Shortly after the last of us had been cleaned out, the S.S. came through our quarters on a surprise inspection. Louis’ bed was the only one undisturbed. “He never leaves the compound and is a perfect prisoner,” a guard was quick to explain to the inspectors. My mattress was slashed open and the straw scattered over the floor when I came home that evening.
However, Louis’ luck was not air-tight, for in the last weeks of fighting, our guards were sent to stem the Russian tide, and a company of lame old men was moved in to watch over us. The new sergeant had no need for an orderly, and Louis sank into the anonymity of our group. The most humiliating aspect of his new situation was the prospect of being sent out on a labor detail with the common people. He was bitter about it, and demanded an interview with the new sergeant. He got the interview and was gone for about an hour.
When he got back I asked him, “Well, how much does Hitler want for Berchtesgaden?”
Louis was carrying a parcel wrapped in toweling. He opened it to reveal two pairs of scissors, some clippers, and a razor. “I’m the camp barber,” he announced. “By order of the camp commandant, I am to make you gentlemen presentable.”
“What if I don’t want you to cut my hair?” I asked.
“Then you get your rations cut in half. That’s by order of the commandant, too.”
“Do you mind telling us how you got this appointment?” I asked.
“Not at all, not at all,” said Louis. “I just told him I was ashamed to be associated with a bunch of sloppy men who look like gangsters, and that he ought to be ashamed to have such a terrible bunch in his prison. We two, the commandant and I, are going to do something about it.” He set a stool in the middle of the floor and motioned me toward it. “You’re first, kid,” he said. “The commandant noticed those long locks of yours, and told me to be sure and get ’em.”
I sat down on the stool and he whisked a towel around my neck. There was no mirror in which I could watch him cut, but his operations felt professional enough. I remarked on his unsuspected skill as a barber.
“Nothing, really,” he said. “Sometimes I surprise myself.” He finished with the clippers. “That will be two cigarettes, or the equivalent,” he said. I paid him in saccharine tablets. No one but Louis had any cigarettes.
“Want a look at yourself?” He handed me a fragment of mirror. “Not bad, eh? And the best thing about it is that it’s probably the worst job I’ll do, because I’m bound to improve with time.”
“Holy smokes!” I shrieked. My scalp looked like the back of an Airedale with mange—patches of bare scalp alternated with wild tufts of hair, and blood oozed from a dozen tiny cuts.
“Do you mean to say that for doing a job like this you get to stay in camp all day?” I roared.
“Come on, kid, simmer down,” said Louis. “I think you look real nice.”
There wasn’t anything very novel about the situation after all. It was business as usual with him. The rest of us continued to work our heads off all day, and to come home weary in the evenings to be trimmed by Louis Gigliano.
The Unicorn Trap
In the year 1067, anno Domini, in the village of Stow-on-the-Wold, England, eighteen dead men turned this way and that in the eighteen arches of the village gibbet. Hanged by Robert the Horrible, a friend of William the Conqueror, they boxed the compass with fishy eyes. North, east, south, west, and north again, there was no hope for the kind, the poor, and the thoughtful.
Across the road from the gibbet lived Elmer the woodcutter, his wife Ivy, and Ethelbert, his ten-year-old son.
Behind Elmer’s hut was the forest.
Elmer closed the door of his hut, closed his eyes and licked his lips and tasted rue. He sat down at the table with Ethelbert. Their gruel had grown cold during the unexpected visit from the squire of Robert the Horrible.
Ivy pressed her back to the wall, as though God had just passed by. Her eyes were bright, her breathing shallow.
Ethelbert stared at his cold gruel blankly, bleakly, his young mind waterlogged in a puddle of family tragedy.
“Oh, didn’t Robert the Horrible look grand, though, sitting out there on his horse?” said Ivy. “All that iron and paint and feathers, and such extra-fancy drapes on his horse.” She flapped her rags and tossed her head like an empress as the hoofbeats of the Normans’ horses died away.
“Grand, all right,” said Elmer. He was a small man with a large-domed head. His blue eyes were restless with unhappy intelligence. His small frame was laced with scraggly ropes of muscle, the bonds of a thinking man forced to labor. “Grand is what he is,” he said.
“You can say what you want about them Normans,” said Ivy, “they done brought class to England.”
“We’re paying for it,” said Elmer. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” He buried his fingers in the flaxen thatch of Ethelbert’s hair, tilted the boy’s head back, and searched his eyes for a sign that life was worth living. He saw only a mirror image of his own troubled soul.
“All the neighbors must of saw Robert the Horrible snarling out front, so high and mighty,” said Ivy proudly. “Just wait till they hear he sent his squire in here to make you the new tax collector.”
Elmer shook his head, his lips waggling slackly. He had lived to be loved for his wisdom and harmlessness. Now he had been told to represent Robert the Horrible’s greed—or die horribly.
“I’d like to have me a dress made out of what his horse was wearing,” said Ivy. “Blue, all shot through with them little gold crosses.” She was happy for the first time in her life. “I’d make it look careless-like,” she said, “all kind of bunched up in back and dragging—only there wouldn’t be nothing careless about it. And maybe, after I got me some decent clothes, I could pick me up a little French, and parlee voo with the Norman ladies, so refined and all.”
Elmer sighed and cupped his son’s hands in his own. Ethelbert’s hands were coarse. The palms were scratched, and earth had worked into the pores and under the nails. Elmer traced a scratch with his fingertip. “How’d you get this?” he said.
“Working on the trap,” said Ethelbert. He came to life, radiant with intelligence of his own. “I been fixing thorn trees over the hole,” he said eagerly, “so when the unicorn falls in, the thorn trees fall in on top of him.”
“That should hold him,” said Elmer tenderly. “It isn’t many families in England that can look forward to a unicorn dinner.”
“I wish you’d come up in the forest and have a look at the trap,” said Ethelbert. “I want to make sure I got it right.”
“I’m sure it’s a fine trap, and I want to see it,” said Elmer. The dream of catching a unicorn ran through the drab fabric of the lives of the father and son like a golden thread.
Both knew there were no unicorns in England. But they’d agreed to madness—to live as though there were unicorns around; as though Ethelbert were going to catch one any day; as though the scrawny family would soon be stuffing itself with meat, selling the precious horn for a fortune, living happily ever after.
“You’ve been saying you’d come and see it for a year,” said Ethelbert.
“I’ve been busy,” said Elmer. He didn’t want to inspect the trap, to see it for what it really was—a handful of twigs over a scratch in the ground, magnified into a great engine of hope by the boy’s imagination. Elmer wanted to go on thinking of it as big and promising, too. There was no hope anywhere else.
Elmer kissed his son’s hands, and sniffed the mingled smells of flesh and earth. “I’ll come see it soon,” he said.
“And I’d have enough left over from them horse drapes to make drawers for you and little Ethelbert,” said Ivy, still enchanted. “Wouldn’t you two be the ones, though, with blue drawers all shot through with them little gold crosses?”
“Ivy,” said Elmer patiently, “I wish you’d get it through your head—Robert really is horrible. He isn’t going to give you the drapes off his horse. He never gave anybody anything.”
> “I guess I can dream if I want to,” said Ivy. “I guess that’s a woman’s privilege.”
“Dream of what?” said Elmer.
“If you do a good job, he just might give me the drapes off his horse after they’re all wore out,” said Ivy. “And maybe, if you collect so many taxes they can’t hardly believe it, maybe they’ll invite us to the castle sometimes.” She walked about the hut coquettishly, holding the hem of an imaginary train above the dirt floor. “Bon joor, monsoor, madame,” she said. “I trust your lordship and ladyship ain’t poorly.”
“Is that the best dream you’ve got?” said Elmer, shocked.
“And they’d give you some distinguished name like Elmer the Bloody or Elmer the Mad,” said Ivy, “and you and me and Ethelbert would ride to church on Sundays, all spruced up, and if some old serf talked to us snotty, we’d haul off and—”
“Ivy!” cried Elmer. “We are serfs.”
Ivy tapped her foot and rocked her head from side to side. “Ain’t Robert the Horrible just gave us the opportunity to improve ourselves?” she said.
“To be as bad as he is?” said Elmer. “That’s an improvement?”
Ivy sat down at the table, and put her feet up on it. “If a body gets stuck in the ruling classes through no fault of their own,” she said, “they got to rule or have folks just lose all respect for government.” She scratched herself daintily. “Folks got to be governed.”
“To their sorrow,” said Elmer.
“Folks got to be protected,” said Ivy, “and armor and castles don’t come cheap.”
Elmer rubbed his eyes. “Ivy, would you tell me what it is we’re being protected from that’s so much worse than what we’ve got?” he said. “I’d like to have a look at it, and then make up my own mind about what scares me most.”
Ivy wasn’t listening to him. She was thrilling to the approach of hoofbeats. Robert the Horrible and his entourage passed on their way back to the castle, and the hut trembled with might and glory.
Ivy ran to the door and threw it open.
Elmer and Ethelbert bowed their heads.
There were shouts of happy surprise from the Normans.
“Hien!”
“Regardez!”
“Donnez la chasse, mes braves!”
The Normans’ horses reared, wheeled, and galloped into the forest.
“What’s the good news?” said Elmer. “Did they squash something?”
“They seen a deer!” said Ivy. “They’re all taking out after it, with Robert the Horrible in front.” She put her hand over her heart. “Ain’t he the sportsman, though?”
“Ain’t he, though,” said Elmer. “May God make his right arm strong.” He looked to Ethelbert for an answering sardonic smile.
Ethelbert’s thin face was white. His eyes bugged. “The trap—they’re going up where the trap is!” he said.
“If they lay a finger on that trap,” said Elmer, “I’ll—” The cords in his neck stood out and his hands became claws. Of course Robert the Horrible would hack the boy’s work of love to pieces if he saw it. “Pour le sport, pour le sport,” he said bitterly.
Elmer tried to daydream of murdering Robert the Horrible, but the dream was as frustrating as life—a search for weaknesses where there were no weaknesses. The dream ended truthfully, with Robert and his men on horses as big as cathedrals, with Robert and his men in iron shells, laughing behind the bars of their visors, choosing at leisure from their collections of skewers, chains, hammers, and meat-axes—choosing ways to deal with an angry woodcutter in rags.
Elmer’s hands went limp. “If they wreck the trap,” he said flabbily, “we’ll build another one, better than ever.”
Shame for his weakness made Elmer sick. The sickness worsened. He rested his head on his folded arms. When he raised his head, it was to look about himself with a death’s-head grin. He had passed his breaking point.
“Father! Are you all right?” said Ethelbert, alarmed.
Elmer stood shakily. “Fine,” he said, “just fine.”
“You look so different,” said Ethelbert.
“I am different,” said Elmer. “I’m not afraid anymore.” He gripped the edge of the table and shouted. “I’m not afraid!”
“Hush!” said Ivy. “They’ll hear you!”
“I will not hush!” said Elmer passionately.
“You better hush,” said Ivy. “You know what Robert the Horrible does to people who won’t hush.”
“Yes,” said Elmer, “he nails their hats to their heads. But, if that’s the price I have to pay, I’ll pay it.” He rolled his eyes. “When I thought of Robert the Horrible wrecking the boy’s trap, the whole story of life came to me in a blinding flash!”
“Father, listen—” said Ethelbert, “I’m not scared he’s going to wreck the trap. I’m scared he’s going to—”
“A blinding flash!” cried Elmer.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Ivy impatiently, closing the door. “All right, all right, all right,” she said with a sigh, “let’s hear the story of life in a blinding flash.”
Ethelbert tugged at his father’s sleeve. “If I do say so myself,” he said, “that trap is a—”
“The wreckers against the builders!” said Elmer. “There’s the whole story of life!”
Ethelbert shook his head and talked to himself. “If his horse ever steps on the rope that’s hooked up to the sapling that’s hooked up to the—” He bit his lip.
“Are you all through, Elmer?” said Ivy. “Is that it?” Her eagerness to get back to watching the Normans was infuriatingly transparent. He fingered the doorpull.
“No, Ivy,” said Elmer tensely, “I am not through.” He knocked her hand away from the doorpull.
“You done struck me,” said Ivy, amazed.
“All day you have that thing open!” said Elmer. “I wish we didn’t have a door! All day you do nothing but sit in front of the door, watching executions and waiting for the Normans to pass.” He shivered his hands in her face. “No wonder your brains are all fuddled with glory and violence!”
Ivy cringed pitifully. “I just watch,” she said. “A body gets lonely, and it helps to make the time go.”
“You’ve been watching too long!” said Elmer. “And I’ve got more news for you.”
“Yes?” piped Ivy.
Elmer squared his narrow shoulders. “Ivy,” he said, “I am not going to be tax collector for Robert the Horrible.”
Ivy gasped.
“I am not going to help the wreckers,” said Elmer. “My son and I are builders.”
“He’ll hang you if you don’t,” said Ivy. “He promised he would.”
“I know,” said Elmer. “I know.” Fear hadn’t come to him yet. Pain hadn’t come where pain would come. There was only the feeling of having done something perfect at last—the taste of a drink from a cold, pure spring.
Elmer opened the door. The wind had freshened, and the chains by which the dead men hung sang a chorus of slow, rusty squawks. The wind came from over the forest, and it carried to Elmer’s ears the cries of the Norman sportsmen.
The cries sounded strangely bewildered, unsure. Elmer supposed that this was because they were so far away.
“Robert? Allo, allo? Robert? Hien! Allo, allo?”
“Allo? Allo? Hien! Robert—dites quelque chose, s’il vous plaît. Hien! Hien! Allo?”
“Allo, allo, allo? Robert? Robert l’horrible? Hien! Allo, allo, allo?”
Ivy put her arms around Elmer from behind, and rested her cheek on his back. “Elmer, honey,” she said, “I don’t want you to get hung. I love you, honey.”
Elmer patted her hands. “And I love you, Ivy,” he said. “I’ll miss you.”
“You’re really going through with it?” said Ivy.
“It’s time to die for what I believe in,” said Elmer. “And even if it wasn’t, I’d still have to.”
“Why, why?” said Ivy.
“Because I said I would in front of my so
n,” said Elmer. Ethelbert came to him, and Elmer put his arms around the boy.
The little family was now bound by a tangle of arms. The three entwined rocked back and forth as the sun set—rocked in a rhythm they felt in their bones.
Ivy sniffled against Elmer’s back. “You’re just teaching Ethelbert how to get his self hung, too,” she said. “He’s so fresh with them Normans now, it’s a wonder they ain’t flang him down the oubliette.”
“I only hope that Ethelbert has a son like mine before he dies,” said Elmer.
“Everything seemed to be going so grand,” said Ivy. She burst into tears. “Here you was offered a fine position, with a chance for advancement,” she said brokenly. “And I figured maybe, after Robert the Horrible had wore out his horse drapes, you could kind of ask him—”
“Ivy!” said Elmer. “Don’t make me feel worse. Comfort me.”
“It’d be a sight easier, if I knew what it was you thought you was doing,” said Ivy.
Two Normans came out of the forest, unhappy and baffled. They faced each other, spread their arms, and shrugged.
One pushed a shrub aside with his broadsword and looked under it pathetically. “Allo, allo?” he said. “Robert?”
“Il a disparu!” said the other.
“Il s’est évanoui!”
“Le cheval, l’armement, les plumes—tout d’un coup!”
“Poof!”
“Hélas!”
They saw Elmer and his family. “Hien!” called one to Elmer. “Avez-vous vu Robert?”
“Robert the Horrible?” said Elmer.
Armageddon in Retrospect Page 8