Fable, A - William Faulkner [154]
'Yes,' the American general said. 'Decision implies choice,'
The German general looked at the Briton. 'You,' he said.
'Yes,' the British general said. 'God help us,'
The German general paused. 'Pardon?'
'Sorry,' the British general said. 'Let it be just yes then,'
'He said, God help us,' the American general said. 'Why?'
'Why?' the German general said. 'The why is to me?'
'We're both right this time,' the American general said. 'At least we dont have to cope with that,'
'So,' the German general said, 'That is both of you. Three of us,' He sat down, picked up the crumpled napkin and drew his chair up, and took up the filled brandy glass and sat back and erect again, into that same rigidity of formal attention as when he had been standing to toast his master, so that even sitting the rigidity had a sort of visible inaudibility like a soundless clap of heels, the filled glass at level with the fixed rigid glare of the opaque monocle; again without moving he seemed to glance rapidly at the other glasses. 'Be pleased to fill, gentlemen,' he said. But neither the Briton nor the American moved. They just sat there while across the table from them the German general sat with his lifted and rigid glass; he said, indomitable and composed, not even contemptuous: 'So then. All that remains is to acquaint your Commander-in-Chief with what part of our earlier discussion he might be inclined to hear. Then the formal ratification of our agreement,'
'Formal ratification of what agreement?' the old general said.
'Mutual ratification then,' the German general said.
'Of what?' the old general said.
'The agreement,' the German general said.
'What agreement?' the old general said. 'Do we need an agreement? Has anyone missed one?---The port is with you, General,' he said to the Briton. 'Fill, and pass,'
THURSDAY
THURSDAY NIGHT
This time it was a bedroom. The grave and noble face was framed by a pillow, looking at the runner from beneath a flannel nightcap tied under the chin.
The nightshirt was flannel too, open at the throat to reveal a small cloth bag, not new and not very clean and apparently containing something which smelled like asafoetida, on a soiled string like a necklace. The youth stood beside the bed in a brocade dressing gown.
'They were blank shells,' the runner said in his light dry voice.
'The aeroplane-all four of them-flew right through the bursts. The German one never even deviated, not even going fast, even when one of ours hung right on its tail from about fifty feet for more than a minute while I could actually see the tracer going into it. The same one-aeroplane-ours-dove at us, at me; I even felt one of whatever it was coming out of the gun hit me on the leg here. It was like when a child blows a garden pea at you through a tube except for the smell, the stink, the burning phosphorus. There was a German general in it, you see. I mean, in the German one. There had to be; either we had to send someone there or they had to send someone here. And since we-or the French-were the ones who started it, thought of it first, obviously it would be our right-privilege-duty to be host. Only it would have to look all right from beneath; they couldn't-couldn't dare anyway-issue a synchronised simultaneous order for every man on both sides to shut his eyes and count a hundred so they had to do the next best thing to make it look all regular, all orthodox to anyone they couldn't hide it from-'
'What?' the old Negro said.
'Don't you see yet? It's because they cant afford to let it stop like this. I mean, let us stop it. They dont dare. If