HS03 - A Visible Darkness by Michael Gregorio Read Free Book Online Page B

mission.
    Was he capable of conversational speech? Every word was an order. Every order was to be obeyed. Was I alone in hearing the sarcasm in his voice? Or was it a question of Prussian sensibility, and nothing more?
    One of the newcomers pushed past me, hurrying forward into the light and the shelter. ‘This is
true
French hospitality!’ he exclaimed.
    I followed him up the wooden steps and took a few wary paces into the room.
    We might have been aboard a whaling-ship. The edifice was ribbed and panelled like an upturned boat, the wood as shiny as metal, green-tinged where damp had made its home in the grain. The wooden roof was low, the room was small, and it seemed even smaller, crammed with sets of drawers fixed along three of thewalls. Heaps of tools and instruments were stored above the drawers. Those drawers were narrow, as if they were used to hold maps and drawings, each marked with an iron letter from the alphabet. There were picks and hammers hanging from hooks. Large boxes containing screws and nails, all the paraphernalia of carpenters and woodworkers, were ranged on top of the drawers. In the centre of the room, a large table was illuminated by a hanging oil-lamp. Bread, cheese and wine had been set out on trays.
    There were four soldiers standing around it. Their eyes slid over me and settled on the newly-arrived Frenchmen. Greetings and names were quickly exchanged, together with more particular enquiries, regarding their journey and the state of the empire. The words
Spain
and
guerrilla
were like magnets to men who were isolated on the extreme northern coast of the continent.
    I stood apart, holding tight to my travelling-bag, like a lost pilgrim, uncertain to whom I might address myself. But Colonel les Halles had other plans for me. He had taken up a position at the far end of the room, well away from the feast.
    ‘Stiffeniis,’ he called. ‘Come over here.’
    I went to stand beside him.
    We were like a small private island; the other officers composed a larger, more convivial land mass some way off across the wide sea.
    ‘I received a note regarding you from General Malaport,’ he began, then stopped abruptly. ‘First, let me see your orders.’
    As he spoke, he slipped the cape from his shoulders. His uniform was stained and spotted. Mud had dried in places, as if he had just recently stopped working, and then in such a hurry that he had had no time to restore his finery. Only the stripes on his sleeves and the silver epaulettes on his shoulders proclaimed what he was. In the days to come, I would understand that this was what he wanted his underlings to think of him: he was a commander, he was ready to soil his hands, having no time for social nicety. He put first things first, and all the rest flew out of the window.
    ‘You have left a wife and three young children in Lotingen,’ he said, taking the letter that I held out to him, folding his arms, settlinghis bulk on the edge of the table, staring at me out of dark, hooded eyes. ‘Your wife is expecting a fourth child, I’ve been informed. It cannot have been easy for you to leave them there, not knowing how long it will take to . . . to resolve the situation here.’
    It was the first word of ordinary humanity that I had heard from his lips. Was there a Madame les Halles waiting for him in France? Was there a child who could squeeze a drop of tenderness from the heart of Colonel les Halles?
    At my back, I heard the start of a small welcoming party for the new officers. Bottles were broached and exclamations of appreciation were made, concerning the unexpected quality of the German wine, the excellence of the dried sausages and the pickled herring.
    He was keeping me well apart, I realised, singling me out, marking me off from the others. I was his Prussian guest, though that did not mean that I was to be generally made welcome. I waited in silence while he cast his eyes over my letter of commission. When he had finished, he handed it