The Moon Is Down (10 page)

At last Orden answered, “Why didn't you shoot him then? That was the time to do it.”

Lanser shook his head. “If I agreed with you, it would make no difference. You know as well as I that punishment is largely for the purpose of deterring the potential criminal. Thus, since punishment is for others than the punished, it must be publicized. It must even be dramatized.” He thrust a finger in back of his belt and flipped his little dagger.

Orden turned away and looked out of the window at the dark sky. “It will snow tonight,” he said.

“Mayor Orden, you know our orders are inexorable. We must get the coal. If your people are not orderly, we will have to restore that order by force.” His voice grew stern. “We must shoot people if it is necessary. If you wish to save your people from hurt, you must help us to keep order. Now, it is considered wise by my government that punishment emanate from the local authority. It makes for a more orderly situation.”

Orden said softly, “So the people did know. That is a mystery.” And louder he said, “You wish me to pass sentence of death on Alexander Morden after a trial here?”

“Yes, and you will prevent much bloodshed later if you will do it.”

Orden went to the table and pulled out the big chair at its head and sat down. And suddenly he seemed to be the judge, with Lanser the culprit. He drummed with his fingers on the table. He said, “You and your government do not understand. In all the world yours is the only government and people with a record of defeat after defeat for centuries and every time because you did not understand people.” He paused. “This principle does not work. First, I am the Mayor. I have no right to pass sentence of death. There is no one in this community with that right. If I should do it, I would be breaking the law as much as you.”

“Breaking the law?” said Lanser.

“You killed six men when you came in. Under our law you are guilty of murder, all of you. Why do you go into this nonsense of law, Colonel? There is no law between you and us. This is war. Don't you know you will have to kill all of us or we in time will kill all of you? You destroyed the law when you came in, and a new law took its place. Don't you know that?”

Lanser said, “May I sit down?”

“Why do you ask? That is another lie. You could make me stand if you wished.”

Lanser said, “No; it is true whether you believe it or not: personally, I have respect for you and your office, and”—he put his forehead in his hand for a moment—“you see, what I think, sir, I, a man of a certain age and certain memories, is of no importance. I might agree with you, but that would change nothing. The military, the political pattern I work in has certain tendencies and practices which are invariable.”

Orden said, “And these tendencies and practices have been proven wrong in every single case since the beginning of the world.”

Lanser laughed bitterly. “I, an individual man with certain memories, might agree with you, might even add that one of the tendencies of the military mind and pattern is an inability to learn, an inability to see beyond the killing which is its job. But I am not a man subject to memories. The coal miner must be shot publicly, because the theory is that others will then restrain themselves from killing our men.”

Orden said, “We need not talk any more, then.”

“Yes, we must talk. We want you to help.”

Orden sat quietly for a while and then he said, “I'll tell you what I'll do. How many men were on the machine guns which killed our soldiers?”

“Oh, not more than twenty, I guess,” said Lanser.

“Very well. If you will shoot them, I will condemn Morden.”

“You're not serious!” said the colonel.

“But I am serious.”

“This can't be done. You know it.”

“I know it,” said Orden. “And what you ask cannot be done.”

Lanser said, “I suppose I knew. Corell will have to be Mayor after all.” He looked up quickly. “You will stay for the trial?”

“Yes, I'll stay. Then Alex won't be so lonely.”

Lanser looked at him and smiled a little sadly. “We have taken on a job, haven't we?”

“Yes,” said the Mayor, “the one impossible job in the world, the one thing that can't be done.”

“And that is?”

“To break man's spirit permanently.”

Orden's head sank a little toward the table, and he said, without looking up, “It's started to snow. It didn't wait for night. I like the sweet, cool smell of the snow.”

4

By eleven o'lock the snow was falling heavily in big, soft puffs and the sky was not visible at all. People were scurrying through the falling snow, and snow piled up in the doorways and it piled up on the statue in the public square and on the rails from the mine to the harbor. Snow piled up and the little cartwheels skidded as they were pushed along. And over the town there hung a blackness that was deeper than the cloud, and over the town there hung a sullenness and a dry, growing hatred. The people did not stand in the streets long, but they entered the doors and the doors closed and there seemed to be eyes looking from behind the curtains, and when the military went through the street or when the patrol walked down the main street, the eyes were on the patrol, cold and sullen. And in the shops people came to buy little things for lunch and they asked for the goods and got it and paid for it and exchanged no good-day with the seller.

In the little palace drawing-room the lights were on and the lights shone on the falling snow outside the window. The court was in session. Lanser sat at the head of the table with Hunter on his right, then Tonder, and, at the lower end, Captain Loft with a little pile of papers in front of him. On the opposite side, Mayor Orden sat on the colonel's left and Prackle was next to him—Prackle, who scribbled on his pad of paper. Beside the table two guards stood with bayonets fixed, with helmets on their heads, and they were little wooden images. Between them was Alex Morden, a big young man with a wide, low forehead, with deep-set eyes and a long, sharp nose. His chin was firm and his mouth sensual and wide. He was wide of shoulder, narrow of hip, and in front of him his manacled hands clasped and unclasped. He was dressed in black trousers, a blue shirt open at the neck, and a dark coat shiny from wear.

Captain Loft read from the paper in front of him. “ ‘When ordered back to work, he refused to go, and when the order was repeated, the prisoner attacked Captain Loft with the pick-ax he carried. Captain Bentick interposed his body—' ”

Mayor Orden coughed and, when Loft stopped reading, said, “Sit down, Alex. One of you guards get him a chair.” The guard turned and pulled up a chair unquestioningly.

Loft said, “It is customary for the prisoner to stand.”

“Let him sit down,” Orden said. “Only we will know. You can report that he stood.”

“It is not customary to falsify reports,” said Loft.

“Sit down, Alex,” Orden repeated.

And the big young man sat down and his manacled hands were restless in his lap.

Loft began, “This is contrary to all—”

The colonel said, “Let him be seated.”

Captain Loft cleared his throat. “ ‘Captain Bentick interposed his body and received a blow on the head which crushed his skull.' A medical report is appended. Do you wish me to read it?”

“No need,” said Lanser. “Make it as quick as you can.”

“ ‘These facts have been witnessed by several of our soldiers, whose statements are attached. This military court finds that the prisoner is guilty of murder and recommends a death sentence.' Do you wish me to read the statements of the soldiers?”

Lanser sighed. “No.” He turned to Alex. “You don't deny that you killed the captain, do you?”

Alex smiled sadly. “I hit him,” he said. “I don't know that I killed him.”

Orden said, “Good work, Alex!” And the two looked at each other as friends.

Loft said, “Do you mean to imply that he was killed by someone else?”

“I don't know,” said Alex. “I only hit him, and then somebody hit me.”

Colonel Lanser said, “Do you want to offer any explanation? I can't think of anything that will change the sentence, but we will listen.”

Loft said, “I respectfully submit that the colonel should not have said that. It indicates that the court is not impartial.”

Orden laughed dryly. The colonel looked at him and smiled a little. “Have you any explanation?” he repeated.

Alex lifted a hand to gesture and the other came with it. He looked embarrassed and put them in his lap again. “I was mad,” he said. “I have a pretty bad temper. He said I must work. I am a free man. I got mad and I hit him. I guess I hit him hard. It was the wrong man.” He pointed at Loft. “That's the man I wanted to hit, that one.”

Lanser said, “It doesn't matter whom you wanted to hit. Anybody would have been the same. Are you sorry you did it?” He said aside to the table, “It would look well in the record if he were sorry.”

“Sorry?” Alex asked. “I'm not sorry. He told me to go to work—me, a free man! I used to be alderman. He said I had to work.”

“But if the sentence is death, won't you be sorry then?”

Alex sank his head and really tried to think honestly. “No,” he said. “You mean, would I do it again?”

“That's what I mean.”

“No,” Alex said thoughtfully, “I don't think I'm sorry.”

Lanser said, “Put in the record that the prisoner was overcome with remorse. Sentence is automatic. Do you understand?” he said to Alex. “The court has no leeway. The court finds you guilty and sentences you to be shot immediately. I do not see any reason to torture you with this any more. Captain Loft, is there anything I have forgotten?”

“You've forgotten me,” said Orden. He stood up and pushed back his chair and stepped over to Alex. And Alex, from long habit, stood up respectfully. “Alexander, I am the elected Mayor.”

“I know it, sir.”

“Alex, these men are invaders. They have taken our country by surprise and treachery and force.”

Captain Loft said, “Sir, this should not be permitted.”

Lanser said, “Hush! Is it better to hear it, or would you rather it were whispered?”

Orden went on as though he had not been interrupted. “When they came, the people were confused and I was confused. We did not know what to do or think. Yours was the first clear act. Your private anger was the beginning of a public anger. I know it is said in town that I am acting with these men. I can show the town, but you—you are going to die. I want you to know.”

Alex dropped his head and then raised it. “I know, sir.”

Lanser said, “Is the squad ready?”

“Outside, sir.”

“Who is commanding?”

“Lieutenant Tonder, sir.”

Tonder raised his head and his chin was hard and he held his breath.

Orden said softly, “Are you afraid, Alex?”

And Alex said, “Yes, sir.”

“I can't tell you not to be. I would be, too, and so would these young—gods of war.”

Lanser said, “Call your squad.” Tonder got up quickly and went to the door. “They're here, sir.” He opened the door wide and the helmeted men could be seen.

Orden said, “Alex, go, knowing that these men will have no rest, no rest at all until they are gone, or dead. You will make the people one. It's a sad knowledge and little enough gift to you, but it is so. No rest at all.”

Alex shut his eyes tightly. Mayor Orden leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. “Good-by, Alex,” he said.

The guard took Alex by the arm and the young man kept his eyes tightly closed, and they guided him through the door. The squad faced about, and their feet marched away down out of the house and into the snow, and the snow muffled their footsteps.

The men about the table were silent. Orden looked to ward the window and saw a little round spot being rubbed clear of snow by a quick hand. He stared at it, fascinated, and then he looked quickly away. He said to the colonel, “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Captain Loft gathered his papers and Lanser asked, “In the square, Captain?”

“Yes, in the square. It must be public,” Loft said.

And Orden said, “I hope you know.”

“Man,” said the colonel, “whether we know or not, it is what must be done.”

Silence fell on the room and each man listened. And it was not long. From the distance there came a crash of firing. Lanser sighed deeply. Orden put his hand to his forehead and filled his lungs deeply. Then there was a shout outside. The glass of the window crashed inward and Lieutenant Prackle wheeled about. He brought his hand up to his shoulder and stared at it.

Lanser leaped up, crying, “So, it starts! Are you badly hurt, Lieutenant?”

“My shoulder,” said Prackle.

Lanser took command. “Captain Loft, there will be tracks in the snow. Now, I want every house searched for firearms. I want every man who has one taken hostage. You, sir,” he said to the Mayor, “are placed in protective custody. And understand this, please: we will shoot, five, ten, a hundred for one.”

Orden said quietly, “A man of certain memories.”

Lanser stopped in the middle of an order. He looked over slowly at the Mayor and for a moment they understood each other. And then Lanser straightened his shoulders. “A man of no memories!” he said sharply. And then, “I want every weapon in town gathered. Bring in everyone who resists. Hurry, before their tracks are filled.”

The staff found their helmets and loosed their pistols and started out. And Orden went to the broken window. He said sadly, “The sweet, cool smell of the snow.”