that to me. If I believed in any God atall, I should still hate the idea of confession. Kneeling in one of your boxes. Exposing myself to another man. You must excuse me. Father, but to me it seems morbid- unmanly even.”
“Oh,” he said lightly, “I expect you are a good man. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had much ‘to regret.”
I looked along the churches, where they ran down evenly spaced between the canals, towards the sea. A light flashed from the second tower. I said, “You haven’t kept all your churches neutral.”
“It isn’t possible,” he said. “The French have agreed to leave the Cathedral precincts alone. We can’t expect more. That’s a Foreign Legion post you are looking at.” “I’ll be going long. Goodbye, Father.” “Goodbye and good luck. Be careful of snipers.” I had to push my way through the crowd to get out, past the lake and the white statue with its sugary out-spread arms, into the long street. I could see for nearly three quarters of a mile each way, and there were only two living beings in all that length besides myself-two soldiers with camouflaged helmets going slowly away up the edge of the street, their sten guns at the ready. I say the living because one body lay in a doorway with its head in the road. The buzz of flies collecting there and the squelch of the soldiers’ boots growing fainter and fainter were the only sounds. I walked quickly past the body, turning my head the other way. A few minutes later when I looked back I was quite alone with my shadow and there were no sounds except the sounds I made. I felt as though I were a mark on a firing range. It occurred to me that if something happened to me in this street it might be many hours before I was picked up: time for the flies to collect. When I had crossed two canals, I took a turning that led to a church. A dozen men sat on the ground in the camouflage of parachutists, while two officers examined a man. Nobody paid me any attention when I joined them. One man, who wore the long antennae of a walkie-talkie, said, “We can move now,” and everybody stood up.
I asked them in my bad French whether I could accompany them. An advantage of this war was that a European face proved in itself a passport on the field: a European could not be suspected of being an enemy agent. “Who are you?” the lieutenant asked. “I am writing about the war,” I said. “American?” . .”No, English.” ... “He said, “It is a very small affair, but if you wish to come with us...” He began to take off his steel helmet, “No, no,” I said, “that is for combatants.” “As you wish.”
We went out behind the church in single file, the lieutenant leading, and halted for a moment on a canal-bank for the soldier with the walkie-talkie to get contact with the patrols on either flank. The mortar shells tore over us and burst out of sight. We had picked up more men behind the church and were now about thirty strong. The lieutenant explained to me in a low voice, stabbing a finger at his map, “Three hundred have been reported in this village here. Perhaps massing for tonight. We don’t know. No one has found them yet.” “How far?” “Three hundred yards.”
Words came over the wireless and we went on in silence, to the right the straight canal, to the left low scrub and fields and scrub again. “All clear,” the lieutenant whispered with a reassuring wave as we started. Forty yards on, another canal, with what was left of a bridge, a single plank without rails, ran across our front. The lieutenant motioned to us to deploy and we squatted down facing the unknown territory ahead, thirty feet off, across the plank. The men looked at the water and then, as though by a word of command, all together, they looked away. For a moment I didn’t see what they had seen, but when I saw, my mind went back, I don’t know why, to the Chalet and the
“Oh,” he said lightly, “I expect you are a good man. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had much ‘to regret.”
I looked along the churches, where they ran down evenly spaced between the canals, towards the sea. A light flashed from the second tower. I said, “You haven’t kept all your churches neutral.”
“It isn’t possible,” he said. “The French have agreed to leave the Cathedral precincts alone. We can’t expect more. That’s a Foreign Legion post you are looking at.” “I’ll be going long. Goodbye, Father.” “Goodbye and good luck. Be careful of snipers.” I had to push my way through the crowd to get out, past the lake and the white statue with its sugary out-spread arms, into the long street. I could see for nearly three quarters of a mile each way, and there were only two living beings in all that length besides myself-two soldiers with camouflaged helmets going slowly away up the edge of the street, their sten guns at the ready. I say the living because one body lay in a doorway with its head in the road. The buzz of flies collecting there and the squelch of the soldiers’ boots growing fainter and fainter were the only sounds. I walked quickly past the body, turning my head the other way. A few minutes later when I looked back I was quite alone with my shadow and there were no sounds except the sounds I made. I felt as though I were a mark on a firing range. It occurred to me that if something happened to me in this street it might be many hours before I was picked up: time for the flies to collect. When I had crossed two canals, I took a turning that led to a church. A dozen men sat on the ground in the camouflage of parachutists, while two officers examined a man. Nobody paid me any attention when I joined them. One man, who wore the long antennae of a walkie-talkie, said, “We can move now,” and everybody stood up.
I asked them in my bad French whether I could accompany them. An advantage of this war was that a European face proved in itself a passport on the field: a European could not be suspected of being an enemy agent. “Who are you?” the lieutenant asked. “I am writing about the war,” I said. “American?” . .”No, English.” ... “He said, “It is a very small affair, but if you wish to come with us...” He began to take off his steel helmet, “No, no,” I said, “that is for combatants.” “As you wish.”
We went out behind the church in single file, the lieutenant leading, and halted for a moment on a canal-bank for the soldier with the walkie-talkie to get contact with the patrols on either flank. The mortar shells tore over us and burst out of sight. We had picked up more men behind the church and were now about thirty strong. The lieutenant explained to me in a low voice, stabbing a finger at his map, “Three hundred have been reported in this village here. Perhaps massing for tonight. We don’t know. No one has found them yet.” “How far?” “Three hundred yards.”
Words came over the wireless and we went on in silence, to the right the straight canal, to the left low scrub and fields and scrub again. “All clear,” the lieutenant whispered with a reassuring wave as we started. Forty yards on, another canal, with what was left of a bridge, a single plank without rails, ran across our front. The lieutenant motioned to us to deploy and we squatted down facing the unknown territory ahead, thirty feet off, across the plank. The men looked at the water and then, as though by a word of command, all together, they looked away. For a moment I didn’t see what they had seen, but when I saw, my mind went back, I don’t know why, to the Chalet and the
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