A Fable

‘Not yet. I am—how you say?—supplicant.’ He said again: ‘Supplicant.’ Then he began to laugh, that is, up to the dead indomitable unregenerate eye, speaking not even to anyone, not even to himself: only to outraged and unregenerate incredulity: ‘I, a German lieutenant general, come eighty-seven kilometres to request of—ja, insist on—an Englishman and a Frenchman the defeat of my nation. We—I—could have saved it by simply refusing to meet you here. I could save it now simply by walking out. I could have done it at your aerodrome this afternoon by using on myself the pistol which I employed to preserve even in defeat the integrity of what this—’ he made a brief rapid gesture with one hand; with barely a motion of it he indicated his entire uniform—belts brass braid insigne and all ‘—represents, has won the right to stand for, preserves still that for which those of us who have died in it died for. Then this one, this blunder of the priests and politicians and civilian time-servers, would stop now, since in fact it already has, three days ago now. But I did not. I do not, as a result of which inside another year we—not us—’ again without moving he indicated his uniform ‘—but they whose blunder we tried to rectify, will be done, finished; and with them, us too since now we are no longer extricable from them—oh yes, us too, let the Americans annoy our flank as much as they like: they will not pass Verdun either; by tomorrow we will have run you—’ to the Briton ‘—out of Amiens and possibly even into what you call your ditch, and by next month your people—’ to the old general now ‘—in Paris will be cramming your official sacred talismans into brief-cases on the way to Spain or Portugal. But it will be too late, it will be over, finished; twelve months from now and we—not they for this but we, us—will have to plead with you on your terms for their survival since already it is impossible to extricate theirs from ours. Because I am a soldier first, then a German, then—or hope to be—a victorious German. But that is not even second, but only third. Because this—’ again he indicated the uniform ‘—is more important than any German or even any victory.’ Now he was looking at all of them; his voice was quite calm, almost conversational now: ‘That is our sacrifice: the whole German army against your one French regiment. But you are right. We waste time.’ He looked at them, rapidly, erect still but not quite rigid. ‘You are here. I am …’ He looked at them again; he said again, ‘Bah. For a little time anyway we dont need secrets. I am eighty-seven kilometres from here. I must return. As you say—’ he faced the American general; his heels clapped again, a sound very loud in the quiet and insulate room ‘—this is only a recess: not an abrogation.’ Still without moving, he looked rapidly from the American to the Briton then back again. ‘You are admirable. But you are not soldiers—’

‘All young men are brave,’ the American said.

‘Continue,’ the German general said. ‘Say it. Even Germans.’

‘Even Frenchmen,’ the old general said in his mild voice. ‘Wouldn’t we all be more comfortable if you would sit down?’

‘A moment,’ the German general said. He did not even look at the old general. ‘We—’ again without moving he looked rapidly from one to the other ‘—you two and I discussed this business thoroughly while your—what do I say? formal or mutual?—Commander-in-Chief was detained from us. We are agreed on what must be done; that was never any question. Now we need only to agree to do it in this little time we have out of the four years of holding one another off—we, Germans on one side, and you, English and French—’ he turned to the American; again the heels clapped ‘—you Americans too; I have not forgot you.—on the other, engaging each the other with half a hand because the other hand and a half was required to defend our back areas from our own politicians and priests. During that discussion before your Commander-in-Chief joined us, something was said about decision.’ He said again, ‘Decision.’ He didn’t even say bah now. He looked rapidly again from the American to the Briton, to the American again. ‘You,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ the American general said. ‘Decision implies choice.’

The German general looked at the Briton. ‘You,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ the British general said. ‘God help us.’

The German general paused. ‘Pardon?’

‘Sorry,’ the British general said. ‘Let it be just yes then.’

‘He said, God help us,’ the American general said. ‘Why?’

‘Why?’ the German general said. ‘The why is to me?’

‘We’re both right this time,’ the American general said. ‘At least we dont have to cope with that.’