Embers

Chapter 8

The General dressed himself without summoning his servant. He took his dress uniform out of the wardrobe and gazed at it for a long time. It had been decades since he had worn it. He opened a drawer, took out his decorations, and lifted them from their boxes lined in red, white, and green silk. As he held the medals of bronze, silver, and gold in his hand and ran his fingers over them, he saw in his mind’s eye a bridge-head over the Dnieper, or a parade in Vienna, or a reception in Buda’s royal palace. He shrugged. What had life brought him? Duties and idle pleasures. Like a card player absentmindedly gathering up his chips after a big game, he let the decorations slide back into the drawer.

He dressed in black, tied his tie of white pique, and ran a wet brush through his white, close-cropped hair. In the last years these austere, almost priestly clothes had become his uniform. He went to his desk, fumbled in his portfolio with trembling old fingers for a tiny key, and unlocked a long, deep drawer. From its secret compartment he removed a number of different objects: a Belgian revolver, a little packet of letters tied with blue ribbon, and a book bound in yellow velvet with the word “souvenir” imprinted on the cover. The book was also closed with a blue ribbon and the knot had been stamped with a seal. The General held it in his hand for a long time. Then he checked the weapon with expert attention. It was an old revolver with six chambers. All six had bullets in them. With a casual flick of the wrist he dropped the revolver back into the drawer, and shrugged again, then slipped the yellow-velvet-bound book deep into the pocket of his jacket.

He stepped to the windows and opened the shutters. While he had been asleep there had been a sudden cloudburst. A cool breeze was moving between the plane trees, and the wet leaves glistened as if they had been oiled. It was already dusk. He stood motionless at the window, arms crossed over his chest, looking out at the landscape, the valley, the forest, the yellow road far below, the distant outline of the town. His farsighted eyes picked up the movement of a steadily advancing carriage.-.His guest was enroute.

Face expressionless, body motionless, he followed the rapidly moving target. Then he closed one eye as a hunter does when taking aim.