A fragment of the heavily chewed cigar came loose in the General’s mouth. He extricated it with thumb and forefinger, examining it. Goddamn this thing, he said to himself. He got up and threw the unlit butt into a waste basket, took a fresh one, and sat down.
On the other hand if it was necessary to try Con in order to pacify the Chinese and save them face or, in reality, to take the military off the hook, a secret trial would be in order. Con could under the Security Act be interned and his information thus suppressed until some later date, all in the national interest. Of course this would be difficult with Danny’s presence in the picture. Somehow the Englishman would have to be held in check. And if the Englishman were not held in check Colonel Pearson would have to assume the responsibility. Certainly the General was not going to.
Actually the position of the General’s entire organization had been affected. The success of his organization was dependent on secret appropriations recommended to the Congress by the President. Since its inception the President had considered the outfit his personal baby which, the General thought, was natural with his innate sense of the dramatic. But the President was not about to hold any outfit or anybody in favor who had embarrassed him nationally, politically, by opening one of his major policies to public criticism. And war effort or no war effort the Colonel’s enemies in Delhi, as well as his own, were out to make this a major issue. And because the Chinese had complained directly to Delhi and Chungking the issue could no longer be hidden behind the veil of secrecy which had long been the outfit’s prerogative. In fact it might open many heretofore closed doors. The British had wanted the General out for some time. Long ago they had placed the General on their must-list. That had occurred when the General’s agents in Greece had discovered British agents using American supplies to gain pro-British sympathizers within the framework of a new Greek political party which they sought to politically control. Roosevelt had embarrassed Churchill with this fact at Quebec. And the British, the General knew, were not about to allow a repetition of such events.
But that was only politics. There was something else to this situation, the General discerned. There had to be something else when an obscure American Major could take the stand that Con had taken. That was another thing: Why was Con a Major? If he wasn’t of a field grade they could certainly handle the case without so much fanfare. But with his record and his rank and his civilian background, and the anti-Colonel forces that would undoubtedly try him … No, you could never take Con to court. And somehow, someway he knows that he can’t be taken to trial. And yet, the General pondered, I know he really doesn’t have any idea why.
The General thought of old Justice Holmes. The General had started out as a lawyer, studying for the law at night. He admired the Justice more than any man he had ever known. The Justice had been a soldier too. No man had derived a more profound philosophy from war and of war than Oliver Wendell Holmes, the General thought. The General took great pride in being able to quote verbatim long passages from the old Justice’s decisions and writings.
The cigar stood still in his mouth. And the General remembered: “I do not pin my dreams for the future to my country or even to my race. I think somehow that civilization will last as long as I care to look ahead—perhaps with smaller numbers, but perhaps also bred to greatness and splendor by science. I think it not improbable that man, like the grub that prepares a chamber for the winged thing it has never seen but is to be—that man may have cosmic destinies that he does not understand. And so beyond the vision of battling races and impoverished earth I catch a dreaming glimpse of peace.
“The other day my dream was pictured in my mind. It was evening. I was walking homeward on Pennsylvania Avenue near the Treasury, and as I looked beyond Sherman’s Statue to the west the sky was aflame with scarlet and crimson from the setting sun. But, like the note of downfall in Wagner’s opera, below the skyline there came from little globes the pallid discord of electric lights.
“And I thought to myself the Gotterdammerung will end, and from those globes clustered like evil eggs will come the new masters of the sky. It is like the time in which we live. But then I remembered the faith that I partly have expressed, faith in a universe not measured by our fears, a universe that has thought and more than thought inside it, and as I gazed, after the sunset and electric lights there shone the stars.”
It was one of his favorite passages.
There shone the stars, the General said to himself, deeply moved. He began to chew on the cigar again. He sighed. That was your greatest weakness, Mike O’Hanlon. Your Irish sentiment. Then the General thought of one of the old Justice’s favorite expressions: “Refer everything back to its own year” … Tacitus. That was it. “Suum quaeque in annum referre.” That was what the General had discerned in Con. That was what had thrown them off so. He was of his time, he thought almost jubilantly. Con was of the present. A stranger that lived in the world of the future. And a world that lives in the future stands not aghast but affronted by a man of the present. Not because the man wanted everyone to be of the present, too. But merely because he was of the present. Society, like the forever backward treading shrimp, had antennas with which to locate dangerous, foreign matter. It was a survival instinct, racially inherited.
When a man thought in terms of the world’s future, the General knew, he was more than likely a tyrant. That, or a science fiction writer. And a man who thought only of his own future became resigned to his destiny by the experience of the lot that was his fellow man’s lot. It was the Twentieth Century consolation. Man consoling himself for his selfishness, his greed, for the enslavement of his fellow humans, for his wars; actually forcing himself to believe that out of his wretchedness will rise a safe and happy world of tomorrow.
Well, I understand it now anyhow. And maybe because I understand it I can talk to this kid. I think I’ll see him tonight. Yes. After dinner tonight. I’ll have him up here. I’ll wear my bathrobe and let him see my wounded legs. That will give us a basis. You can’t tell, this thing might work out. Worse things have worked out.
But he has to be taught a little more respect for authority, the General said to himself, the General in him suddenly coming out. How can you respect authority when you blame authority? Could you? No, you couldn’t.
You have a son. What if your own son was killed driving in one of those convoys. Burned alive. In the eyes of your God Mike O’Hanlon by your knowledge of this affair you are as responsible for everyone of those boys as you are for your own son.
The General felt suddenly afraid. The General who had won the Congressional Medal of Honor and the D.S.C. for bravery was scared. He had the fear of God. Being raised a strict Catholic the wrath of the angry Father had hovered over him since childhood. Always he would try to make It smile. He would wink at It when he had done something that approached His moral line. ‘Be as wise as a serpent’: You said it Yourself, he would say to the perpetual vision. Often the vision smiled a happy Irish smile. Often it did not. The General could not escape his God. He did not want to. Once he had wanted to but he quickly longed for the comfort he had not realized It was giving him.
The General got up and went over to his traveling bag. He took out the old black-beaded rosary. His mother had brought it from Ireland. He sat back down fondling the beads, the cigar still in his mouth.
You know, the kid’s right. In the eyes of God you cannot pardon present sins by future promises. Somewhere, sometime man would have to draw the line on his vision of the future. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to draw a line there. Because he’s always drawing lines somewhere else. But you didn’t breed a Morgan horse to an Arabian and get a thoroughbred, did you? Then how do you expect to derive Peace from War, anymore than wealth from foolish spending.
Wasn’t it a truth that in spite of our future promises to mankind, we were using up the natural resources of this world, stored through millions of years of nature’s working? Wasn’t it true that we were, with the help of war, usi
ng up these resources at a rate which would only cause a holocaust of world poverty in two to four hundred years. Was that the real gift to the future?
You had to get back to the present sometime. If the world were to evolve, become a better world, you have to deal in the present. As the then present living of the true democratic-cities of ancient Greece were the true gifts to present civilization. Promises were no excuse for sin. No. There was no excuse for sin. Not in the eyes of God there wasn’t.
The General got up. He went over by the bed. He knelt down. Wrapped in a white bath towel with the cigar still in his mouth he said his beads.
He got up and dressed. He had not gotten very far, he thought. But inch by inch he was getting somewhere. He felt he was getting somewhere. He didn’t know where but that wasn’t important. He started down the stairs. He paused on the stairs. He had forgotten to turn off his light. He returned to his room and turned it off. He started down the stairs again. Now let’s hear what that stupid-ass of an ex-football player has got to say about hiring this Englishman. Goddamn it, why can’t a man use his God-given head?
CHAPTER XL
The General walked into the livingroom. The priest was sitting on the couch across from Colonel Pearson. The General had not known the priest was coming to dinner. It would not have been correct for the Colonel to invite his Executive Officer without the General’s permission but the priest was another thing entirely. Especially with the General being an ardent Roman Catholic.
They greeted each other. They all had a martini, poured another and adjourned to the diningroom. The dinner table was exquisitely set; an Italian cutwork tablecloth, Tiffany water goblets, silver candelabra and flowers as the center piece. It was a long table and they were seated at one end, the Colonel at the head, the General to his right and the priest to his left. A fan spun slowly directly over the table from the high ceiling. The General had thought of commenting on the table but did not.
“There’s a Chinese General on the way here now. Direct from Chungking,” the Colonel was saying. “I got the message about an hour ago. And the Inspector General’s sending in a team from Delhi.”
“Ay. It’s blood the Chinese want,” the priest said.
“Are you ready to eat, General?” the Colonel asked.
“I’d like another drink first. And I want to see Con. Later. In my quarters. When will this Englishman be here?”
“Day after tomorrow,” the Colonel said. “If the weather holds.”
“I might say I saw this whole affair coming a few months back,” the priest said. “When Con was in the hospital with his wound. He’s not the same lad I used to know, he isn’t. Will you be here for the mass Sunday, Mike? If not I can say a special mass in the morning.”
“The morning will be fine, Father,” the General said. “I’ll take communion.”
“Eight o’clock mass?”
“Six. I’ve a busy day.”
“That will be fine. Then the airdrop lads will be able to attend too. It will do them good to see you in our little church. We have only one Catholic officer on the base. And Cronin never attends the mass.”
“Cronin works all night,” the Colonel interrupted defending. “You know that, Father. From seven to seven.”
“What’s this about Con when he was in the hospital?” the General asked the priest. “I mean, you said you thought you saw this coming?”
“Well, he wasn’t like himself. Edgy. Keyed up. Pressing with his authority. And that isn’t like the lad.”
“He had a little difficulty with the base surgeon,” the Colonel said. “It was justified. I mean his complaint was justified. But his method. That was something else again. Of course you had to consider his condition. That he was probably still in shock. And all the combat he had been in. I backed his action fully.”
“Ay. He pulled a gun. That’s what I couldn’t get over.”
The Colonel gave the priest a quick, penetrating sidelong glance. “It had to do with the Kachins,” the Colonel said to the General. “I repeat I believe his action was justified. And I don’t believe it’s at all relative to this matter. Though it might have been a contributing factor. The point in question as far as I’m concerned is this Lewje incident. Nothing else. The fact that Con executed those prisoners when he was supposed to stand pat. The fact that he withheld those documents when he was suppose to destroy them. Con had a Kachin radio operator. By now every Kachin knows he has defied authority. Everyone on base knows it. If he’s not reprimanded my authority won’t be worth a plugged nickel. Nor that of any commanding officer with which in the future these men might serve. As for the political consequences of this situation, I’m a soldier and not a politician.”
Goddamn, the General said to himself. I didn’t expect to hear that one from Pearson. Why did every regular army officer persist in stating his aversion to politics? They knew better than anyone how much their success depended on their politics. That or their ability to avoid it. “Do you think you can handle this Englishman, this Danny, Ray?”
“Danny …” the massive Colonel pondered. “No. If he was American; perhaps. But to be truthful, no.”
“Father?” the General asked.
The priest shook his head. “It’s doubtful. Doubtful. They’re as thick as the blood brothers that take the oath of the evil God Kali. I happen to know they have a mutual pact to defend each other. Ever since they began to fear the Delhi group. That Englishman’s clever. And a heathen to boot. He can be tricky, he can. And he’s taught Con all the tricks. At times they can be hard with each other. But they’re thick. They’re always makin’ jokes. When Con was surrounded and wounded Danny came to his rescue. And the story was that they got to talking on the radio. And Danny said he could stay there and die, he did, but that he wasn’t going to attack until Con promised to give him a case of scotch, his beer ration for a month, a box of cigars, and five chocolate bars a week for eight weeks. They argued in the middle of the fightin till they came to an agreement. And Con wounded. But knowing all the time, he did, that Danny was chatting to kill the minutes while his troops got into place. But that’s the way they are. That’s their idea of a joke with men dying, and death a-flying in the air.
“I think they both might have had a little too much of this fightin’. But how you going to tell that to Danny? With his cousin the head of everything. And a Lord to boot. You should have heard about them at the Gwoliar meeting. Everyone was talking about their visit with Lord Looy. Staying up to all hours. And you could hear them laughin and swearin and telling off-color stories ten yards from the tent, one of the Black Watch Officers told me. And while they was drinkin Danny put a pill in the drink of his Lordship’s aide, and the aide’s urine turned to purple. And his Lordship laughed and laughed, mind you,” the priest said scratching his grey-white beard. He grinned suddenly. “Did you ever hear what they did to that colonel from the Inspector’s department that flew down to their camp behind the lines? Why they had to hospitalize the man when they got done with him?”
The General had not heard the story. The Colonel told it to him with all the exaggerations of a much repeated tale. They all had a good laugh in spite of their awareness of the hopelessness in thinking of using Danny to bring Con around.
“That was one of the things the Kachins loved about Con,” the Colonel was saying. “It’s that personal thing he had with the Kachins that we won’t be able to replace.”
The General took the unlit cigar from his mouth. He fingered his heavy jowls with thumb and forefinger and pursed his lips. He studied the cigar for a moment: “Supposing I told you that as long as we can’t hold Danny in check that you can’t touch Con. Rather that I won’t let you touch him,” the General said eyeing the Colonel in that way generals have of eyeing colonels; the identical way that sergeants have of eyeing corporals. “What would you have to say about that?”
The Colonel’s massive hand that had been tapping a water goblet with a spoon stopped abruptly in mid-air. His suddenly a
ctivated blood flowed redly coloring his bull neck. A streak of shocked grey flowed fleetingly across his leathery face. The battered nose twitched once near its tip. He was dumbfounded. Speechless.
“Well, it would be your own damn fault,” the General said softly, mellowly, making it sound biting by its forced deliberateness. “You hired Danny, didn’t you? Now suppose I were to tell you that we can’t afford to let the English get their hands on those documents. Not at any cost. Did you know that Con sent two of those documents to Danny for safekeeping? Did you?”
“No,” the Colonel said redly, feeling still stunned, then feeling suddenly sickly castrated.
“Do you realize that in a sense by reprimanding Con we will not only be showing our awareness but giving our ratification to a vile and traitorous action? Can you see that? Can you possibly understand what diplomatic ammunition those documents will make for the British? what propaganda for the Japanese? for the Russians? Can’t you see that the consequences of this situation transcends the disciplinary principles of a mere Colonel in the United States Army?
“Do you realize that when Mountbatten reluctantly gave you this Danny he was playing you for a sucker? Don’t you know by now the British are not the kind of people to let you run rampant over one of their colonies? They want to know exactly what you know. Exactly what you do. And believe me they do. Why do you think they’ve kept on supporting you in this Kachin effort? I’ll tell you why. They tied you up. They’ve gotten you so involved here that you’ve stayed out of the rest of Burma. That you and your Kachins have made such a vital contribution to the war effort was something they did not count on. And you made the statement that you weren’t in politics,” the General said softly but nevertheless sarcastically. “What you should have said was that you weren’t a very smart politician.”
The General put the cigar back in his mouth, chewed on it for a moment, took it out and began rolling it between his fingers.
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