The General of the Dead Army Read Free Page B

as the old man walked over to the road and, obviously tired, sat down on a stone, pulled his tobacco pouch from his pocket and began rolling a cigarette.
    Why is that man looking at me like that? the general thought.
    A few minutes later the workmen began digging in five different places at once.

    Chapter without a Number
    “NOW THERE’S NO KNOWING where we are,” said the general smiting his brow. “This looks to me like a complete dead-end.”
    “Why don’t we take another look at the maps?”
    “Because they’re meaningless. Because none of our references seem to refer to them!”
    “And it looks as though the sketch-map of the cemetery was made in a terrible hurry. While they were actually retreating.”
    “Quite possible.”
    “Why don’t we try over there, to the right? Where does that track lead to?”
    “Those are all fields belonging to a co-operative. In cultivation.”
    “Well, let’s try that way.”
    “It’s a waste of time.”
    “And this damnable mud on top of it all!”
    “We shall have to try over to the right there eventually, you know.”
    “Very well, but it won’t get us anywhere.”
    “This isn’t a search, it’s a wild-goose chase!”
    “What’s that you said?”
    “Oh, this blasted mud!”
    “We’re stuck.”
    The fretful voices and the footsteps moved off together across the plain.

3
    A T THE END OF TWENTY DAYS they returned to Tirana. Dusk had fallen. Their green limousine drew up outside the Hotel Dajti, at the foot of the curtain of great pine trees that tower in front of the building. The general emerged first. He looked tired, depressed, drawn-featured. His fixed gaze halted for a moment on the car. If only they’d at least wiped off that mud, he thought irritably. But they had only just arrived back, so he could hardly blame the driver because the car was dirty. The general realized that, but he brushed such rational considerations aside.
    He walked swiftly up the entrance steps, collected his mail at the desk, asked for a call to be put through to his family, and continued slowly on up to his room.
    The priest had gone up to his without even pausing at the desk.
    An hour later, having bathed and changed, they were both seated at a table in the ground-floor lounge.
    The general ordered brandy. The priest asked for a hot chocolate. It was Saturday. The sounds of a dance band could be heard from the taverna in the basement. Young couples going down into the taverna or coming up from it were visible from time to time at the other end of the lounge. There were people, who were coming in and going out, in the lobby too. The lounge, with its dark curtains and its deep armchairs, had an austere air about it.
    “Well, our first tour is over at last,” the general said.
    They rehearsed the same discussions they had had time and again on their dreary trip: mulling over whether they’d get it all done inside a year, unexpected snags, sudden spells of bad weather.
    “Up in the mountains it’s going to be tough.”
    “Yes, I’m very much afraid it is.”
    “Tomorrow I must get my maps out again and plan the best itinerary for our second tour.”
    “I only hope the weather is not too unkind to us.”
    “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s the time of year.”
    The priest sat tranquilly sipping his chocolate, the cup held between thumb and forefinger of one long, slender hand.
    A good-looking man, the general thought to himself as he sat looking at the priest’s severe profile and impassive, masklike features. Then suddenly he wondered: What was his relationship with the colonel’s widow? There must be something between them. She is pretty, quite ravishing in fact, especially in a bathing suit. He remembered that when he had alluded to the priest on one occasion she had been unable to stop herself blushing and had lowered her eyes. What can their relationship be? the general asked himself again, still watching his companion’s face.
    “Despite all our