He closed his eyes, let the sounds of the forest settle over him like a fog: wind in branches, grasses rustling, crickets, toads, the scurrying sound of squirrels. , “Forget the love part. Let's just fuck and forget the love part, huh? Otherwise, we're dead.”
“Go to sleep.” She smoothed his forehead like Florence Nightingale in an old textbook drawing he had once seen. Except Florence Nightingale had not been nude.
“Promise you won't love me,” he insisted.
“Go to sleep.”
“Promise.”
“Okay, okay! I promise not to love you.”
He sighed happily. “Good. I don't want to die yet.” He drifted toward sleep for a few minutes, then stirred, suddenly worried. “The Panzers! We—”
“Go to sleep, darling,” she said. “Tomorrow's time enough to worry about the Germans. Remember, I don't love you.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
He tumbled into sleep again, dreaming of bombs which exploded like pastel clouds of chalk dust: green, yellow, blue, and purple. Men fell down dead, gushing pastel blood. The cries of the dying were muted and soft like the calls of giant pastel jungle-birds.
Except for Lily who comforted him and kissed him each time he woke, everything about the night was horrible. And now there were only four days left in which to build the village.
7 / JULY 20
The French workers returned to the clearing at noon, six hours after they were scheduled to arrive.
“Why waste six hours?” Kelly asked Lyle Fark when the private brought the news. “Why not return when they were supposed to, so we could negotiate and get this damn strike over with?”
“Psychology,” Fark said. “Maurice wants you desperate before he sits down to bargain with you.”
Maurice entered Kelly's tent five minutes later, mopping at his face with the tail of his checkered shirt. His enormous, round stomach was exposed, pale as a large honey-dew melon, hairy as a coconut, the navel large and deep, “Your Private Fark met me at the bridge,” he told Kelly. “He says you are prepared to negotiate.”
The tent was large enough to contain a small table and two straight-backed chairs. Major Kelly was behind the table. He pointed to the chair in front of it. “Sit down. Let's talk business.”
“
“You were supposed to be here at dawn,” the major said, trying to be as reasonable as he could. He wanted to pick up the table and break it over the mayor's head. But he knew that would not facilitate an end to the labor strike.
“You have worked my people so hard,” Maurice said, shrugging. “They were in need of a long night's sleep.”
Kelly bit his lip until he thought blood would come, but he managed to keep his hands off Maurice's throat. “What do you want?”
Maurice frowned. “You have not yet thought of anything to offer?”
“The shortwave radio,” Kelly said. “You want it?”
Maurice brightened, wiped sweat from his face. “It would be of great benefit to my community, cut off as we are from so much of France.”
“It's yours,” Kelly said.
“
The major gritted his teeth and spoke through them, sounding like Humphrey Bogart. “What else? The D-7 dozer?”
“Ah,” Maurice said. “That would be fine.”
“This isn't easy, Maurice. You know the dozer is Danny Dew's virility symbol, his own way of hanging on in this chaos.”
Maurice shrugged. “He will adapt.”
Major Kelly had spent all morning wondering if Danny Dew would adapt. And he had been certain the black bastard would not. Danny depended on that big machine too much; he would not let it go without a fight.
“I need Dew,” Kelly told Maurice. “I can't risk making an enemy of him. Without him, we'll never get the village done. There are jobs only the dozer can accomplish — and only under Danny's hand. So, we're going to have to keep this a secret. Not a word of this transaction can get back to Danny.”
“One day, it must,” Maurice said. “When the dozer leaves this clearing.”
“That's my one condition,” Kelly said. “You can't take possession of the dozer until we can con a new one out of General Blade — then, if Danny still won't give the old one up, you can have the replacement. It will be a better machine, anyway.”
“And if you can't get another bulldozer from Blade?” Maurice asked.
“I will. I'll tell him this one's already been ruined.”
Maurice thought about it awhile.
Kelly looked at his watch. The minute-hand seemed to sweep around the dial as if it were marking off seconds.
At last, Maurice said, “I am not an unreasonable man, Major.”
Kelly gritted his teeth so hard he almost broke his jaws.
“I will be satisfied with this arrangement, if you write it out in the form of an ironclad contract which I have spent most of the night drafting.” The Frog took a long sheet of paper out of his trousers and put it on the table.
“I'll sign anything,” Kelly said.
“And what about the written guarantee from your Lieutenant Beame?” Maurice asked, leaning conspiratorially over the table.
Kelly felt that he owed Nathalie Jobert a favor. She had told him what her father would settle for, and she might give additional help in the future. “I am afraid that cannot be obtained,” Kelly said. “He is adamant. And I can't rightly order him to sign. This thing between Beame and your daughter is a private affair and should not come between you and me.”
Maurice scowled.
“
“You are right,” Maurice said. He struck the table with one hand. “I accept your offer. The strike is ended.”
“And Danny must not learn about the dozer. It is essential we keep that a secret.”
“We will try,” Maurice said, drawing a tiny cross over his heart.
Kelly pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. His head brushed the canvas ceiling, and horseflies rose noisily from the outer surface. “In all honesty, I have to say that I am making this deal only because most of my men still think we can build the town in time to fool the krauts.”
“And you don't believe we can,
“There never was much of a chance,” Kelly said, edging around the table. “And now that you've wasted nearly a whole working day with this strike of yours, there's no chance at all.”
“You are quite wrong.” Maurice rubbed his pudgy hands together. “
“Prefabrication?” Kelly asked. He wrinkled his nose, partly in an expression of bewilderment and partly because Maurice Jobert was sweaty and smelly. “I don't understand.”
“You will!” Maurice said. He went to the entranceway, and lifted a canvas flap. “Be at the bridge in one hour,
