Molly got up from her chair. She looked nervously at the door and she walked to the stove and, coming back, her face grew hard and her eyes grew punishing and she said, “Do you want to go to bed with me, Lieutenant?”
“I didn’t say that! Why do you talk that way?”
Molly said cruelly, “Maybe I’m trying to disgust you. I was married once. My husband is dead. You see, I’m not a virgin.” Her voice was bitter.
Tonder said, “I only want you to like me.”
And Molly said, “I know. You are a civilized man. You know that love-making is more full and whole and delightful if there is liking, too.”
Tonder said, “Don’t talk that way! Please don’t talk that way!”
Molly glanced quickly at the door. She said, “We are a conquered people, Lieutenant. You have taken the food away. I’m hungry. I’ll like you better if you feed me.”
Tonder said, “What are you saying?”
“Do I disgust you, Lieutenant? Maybe I’m trying to. My price is two sausages.”
Tonder said, “You can’t talk this way!”
“What about your own girls, Lieutenant, after the last war? A man could choose among your girls for an egg or a slice of bread. Do you want me for nothing, Lieutenant? Is the price too high?”
He said, “You fooled me for a moment. But you hate me, too, don’t you? I thought maybe you wouldn’t.”
“No, I don’t hate you,” she said, “I’m hungry and— I hate you!”
Tonder said, “I’ll give you anything you need, but—”
And she interrupted him. “You want to call it something else? You don’t want a whore. Is that what you mean?’
Tonder said, “I don’t know what I mean. You make it sound full of hatred.”
Molly laughed. She said, “It’s not nice to be hungry. Two sausages, two fine, fat sausages can be the most precious things in the world.”
“Don’t say those things,” he said. “Please don’t!”
“Why not? They’re true.”
“They aren’t true! This can’t be true!”
She looked at him for a moment and then she sat down and her eyes fell to her lap and she said, “No, it’s not true. I don’t hate you. I’m lonely, too. And the snow is heavy on the roof.”
Tonder got up and moved near to her. He took one of her hands in both of his and he said softly, “Please don’t hate me. I’m only a lieutenant. I didn’t ask to come here. You didn’t ask to be my enemy. I’m only a man, not a conquering man.”
Molly’s fingers encircled his hand for a moment and she said softly, “I know; yes, I know.”
And Tonder said, “We have some little right to life in all this death.”
She put her hand to his cheek for a moment and she said, “Yes.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “We have some right to life in all the killing.” His hand rested on her shoulder. Suddenly she grew rigid and her eyes were wide and staring as though she saw a vision. His hand released her and he asked, “What’s the matter? What is it?” Her eyes stared straight ahead and he repeated, “What is it?”
Molly spoke in a haunted voice. “I dressed him like a little boy for his first day in school. And he was afraid. I buttoned his shirt and tried to comfort him, but he was beyond comfort. And he was afraid.”
Tonder said, “What are you saying?”
And Molly seemed to see what she described “I don’t know why they let him come home. He was confused. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t even kiss me when he went away. He was afraid, and very brave, like a little boy on his first day of school.”
Tonder stood up. “That was your husband.”
Molly said, “Yes, my husband. I went to the Mayor, but he was helpless. And then he marched away—not very well nor steadily—and you took him out and you shot him. It was more strange than terrible then. I didn’t quite believe it then.”
Tonder said, “Your husband!”
“Yes; and now in the quiet house, I believe it. Now with the heavy snow on the roof, I believe it. And in the loneliness before daybreak, in the half-warmed bed, I know it then.”
Tonder stood in front of her. His face was full of misery. “Good night,” he said “God keep you. May I come back?”
And Molly looked at the wall and at the memory. “I don’t know,” she said.
“I’ll come back.”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her and then he quietly went out of the door, and Molly still stared at the wall. “God keep me!” She stayed for a moment staring at the wall. The door opened silently and Annie came in. Molly did not even see her.
Annie said disapprovingly, “The door was open.”
Molly looked slowly toward her, her eyes still wide open. “Yes. Oh, yes, Annie.”
“The door was open. There was a man came out. I saw him. He looked like a soldier.”
And Molly said, “Yes, Annie.”
“Was it a soldier here?”
“Yes, it was a soldier.”
And Annie asked suspiciously, “What was he doing here?”
“He came to make love to me.”
Annie said, “Miss, what are you doing? You haven’t joined them, have you? You aren’t with them, like that Corell?”
“No, I’m not with them, Annie.”
Annie said, “If the Mayor’s here and they come back, it’ll be your fault if anything happens; it’ll be your fault!”
“He won’t come back I won’t let him come back.”
But the suspicion stayed with Annie. She said, “Shall I tell them to come in now? Do you say it’s safe?”
“Yes, it’s safe. Where are they?”
“They’re out behind the fence,” said Annie.
“Tell them to come in.”
And while Annie went out, Molly got up and smoothed her hair and she shook her head, trying to be alive again. There was a little sound in the passage. Two tall, blond young men entered. They were dressed in pea-jackets and dark turtle-neck sweaters. They wore stocking caps perched on their heads. They were wind-burned and strong and they looked almost like twins, Will Anders and Tom Anders, the fishermen.
“Good evening, Molly. You’ve heard?”
“Annie told me. It’s a bad night to go.”
Tom said, “It’s better than a clear night. The planes see you on a clear night. What’s the Mayor want, Molly?”
“I don’t know. I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”
The two were silent and they looked embarrassed. Tom said, “You know how it is, better than most.”
“Yes; yes, I know.”
Annie came in the door again and she said in a hoarse whisper, “They’re here!” And Mayor Orden and Doctor Winter came in. They took off their coats and caps and laid them on the couch. Orden went to Molly and kissed her on the forehead.
“Good evening, dear.”
He turned to Annie. “Stand in the passage, Annie. Give us one knock for the patrol, one when it’s gone, and two for danger. You can leave the outer door open a crack so you can hear if anyone comes.”
Annie said, “Yes, sir.” She went into the passage and shut the door behind her.
Doctor Winter was at the stove, warming his hands. “We got word you boys were going tonight.”
“We’ve got to go,” Tom said.
Orden nodded. “Yes, I know. We heard you were going to take Mr. Corell with you.”
Tom laughed bitterly. “We thought it would be only right. We’re taking his boat. We can’t leave him around. It isn’t good to see him in the streets.”
Orden said sadly, “I wish he had gone away. It’s just a danger to you, taking him.”
“It isn’t good to see him in the streets,” Will echoed his brother. “It isn’t good for the people to see him here.”
Winter asked, “Can you take him? Isn’t he cautious at all?”
“Oh, yes, he’s cautious, in a way. At twelve o’clock, though, he walks to his house usually. We’ll be behind the wall. I think we can get him through his lower garden to the water. His boat’s tied up there. We were on her today getting her ready.”
Orden repeated, “I wish you didn’t have to. It’s just an added danger. If he makes a noise, the patrol might come.”
Tom said, “He won’t make a noise, and it’s better if he disappears at sea. Some of the town people might get him and then there would be too much killing. No, it’s better if he goes to sea.”
Molly took up her knitting again. She said, “Will, you throw him overboard?”
Will blushed. “He’ll go to sea, ma’am.” He turned to the Mayor. “You wanted to see us, sir?”
“Why, yes, I want to talk to you. Doctor Winter and I have tried to think—there’s so much talk about justice, injustice, conquest. Our people are invaded, but I don’t think they’re conquered.”