The Moon Is Down (17 page)

Doctor Winter sat tensely forward now, and he went on with it, “‘Acting the part of a good man or of a bad.' I don't think you have it quite right. You never were a good scholar. You were wrong in the denunciation, too.”

Orden chuckled. “Do you remember that?”

“Yes,” said Winter, eagerly, “I remember it well. You forgot a line or a word. It was graduation, and you were so excited you forgot to tuck in your shirt-tail and your shirt-tail was out. You wondered why they laughed.”

Orden smiled to himself, and his hand went secretly behind him and patrolled for a loose shirt-tail. “I was Socrates,” he said, “and I denounced the School Board. How I denounced them! I bellowed it, and I could see them grow red.”

Winter said, “They were holding their breaths to keep from laughing. Your shirt-tail was out.”

Mayor Orden laughed. “How long ago? Forty years?”

“Forty-six.”

The sentry by the bedroom door moved quietly over to the sentry by the outside door. They spoke softly out of the corners of their mouths like children whispering in school. “How long you been on duty?”

“All night. Can't hardly keep my eyes open.”

“Me too. Hear from your wife on the boat yesterday?”

“Yes! She said say hello to you. Said she heard you was wounded. She don't write much.”

“Tell her I'm all right.”

“Sure—when I write.”

The Mayor raised his head and looked at the ceiling and he muttered, “Um—um—um. I wonder if I can remember—how does it go?”

And Winter prompted him, “‘And now, O men—”

And Orden said softly, “‘And now, O men who have condemned me—' ”

Colonel Lanser came quietly into the room; the sentries stiffened. Hearing the words, the colonel stopped and listened.

Orden looked at the ceiling, lost in trying to remember the old words. “‘And now, O men who have condemned me,' ” he said, “‘I would fain prophesy to you—for I am about to die—and—in the hour of death—men are gifted with prophetic power. And I—prophesy to you who are my murderers—that immediately after my—my death—' ”

And Winter stood up, saying, “Departure.”

Orden looked at him. “What?”

And Winter said, “The word is ‘departure,' not ‘death.' You made the same mistake before. You made that mistake forty-six years ago.”

“No, it is death. It is death.” Orden looked around and saw Colonel Lanser watching him. He asked, “Isn't it ‘death'?”

Colonel Lanser said, “‘Departure.' It is ‘immediately after my departure.' ”

Doctor Winter insisted, “You see, that's two against one. ‘Departure' is the word. It is the same mistake you made before.”

Then Orden looked straight ahead and his eyes were in his memory, seeing nothing outward. And he went on, “‘I prophesy to you who are my murderers that immediately after my—departure punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you.' ”

Winter nodded encouragingly, and Colonel Lanser nodded, and they seemed to be trying to help him to remember. And Orden went on, “‘Me you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your lives—!' ”

Lieutenant Prackle entered excitedly, crying, “Colonel Lanser!”

Colonel Lanser said, “Shh—” and he held out his hand to restrain him.

. And Orden went on softly, “‘But that will not be as you suppose; far otherwise.' ” His voice grew stronger. “‘For I say that there will be more accusers of you than there are now' ”—he made a little gesture with his hand, a speech-making gesture—“ 'accusers whom hitherto I have restrained; and as they are younger they will be more inconsiderate with you, and you will be more offended at them.'” He frowned, trying to remember.

And Lieutenant Prackle said, “Colonel Lanser, we have found some men with dynamite.”

And Lanser said, “Hush.”

Orden continued, “‘If you think that by killing men you can prevent someone from censuring your evil lives, you are mistaken.' ” He frowned and thought and he looked at the ceiling, and he smiled embarrassedly and he said, “That's all I can remember. It is gone away from me.”

And Doctor Winter said, “It's very good after forty-six years, and you weren't very good at it forty-six years ago.”

Lieutenant Prackle broke in, “The men have dynamite, Colonel Lanser.”

“Did you arrest them?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Loft and—”

Lanser said, “Tell Captain Loft to guard them.” He recaptured himself and he advanced into the room and he said, “Orden, these things must stop.”

And the Mayor smiled helplessly at him. “They cannot stop, sir.”

Colonel Lanser said harshly, “I arrested you as a hostage for the good behavior of your people. Those are my orders.”

“But that won't stop it,” Orden said simply. “You don't understand. When I have become a hindrance to the people, they will do without me.”

Lanser said, “Tell me truly what you think. If the people know you will be shot if they light another fuse, what will they do?”

The Mayor looked helplessly at Doctor Winter. And then the bedroom door opened and Madame came out, carrying the Mayor's chain of office in her hand. She said, “You forgot this.”

Orden said, “What? Oh, yes,” and he stooped his head and Madame slipped the chain of office over his head, and he said, “Thank you, dear.”

Madame complained, “You always forget it. You forget it all the time.”

The Mayor looked at the end of the chain he held in his hand—the gold medallion with the insignia of his office carved on it. Lanser pressed him. “What will they do?”

“I don't know,” said the Mayor. “I think they will light the fuse.”

“Suppose you ask them not to?”

Winter said, “Colonel, this morning I saw a little boy building a snow man, while three grown soldiers watched to see that he did not caricature your leader. He made a pretty good likeness, too, before they destroyed it.”

Lanser ignored the doctor. “Suppose you ask them not to?” he repeated.

Orden seemed half asleep; his eyes were drooped, and he tried to think. He said, “I am not a very brave man, sir. I think they will light it, anyway.” He struggled with his speech. “I hope they will, but if I ask them not to, they will be sorry.”

Madame said, “What is this all about?”

“Be quiet a moment, dear,” the Mayor said.

“But you think they will light it?” Lanser insisted.

The Mayor spoke proudly. “Yes, they will light it. I have no choice of living or dying, you see, sir, but—I do have a choice of how I do it. If I tell them not to fight, they will be sorry, but they will fight. If I tell them to fight, they will be glad, and I who am not a very brave man will have made them a little braver.” He smiled apologetically. “You see, it is an easy thing to do, since the end for me is the same.”

Lanser said, “If you say yes, we can tell them you said no. We can tell them you begged for your life.”

And Winter broke in angrily, “They would know. You do not keep secrets. One of your men got out of hand one night and he said the flies had conquered the flypaper, and now the whole nation knows his words. They have made a song of it. The flies have conquered the flypaper. You do not keep secrets, Colonel.”

From the direction of the mine a whistle tooted shrilly. And a quick gust of wind sifted dry snow against the windows.

Orden fingered his gold medallion. He said quietly, “You see, sir, nothing can change it. You will be destroyed and driven out.” His voice was very soft. “The people don't like to be conquered, sir, and so they will not be. Free men cannot start a war, but once it is started, they can fight on in defeat. Herd men, followers of a leader, cannot do that, and so it is always the herd men who win battles and the free men who win wars. You will find that is so, sir.”

Lanser was erect and stiff. “My orders are clear. Eleven o'clock was the deadline. I have taken hostages. If there is violence, the hostages will be executed.”

And Doctor Winter said to the colonel, “Will you carry out the orders, knowing they will fail?”

Lanser's face was tight. “I will carry out my orders no matter what they are, but I do think, sir, a proclamation from you might save many lives.”

Madame broke in plaintively, “I wish you would tell me what all this nonsense is.”

“It is nonsense, dear.”

“But they can't arrest the Mayor,” she explained to him.

Orden smiled at her. “No,” he said, “they can't arrest the Mayor. The Mayor is an idea conceived by free men. It will escape arrest.”

From the distance there was a sound of an explosion. And the echo of it rolled to the hills and back again. The whistle at the coal mine tooted a shrill, sharp warning. Orden stood very tensely for a moment and then he smiled. A second explosion roared—nearer this time and heavier—and its echo rolled back from the mountains. Orden looked at his watch and then he took his watch and chain and put them in Doctor Winter's hand. “How did it go about the flies?” he asked.

“The flies have conquered the flypaper,” Winter said.

Orden called, “Annie!” The bedroom door opened instantly and the Mayor said, “Were you listening?”

“Yes, sir.” Annie was embarrassed.

And now an explosion roared near by and there was a sound of splintering wood and breaking glass, and the door behind the sentries puffed open. And Orden said, “Annie, I want you to stay with Madame as long as she needs you. Don't leave her alone.” He put his arm around Madame and he kissed her on the forehead and then he moved slowly toward the door where Lieutenant Prackle stood. In the doorway he turned back to Doctor Winter. “Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius,” he said tenderly. “Will you remember to pay the debt?”

Winter closed his eyes for a moment before he answered, “The debt shall be paid.”

Orden chuckled then. “I remembered that one. I didn't forget that one.” He put his hand on Prackle's arm, and the lieutenant flinched away from him.

And Winter nodded slowly. “Yes, you remembered. The debt shall be paid.”

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