Across the River and Into the Trees Read online

�Gran Maestro,� the Colonel said. �Have you heard from our Leader, The Revered One?�

  �Not a word. He is silent these days.�

  �He must be thinking.�

  �He must.�

  �Perhaps he is meditating on new and more distinguished shameful acts.�

  �Perhaps. He has not given me any word.�

  �But we can have confidence in him.�

  �Until he dies,� the Gran Maestro said. �After that he can roast in hell and we will revere his memory.�

  �Giorgio,� the Colonel said. �Give the Gran Maestro another short Carpano.�

  �If it is your order,� the Gran Maestro said, �I can only obey.�

  They touched glasses.

  �Jackson,� the Colonel called. �You�re on the town. You can sign here for chow. I don�t want to see you until eleven hundred tomorrow in the lobby, unless you get into trouble. Do you have money?�

  �Yes, sir,� Jackson said and thought, the old son of a bitch really is as crazy as they say. But he might have called me instead of shouting.

  �I don�t want to see you,� the Colonel said.

  Jackson had entered the room and stood before him at a semblance of attention.

  �I�m tired of seeing you, because you worry and you don�t have fun. For Christ sake have yourself some fun.�

  �Yes, sir.�

  �You understand what I said?�

  �Yes, sir.�

  �Repeat it.�

  �Ronald Jackson, T5 Serial Number 100678, will present himself in the lobby of this Gritti Hotel at 1100 tomorrow morning, I don�t know the date, sir, and will absent himself from the Colonel�s sight and will have some fun. Or,� he added, �will make every reasonable attempt to attain that objective.�

  �I�m sorry, Jackson,� the Colonel said. �I�m a shit.�

  �I beg to differ with the Colonel,� Jackson said.

  �Thank you, Jackson,� the Colonel told him. �Maybe I�m not. I hope you are correct. Now muck off. You�ve got a room here, or you should have, and you can sign for chow. Now try and have some fun.�

  �Yes, sir,� said Jackson.

  When he was gone, the Gran Maestro said to the Colonel, �What is the boy? One of those sad Americans?�

  �Yes,� the Colonel said. �And by Jesus Christ we�ve got a lot of them. Sad, self-righteous, over-fed and under-trained. If they are under-trained, it is my fault. But we�ve got some good ones, too.�

  �Do you think they would have done Grappa, Pasubio and the Basso Piave as we did?�

  �The good ones, yes. Maybe better. But you know, in our army, they don�t even shoot for self-inflicted wounds.�

  �Jesus,� said the Gran Maestro. He and the Colonel both remembered the men who decided that they did not wish to die; not thinking that he who dies on Thursday does not have to die on Friday, and how one soldier would wrap another�s puttee-ed leg in a sandbag so there would be no powder burns, and loose off at his friend from as far a distance as he figured he could hit the calf of the leg without hitting bone, and then fire twice over the parapet to alibi the shot. They had this knowledge shared between them and it was for this reason and for a true, good hatred of all those who profited by war that they had founded the Order.

  They knew, the two of them, who loved and respected each other, how poor boys who did not want to die, would share the contents of a match box full of gonorrheal pus to produce the infection that would keep them from the next murderous frontal attack.

  They knew about the other boys who put the big ten centime pieces under their arm-pits to produce jaundice. And they knew, too, about the richer boys who, in different cities, had paraffin injected under their knee-caps so they would not have to go to the war.

  They knew how garlic could be used to produce certain effects which could absent a man from an attack, and they knew all, or nearly all, of the other tricks; for one had been a sergeant and the other a lieutenant of infantry and they had fought on the three key points, Pasubio, Grappa, and the Piave, where it all made sense.

  They had fought, too, in the earlier stupid butchery on the Isonzo and the Carso. But they were both ashamed of those who had ordered that, and they never thought about it except as a shameful, stupid thing to be forgotten and the Colonel remembered it technically as something to learn from. So, now, they had founded the Order of Brusadelli; noble, military and religious, and there were only five members.

  �What is the news of the Order?� the Colonel asked the Gran Maestro.

  �We have ascended the cook at the Magnificent to the rank of Commendatore. He comported himself as a man three times on his fiftieth birthday. I accepted his statement without corroboration. He never lied ever.�

  �No. He never lied. But it is a topic on which you must be chary in your credibility.�

  �I believed him. He looked ruined.�

  �I can remember him when he was a tough kid and we called him the cherry buster.�

  �Anch� io.�

  �Have you any concrete plans for the Order during the Winter?�

  �No, Supreme Commander.�

  �Do you think we should give a homage to the Honorable Pacciardi?�

  �As you wish.�

  �Let�s defer it,� the Colonel said. He thought a moment, and signalled for another dry Martini.

  �Do you think we might organize a homage and manifestation in some historic place such as San Marco or the old church at Torcello in favor of our Great Patron, Brusadelli, the Revered One?�

  �I doubt if the religious authorities would permit it at this moment.�

  �Then let us abandon all ideas of public manifestations for this winter, and work within our cadres, for the good of the Order.�

  �I think that is soundest,� the Gran Maestro said. �We will re-group.�

  �And how are you, yourself?�

  �Awful,� the Gran Maestro said. �I have low blood pressure, ulcers, and I owe money.�

  �Are you happy?�

  �All the time,� the Gran Maestro said. �I like my work very much, and I meet extraordinary and interesting characters, also many Belgians. They are what we have instead of the locusts this year. Formerly we had the Germans. What was it Caesar said, �And the bravest of these are the Belgians.� But not the best dressed. Do you agree?�

  �I�ve seen them quite well costumed in Brussels,� the Colonel said. �A well fed, gay capital. Win, lose, or draw. I have never seen them fight though everyone tells me that they do.�

  �We should have fought in Flanders in the old days.�

  �We were not born in the old days,� the Colonel said. �So we automatically could not have fought then.�

  �I wish we could have fought with the Condottieri when all you had to do was out-think them and they conceded. You could think and I would convey your orders.�

  �We�d have to take a few towns for them to respect our thinking.�

  �We would sack them if they defended them,� the Gran Maestro said. �What towns would you take?�

  �Not this one,� the Colonel said. �I�d take Vicenza, Bergamo and Verona. Not necessarily in that order.�

  �You�d have to take two more.�

  �I know,� the Colonel said. He was a general now again, and he was happy. �I figured that I�d by-pass Brescia. It could fall of its own weight.�

  �And how are you, Supreme Commander?� the Gran Maestro said, for this taking of towns had pulled him out of his depth.

  He was at home in his small house in Treviso, close to the fast flowing river under the old walls. The weeds waved in the current and the fish hung in the shelter of the weeds and rose to insects that touched the water in the dusk. He was at home, too, in all operations that did not involve more than a company, and understood them as clearly as he understood the proper serving of a small dining room; or a large dining room.

  But when the Colonel became a general officer again, as he had once been, and thought in terms that were as far beyond him as calculus is distant from a man who has only the knowled
ge of arithmetic, then he was not at home, and their contact was strained, and he wished the Colonel would return to things they both knew together when they were a lieutenant and a sergeant.

  �What would you do about Mantova?� the Colonel asked.

  �I do not know, my Colonel. I do not know whom you are fighting, nor what forces they have, nor what forces are at your disposal.�

  �I thought you said we were Condottieri. Based on this town or on Padova.�

  �My Colonel,� the Gran Maestro said, and he had diminished in no way, �I know nothing, truly, about Condottieri. Nor really how they fought then. I only said I would like to fight under you in such times.�

  �There aren�t any such times any more,� the Colonel said and the spell was broken.

  What the hell, maybe there never was any spell, the Colonel thought. The hell with you, he said to himself. Cut it out and be a human being when you�re half a hundred years old.

  �Have another Carpano,� he said to the Gran Maestro.

  �My Colonel, you will allow me to refuse because of the ulcers?�

  �Yes. Yes. Of course. Boy, what�s your name, Giorgio? Another dry Martini. Secco, molto secco e doppio.�

  Breaking spells, he thought. It is not my trade. My trade is killing armed men. A spell should be armed if I�m to break it. But we have killed many things which were not armed. All right, spell breaker, retract.

  �Gran Maestro,� he said. �You are still Gran Maestro and fornicate the Condottieri.�

  �They were fornicated many years ago, Supreme Commander.�

  �Exactly,� the Colonel said.

  But the spell was broken.

  �I�ll see you at dinner,� the Colonel said. �What is there?�

  �We will have anything you wish, and what we do not have I will send out for.�

  �Do you have any fresh asparagus?�

  �You know we cannot have it in these months. It comes in April and from Bassano.�

  �Then I�ll just urinate the usual odor,� the Colonel said. �You think of something and I�ll eat it.�

  �How many will you be?� the Maitre d�Hotel asked.

  �We�ll be two,� the Colonel said. �What time do you close the bistro?�

  �We will serve dinner as late as you wish to eat, my Colonel.�

  �I�ll try to be in at a sound hour,� the Colonel said. �Good-bye, Gran Maestro,� he said and smiled, and gave the Gran Maestro his crooked hand.

  �Good-bye, Supreme Commander,� said the Gran Maestro and the spell was existent again and almost complete.

  But it was not quite complete and the Colonel knew it and he thought: why am I always a bastard and why can I not suspend this trade of arms, and be a kind and good man as I would have wished to be.

  I try always to be just, but I am brusque and I am brutal, and it is not that I have erected the defense against brown-nosing my superiors and brown-nosing the world. I should be a better man with less wild boar blood in the small time which remains. We will try it out tonight, he thought. With whom, he thought, and where, and God help me not to be bad.

  �Giorgio,� he said to the barman, who had a face as white as a leper, but with no bulges, and without the silver shine.

  Giorgio did not really like the Colonel very much, or perhaps he was simply from Piemonte, and cared for no one truly; which was understandable in cold people from a border province. Borderers are not trusters, and the Colonel knew about this, and expected nothing from anyone that they did not have to give.

  �Giorgio,� he said to the pale-faced barman. �Write these down for me, please.�

  He went out, walking as he had always walked, with a slightly exaggerated confidence, even when it was not needed, and, in his always renewed plan of being kind, decent and good, he greeted the concierge, who was a friend, the assistant manager, who spoke Swahili and had been a prisoner of war in Kenya, and was a most amiable man, young, full of juice, handsome, perhaps not yet a member of the Order, and experienced.

  �And the cavaliere ufficiale who manages this place?� he asked. �My friend?�

  �He is not here,� the assistant manager said. �For the moment, naturally,� he added.

  �Give him my compliments,� the Colonel said. �And have somebody show me to my room.�

  �It is the usual room. You still wish it?�

  �Yes. Have you taken care of the Sergeant?�

  �He is well taken care of.�

  �Good,� said the Colonel.

  The Colonel proceeded to his room accompanied by the boy who carried his bag.

  �This way, my Colonel,� the boy said, when the elevator halted with slight hydraulic inaccuracy at the top floor.

  �Can�t you run an elevator properly?� the Colonel asked.

  �No, my Colonel,� the boy said. �The current is not stable.�

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE Colonel said nothing and preceded the boy down the corridor. It was large, wide and high ceilinged, and there was a long and distinguished interval between the doors of the rooms on the side of the Grand Canal. Naturally, since it had been a palace, there were no rooms without excellent views, except those which had been made for the servants.

  The Colonel found the walk long, although it was a very short one, and when the waiter who served the room appeared, short, dark and with his glass eye in the left eye socket gleaming, unable to smile his full, true smile as he worked the big key in the lock, the Colonel wished that the door would open more rapidly.

  �Open it up,� he said.

  �I will, my Colonel,� the waiter said. �But you know these locks.�

  Yes, the Colonel thought. I know them, but I wish that he would get it open.

  �How are your family?� he said to the waiter, who had swung the door wide so that the Colonel, now entered, was within the room with the high, dark but well-mirrored armoire, the two good beds, the great chandelier and the view, through the still closed windows, onto the wind beaten water of the Grand Canal.

  The Canal was grey as steel now in the quick, failing, winter light and the Colonel said, �Arnaldo, open the windows.�

  �There is much wind, my Colonel, and the room is badly heated due to the lack of electric power.�

  �Due to the lack of rainfall,� the Colonel said. �Open the windows. All of them.�

  �As you wish, my Colonel.�

  The waiter opened the windows and the north wind came into the room.

  �Please call the desk and ask them to ring this number.� The waiter made the call while the Colonel was in the bathroom.

  �The Contessa is not at home, my Colonel,� he said. �They believe you might find her at Harry�s.�

  �You find everything on earth at Harry�s.�

  �Yes, my Colonel. Except, possibly, happiness.�

  �I�ll damn well find happiness, too,� the Colonel assured him. �Happiness, as you know, is a movable feast.�

  �I am aware of that,� the waiter said. �I have brought Campari bitters and a bottle of Gordon Gin. May I make you a Campari with gin and soda?�

  �You�re a good boy,� the Colonel said. �Where did you bring them from. The bar?�

  �No. I bought them while you were away so that you would not have to spend money at the bar. The bar is very costly.�

  �I agree,� the Colonel agreed. �But you should not use your own money on such a project.�

  �I took a chance. We have both taken many. The gin was 3200 lire and is legitimate. The Campari was 800.�

  �You�re a very good boy,� the Colonel told him. �How were the ducks?�

  �My wife still speaks of them. We had never had wild ducks, since they are of such expense, and outside of our way of life. But one of our neighbors told her how to prepare them and these same neighbors ate them with us. I never knew that anything could be so wonderful to eat. When your teeth close on the small slice of meat it is an almost unbelievable delight.�

  �I think so, too. There is nothing lovelier to eat than those fat iron-curtain
ducks. You know their fly-way is through the great grain fields of the Danube. This is a splinter flight we have here, but they always come the same way since before there were shot-guns.�

  �I know nothing about shooting for, sport,� the waiter said. �We were too poor.�

  �But many people without money shoot in the Veneto.�

  �Yes. Of course. One hears them shoot all night. But we were poorer than that. We were poorer than you can know, my Colonel.�

  �I think I can know.�

  �Perhaps,� the waiter said. �My wife also saved all the feathers and she asked me to thank you.�

  �If we have any luck day after tomorrow, we�ll get plenty. The big ducks with the green heads. Tell your wife, with luck, there will be good eating ducks, fat as pigs with what they have eaten from the Russians, and with beautiful feathers.�

  �How do you feel about the Russians, if it is not indiscreet to ask, my Colonel?�

  �They are our potential enemy. So, as a soldier, I am prepared to fight them. But I like them very much and I have never known finer people nor people more as we are.�

  �I have never had the good fortune to know them.�

  �You will, boy. You will. Unless the Honorable Pacciardi stops them on the line of the Piave, which is a river which no longer contains water. It has been syphoned off for hydro-electric projects. Perhaps the Honorable Pacciardi will fight there. But I do not think he will fight for long.�

  �I do not know the Honorable Pacciardi.�

  �I know him,� said the Colonel.

  �Now ask them to ring Harry�s and see if the Contessa is there. If not, have them ring the house again.�

  The Colonel took the drink Arnaldo, the glass-eyed waiter, made him. He did not want it, and he knew that it was bad for him.

  But he took it with his old wild-boar truculence, as he had taken everything all of his life, and he moved, still cat-like when he moved, although it was an old cat now, over to the open window and looked out on the great Canal which was now becoming as grey as though Degas had painted it on one of his greyest days.

  �Thanks very much for the drink,� the Colonel said, and Arnaldo, who was talking into the telephone, nodded and smiled his glass-eyed smile.

  I wish he did not have to have that glass eye, the Colonel thought. He only loved people, he thought, who had fought or been mutilated.

  Other people were fine and you liked them and were good friends; but you only felt true tenderness and love for those who had been there and had received the castigation that everyone receives who goes there long enough.

  So I�m a sucker for crips, he thought, drinking the unwanted drink. And any son of a bitch who has been hit solidly, as every man will be if he stays, then I love him.

  Yes, his other, good, side said. You love them.

  I�d rather not love anyone, the Colonel thought. I�d rather have fun.

  And fun, his good side said to him, you have no fun when you do not love.

  All right. I love more than any son of the great bitch alive, the Colonel said, but not aloud.

  Aloud, he said, �Where are you getting on that call, Arnaldo?�

  �Cipriani has not come in,� the waiter said. �They are expecting him at any moment and I am keeping the line open in case he arrives.�