ISLANDS IN THE STREAM

“Nein,” the German said slowly.

“He says no,” Peters translated.

“Yeah, I got that part of it,” Thomas Hudson said. “Get him some warm soup, Willie, and bring some cognac. Peters, ask him if he wouldn’t like some morphine really if he doesn’t have to talk. Tell him we have plenty.”

Peters translated and the German looked toward Thomas Hudson and smiled a thin, northern smile.

He spoke almost inaudibly to Peters.

“He says thank you but he doesn’t need it and it’s better to save it.”

Then he said something softly to Peters who translated, “He says he could have used it last week.”

“Tell him I admire him,” Thomas Hudson said.

Antonio, his mate, was alongside in the dinghy with Henry and the rest of the Mégano party.

“Come aboard easy,” Thomas Hudson said to them. “Keep away from the stern. We got a Kraut dying on the stern that I want to have die easy. What did you find?”

“Nothing,” Henry said. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Peters,” Thomas Hudson said. “Talk to him all you want. You might get something. I’m going forward with Ara and Willie to get a drink.”

Below, he said, “How’s your soup, Willie?”

“The first one I put my hands on was clam broth,” Willie said. “It’s about hot enough.”

“Why didn’t you give him oxtail or mulligatawny?” Thomas Hudson said. “They’re more deadly in his condition. Where the hell is the chicken?”

“I didn’t want to give him the chicken. That’s Henry’s.”

“Quite right, too,” Henry said. “Why should we coddle him?”

“I don’t think we really are. When I ordered it I thought some soup and a drink might help him talk. But he isn’t going to talk. Give me a gin, will you, Ara?”

“They made a shelter for him, Tom, and he had a good bed made from branches and plenty of water and food in a crock. They tried to make him comfortable and they ditched the sand for drainage. There were many good tracks from the beach and I would say they were eight or ten. Not more. Willie and I were very careful carrying him. Both his wounds are gangrenous and the gangrene is very high toward the right thigh. Perhaps we should not have brought him but instead have come for you and Peters to question him in his shelter. If so, it is my fault.”

“Did he have a weapon?”

“No. Nor any identification.”

“Give me my drink,” Thomas Hudson said. “When would you say the branches for the shelter were cut?”

“Not later than yesterday morning, I would say. But I could not be sure.”

“Did he speak at all?”

“No. He looked as though made of wood when he saw us with the pistols. He looked afraid of Willie once. When he saw his eye, I think. Then he smiled when we lifted him.”

“To show he could,” Willie said.

“Then he went away,” Ara said. “How long do you think it will take him to die, Tom?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s go out and take the drinks,” Henry said. “I don’t trust Peters.”

“Let’s drink the clam broth up,” Willie said. “I’m hungry. I can heat him a can of Henry’s chicken if he says it is OK.”

“If it will help to make him talk,” Henry said. “Of course.”

“It probably won’t,” Willie said. “But it’s kind of shitty to give him clam broth the way he is. Take him out the cognac, Henry. Maybe he really likes that, like you and me.”

“Don’t bother him,” Thomas Hudson said. “He’s a good Kraut.”

“Sure,” Willie said. “They’re all good Krauts when they fold up.”

“He hasn’t folded up,” Thomas Hudson said. “He’s just dying.”

“With much style,” Ara said.

“You getting to be a Kraut-lover, too?” Willie asked him. “That makes you and Peters.”

“Shut up, Willie,” Thomas Hudson said.

“What’s the matter with you?” Willie said to Thomas Hudson. “You’re just the exhausted leader of a little group of earnest Kraut-lovers.”

“Come up forward, Willie,” Thomas Hudson said. “Ara, take the soup astern when it is warm. The rest of you go watch the Kraut die, if you want. But don’t crowd him.”

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