The Death Instinct

Sweat began to form on Younger's brow.

'Wait,' said the girl in English. It was the first word she had spoken.

While he held his knife aloft, she mopped his brow, then applied the cloth to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. Younger gazed down at her delicate but serious features. She didn't once look into his eyes.

'What was in the bag?' asked Younger.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You threw the soldiers a bag.'

'Oh. Just groceries. Cheese, mostly. They don't get enough food; they're all hungry. Like a band of mice.'

'What did you tell them?'

'That they should be killing Germans instead of bothering a French girl.'

Younger, nodding, returned to his patient. 'We say mischief.'

The girl frowned as she rinsed the soiled cloth.

'In English,' he said, 'it's a "mischief" of mice. Was it Madame Curie herself who trained you?'

'Yes,' said the girl.

'What did you think of her?'

Her reply was immediate: 'She's the noblest woman alive.'

'Ah, an admirer. Personally, I'm surprised they allow it.'

'What do you mean?'

'An adultress, after all, training young girls-'

'She did not commit adultery,' said the girl sharply. 'He did. Monsieur Langevin is the one who was married, yet he is not blamed. They do not call for him to leave the country. They do not stone his house. Now he has another mistress. Einstein has an illegitimate child — everyone knows it. Why should Madame Curie lose her chair, why should she be threatened with death, when they do the same or worse?'

'Because she is a woman,' said Younger complacently. 'Women should be pure.'

'Men should be pure.'

'And because she's a Jew. Scalpel.'

'What?'

'Scalpel. And a Pole.'

'What does that have to do with it?'

'And her worst crime of all — she won the Nobel Prize not once, hut twice.'

She frowned again. 'I can't tell when you mean what you say.'

'If you want the truth,' said Younger, 'I'm only honest with men. With women I can't be trusted.'

She looked at him.

'Women teach men to lie,' he went on. 'But we're never as good at it as they want us to be. How did you meet Madame Curie?'

After a while, the girl answered: 'I walked into the Sorbonne and told them I wanted to apply in chemistry. I was seventeen. They all laughed at me, because I had no baccalaureate. By chance — or providence, who knows? — Madame came in at that moment. She had overheard. How she terrified them. She looks so old, but very kind. I don't know why, but she took an interest in me when she heard that my father had tutored me in math and science. She asked me questions, so I was able to show her what I knew. She arranged for me to take an entrance exam.'

'Which you passed?' asked Younger.

'I received the highest marks of the year.'

'You should be in class then, not taking X-rays of wounded soldiers.'

'I did to classes, for two years. But then I found out what Madame Was doing for the soldiers. These trucks, they were her idea. She was the first to see how many lives could be saved if we had radioscopes in the field. Everyone said it was impossible, so she designed a unit that could work inside a truck. The government, because they are so stupid, refused to pay, so Madame raised all the money herself. Then the army said it could not spare any men to operate the trucks, no Madame trained girls to do it. Then the government announced that women could not be permitted to drive, so Madame operated the first one herself, daring the government to stop her. She learned to drive; she changed tires; she took the X-rays. When they saw she was saving lives, they finally relented. Now there are over a hundred fifty of us — and our only problem is with the men.'

'The men?'

'Some of them become very — aggressive — in the presence of a woman.'

'They're at war.'

'That's no excuse. We're not the same as the filthy Germans.'

Younger looked at the girl from the corner of his eye. A hardness had come to her face; he had seen a glimmer of it before, when she was speaking to the soldiers, but now it was impenetrable. He went on with his laborious work.

After a long while, she spoke again: 'He is very sweet, this corporal. How did he come to be in your care?'

'Not by my doing,' replied Younger. 'He got lost in the night. Crossed to our line by mistake. Threw himself on me, the poor blighter.'

'Don't listen to him, Mademoiselle,' murmured Corporal Dubeney.

'What — are you awake?' said Younger. 'Nurse, the chloroform.'

'He came into no-man's-land and pulled me out,' said Dubeney. 'In the thick of it.'

'Hallucination,' said Younger.

'He sleeps at the front,' said Dubeney.

'Where's the blasted chloroform?' asked Younger.

'No need, no need, I can't feel a thing,' said Dubeney.

Younger made a sound of annoyance through closed lips. No one spoke.

'I could hardly let my best experiment go to waste,' said Younger. 'Look at his right knee.'

The girl, curious, asked Corporal Dubeney if he minded. When he.' shook his head, she rolled up one of his trouser legs and saw a nasty; wound. 'This needs antiseptic,' she said.

'I've put antiseptic on it,' said Younger. 'Every day. Now look at the other knee.'

When the girl got Dubeney's other pant leg over his knee, she let out a gasp. This knee too was wounded, but there was a seething movement on it. 'What are they?' she asked.

'Maggots. What else do you observe?' asked Younger.

'The wound is clean,' she said.

'Identical wounds, inflicted at the same time on the same man by the same causes. Yet one has healed, while the other has festered. And the wound that has healed has been treated only with maggots. It's not my idea. Men in the field have been using them for years. And this old buzzard, knowing how important his knees are to science, goes and gets himself shot in the stomach. No sense of duty whatever.'

Younger noticed that the little boy had silently taken up a position beside the girl, eyeing raptly Corporal Dubeney's maggoty knee.

'My brother,' she said to Younger. 'His name is Luc.'

The boy had dirty blond hair, quite unlike his sister's, unkempt, and for a boy quite a lot of it, down to his shoulders. His skin was much less white than hers — or perhaps simply much dirtier — but his brown ryes shared a similar severity, equally intelligent but more watchful than the girl's, less distracted. Younger had the feeling the boy saw everything. 'And how old are you, young man?' he asked.

The boy neither looked at Younger nor answered.

'Luc, you are very poorly mannered,' said the girl. 'He doesn't like to speak. So you are the one.'

'I beg your pardon,' said Younger.

'The men have been telling stories of an American doctor who refuses to leave the front lines. Who treats wounded men on the field.'

'I'm not treating them. I'm conducting experiments on them.'

'And who fights, they say.'

'Rubbish.'

'Like the devil,' said Dubeney.

The boy looked up at Younger with interest.

'Can't feel a thing, eh?' said Younger to Dubeney, repositioning his knife and prompting a howl from the old corporal.

Hours later, under the stars, they repacked the girl's truck. She was surprisingly strong for her size. An explosion shook the earth gently beneath them, its firestorm erupting far away, deep in the woods. 'You're not afraid?' asked Younger.