and at the hour. Full of grace.' He touched the smooth, deeply segmented
steel of the grenade.
'Us sinners - at the day, at the hour. This day - this day our daily
bread.' He fumbled at the clip, fingers stiff and cold.
'Hallowed be thy - Hallowed be thy-' The clip clicked open and he held
the grenade, curling his fingers round it.
'Hail, Mary, full of grace.' He drew the grenade to him and held it with
both hands against his chest. He lifted it to his mouth and took the pin
between his teeth.
'Pray for us sinners,' he whispered, and pulled the pin.
'Now and at the hour of our death.' And he tried to throw it. It
rolled from his hand and bumped across the floor. The firing handle flew
off and rattled against the wall. General Moses turned from the window
and saw it, - his lips opened and his spectacles glinted above the
rose-pink cave of his mouth. The grenade lay at his feet. Then
everything was gone in the flash and roar of the explosion.
Afterwards in the acrid swirl of fumes, in the patter of falling
plaster, in the tinkle and crunch of broken glass, in the small
scrabbling noises and the murmur and moan of dying men, Andre was still
alive. The body of the man beside him had shielded his head and chest
from the full force of the blast.
There was still enough life in him to recognize Bruce Curry's face close
to his, though he could not feel the hands that touched him.
'Andre!' said Bruce. 'It's Andre - he threw the grenade!'
'Tell him-' whispered Andre and stopped.
'Yes, Andre-?' said Bruce.
'I didn't, this day and at the hour. I had to - not this time.'
He could feel it going out in him like a candle in a high wind and he
tried to cup his hands around it.
'What is it, Andre? What must I tell him?' Bruce's voice, but so far
away.
'Because of him - this time - not of it, I didn't.' He stopped again and
gathered all of what was left. His lips quivered as he tried
so hard to say it.
'Like a man!' he whispered and the candle went out.
'Yes,' said Bruce softly, holding him. 'This time like a man.
He lowered Andre gently until his head touched the door again; then he
stood upright and looked down at the terribly mutilated body.
He felt empty inside, a hollowness, the same feeling as after love.
He moved across to the desk near the far wall. Outside the gunfire
dwindled like half-hearted applause, flared up again and then ceased.
Around him Ruffy and the four gendarmes moved excitedly, inspecting the
dead, exclaiming, laughing the awkward embarrassed laughter of men
freshly released from mortal danger.
Loosening the chin straps of his helmet with slow steady fingers, Bruce
stared across the room at Andre's body.
'Yes,' he whispered again. 'This time like a man. All the other times
are wiped Out, the score is levelled.' His cigarettes were damp from the
swamp, but he took one from the centre of the pack and straightened it
