are the enemy. We’re in a new war now; the other one ended but we were never informed.” “So what do we do?” asked somebody. “Go home?” “No,” answered the commander, “we wait.” He assigned soldiers to dig the graves for both our casualties and theirs—ours, each with a separate grave, and theirs, in a single pit. As long as it’s large enough, said the commander, so their feet or hands don’t protrude. While digging, the soldiers grumbled. Soldiers generally grouse about things, especially things they’d rather not be doing, and who likes digging a pit for a mass grave anyway, especially a proper grave, which means it must be deep, meaning they had to excavate a vast quantity of dirt. Yes, the soil was soft (and fragrant) after all the rain, but soldiers’ shovels are the size of spades: for each shovelful of dirt that a real digger would excavate with a single toss, the soldiers needed five tosses. This would wear anybody down, not just a soldier, and anyone would muse on their own death while shoveling, and imagine who would dig their grave. This is, no doubt, an anxious task, but keeping in mind what it entails, the soldiers’ grumbles are preferable to Liza Minnelli’s screams in the movie