Fable, A - William Faulkner [208]
'He said to bring the basket back,' the ganymede said.
Take it back then,' Picklock said: and then no more of that either; the hands snatching at the bottles almost before the corks were out, so that when the sergeant returned about an hour later, his outrage-not rage: outrage-knew no bounds. But this time he was impotent because they were indeed in coma now, sprawled and snoring in one inextricable filth of straw and urine and vomit and spilled brandy and empty bottles, invulnerable and immune in that nepenthe when toward the end of the afternoon an engine coupled onto the carriage and took it back to St. Mihiel and set it off on another siding, and waking them only because of the glare of yellow light which now filled the carriage through the windows, and the sound of hammers against the outside of it, which roused Picklock.
Clasping his throbbing head and shutting his eyes quickly against that unbearable glare, it seemed to him that there had never been so fierce a sunrise. It was almost like electricity; he didn't see how he could move beneath it to rise, and even on his feet, staggering until he braced himself, he didn't see how he had accomplished the feat, bracing himself against the wall while he kicked the others one by one into sentience or anyway consciousness. 'Get up,' he said. 'Get up. We've got to get out of here,'
'Where are we?' one said.
'Paris,' Picklock said. 'It's already tomorrow,'
'O Christ,' a voice said. Because they were all awake now, waking not into remembering, since even comatose they had not really forgotten, but into simple realisation like sleepwalkers waking to Tomorrow find themselves standing on the outside of forty-storey window ledges. They were not drunk now. They didn't even have time to be sick. 'Christ, yes,' the voice said. They got up, staggering for balance, shaking and trembling, and stumbled through the door and huddled, blinking against the fierce glare until they could bear it. Except that it was electricity; it was still last night (or perhaps tomorrow night, for all they knew or for the moment cared even): two searchlights, such as anti-aircraft batteries had used against night-flying aeroplanes during the war, trained on the carriage and in the glare of which men on ladders were nailing long strips of black and funereal bunting along the eaves of the carriage. Nor was it Paris either.
'We're still in Verdun,' another said.
'Then they've moved the station around to the other side of the tracks,' Picklock said.
'Anyway it's not Paris,' a third said. 'I've got to have a drink,'
'No,' Picklock said. 'You'll take coffee and something to eat.' He turned to the ganymede. 'How much money have you got left?'
'I gave it to you,' the ganymede said.
'Damn that,' Picklock said, extending his hand. 'Come on with it.' The ganymede fumbled out a small wad of paper notes and coins. Picklock took and counted it rapidly. 'It might do,' he said. 'Come on,' There was a small bistro opposite the station. He led the way to it and inside-a small zinc bar at which a single man stood in a countryman's corduroy coat, and two tables where other men in the rough clothes of farmers or laborers sat with glasses of coffee or wine, playing dominoes, all of them turning to look as Picklock led his party in and up to the bar, where a tremendous woman in black said, 'Messieurs?'
'Coffee, Madame, and bread if you have it,' Picklock said.
'I dont want coffee,' the third said. 'I want a drink,'
'Sure,' Picklock said in a calm and furious voice, even lowering it a little-. 'Stick around here until somebody comes and lifts that box, let alone opens it. I hear they always give you a drink before you climb the steps,'
'Maybe we could find another-' a fourth began.
'Shut up,' Picklock said. 'Drink that coffee. I've got to think,' Then a new voice spoke.
What's the matter?' it said. 'You boys in trouble?' It was the man who had been standing