The Moon Is Down by John Steinbeck

“Yes, sir,” said Loft.

“Go on, now, try to keep Prackle in hand. Start your search. I don’t want any shooting unless there’s an overt act, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Loft, and he saluted formally and went out of the room.

Hunter regarded Colonel Lanser amusedly. “Weren’t you rough on him?”

“I had to be. He’s frightened. I know his kind. He has to be disciplined when he’s afraid or he’ll go to pieces. He relies on discipline the way other men rely on sympathy. I suppose you’d better get to your rails. You might as well expect that tonight is the time when they’ll really blow them, though.”

Hunter stood up and he said, “Yes. I suppose the orders are coming in from the capital?”

“Yes.”

“Are they—”

“You know what they are,” Lanser interrupted. “You know what they’d have to be. Take the leaders, shoot the leaders, take hostages, shoot the hostages, take more hostages, shoot them”—his voice had risen but now it sank almost to a whisper—“and the hatred growing and the hurt between us deeper and deeper.”

Hunter hesitated. “Have they condemned any from the list of names?” and he motioned slightly toward the Mayor’s bedroom.

Lanser shook his head. “No, not yet. They are just arrested so far.”

Hunter said quietly, “Colonel, do you want me to recommend—maybe you’re overtired, Colonel? Could I—you know—could I report that you’re overtired?”

For a moment Lanser covered his eyes with his hand, and then his shoulders straightened and his face grew hard. “I’m not a civilian, Hunter. We’re short enough of officers already. You know that. Get to your work, Major. I have to see Corell.”

Hunter smiled. He went to the door and opened it, and he said out of the door, “Yes, he’s here,” and over his shoulder he said to Lanser, “It’s Prackle. He wants to see you.”

“Send him in,” said Lanser.

Prackle came in, his face sullen, belligerent. “Colonel Lanser, sir, I wish to—”

“Sit down,” said Lanser. “Sit down and rest a moment. Be a good soldier, Lieutenant.”

The stiffness went out of Prackle quickly. He sat down beside the table and rested his elbows on it “I wish—”

And Lanser said, “Don’t talk for a moment. I know what it is. You didn’t think it would be this way, did you? You thought it would be rather nice.”

“They hate us,” Prackle said. “They hate us so much.”

Lanser smiled. “I wonder if I know what it is. It takes young men to make good soldiers, and young men need young women, is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Well,” Lanser said kindly, “does she hate you?”

Prackle looked at him in amazement. “I don’t know, sir. Sometimes I think she’s only sorry.”

“And you’re pretty miserable?”

“I don’t like it here, sir.”

“No, you thought it would be fun, didn’t you? Lieutenant Tonder went to pieces and then he went out and they got a knife in him. I could send you home. Do you want to be sent home, knowing we need you here?”

Prackle said uneasily, “No, sir, I don’t.”

“Good. Now I’ll tell you, and I hope you’ll understand it. You’re not a man any more. You are a soldier. Your comfort is of no importance and, Lieutenant, your life isn’t of much importance. If you live, you will have memories. That’s about all you will have. Meanwhile you must take orders and carry them out. Most of the orders will be unpleasant, but that’s not your business. I will not lie to you, Lieutenant. They should have trained you for this, and not for flower-strewn streets. They should have built your soul with truth, not led it along with lies.” His voice grew hard. “But you took the job, Lieutenant. Will you stay with it or quit it? We can’t take care of your soul.”

Prackle stood up, “Thank you, sir.”

“And the girl,” Lanser continued, “the girl, Lieutenant, you may rape her, or protect her, or marry her—that is of no importance so long as you shoot her when it is ordered.”

Prackle said wearily, “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

“I assure you it is better to know. I assure you of that. It is better to know. Go now, Lieutenant, and if Corell is still waiting, send him in.” And he watched Lieutenant Prackle out of the doorway.

When Mr. Corell came in, he was a changed man. His left arm was in a cast, and he was no longer the jovial, friendly, smiling Corell. His face was sharp and bitter, and his eyes squinted down like little dead pig’s eyes.

“I should have come before, Colonel,” he said, “but your lack of cooperation made me hesitant.”

Lanser said, “You were waiting for a reply to your report, I remember.”

“I was waiting for much more than that. You refused me a position of authority. You said I was valueless. You did not realize that I was in this town long before you were. You left the Mayor in his office, contrary to my advice.”

Lanser said, “Without him here we might have had much more disorder than we have.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” Corell said. “This man is a leader of a rebellious people.”

“Nonsense,” said Lanser; “he’s just a simple man.” With his good hand Corell took a black notebook from his right pocket and opened it with his fingers. “You forgot, Colonel, that I had my sources, that I had been here a long time before you. I have to report to you that Mayor Orden has been in constant contact with every happening in this community. On the night when Lieutenant Tonder was murdered, he was in the house where the murder was committed. When the girl escaped to the hills, she stayed with one of his relatives. I traced her there, but she was gone. Whenever men have escaped, Orden has known about it and has helped them. And I even strongly suspect that he is somewhere in the picture of these little parachutes.”

Lanser said eagerly, “But you can’t prove it.”

“No,” Corell said, “I can’t prove it. The first thing I know; the last I only suspect. Perhaps now you will be willing to listen to me.”

Lanser said quietly, “What do you suggest?”

“These suggestions, Colonel, are a little stronger than suggestions. Orden must now be a hostage and his life must depend on the peacefulness of this community. His life must depend on the lighting of one single fuse on one single stick of dynamite.”

He reached into his pocket again and brought out a little folding book, and he flipped it open and laid it in front of the colonel. “This, sir, was the answer to my report from headquarters. You will notice that it gives me certain authority.”

Lanser looked at the little book and he spoke quietly. “You really did go over my head, didn’t you?” He looked up at Corell with frank dislike in his eyes. “I heard you’d been injured. How did it happen?”

Corell said, “On the night when your lieutenant was murdered I was waylaid. The patrol saved me. Some of the townsmen escaped in my boat that night. Now, Colonel, must I express more strongly than I have that Mayor Orden must be held hostage?”

Lanser said, “He is here, he hasn’t escaped. How can we hold him more hostage than we are?”

Suddenly in the distance there was a sound of an explosion, and both men looked around in the direction from which it came. Corell said, “There it is, Colonel, and you know perfectly well that if this experiment succeeds there will be dynamite in every invaded country.”

Lanser repeated quietly, “What do you suggest?”

“Just what I have said. Orden must be held against rebellion.”

“And if they rebel and we shoot Orden?”

“Then that little doctor is next; although he holds no position, he’s next in authority in the town.”

“But he holds no office.”

“He has the confidence of the people.”

“And when we shoot him, what then?”

“Then we have authority. Then rebellion will be broken. When we have killed the leaders, the rebellion will be broken.”

Lanser asked quizzically, “Do you really think so?”

“It must be so.”

Lanser shook his head slowly and then he called, “Sentry!” The door opened and a soldier appeared in the doorway. “Sergeant,” said Lanser, “I have placed Mayor Orden under arrest, and I have placed Doctor Winter under arrest. You will see to it that Orden is guarded and you will bring Winter here immediately.”

The sentry said, “Yes, sir.”

Lanser looked up at Corell and he said, “You know, I hope you know what you’re doing. I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

CHAPTER VIII

In the little town the news ran quickly. It was communicated by whispers in doorways, by quick, meaningful looks—“The Mayor’s been arrested”—and through the town a little quiet jubilance ran, a fierce little jubilance, and people talked quietly together and went apart, and people going in to buy food leaned close to the clerks for a moment and a word passed between them.

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