Alarm overcame Tietjens. The general was certainly in disorder. But over what? There was not time to think. Campion was certainly dreadfully overworked … He exclaimed:
“Sir, hadn’t you better? …” He said: “If we could get back to your memorandum … I am quite prepared to write a report to the effect of your sentence as to the French civilian population’s attitude. That would throw the onus on me …”
The general said agitatedly:
“No! No! … You’ve got quite enough on your back as it is. Your confidential report states that you are suspected of having too great common interests with the French. That’s what makes the whole position so impossible … I’ll get Thurston to write something. He’s a good man, Thurston. Reliable …” Tietjens shuddered a little. The general went on astonishingly:
“ ‘But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:
And yonder all before me lie
Deserts of vast eternity!’
“That’s a general’s life in this accursed war … You think all generals are illiterate fools. But I have spent a great deal of time in reading, though I never read anything written later than the seventeenth century.”
Tietjens said:
“I know, sir … You made me read Clarendon’s History of the Great Rebellion when I was twelve.”
The general said:
“In case we … I shouldn’t like … In short …” He swallowed: it was singular to see him swallow. He was lamentably thin when you looked at the man and not the uniform.
Tietjens thought:
“What’s he nervous about? He’s been nervous all the morning.”
The general said:
“I am trying to say—it’s not much in my line—that in case we never met again, I do not wish you to think me an ignoramus.”
Tietjens thought:
“He’s not ill … and he can’t think me so ill that I’m likely to die … A fellow like that doesn’t really know how to express himself. He’s trying to be kind and he doesn’t know how to …”
The general had paused. He began to say:
“But there are finer things in Marvell than that …”
Tietjens thought:
“He’s trying to gain time … Why on earth should he? … What is this all about?” His mind slipped a notch. The general was looking at his fingernails on the blanket. He said:
“There’s, for instance:
“ ‘The grave’s a fine and secret place
But none I think do there embrace …’ ”
At those words it came to Tietjens suddenly to think of Sylvia, with the merest film of clothing on her long, shining limbs … She was working a powder-puff under her armpits in a brilliant illumination from two electric lights, one on each side of her dressing table. She was looking at him in the glass with the corners of her lips just moving. A little curled … He said to himself:
“One is going to that fine and secret place … Why not have?” She had emanated a perfume founded on sandalwood. As she worked her swansdown powder-puff over those intimate regions he could hear her humming. Maliciously! It was then that he had observed the handle of the door moving minutely. She had incredible arms, stretched out amongst a wilderness of besilvered cosmetics. Extraordinarily lascivious! Yet clean! Her gilded sheath gown was about her hips on the chair …
Well! she had pulled the strings of one too many shower-baths!
Shining; radiating glory but still shrivelled so that he reminded Tietjens of an old apple inside a damascened helmet; the general had seated himself once more on the bully-beef case before the blanketed table. He fingered his very large, golden fountain-pen. He said:
“Captain Tietjens, I should be glad of your careful attention!”
Tietjens said:
“Sir!” His heart stopped.
The general said that that afternoon Tietjens would receive a movement order. He said stiffly that he must not regard this new movement order as a disgrace. It was promotion. He, Major-General Campion, was requesting the colonel commanding the depot to inscribe the highest possible testimonial in his, Tietjens’, small-book. He, Tietjens, had exhibited the most extraordinary talent for finding solutions for difficult problems—The colonel was to write that!—In addition he, General Campion, was requesting his friend, General Perry, commanding the sixteenth section …
Tietjens thought:
“Good God. I am being sent up the line. He’s sending me to Perry’s Army … That’s certain death!”
… To give Tietjens the appointment of second in command of the VIth Battalion of his regiment!
Tietjens said, but he did not know where the words came from:
“Colonel Partridge will not like that. He’s praying for McKechnie to come back!”
To himself he said:
“I shall fight this monstrous treatment of myself to my last breath.”
The general suddenly called out:
“There you are … There is another of your infernal worries …”
He put a strong check on himself, and, dryly, like the very great speaking to the very unimportant, asked:
“What’s your medical category.”
Tietjens said:
“Permanent base, sir. My chest’s rotten!”
The general said:
“I should forget that, if I were you … The second in command of a battalion has nothing to do but sit about in armchairs waiting for the colonel to be killed.” He added: “It’s the best I can do for you … I’ve thought it out very carefully. It’s the best I can do for you.”
Tietjens said:
“I shall, of course, forget my category, sir …”
Of course he would never
