Armageddon In Retrospect - Kurt Vonnegut [54]
It was delicious, and the two of us got quite drunk. While I worked, we relived the old days, Marta and I, and for a while it seemed almost as though her mother were alive again, and Marta was a young, pretty, and carefree girl again, and we had our home and friends in Prague again, and…Oh God, it was lovely for a little while.
Marta fell asleep on the cot, and I hummed to myself as I chiseled out the American eagle long into the night. It was a crude, slap-dash job, and I covered its faults with putty and the fake gilt.
A few hours before sunrise, I glued the emblem to the desk, applied clamps, and dropped off to sleep. It was ready for the new commandant, exactly, save for the emblem, as I had designed it for the Russian.
They came for the desk early the next morning, a half-dozen soldiers and the captain. The desk looked like a casket for an Oriental potentate as they carried it like pallbearers across the street. The major met them at the door, and cried warnings whenever they threatened to bump the treasure against the doorframe. The door closed, the sentry took up his position before it again, and there was nothing more to see.
I went into my workroom, cleared the shavings from the bench, and began a letter to Major Lawson Evans, 1402 MP Company, Beda, Czechoslovakia.
Dear sir: I wrote, There is one thing about the desk I neglected to tell you. If you will look just below the eagle, you will find…
I didn’t take it across the street right away, although I’d intended to. It made me feel a little sick to read it over—something I never would have felt had it been addressed to the Russian commandant, who was to have received it originally. Thinking about the letter spoiled my lunch, though I haven’t had enough to eat for years. Marta was too lost in her own depression to notice, though she scolds me when I don’t look out for myself. She took away my untouched plate without a word.
Late in the afternoon, I drank the last of the Scotch, and walked across the street. I handed the envelope to the sentry.
“This another one about the window, Pop?” said the sentry. Apparently the window episode was a joke in wide circulation.
“No, another matter—about the desk.”
“O.K., Pop.”
“Thanks.”
I went back to my workshop, and lay down on my cot to wait. I even managed to nap a little.
It was Marta who awakened me.
“All right, I’m ready,” I murmured.
“Ready for what?”
“The soldiers.”
“Not the soldiers—the major. He’s leaving.”
“He’s what?” I threw my legs over the side of the cot.
“He’s getting into a jeep with all of his equipment. Major Evans is leaving Beda!”
I hurried to the front window, and pulled aside the cardboard. Major Evans was seated in the rear of a jeep, in the midst of duffel bags, a bed roll, and other equipment. One would have thought from his appearance that a battle was raging on the outskirts of Beda. He glowered from beneath a steel helmet, and he had a carbine beside him, and a cartridge belt, knife, and pistol about his waist.
“He got his transfer,” I said in wonderment.
“He’s going to fight the guerrillas,” laughed Marta.
“God help them.”
The jeep started. Major Evans waved, and jolted away into the distance. The last I saw of the remarkable man was as the jeep reached the crest of a hill at the town’s edge. He turned, thumbed his nose, and was lost from sight in the valley beyond.
Captain Donnini, across the street, caught my eye and nodded.
“Who’s the new commandant?” I called.
He tapped his chest.
“What is an Eagle Scout?” whispered Marta.
“Judging from the major’s tone, it’s something very un-soldierly, naive, and soft-hearted. Shhhh! Here he comes.”
Captain Donnini was half solemn, half amused with his new importance.
He lit a cigarette thoughtfully, and looked as though he were trying to phrase something in his mind. “You asked when the end of hate would come,” he said at last. “It comes right now. No more labor battalions, no more stealing, no more smashing. I haven’t seen enough to hate.