— It's empty Oscar, don't…
— Well get, get another then! he gasped, — never fired a shot, a third of his army never fired a shot all gone to pieces, Lee withdrawing could have cut him off at the Potomac never fired a shot. Harry? his eyes dimming, — where's Harry.
— He's right there Oscar, I think he went to sleep, are you okay?
— Never fired a shot he mumbled, as the blood splashed leaves of corn and corpses, mouths open in full cry and shattered limbs and guns catching the last sunlight passed before them and twilight sparkled in pools of blood in the sunken road, caught the last glimmer of frenzy in the eyes of the horses turned toward the dying heavens in the stillness enveloping the dark as the descending darkness enshrouded the stillness vouched in a low sound of moaning, pierced by a scream as a fire, now another, and another, pierced the dark bursting the bloated bellies of the horses and the moaning rose with the careful tread of burial details in the cornfield, the East Wood, West Wood, Miller's farm and Roulette's and Piper's and the Dunker church and, slow and cautious as their tread, these impassable last fierce embraces in the sunken road — Harry? you okay? in a kind of panic — what's this? What's this! as a figure materialized with a terrible slowness, the pale scar livid on the pale cheek brooding down upon two bloodied faces twinned in this final agony more real than they'd been in life whining, whimpering, limping to this, eyes rolling from the mineshafts now wide and emptied — look! as the spectre faded, — look…
— It's spooky.
— Lily?
— Oh! You scared me, I thought you're upstairs asleep.
— Asleep? with this racket? and she snapped off the sound silencing a languorous blonde caressing the length of a shiny car fender as though it were a stalwart thigh. — Oscar? What's he mumbling about.
— He just fought the whole war.
— And are these the dead soldiers? she came picking up the empty bottles, — Harry? coming down on the arm of his chair, stroking his forehead — do you want to come up now? But still none of them moved as the sun rose silently flooding the pitted columns where a curtain stirred by a gentle breeze through a broken pane for a glimpse of bare tables, empty chairs as shadows moved among them, a spiffy four-in-hand coming up the overgrown drive beneath the weeping mosses and a lone figure carrying a carpetbag mounting the steps to pound on the door under their vacant stares through the broken pane flashes of red hair disheveled over features frozen in translucent beauty and an open bodice sheltered behind the scarred chalkwhite countenance confronting the florid entrance of the visitor finally rousing her to — what on earth is going on! with the hazy approach of a black figure up the wide lawn gradually becoming distinct as she restored the sound at the instant of a gunshot from somewhere and from nowhere the gentle swells of a symphonic mutilation of what might have been Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, as the end credits crept their way onto the emptied screen. — Oscar?
— What happened! He lurched upright gaping at the credit crawl, special effects, technical advisors, costumes, makeup, wranglers…
— God only knows, will you help me with him Lily?
— Harry look! There she is, the hairdresser there she is!
— What? what?
— No grab his arm, just help me get him down the hall.
— Never fired a shot.
— His shirt's really soaking, we can cover him up in the library okay?
— Stabbed him in the back with a wet sock.
— And get a wet cloth to wipe his face, I mean my God he's really had a very long day.
Far out across the silence of the pond some number, five or six, of swans composed a copse of white so still they might be frozen in the ice there in a morning sun so pale it seemed the cold's mere manifest serving to make it visible when here, along the nearer shore, came a string of wild duck their brilliant green of head and neck a luminescence, given the stingy sun, that must be all their own in orangelegged parade order past dowdy mates blown like withered clumps of vegetation marching puffed up against the cold in muted dignity abruptly desecrated, as she turned from the window, shorn and profaned on the silent screen where a black and tattered cartoon duck hurled a stick marked dynamite into the cartoon hunter's blind. — Lily? didn't I turn this off before I went up last night? and she did so, — oh good, you've made tea. I thought Harry was down here.
— He's in the kitchen making coffee.
— Well I've got to thank you for cleaning up in there, I dreaded facing it. And for straightening up in here, my God what a night.
— I thought you did.
— But I've just come down. You haven't waked Oscar have you?
— He's not in there.
— In the library? and he's not in your, well where in God's name is he, no just put the tray there by the window. He certainly can't have gone for a walk he'd catch pneumonia, I mean after last night he must feel like the wrath of God you don't think he, oh Harry. Have you seen him?
— Who.
— Who! Who do you think, the man in the moon?
— You mean Oscar? He sat down carefully balancing his cup, — haven't seen him, haven't seen a soul.
— You've been up for simply hours haven't you? It's almost noon, sitting here watching the Saturday morning cartoon shows?
— Matter of fact I…
— But you cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, that was sweet.
— Haven't touched a thing Christina, matter of fact I…
— My God! tea splashing all over the tray — it's gone! Look, his car is gone, look! as though at something to see rather than not to see.
— Maybe he went to, just went out to get the paper or something?
— Paper's right here I just finished it, he must have brought it in.
— Well of course he didn't go out to get the paper or something! He's not even, didn't you hear anything? didn't you hear him?
— I keep the pillow over my head when that crazy woodpecker starts and then that spooky fish gets…
— Stop it both of you, I mean my God he could have gone anywhere, the shape he was in last night he was ready to, he could be a hundred miles away he could be anywhere.
— Just that battle scene got him going Christina, bottle or two of wine I "wouldn't worry about his…
— The way he was hitting everything I even have this bruise on my knee, waving his arms around it was like Al watching the Redskins with his sixpack yelling send him in! send him in! waving his arms and…
— Lily for God's sake can you be still! Wouldn't worry about him it's freezing out there, I mean he could be in jail somewhere he could be in the hospital with an accident couldn't he? You know all about that don't you Harry? Does he know how to drive that thing? has he ever driven ours?
— Look Christina, call the police you'll have to sign a complaint and if they pick him up they'll arrest him, start calling hospitals all you'll get will be the usual tanked up…
— Well what are we supposed to do, sit here? just sit here till some hospital in Georgia calls us?
— Or the police in Hoboken or he walks in the door, sit here and have some more coffee look, it was still warm when I came down he can't be far, don't hear anything before I have to leave we can worry about it then.