She broke off. She raised her eyes and looked at them. Pete made a desperate effort and formulated a question.
“Did—did you expect to find him in one of these places?”
His voice sounded raw and it shook. She seemed mildly surprised by it. And by the taut expression on both their faces. But she answered normally.
“No—I don’t think so. I was looking for the Legion barracks. But it was dark and I got lost. But when I saw a wineshop with legionnaires in it I knew one of you would help me—so you see, I don’t want to stay here. I want to go to the barracks to find my husband… I suppose they will let me gee him straight away…?”
There was a sudden note of urgent anxiety in her voice.
She added: “After so many years… I don’t want to wait another hour. You understand…?”
She looked at them—questioningly, appealingly.
Rex gazed through the window and into the blackness of the alley beyond. Pete stared fixedly at his fingernails. Anything was better than looking at her.
The skinny little Arab wench wailed and jigged. The drunken legionnaire was being helped out by two of his friends.
Rex thought: “This can’t be happening. I’m gonna wake up.”
Pete thought: “One of us has to tell her… Oh, God! Why does it have to be one of us…?”
Suddenly Annice leaned forward across the table.
She said: “What’s the matter? Why are you quiet? Isn’t he here? They told me in Paris he was stationed at Sadazi. Has he been moved?”
Pete cleared his throat. He continued to look at his fingernails as he answered.
“No,” he said slowly, flatly, “he is still in Sadazi… I—I don’t think you’ll be allowed to move him. I’m sorry…”
“Move him? Please—what do you mean?”
Pete gathered himself. It had to be done.
“He’s dead.”
She had been holding her glass. It twisted out of her hand and rolled to the floor, splashing red liquid on her dress. Her under lip twitched.
Suddenly they could hear her breathing deep and fast, like someone in a fever.
“How long?”
“Since this morning.”
“What was the illness?”
Here it was! The worst question of all.
Pete said: “It was not an illness.”
She touched her flaxen hair. An aimless gesture with a shaking hand.
“You mean… there was an accident…?”
“He was executed. You see… he kílled a man while trying to desert. He wanted to reach you.”
It was out! It was told in three wretched sentences. Sentences that summarised the extinction of one life, and would probably wreck another.
She was silent for a long time. And during that time they knew that hot brands of suffering were searing into her soul. Their imprint would be with her for so long as she lived.
Eventually, Pete said: “We’ll take you to the barracks. I’m sure Colonel Jeux will see you.”
“Is he the commanding officer?”
“Yes—a new one. He’s only been here a few weeks.”
“Did he have anything to do with the execution?”
“Colonel Jeux was president of the court martial.”
“Then he is a murderer!”
She spoke with a controlled ferocity which compelled Pete and Rex to look straight at her.
“You must try to understand,” Pete said softly. “Your husband killed a legionnaire. The court martial acted according to military law. There was no choice about it.”
Annice breathed out between her white teeth.
The result was a gentle but vibrant hiss.
“Military law! A hooligan law! A law of the Foreign Legion! A civilised army would have given him a discharge, then he would never have needed to desert.”
Pete knew that this was partly true. In such exceptional circumstances, most European armies would have granted Tovak a discharge on compassionate grounds. There would have been delay, of course. And much investigation. But in the end it would have been granted. But not in the Legion. In the Legion any form of compassion was almost unknown. And a man was only given a premature release if he became physically unfit for further service.
Rex retrieved her glass. He filled it with the last of the wine. It was cloudy, unappetising stuff. He pushed it towards her. She ignored it But she looked from Pete to him.
She said: “Did he… was he brave?”
“He sure was,” Rex said uncomfortably. “He wasn’t scared any.”
“I’m glad. I loved him. I’ll always love him. But he was never one of the hard ones of the world. He used to think a lot. And like all people who think, he was very afraid of death.”
She changed as she spoke. The venom had gone. Memories had taken over.
But that did not last. It was Rex who changed it all. The impulsive, well-meaning Rex, whose sense of diplomacy was on par to that of a steam hammer.
He said: “He was okay when he died—and it was all over before he knew much about it. We didn’t waste time once…”
Rex faded out as she looked hard at him.
“Were you there? You saw it all…?”
Pete felt sweat ooze out of his forehead and then cold upon it. He tried to retrieve the situation.
“It’s as Rex says. We know he showed plenty of courage.”
“You’re not answering me. Were you there?”
Pete dropped his cigarette on the floor and stubbed it out with his toe. Then he slackened his ceinture, as if finding the twelve-inch waist sash too warm. She watched him. Waiting.
There was no escape.
“Yes,” Pete said. “We were there.”
“Does the Legion encourage spectators when a man is executed? Is it taken as an entertainment?”
“We were not spectators.”
Her eyes seemed to change both in shade and in form. They became a pale and an utterly hard blue. And flat. Small. As though sinking into the skull.
“You shot him?”
“We were in the firing squad… we had no choice about it. None of us liked it. But it was orders and we…”
Her open hand slashed across his cheek. The sound was like a shot from a small pistol. The Arab girl ceased singing. Every customer ceased talking. They all stared.
Pete did not move. But a flush of high colour ran under his tan.
She stood up. She scarcely moved her lips as she spoke. Yet each word could be heard in every corner of the place. They came out like chips of ice.
“A few hours ago you helped to kill a good, civilised, cultured man. You did it because you are the willing slaves of a barbaric army. An army that deserves its reputation as a throwback to the dark ages. Men, I tell you—real men… would not serve in it. They would not tolerate its foul system…
“Your Legion… it is a resort of the jackboot and the tyrant and the frightened bondsmen. Sometimes, through tragedy, people like my husband find themselves in it. But not for long! Men like he are driven to crime and then executed in the name of military law! The Legion… it is blood on the doorstep of France… it is an affront to all humanity and the peoples of North Africa ought to rid themselves of it…”
She paused, as if gathering her thoughts in preparation for more. But she changed her mind. She turned abruptly to the door.
Rex and Pete remained seated. They remained very still.
She had spoken in English and with a heavy Slavonic accent. But the gist of her words would certainly be understood by many of the Arabs in the wineshop. And within a few hours news of the outburst, no doubt exaggerated, would spread all through Sadazi and beyond. It could have a bad effect. The Arabs were sharing in the general resurgence of nationalism. An incident such as this, trivial though it might be, could only result in giving fresh confidence to the troublemakers.