too?â
âI think I shall enjoy fighting.â
âAnd accept the necessity to kill as unfortunately incidental to the fighting?â
âLooks like it. I mean, suppose I spent my life in the service and ran out a general, without ever having been involved in a proper shooting war, in theory thatâd be the best thing that c-could have happened, but Iâd be bound to feel Iâd missed something, wouldnât I?â
âBy âthe best thing that could happenâ I take it you are referring to the good of the country at large.â
âWell, yes, sir.â
âThen you are mistaken. Peace is of course beautiful, but a country such as ours needs a war, approximately once a generation, in order to retain its moral strength. It needs to put forth its full energies in battle, or it will begin to lose its own sense of its destiny. The question is not whether we should fight, but when, and whom. This war that you envisage will happen five years too early, but that is not the worst thing about it. Let me ask you whether you find it natural to regard the Germans as the enemy you are being trained to kill.â
âI think so, sir. Dash it, I donât mean that. Itâs not natural to k-kill anyone.â
âIt is, my boy. But go on.â
âWell, the Germans ⦠I mean, we were fighting them when I was born. They k-killed my fatherâand Halâs. And you must have done for a few, sir.â
For the first time for several minutes Sir Charles moved more than his lips. It was in any case natural for interlocutors, even near strangers, to find themselves standing in a position where they could see only the left side of his face, though no conscious effort seemed to be needed on the part of either person to make this happen. Now the large and bonily magnificent countenance swung to face Vincent, so that the great blotchy naevus that smeared the right cheek from eye-corner to jaw-bone came into view.
âIt was a bad dream,â said Sir Charles, his heavy purr slowing to a drawl. âI have woken up. I have woken up.â
âStill, it looks as though thatâs what weâre g-going to be in for again, sir,â said Vincent. âEven if it isnât what we want, supposing Herr Hitler â¦â
âAdolf is only one man,â said Sir Charles, returning to his former pose. âIâve had several chats with him, and I think I know what makes him tick. Heâs a politician, first and last. Remember that heâs got to carry his country with him.â
âI saw a newsreel of the last Nuremberg rally.â
âI was there, my boy. I was there. And very impressive it was. But remember those roaring mobs are not the real Germany. If only people would get it into their heads that a modern nation is nothing more nor less than an economic system, a network of industries. The people who run the real Germany are the big industrialists. I tell you, Vincent, Germanyâs industrialists, many of whom I number among my friends, have absolutely no intention of letting Adolf off the leash, though they will let him bark as much as he likes. I suggested as muchâI put it in those very wordsâto Herr Ribbentrop only last month, and he laughed and agreed with me. So ⦠Ah, thereâs the bell at last ⦠I must say, I wish Zena had consulted me before dragging this young Arab in. Tell me about him.â
âIâve only met him once, sir, playing c-cricket. Iâve never talked to him alone. Iâm not sure Iâd be able to put my finger on Sorah on the map.â
âA dot half-way up the Persian Gulf on the left-hand side. The only decent harbour on that coast, so it controls one of the main routes to Mecca from the east. They arenât supposed to tax the pilgrims, but they find ways. They have something of a reputation for luxury among the Arabsârather like Sybaris among the early Italiansâbased on a
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