one that had it first, and noted he slept peacefully, chin down, with the blood coming out of his mouth. But it was still the right color, the Colonel noted.

  �Well, there goes my career,� he said to the girl. �Whatever that was. But those people certainly wear funny pants.�

  �How are you?� the girl asked.

  �I�m fine. Did you watch it?�

  �Yes.�

  �I�ll have bad hands in the morning,� he said absent-mindedly. �But I think we can walk away from it all right. But let�s walk slowly.�

  �Please walk slowly.�

/>   �I did not mean it that way. I meant let�s not be hurried in our departure.�

  �We will walk as slowly as two people can walk.�

  So they walked.

  �Do you want to try an experiment?�

  �Of course.�

  �Let�s walk so we make even the backs of our legs look dangerous.�

  �I�ll try. But I don�t think I can.�

  �Well, let�s just walk then.�

  �But didn�t they hit you?�

  �One pretty good right behind the ear. The second boy when he came in.�

  �Is that what fighting�s like?�

  �When you�re lucky.�

  �And when you�re not lucky?�

  �Your knees bend too. Either forward or backward.�

  �Do you still care for me after you have fought?�

  �I love you much more than before if it were possible.�

  �Can�t it be possible? It would be nice. I love you more since I saw that thing. Am I walking slowly enough?�

  �You walk like a deer in the forest, and sometimes you walk as well as a wolf, or an old, big coyote when he is not hurried.�

  �I�m not sure I wish to be an old big coyote.�

  �Wait till you see one,� the Colonel said. �You�ll wish. You walk like all the great predators, when they walk softly. And you are not a predator.�

  �That I can promise.�

  �Walk a little ahead so I can see.�

  She walked ahead and the Colonel said, �You walk like a champion before he is the champion. If you were a horse I would buy you if I had to borrow the money at twenty percent a month.�

  �You don�t have to buy me.�

  �I know about that. That was not what we were discussing. We were discussing your gait.�

  �Tell me,� she said. �What happens to those men? That�s one of the things I don�t know about fighting. Shouldn�t I have stayed and cared for them?�

  �Never,� the Colonel told her. �Remember that; never. I hope they split a good concussion between them. They can rot. They caused the accident. There is no question of civil responsibility. We were all insured. If I can tell you one thing, Renata, about fighting.�

  �Tell me please.�

  �If you ever fight, then you must win it. That�s all that counts. All the rest is cabbage, as my old friend Dr. Rommel put it.�

  �Did you really like Rommel?�

  �Very much.�

  �But he was your enemy.�

  �I love my enemies, sometimes, more than my friends. And the Navy, you know, wins all their fights always. This I learned in a place called the Pentagon building when I was still permitted to enter that building by the front door. If you like we can stroll back down this street, or walk it fast, and ask those two that question.�

  �I tell you truly, Richard. I have seen enough fighting for one night.�

  �Me too, to tell the truth,� the Colonel said. But he said it in Italian and it started, �Anche io. Let�s go to Harry�s for one, and then I will walk you home.�

  �Didn�t you hurt your bad hand?�

  �No,� he explained. �I only threw it once to the head. The other times I punched to the body with it.�

  �May I feel it?�

  �If you will feel very softly.�

  �But it is terribly swollen.�

  �There is nothing broken in it and that sort of swelling always goes down.�

  �Do you love me?�

  �Yes. I love you with two moderately swollen hands and all my heart.�

  CHAPTER XLI

  SO that was that, and maybe it was that day or maybe it was another that made the miracle. You never knew, he thought. There was the great miracle and he had never consciously implemented it. Nor, he thought, you son of a bitch, did you ever oppose it.

  It was colder than ever and the broken ice re-froze and the calling duck did not even look up now. She had abandoned treachery for an attempt at security.

  You bitch, the Colonel thought. Though that is unjust. It is your trade. But why is it a hen calls better than a drake. You ought to know, he thought. And even that�s not true. What the hell is true? Drakes actually call better.

  Now don�t think of her. Don�t think of Renata because it won�t do you any good, boy. It might even be bad for you. Also you said good-bye. What a good-bye that was. Complete with tumbrils. And she would have climbed up in the damned tumbril with you too. Just so long as it was a real tumbril. Very rough trade, he thought. Loving and leaving. People can get hurt at it.

  Who gave you a right to know a girl like that?

  Nobody, he answered. But Andrea introduced me to her.

  But how could she love a sad son of a bitch like you?

  I do not know, he thought truly. I truly do not know.

  He did not know, among other things, that the girl loved him because he had never been sad one waking morning of his life; attack or no attack. He had experienced anguish and sorrow. But he had never been sad in the morning.

  They make almost none like that, and the girl, although she was a young girl, knew one when she saw one.

  Now she is at home and sleeping, the Colonel thought. That is where she ought to be and not in any god damn duck blind with the decoys frozen up on us.

  I wish to hell she was here though, if this were a double blind, and have her looking to the west just in case one string did come in. It would be nice if she were warm enough. Maybe I can trade somebody out of one of these real down jackets that nobody ever sold that had one. The kind they issued to the Air Force once by mistake.

  I could find out how they are quilted and make one with duck down from here, he thought. I�d get a good tailor to cut it and we would make it double-breasted with no pocket on the right and lay in a chamois shooting patch so the gun butt would never catch.

  I�ll do it, he said to himself. I�ll do it, or I will get one off some joker and have it cut down for her. I�d like to get her a good Purdey 12, not too damn light, or a pair of Boss over and unders. She should have guns as good as she is. I suppose a pair of Purdey�s, he thought.

  Just then he heard the light swish of pinions, fast beating in the air, and looked up. But they were too high. He only looked up with his eyes. But they were so high they could see the barrel, and him in it, and the frozen-in decoys with the dejected hen, who saw them too, and quacked hard in her loyal treachery. The ducks, they were pin-tails, continued on their flight out toward the sea.

 

  I never give her anything, as she pointed out. There was the small moor�s head. But it does not mean anything. She selected it and I bought it. That is no way to give a gift.

  What I would like to give her is security, which does not exist anymore; all my love, which is worthless; all my worldly goods, which are practically non-existent except for two good shot-guns, my soldier suits, the medals and decorations with the citations, and some books. Also a retired Colonel�s pay.

  With all my worldly goods I thee endow, he thought.

  And she gave me her love, some hard stones, which I returned, and the picture. Well, I can always give her back the picture. I could give her my ring from V.M.I., he thought, but where the hell did I lose that?

  She wouldn�t want a D.S.C. with cluster, nor two silver stars, nor the other junk, nor the medals of her own country. Nor those of France. Nor those of Belgium. Nor the trick ones. That would be morbid.

  I better just give her my love. But how the hell do you send it? And how do you keep it fresh? They can�t pack it in dry ice.

  Maybe they can. I must inquire. But how do I get that condemned jeep engine to that old man?

  Figure it out, he thought. Figuring things out has been your trade. Figuring things out when they were shooting at you, he added.

  I wish that son of a bitch that is lousing up the duck shooting had a rifle and I had a rifle. We would find out pretty soon who could figure things out. Even in a lousy barrel in a marsh where you can
�t maneuver. He�d have to come to get me.

  Stop that, he said to himself, and think about your girl. You do not want to kill anyone anymore; ever.

  Who are you feeding that to, he told himself. You going to run as a Christian? You might give it an honest try. She would like you better that way. Or would she? I don�t know, he said frankly. I honest to Christ don�t know.

  Maybe I will get Christian toward the end. Yes, he said, maybe you will. Who wants to make a bet on that?

  �You want to bet on that?� he asked the calling duck. But she was looking up at the sky behind him and had commenced her small chuckling talk.

  They came over too high and never circled. They only looked down and went on toward the open sea.

  They must really be rafted up out there, the Colonel thought. There�s probably some punt gunner trying to sneak up on them now. They will be pretty close into the lee with the wind and someone is sneaking onto them now surely. Well, when he makes his shot some may break back this way. But with it frozen-up I suppose I really ought to pull out instead of staying here like a fool.

  I have killed enough and I have shot as well or better than I can shoot. Better hell, he thought. Nobody shoots better than you here except Alvarito and he�s a kid and shoots faster. But you kill fewer ducks than many bad and fair shots.

  Yes, I know about that. I know about that and why and we don�t go by the numbers anymore and we threw away the book too, remember?

  He remembered how, by some miracle of chance in a war, he had been with his best friend for a moment in action in the Ardennes and they were pursuing.

  It was early fall and it was on a high upland with sandy roads and trails and the trees were scrub oak and pines. The enemy tank and half track prints showed clearly in the moist sand.

  It had rained the day before, but now it was clearing and visibility was good and you could see well across all the high, rolling country and he and his friend were glassing it as carefully as though they were hunting game.

  The Colonel, who was a General then, and an assistant divisional commander, knew the individual print of each tracked vehicle they were pursuing. He also knew when the enemy vehicles had run out of mines and approximately the number of rounds that remained to them. He also had figured where they had to fight before they reached the Siegfried. He was sure they would not fight at either of these two places but would race for where they were going.

  �We�re pretty far up for people of our exalted rank, George,� he said to his best friend.

  �Ahead of the point, General.�

  �It�s okay,� the Colonel had said. �Now we throw away the book and chase for keeps.�

  �I couldn�t agree more fully, General. Because I wrote the book myself,� his best friend said. �But suppose they had left something there?�

  He pointed to the logical place to defend.

  �They didn�t leave anything there,� the Colonel had said. �They haven�t enough stuff left even for a chicken-shit fire-fight.�

  �Everybody�s right until he�s wrong,� his best friend said, adding, �General.�

  �I�m right,� the Colonel said. He was right, too, although in obtaining his exact knowledge he had not fulfilled the complete spirit of the Geneva Convention which was alleged to govern the operation of war.