The Centurions (42 page)

“Various customs, or perhaps I should say rites, are now observed. Drunks are frowned upon, and so are womanizers; there is less and less talk about girls and ‘painting the town red.' Is it fatigue which encourages chastity, or this atmosphere of sports stadium, country fair and church?

“With astonishing mastery and without moving from this camp, the ‘wolves' are inducing us, all unconsciously, to take part in this war in Algeria to which many of us—I'm speaking for the reservists—are still opposed because they consider it unjust. The propaganda service is run by a young captain, a sort of lanky, fair-haired schoolboy who always looks as if he's preparing a practical joke or a trap. His name is Marindelle.

“The loud-speakers never cease blaring forth songs, news items, information and slogans, and these slogans sometimes have the oddest ring about them:

“We haven't come here to defend colonialism; we have nothing in common with those affluent settlers who exploit the Moslems, We are the defenders of liberty and the new order.

“‘Radio Raspéguy' lays particular emphasis on everything that can make a soldier disgusted with civilian life. The outside world is presented as vile, corrupt and degraded, power as being in the hands of a gang of small-time crooks.

“My comrades already talk about ‘us' as opposed to anyone who doesn't wear our peaked cap and camouflage uniform. They are clean, neat and are becoming agile; they are pure, whereas in France there is nothing but corruption, cowardice and meanness—the ‘world of sin' of our monasteries.

“Captain Marindelle has very cunningly exploited the endless inquiry into the leakages in order to discredit the government, high-level administration and a certain army.

“In the interval between a waltz and a military march the loud-speaker blares:

“‘While we were fighting out in Indo-China or languishing in Vietminh prisons, some men were being paid a fat fee for betraying us to the enemy's advantage: a collection of perverted journalists and policemen, highly-placed officials, untrustworthy generals and shady politicians.

“‘And nothing is coming out of this inquiry, no one is going to be charged with anything. Everyone belongs to this crooked gang. Comrade'—for he actually used the word comrade—‘aren't you better off here with us? Here, no one will betray you, no one will lie to you.'

“I've checked up on the news items broadcast by ‘Radio Raspéguy.' They are accurate and drawn from every source.
Libération
and
Le Monde
are quoted as much as
La Nation Française
and
l'Aurore
, and occasionally even our dear old
Témoignage Chrétien
.

“We live on top of each other, officers, N.C.O.s and men all together, but it's Raspéguy's ‘wolves' who set the tone. They seem to be trying to canvass our opinion, as though they were waiting for us to vote them into the ranks and positions they already occupy. Once they have been elected, no one will be able to question any order they give us.

“But it's a one-sided game. These officers are not like the others; they have the maturity and ‘dialectical' knowledge of mankind which they acquired in the Vietminh camps.

“The programme to which they subject us has nothing military about it. After each manœuvre, the platoons and sections get together to criticize it, and were it not for the laughter and jokes one could easily imagine oneself at a Communist self-examination session.”

In the month of June Bistenave was writing:

“The ‘wolves' have won; they have won our vote and if a poll were to be held to elect each of our leaders, I don't think a single officer or N.C.O. would be changed. Thus the bonds between the men and those who command them are infinitely stronger here than anywhere else.

“I was bold enough to enter into a discussion with Captain Marindelle, and I discovered that I was dealing with a mind that is open to every form of argument; he believes that only Marxist methods of war are efficient. But he tells me he believes in God.

“They are all obsessed with this word: efficiency.

“I also asked him:

“‘Does this communion you maintain with your men have any other reason but efficiency and only one ultimate aim—war?'

“‘No, it's because we need them. In Indo-China we experienced the solitude of mercenaries; we felt like outcasts from the nation. We don't want any more of that situation. We've got to create a popular army, thanks to which we will find ourselves in communion with the people. That's why those who've been called up, the reservists like you, are much more important to us than the volunteers who, by the very fact of enlisting, have performed more or less the act of a mercenary.'

“Any other rank can go and see Captain Marindelle and have a discussion with him. In this regiment without a priest, he plays the role of an almoner, a sort of civilian and political almoner. But the idea has suddenly flashed into my head—of course, he's the political commissar!

“To me this revolutionary experiment is fascinating and terrifying. My eighteen months' military service in a barracks on the outskirts of Paris had not prepared me for encounters like this.

“Captain Esclavier, who is in command of the two companies of reservists, has taken me on as a liaison agent, secretary and fourth at bridge. Last night I slept next to him. He shared his bedding and rations with me. I had attempted a finesse and lost.

“When we go out on manœuvres, we never know how long the exercise is going to last: a few hours, one day, or two or three days; so the usual drill is to take one's bivouac, sleeping bag and two days' rations with one. I had thought we were coming back that evening and did not want to weigh myself down.

“It was a fine, clear night and a sentry standing a few yards from us showed up as a dark patch against the sky.

“I asked this captain who has been fighting for years by Raspéguy's side if the colonel believed in God. He burst out laughing—and it's rare for this officer, who seldom sheds his reserved manner, to laugh. Captain Esclavier despises soft-hearted people, chatterboxes, and anyone who weakens and pours out his soul—but maybe darkness makes him more human. This was his reply:

“‘I also once asked Major Raspéguy whether he believed in God, and he seemed surprised. “When I've a moment to spare,” he replied, “I must look into the matter.” But you may be certain that Colonel Raspéguy will never have the time to look into the matter, nor will General Raspéguy . . .'

“‘What about you, Captain?'

“‘I don't believe in God, but I feel I am bound up with Christian civilization.'

“The captain addresses me as ‘
vous
' when we're alone together, but uses the familiar ‘
tu
' in front of my comrades.

‘Esclavier gave another laugh:

“If you were to ask me what I have come out here to fight against, I would say: in the first place, excess. Sophocles says: ‘Excess is the greatest crime against the gods.' I'm fighting against the savage, lawless nationalism of the Arabs because it is excessive, just as I fought against Communism, because that too was excessive.'

“I felt like asking him: ‘What are you practising here if it isn't military Communism? But the Communists can at least justify their methods, their pragmatism, their contempt for individual man by an immense objective: to strip humanity of its old skin; whereas your ultimate aim is simply to win this war, nothing but this war, and, whatever you might say to the contrary, to save the privileged classes and maintain an economic, political and racial inequality. In fact, Captain, you don't really know why you're fighting—from habit, perhaps, and out of barbaric loyalty to the head of your clan who is Raspéguy.'

“But the captain had turned over and was fast asleep.

“Next morning we crossed a sort of prairie covered in wild flowers, and the captain pointed out that there were very few bees and scarcely a hive to be seen.

“‘To me,' he said, ‘as to the people of the ancient world, bees are the symbol of peace, prosperity and organization. This land of Algeria has never known anything but war and anarchy, and so the bees don't come here.'

“‘The men have a strange attitude towards Captain Esclavier. They manifest a sort of jealous, fierce attachment to him. They are proud of his strength, his good looks, his courage, his medals (he's an officer of the Légion d'Honneur and a companion of the Libération—and even I am not insensible to the display of so much glory), they like to see him impeccably turned out and always on the go, but they are frightened of his sudden moods and his contempt for any form of weakness. He's the absolute prototype of the paratrooper and Raspéguy's favourite officer.

“By way of contrast, all the reservists of the first company feel like personal friends of Lieutenant Merle's. They are always happy to see him, are scared when he jumps into his Jeep, which he drives like a maniac, and would give him a word of warning if they dared.

“This lieutenant is the brother all of us have secretly dreamt about. He's as cheeky and comic as the bird that bears his name and declares at every opportunity that he doesn't like the army. He has absolutely no sense of ownership; he loses all his kit and never has any cigarettes or matches or any water in his bottle. So he borrows from everyone, with a falsely contrite air. He seems to have no sense of hierarchy. He is possibly the only one who doesn't take Raspéguy seriously, much to the colonel's secret pleasure.

“Merle is very close to Lieutenant Pinières, a sort of red-haired colossus who is convinced that there is nothing better in the world than being a paratroop officer in the best parachute regiment which is naturally the one in which he happens to be serving. To Merle, tough Esclavier is like an elder brother.

“Merle has one vice: gambling, and he ‘blows' his pay at the Aletti Casino as soon as he draws it. For the rest of the time he lives on loans from Esclavier.

“Major Beudin, commonly called Boudin, who comes from Auvergne and doesn't like to see money wasted, decided this month to dole Merle out his pay in driblets of
10
,
000
francs. In Captain Esclavier's office I was able to witness a scene of high comedy between Merle and the major. It was like a bargain being transacted on a fairground.

“In the midst of this circus Boudin is the only one who keeps a cool head and a sense of reality; he suffers agony from all the irregularities that are committed, but he is secretly enchanted at being the only one capable of dealing with them. For Raspéguy he has the attachment of a faithful dog, and receives every kick he gets from him with something akin to pleasure. Boudin is said to be extremely courageous in battle but incapable of commanding a company.

“Major de Glatigny still preserves some of the haughtiness of a cavalry officer; in one respect he is less easy to get on with than the others, he still believes he's an officer by divine right. He goes to Mass, performs all his religious duties, but is beginning to be caught up in this crazy atmosphere.

“Raspéguy is flattered to be in command of this descendant of a great military dynasty and addresses him with false irony as ‘Count' or ‘Constable.'

“Major de Glatigny is the only real ‘traditional' officer in the whole regiment. In spite of everything, he has preserved the sense of what a soldier may do and may not do, whereas all his colleagues are living in a dream world. He is extremely civilized and uses his influence to temper the colonel's outrageousness.

“I can never face Captain Boisfeuras without feeling slightly ill at ease.

“He is ugly, with phenomenal stamina and a rasping voice. He walks without making a sound and, like certain old college ushers, he's on to you before you can hear him coming. He's the only officer who's badly dressed, he's the jackal among the wolves. I asked Lieutenant Merle about him.

“‘You know, old man,' he replied (he calls everyone ‘old man') ‘I owe my life to Captain Boisfeuras, and at a time when there was no love lost between us.'

“Captain Boisfeuras often goes to Algiers and is sometimes away for several days. He's the ‘political' officer of our odd regiment, and his power is obviously more than that of a mere captain.

“As his chauffeur, butler, batman and bodyguard, he has a sort of Chinaman who is always behind him with a revolver on his hip. The Boisfeuras enigma stirs everyone's imagination. Some say he's a secret agent, others a politician who is lying low, others still a special envoy from the Government, and his reputation increases in proportion to the mystery surrounding him.

“Our medical officer is a magnificent Negro, Captain Dia. He addresses everyone as ‘
tu
,' from the colonel down. His voice resounds like a copper drum; he eats like an ogre, drinks like a wineskin; his hands are sensitive and bring relief to his patients. He overflows with humanity and love of life.

“He goes bathing at night. I noticed him one evening by the edge of the sea; he was playing on a strange little flute. Esclavier, Boisfeuras and Marindelle were with him and I fancied—for his face was visible in the moonlight—that Captain Esclavier had tears in his eyes. But a man of that stamp can't weep very often, and the moonlight may have been deceiving.

“I felt I was witnessing the celebration of a cult of some strange African or Asian divinity. The note of the flute was plaintive and was drowned by the dull roar of the sea. I had no place there, I, who am soon to be a priest of the Catholic and Roman Church.

“What curious and disturbing people these ‘wolves' are! They are familiar with Sophocles, Marx and Mao-Tse-Tung, but I fancy they are burdened with painful secrets; I know that they are sometimes possessed by certain obscure forces.

“I looked at myself in the mirror just now and I was pleased and horrified at once to see that I too am beginning to look like a wolf.