Free The Moon Is Down by John Steinbeck Page B

in. I wouldn’t want to do it all over again.”
    Lanser looked down at him and said, “Sorry,” and went on as though he were instructing a class. He said, “Defeat is a momentary thing. A defeat doesn’t last. We were defeated and now we attack. Defeat means nothing. Can’t you understand that? Do you know what they are whispering behind doors?”
    Corell asked, “Do you?”
    â€œNo, but I suspect.”
    Then Corell said insinuatingly, “Are you afraid, Colonel? Should the commander of this occupation be afraid?”
    Lanser sat down heavily and said, “Maybe that’s it.” And he said disgustedly, “I’m tired of people who have not been at war who know all about it.” He held his chin in his hand and said, “I remember a little old woman in Brussels—sweet face, white hair; she was only four feet eleven; delicate old hands. You could see the veins almost black against her skin. And her black shawl and her blue-white hair. She used to sing our national songs to us in a quivering, sweet voice. She always knew where to find a cigarette or a virgin.” He dropped his hand from his chin, and he caught himself as though he had been asleep. “We didn’t know her son had been executed,” he said. “When we finally shot her, she had killed twelve men with a long, black hatpin. I have it yet at home. It has an enamel button with a bird over it, red and blue.”
    Corell said, “But you shot her?”
    â€œOf course we shot her.”
    â€œAnd the murders stopped?” asked Corell.
    â€œNo, the murders did not stop. And when we finally retreated, the people cut off stragglers and they burned some and they gouged the eyes from some, and some they even crucified.”
    Corell said loudly, “These are not good things to say, Colonel.”
    â€œThey are not good things to remember,” said Lanser.
    Corell said, “You should not be in command if you are afraid.”
    And Lanser answered softly, “I know how to fight, you see. If you know, at least you do not make silly errors.”
    â€œDo you talk this way to the young officers?”
    Lanser shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t believe me.”
    â€œWhy do you tell me, then?”
    â€œBecause, Mr. Corell, your work is done. I remember one time—” and as he spoke there was a tumble of feet on the stairs and the door burst open. A sentry looked in and Captain Loft brushed past him. Loft was rigid and cold and military; he said, “There’s trouble, sir.”
    â€œTrouble?”
    â€œI have to report, sir, that Captain Bentick has been killed.”
    Lanser said, “Oh—yes—Bentick!”
    There was the sound of a number of footsteps on the stairs and two stretcher-bearers came in, carrying a figure covered with blankets.
    Lanser said, “Are you sure he’s dead?”
    â€œQuite sure,” Loft said stiffly.
    The lieutenants came in from the bedroom, their mouths a little open, and they looked frightened. Lanser said, “Put him down there,” and he pointed to the wall beside the windows. When the bearers had gone, Lanser knelt and lifted a corner of the blanket and then quickly put it down again. And still kneeling, he looked at Loft and said, “Who did this?”
    â€œA miner,” said Loft.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI was there, sir.”
    â€œWell, make your report, then! Make your report, damn it, man!”
    Loft drew himself up and said formally, “I had just relieved Captain Bentick, as the colonel ordered. Captain Bentick was about to leave to come here when I had some trouble about a recalcitrant miner who wanted to quit work. He shouted something about being a free man. When I ordered him to work, he rushed at me with his pick. Captain Bentick tried to interfere.” He gestured slightly toward the body.
    Lanser, still kneeling, nodded slowly. “Bentick was a