| They
passed on into a brilliantly
lighted room. The staff was quartered there. The general took a few
steps
across the room, murmured something and stood still in front of Yakob.
'Ah, that
is the man?' he
turned and looked at Yakob with his blue eyes that shot glances quick
as
lightning from under bushy grey eyebrows.
'It was I,'
ejaculated Yakob
hoarsely.
'It was you
who showed them
the way?'
Yakob
became calmer. He felt
he would be able to make himself more quickly understood here. 'It was.'
'You
brought them here?'
'Yes.'
He passed
his hand over his
hair and shrank into himself again. He looked at the brilliant lights.
'Do you
know what is the
punishment for that?'
The general
came a step nearer;
Yakob felt overawed by the feeling of strength and power that emanated
from him. He was choking. Yes, he understood and yet did not
understand.'
'What have
you got to say
for yourself!'
'We had
supper together...'
he began, but stopped, for the general frowned and eyed him coldly.
Yakob
looked towards the window and listened to hear the sound of wind and
waves.
The general was still looking at him, and so they stood for a moment
which
seemed an eternity to Yakob, the man in the field-grey uniform who
looked
as if he had been sculptured in stone, and the quailing, shrunken,
shivering
form, covered with dirt and rags. Yakob felt as though a heavy weight
were
resting on him. Then both silently looked down.
'Take him
back to the battalion.'
The steely
sound of the command
moved something in the souls of the soldiers, and took the enjoyment of
their sleep from them.
They
returned to the school-house.
The crowd, as though following a thief caught in the act, ran by their
side again.
They found
room for the old
man in a shed, some one threw him a blanket. Soldiers were sleeping in
serried ranks. Their heavy breathing mixed with the sound of wind and
waves,
and the cold blue light of the moon embraced everything.
Yakob
buried himself in the
straw, looked out through a hole in the boarding and wept bitterly.
'What are
you crying for?'
asked the sentry outside, and tapped his shoulder with his gun.
Yakob did
not answer.
'Thinking
of your wife?'
the soldier gossiped, walking up and down outside the shed. 'You're
old,
what good is your wife to you?' The soldier stopped and stretched his
arms
till the joints cracked.
'Or your
children? Never
mind, they'll get on in the world without a helpless old man like you.'
Yakob was
silent, and the
soldier crouched down near him.
'Old man,
you ought...'
'No...'
tremblingly came
from the inside.
'You see,'
the soldier paced
up and down again, 'you are thinking of your cottage. I can understand
that. But do you think the cottage will be any the worse off for your
death?'
The
soldier's simple and
dour words outside in the blue night, his talk of Yakob's death, of his
own death which might come at any moment, slowly brought sleep to Yakob.
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