A House in Order (2 page)

It was a little warmer in the shed and I was, frankly, grateful for some of the muck I found there and used to cover my legs and shoulders. But just how I spent the night there, I can't describe, because I was becoming, I think, a little delirious, and at some point went to sleep again, my legs sticking out onto the greenhouse floor, covered with cheap magazines and the canvas of a deck-chair.

I was found in this position soon after dawn. An early soldier, coming up the path to the house, was my discoverer – and thank God I was spared the terror of seeing him spot me and the horror of watching him approach. He woke me up with a gun in my face – which was terrifying enough – and while holding it there let out bellows and roars that brought two guards and a junior officer running at top speed.

The young officer was spruce and brisk: he ordered
me onto my feet with a flick of his thumb, but finding at once that I couldn't walk or stand he ordered one of the guards to climb over me into the shed and pick me up by the shoulders, which the hefty animal did immediately, bashing the side of my face with his boot as he jumped over. The other guard took my legs, the young officer kicked cushions, fez and magazines out of the way, and I was carried out and up onto the verandah. From there, I went through a door that was open to receive me, and was dumped on a bench in a small room. I fell off it at once, and was put back promptly and held upright against the wall by one of the guards.

The young officer shot out and came back very soon with one of his seniors, a heavy-faced thug whose appearance would have scared me out of my wits if I had not been almost too weak to feel terror any more. The two of them talked at a great rate for some moments, showing both astonishment and indignation at finding me there, and they listened in very cold silence when the soldier who had spotted me was brought in and told his story. By the time he had finished, they were really angry and stared at me as if I were one of the filthy bits of muck that the greenhouse was so full of. They both addressed me in very sharp, abrupt words, but I was too feeble and frightened to do anything but shake my head and say ‘Pardon' repeatedly – the only word that is truly international.

The older officer, with a final disgusted grunt, left the room; the younger one, after looking me over carefully, gave an order to one of the guards, who went out and came back with some soup and bread. At first, this guard fed me himself, impatiently shoving the spoon into my cheek as if dosing a dog, but after a minute he snapped at me and pushed the spoon into my hand, so
that I went on eating alone, chewing on the bread and slowly swallowing the soup, while my head swayed wretchedly from side to side. But after a few minutes I began to feel the benefit of the food, and I remember thinking to myself: ‘They are making me strong, so as to shoot me better,' which set my teeth chattering.

The contempt on their faces as they watched me finish my food was at least encouraging: the more they thought of me as a strayed worm or caterpillar, the less seriously, it seemed to me, they would consider me worth shooting. But their contempt turned out to be nothing more than disgust for my cowardice, and I realized as soon as I had swallowed my last crumbs that they had no intention of dismissing the situation as an odd accident.

I was got up from my bench and marched into the next room, where the older officer had sat himself behind a table and given himself two aides, who sat on either side of him. One of these was an interpreter, who began by asking me all the routine questions – name, number, rank, regiment, and so on. This completed, he began on the serious stuff, and I was provided with a chair, the better to answer him.

The young officer was sent off to do this business, in which nobody believed. The interpreter started again:

There was some unpleasant laughter at this, but I noticed to my terror that I was being looked at with more respect, as if I were a brave fellow doing his best to spin a yarn.

There were more smiles at this, and increased respect for me.

I cannot say how high their regard for my courage might not have risen had the young officer not returned at this moment. They looked at him in a casual way at first, and then, noticing that his expression was deeply serious, they waited for him to speak with attention. I knew at once that he had found my stupid soldier and that my story had been confirmed.

After listening to him once, they made him repeat his report and asked him certain questions, keeping very quiet and controlled as they did so. But when they had finished with him and could no longer doubt what he told them, they quite forgot that I was in the room. They sent men running to bring in yesterday's guards: they got to their feet and exchanged short remarks that they could hardly bear to speak. Every so often, one of them let loose a sort of blaring neigh – and every so often one of them remembered me as the cause of the catastrophe and fixed me with an eye that had lost the power to focus. Soldiers were marched in: I was pointed out to them: they shook their heads and were marched out. This went on for a couple of hours, until they had run out of victims and were obliged to sit down and recognize their own official responsibility for so much shame. I am sure that nothing was made better for them by the fact that they had my word – which they now believed – that I had done everything that cowardice would permit to help them maintain their reputation for efficiency and spryness.

If there had been anything I could have said to improve this situation, I would have come out with it at
once, because I felt in more fear of my life at this moment than I had at any time before. But the more I felt this fear, the more I shook and trembled, and the more I did so the more loathing and indignation I worked up in them. For some time they seemed to need me in the room, like doubting Thomases, but once they reached the stage where there was no denying me, they got me out of their sight and I was put back on my bench in the ante-room. Here, I was fed again by a corporal, like a slug being given poisoned bran.

They went on talking among themselves, but apart from their voices there were no sounds in the house. But in the middle of the afternoon, somebody arrived and came swinging down the verandah talking in a strong, cheerful voice: he swept in next door where the ghouls sat and, surprised but still cheerful in his tone, asked, I suppose, if he could share the secret of their funeral.

I heard them tell for the next hour. He only interrupted to ask questions at intervals and though he spoke shortly and sharply his voice stayed spirited and he even hummed a short tune. Being used by now to a general dirge, I started trembling again and wished I had had the courage to have kept everybody's spirits high in the first place by agreeing to be a secret agent.

At last, the young officer opened my door and I was led in. The new arrival was sitting pretty casually in the principal chair, but I only needed one look at him to know that his easiness was a mark of rank. The officer who had interrogated me before appeared now to be obviously a ‘Second' – one of those square, dogged people who spend most of their lives either fearing promotion or wondering why they never got it. But the general atmosphere was much more cheerful and agreeable, as if a way had been found to disperse the shame.
The door onto the verandah had been opened and the interpreter was told to ask me:

My soldier's figure disappeared from sight, followed by a squad of riflemen. We all sat in silence for some minutes until the rifles went off. Soon after, the young officer came in, carrying my spectacles. The interpreter began again:

There was general amusement at this, as if everyone was feeling happier now and shame all but buried.

They were very well pleased with this: it does not take much to restore military esteem.

Here they laughed continuously for a long time.