William F. Buckley Jr. Read Free Page B

happened at the Arno. And come to think of it, I’m not giving you much of a choice on the question, because that’s the way
I
want it, and,” Danny pointed to the stripe on his shirtsleeve, “I’m senior over you.” Danny had teased Henry when the order was issued at Camp Wheeler promoting the platoon. Three soldiers had inadvertently been left out of the roster. A correction came in a week later, but it left Danny senior in grade.
    Henry spoke now. He did not attempt a smile. With his free hand he reached for a limp handkerchief. Danny looked away while Henry wiped his eyes. “Okay,” Henry said. “But you can understand I can’t take it out of my mind, and won’t. Not ever. I don’t know if I’m glad to be alive, but I guess I can say I’m glad you are my friend.”
    The tears were once again visible. “Can you go now, Danny? Maybe come back tomorrow, or the next day? I have to sleep.”
    He closed his eyes, and Danny got up.
    He stared down at his companion-at-arms and felt a great rush of pity, though laced with contempt. He would not conceal the truth from himself, never mind what he had written in the letter. It was simply established that Henry’s character was flawed. Danny could never again feel for him quite what he once had.When they met, soon after arriving at Camp Wheeler in Georgia to take infantry training, the base friendship was conventional: He was dealing with another soldier, on whom he could rely as a comrade in action. No more; Henry was different. But a nice guy, he would certainly not take that away from him.
    By the time he reached the door, he had come up with the idea.
    So now he went to the company clerk. He wanted to know, he told the sergeant, how to proceed with the matter at hand.
    He got back from the sergeant a mimeographed form. He completed it and took it, as directed, to company headquarters, where he got the “Recommended for Citation” form. He relished the words as he inked them down on the form, sitting on a wooden stool in the cramped duty office. The sergeant on duty was preoccupied. He blew his cigar smoke into the air while scanning the freshly arrived directive having to do with a new variety of gonorrhea. He pinned it up on the wall, after spotting a space not already covered by other notices.
    I was behind Private Chafee a few yards
, Danny wrote,
when the enemy fire struck him down. But before collapsing, he managed to fire several rounds into the bunker, and this made it possible for me to approach the enemy gunners and knock them out with the hand grenade.
    Only Danny knew of the great, hilarious imposture over which he was presiding, and it amused him that its beneficiary, Henry, would be infuriated by it.
    But what could Henry do, after all? Danny had taken in hand, at the height of a broad offensive military action, a fellow soldier who might otherwise have been court-martialed for cowardice—
cowardice in the face of the enemy
, as the war codes put it. Instead, a few weeks later, Private Henry Chafee would be discharged from the hospital and given a citation for gallantry in action plus a Purple Heart.
    Henry would obviously have to play along. Either that or confess his cowardice—and maybe even get Danny court-martialed.
    Henry’s mortification, as the colonel pinned the medal on him, was all-consuming—he had been taken completely by surprise, called out of the ranks that morning at reveille. After theceremony he had refused to speak to Danny. For several days he had needed to concentrate on Danny’s impulsive generosity the evening of the offensive before resuming the friendship, which had hardened during the closing, uneventful winter before their discharge, after which they headed for the same university and put in to room together.

Four
    T HE IDEA was more popular with her children than with Rachel. She didn’t mind a sail around the harbor or even a day sail to Block Island, a matter of four or five hours. But once Clement had proposed