An Acceptable Warrior

by Earle Looker

  David continued his notes, ‘Struggling through adversity and injustice can build, break, uplift, inspire, impact and change a life either for better or worse. It can lead to providing a positive personal message empowering one to live a life of passion – to live without regret, build confidence, express daily gratitude, impact others along the way and take action in service of others.’ He knew the purpose of his life is ‘not to just let myself know I can make a difference – but to help myself realize a difference cannot be made without me,’ he wrote. He was learning to not just take whatever comes but to keep looking for what he needed. ‘I know and must act on my self-discovered purpose, with increased intensity of feelings of love, presence and warmth.’

  He closed for now, ‘Perhaps I have been seeking something my entire life, but now I will stop asking books and others. I will start listening to the teaching from my own soul. No one and nothing, no matter what may come to pass, can now stand in my way.’

  2

  Gaspard was slumped in the corner of the taxicab, exhausted, communing with himself. The fire had burned out of his earlier enthusiasm the occasion had demanded. He seemed smaller, looked old and grey, even frightened, and his tunic gaped open where several buttons were missing.

  David wisely reflected on the futility of trying to imagine or predict what might be the next order of events, though this seemed his last opportunity to gather himself so as to meet the sharper contrast between joy and sorrow. ‘Joy,’ he thought, ‘embraces – sorrow flings itself down. Might it not be as quick as that? At the door? With the engagement announcement, had Gaspard given his consent? Probably not, though that might be what Gaspard was fearing now? More probably, might there be an actual choice in the moment? That’s a terrible thought, involving another decision: to take Celeste off suddenly into the Bois, back again to the Pavillon, and then to mount, to ride, to jump again and again?’ He closed his eyes. He could not bear to think of her sitting on her mount so gracefully, her tunic buttoned like a soldier, the swinging lines of her down to the tip of her boot in the stirrup, laughing as she rode – then up and over the white bars – to crumple. But thus, with so much still in anticipation, might be avoided disillusion, disappointment, disgust? Or perhaps in Gaspard’s comment had been the idea how after knowledge would come the most natural – sleep?’

  He recalled how Celeste had defended him. “I killed her,” he had said of Anne, and Celeste had responded, “But your best friend would never accuse you of meaning to do that. Is not that all that matters?” Meaning! He might well accuse himself of meaning now.

  Never, David thought, had a man in love – and that, he reflected, was a crude, clumsy phrase to express even to himself in fraction of what he now felt – to consider such possibilities or look forward to anything but a warm haze of dreams? Instead, coldly with reason, it was now – how could death come? Would loving her be the end or would that slowly assure it, while every moment concealing his fear and anguish – or could he successfully hide it? How unnatural might be their life until the real test of her heart.

  He thought, again, how she had listened to his recital of the Sixth Sonnet with a confused expression, but again he knew it could have been written especially for her. Why did this pattern of events have to follow so closely the experience of Anne and Alan? ‘Again,’ he repeated to himself, ‘this could not have been accidental, but rather a kind of fate.’ Yet it was too comfortable to pretend unhappy events were made by fate for it to be anything but the reasoning of a weakling. Recollection of the strength of his determination was bitter now; it had gone from him. He saw he had come down a long way from that earlier height without realizing until now how much he pitied himself and, so, had come to a place where emotion seemed mostly sensation, where every question was a wound to the mind, each with its own different painful twist.

  And now, with that delayed realization, he had so often experienced, he suddenly flashed back into the battlefield and saw why the stretcher lines of the dying, at the dressing stations after an attack, had all first called to the woman they loved and then upon their God. The more exquisite their pain, the less strange seemed that combination. They called upon both because in their extremity they held fast to the belief their cry would be heard. Comfort and strength would be forthcoming from those who surely loved them, who must. David felt none could have needed this God more than himself, at this moment.

  Presently, as if at the edge of a dream, he vaguely felt he was receiving such support. It had to be forthcoming. He could describe to himself what was happening only by likening it to a sudden community with invisible forces, which at various times he had sensed swirling about him. Perhaps this was because of his suffering, his struggle? He had a sense of having suffered so much for Celeste that he had become a part of her, of her heart – far more than he had felt a merging with her in the beginning, merely through desire. For the same reason, as unnecessary as the impossibility of proof, it seemed this might also explain Alan’s fusion with him. Hadn’t Alan, somehow still alive and alert, at least in the very recent past, suffered with and for him?

  “As soul is in soul …” he remembered the battlefield chaplain saying. That sounded like a profession of faith, as indeed it might be, part of a creed, no matter who’s, which began, “If body is in body and all ultimately in the world body, then so is soul in soul and all ultimately in the world soul.” Had not his struggles given him a glimpse of something that warranted assurance and courage? Reasonable or not, he could not halt expression of what seemed, out of the sudden necessity for it, to be truth. What could soul be but mind? What could mind be but consciousness – all eternal hopes and driving desires and intentions? It must be! What could these be but part of those of the soul of the world – of all men? And what could that be but part of the universal soul? And what could that be but a part of God? It must be! He and Celeste, Anne and Alan – everyone part of, and not apart from, God. Not for the reasons given in books and approved by priests, but because he knew with all his intuition that it must be so. There must be a scheme in which all had their parts.

  And within such a scheme, each individual seemed to David to be at the center of concentric circles of influence created by struggle. They impinged upon those made by others, making patterns in a continuity without end. Might not influences of each individual well be his own immortality? There was Celeste’s loving personality in all its ways, her condition, her viewpoints, her desires, her hopes, inspiring himself and Gaspard toward a whole series of actions. And then there was Alan, his perspective, his attitude and thought and intention so strong David realized he had attached a mystical quality to them, while making them no small part his own. And Anne – she complementing Alan, even at the last when lovingly regarding their work together – and then making her ultimate desperate decision. Then there was Rose, forthright and honest, trying to solve her problems and what she assumed were also his.

  There, it seemed to David, was the smaller scheme within the greater. He had come to realize reason cried aloud so Celeste, as well as himself and Alan and Anne, were imperishable no matter what happened to the body. ‘That must be!’ He repeated, ‘influence is a good enough immortality. Alan and Anne may have gone in the body, but their influence was surely immortal. Even Anne’s unborn child, who had neither breathed nor cried, had added to a force as strong as anything in the world. It had, briefly, created mother love in Anne, and that was also immortal.’

  He thought of an ancient poem for Alan, “A Farewell to a Friend”:

  “With a blue line of mountains north of the wall,

  And east of the city a white curve of water,

  Here you must leave me and drift away

  Like a loosened water-plant hundreds of miles …

  I shall think of you in a floating cloud;

  So in the sunset think of me …

  We wave our hands to say good-bye,

  And my horse is
neighing again and again.”12

  ‘What could prevent personalities thus from projecting themselves into the future?’ he wrote. ‘Was it all just cause and effect – karma? Was it all just some personalities strong enough and deserving of being counted twice, some many times more? Might not immortality be a matter of quality and strength? Was not this idea mostly a Christian concept? Did that matter? But who could ever match Christ’s immortality? Was there not divine justice in it, for could there be anyone, aware of the truth or not, without some characteristic worthy of immortality – cleverness, courage, determination? Had not even the wicked, vicious, unjust and corrupt among us created the fight against them? Look at the smallest actions and how they count. It could be in a lover’s caress, bringing understanding and love. A fragment of immortality might be earned through the laughter of a child, diverting the minds of those who hear, even the saddest. Push it to its furthest extreme and it’s still true: even an unborn child can’t fail of this immortality in the thoughts of love and hope it has created,’ he thought.

  David continued to write, ‘The influence of each one of us is immortal. One kind of immortality, a sure kind whatever other sort there may be. We must never forget truth. I’m beginning to have something more than respect for what I’d learned to scorn. This isn’t a personal religion yet, but perhaps it’s close to one. Certainly, it develops before one’s eyes. I can’t be kept out of this kind of immortality just because I don’t believe it, or because I refuse to call it divine justice, or because I’ve determined to have some other kind. Whether I’m fully aware of the part I play or not, I can achieve as much or as little immortality as I deserve – as much as my thoughts and actions influence others, and because of that, it seems pretty divine to me. Push this to its furthest extreme, and it’s still clear nothing that’s ever been thought, whispered, spoken or done is ever lost. Intentions, thoughts even, and desires develop impulses in my mind; eventually there is the inevitable result, either good or bad.

  ‘The list,’ he clearly thought, ‘is endless. The poorest can achieve an immortality of continuing events by being good neighbors. Immortality can be acquired in fair dealing and faithful service in any decent business, by setting and holding a standard. The most ordinary day laborer has as much opportunity as one who works in the professions – for though the laborer may not reach as far, he does stand shoulder to shoulder with other men and can touch them more personally. Each to his own ability in the place in which he finds himself.

  ‘Immortality seems to be made by contributions, however small, to the sum of human happiness. It’s in better things and better services as well as in new ideas of communication, transportation, distribution, design, manufacturing, construction, health, security, order and peace. Even in fighting for what is thought to be right, contributions can be made, regardless of a long list of doubts about philosophies and religions, right or wrong, perhaps according to their sincerity and intent. It’s even in parts of ideas and personalities that perhaps shouldn’t live,’ he continued. ‘I can’t think it out or express it in an hour or a day. Then, there’s the other side of it, those who are selfish, vicious, brutal, corrupt. Yet even they can’t be without some characteristics worthy of immortality. Of course, there are many who seem absolutely wicked, thoroughly hateful, but in their hatred their arousal in others may well be their kind of immortality. Certainly, the wrong and the wicked are useful; they set counter waves in motion against themselves and all they represent.

  ‘All this seems to me to have universal application to all conditions and places and kinds of men and what they do. I can apply it to myself, my thinking – writing on the subjects I choose, how I handle them, using my tolerance and interest in all that’s going on. Anyone can apply it, believing what else there seems to him to be believed – or shaping things, ideas, symbols, archetypal ideas or whatever he wishes – changing his mind about what he believes, or not believing at all – yet just as surely accomplishing his own immortality.

  ‘I’ll not think about any of this anymore for now. I’m tired, and it isn’t needed.’

  3

  In the next room, Gaspard was clarifying his plan for the coming days, months and years. What exactly is to be done first? Not just an example. He was sophisticated yet cynical, believing in nothing but strategy and force. But still he was a model of how a man can make himself immortal by his ideas and his action.

  ‘Perhaps they’ll turn Gaspard’s plan down,’ David thought, ‘but I’m inclined to think they won’t. I’ve just this moment realized how it could suit these overbearing officers to have a new purpose and importance Gaspard’s plan would give them – years of military engineering, plotting for artillery, digging, construction, railways, dumps. The “Gaspard Line” would halt an enemy, and the protection it would afford might, quite easily, save a million lives next time France is attacked – and as surely, she will be again long after Gaspard and I are dead and gone. But this is just supposing, and there’s no supposition about what I see and feel. Gaspard will surely give them that necessary underlying purpose, flexible enough to apply to the action of the hour as well as to the plan of great matter. They would have direction now; there could be no futility, however which way they might fail in executing the details.’

  Then, David saw himself, in some way, inspiring Gaspard’s work. He saw, indeed, he had already motivated enough in the great man to have created a superior part of his own immortality. He experienced a sensation of quick, warm life, a pulsation from what had always been and would always be. Like Celeste had said, “already there is pain in this happiness”. Suddenly, he appreciated his gift of life and clear thought, and he was very grateful.

  His thoughts about Gaspard and his plans were suddenly interrupted when the door burst open. Gaspard came in, all cigarette smoke and enthusiasm. ‘Suppose he failed?’

  “Daveed, our friends will be holding a meeting to decide our fates. It is but the best we can expect,” said Gaspard. “There is a sort of finalité – purpose to this.”

  “But to what purpose?” David said.

  “You mean the purpose,” Gaspard said. “Our purpose. It is to make ourselves count so well we’ll count twice at least to those fools!”

  “What do you mean, Gaspard?”

  “That’s real purpose, mon vieux, with a real conviction – and our salvation. Perhaps it will lead us back to our old faith? Perhaps it is our old faith in another shape? Perhaps …”

  David interrupted him and protested. “Alan had a purpose. This war had a purpose. Let’s not forget that.”

  “I am sorry for him, Daveed. But for ourselves, well, I must …”

  “For ourselves?” David interrupted again, “But I suppose you’re right. I’ll give you that! It wouldn’t matter much to not be afraid now of whatever troubles we’re in for, beginning with court-martial, punishment …”

  “Nothing can beat us now!” exclaimed Gaspard.

  David wrinkled his brow in near incomprehension and said with a sigh, “Perhaps.”

  “Mon vieux,” said Gaspard, “you must learn to just let things happen, you cannot force. You must stop all your persuading. For when you are ready, it comes.”

  David returned to his earlier thoughts and to Celeste, blocking out this latest barrage from Gaspard, except for his last utterance, which did seem to have some merit of wisdom.

  ‘Celeste may not be thinking about me every second of the day,’ he once again thought, ‘but she has given me a special part of her – her heart – and she knows it is vulnerable. I must really and sincerely let her know how much she has in part transformed me, how she makes me mad with desire and how much I miss her when she’s not here.’

  He sat down at his table, lit a cigarette and began his next letter to Celeste.

  CHAPTER 19

  In the Beginning

  “I believe the root of all happiness on this earth

&nbs
p; to lie in the realization of a spiritual life

  with a consciousness of something wider than materialism;

  in the capacity to live in a world that makes you unselfish because

  you are not overanxious about your own comic fallibilities;

  that gives you tranquility without complacency because

  you believe in something so much larger than yourself.”

  ~ Sir Hugh Walpole

  “St. Catherine of Siena Besieged by Demons”, ca. 1500, Anonymous

  “Be who God meant you to be,

  and you will set the world on fire.”

  ~ Caterina di Giacomo di Benincasa

  (Catherine of Siena, 14th century philosopher and theologian)

  “Nous sommes arrivés!” Gaspard exclaimed at last, halting before the wide double door and giving the silver knob a violent pull. “Do not be too much frightened because …”

  David felt a folding back of time, a repetition of what had happened before. Even the door swung back in the hands of the same frowzy servant he remembered.

  “Go tell mademoiselle,” Gaspard ordered in French, “she has a visitor she expects.”

  Here was the same dark hall, perhaps the same flame in the gas bracket, the heavy bannister curving up the stair – and Gaspard seemed to vanish as Celeste came down with a rush, down, as before, where David caught her breathless. Again, here was all he had ever desired. The blue of her eyes as in the Bois, the same strong ardency as last he had held her, the soft surrender of her body implying mutual rights, their merging as they kissed again, the momentary swing away and drop out of the world, forgetfulness of all the past, all promises for the future, proof of a mind peculiar to themselves – and terribly – the swift beating of her heart – surely no less than his own and so each pulse of it with dangerous impact.