The Young Lions

"How about you?" Margaret sat absolutely still, looking down at her feet.

"Of course," the ski-instructor said. "Of course, I'm a Nazi. Don't look so shocked. You've been reading those idiotic American newspapers. We eat children, we burn down churches, we march nuns through the street naked and paint dirty pictures on their backs in lipstick and human blood, we have breeding farms for human beings, etc. etc… It would make you laugh, if it weren't so serious."

He was silent. Margaret wanted to leave, but she felt weak, and she was afraid she would stumble and fall if she got up now. Her eyes were hot and stinging and there was an uncertain feeling in her knees as though she hadn't slept for days. She blinked and looked out at the quiet, white hills, receding and less dramatic as the light grew stronger.

What a lie, she thought, the magnificent, peaceful hills in the climbing sun.

"I would like you to understand…" The man's voice was gentle, sorrowful and pleading. "It's too easy for you in America to condemn everything. You're so rich and you can afford so many luxuries. Tolerance, what you call democracy, moral positions. Here in Austria we ca

"It's not the only way," Margaret said, arguing despite herself. But he seemed so sensible and pleasant, so accessible to reason… "There must be other ways than lying and murdering and cheating."

"My dear girl," the ski-instructor shook his head patiently and sorrowfully, "live in Europe ten years and then come and tell me that. If you still believe it. I'm going to tell you something. Until last year I was a Communist. Workers of the world, peace for all, to each according to his need, the victory of reason, brotherhood, brotherhood, etc. etc." He laughed.

"Nonsense! I do not know about America, but I know about Europe. In Europe nothing will ever be accomplished by reason. Brotherhood… a cheap, street-corner joke, good for second-rate politicians between wars. And I have a feeling it is not so different in America, either. You call it lying, murdering, cheating. Perhaps it is. But in Europe it is the necessary process. It is the only thing that works. Do you think I like to say that? But it is true, and only a fool will think otherwise. Then, finally, when things are in order, we can stop what you called the 'lying and murdering'. When people have enough to eat, when they have jobs, when they know that their money will be worth the same tomorrow as it is today and not one-tenth as much, when they know they have a government that is their own, that ca

"That's horrible," Margaret said.

"My dear young lady," the ski-instructor swung round and took her hands, speaking eagerly and candidly, his face flushed and alive, "I am speaking abstractly and it sounds worse that way. You must forgive me. I promise you something. It will never come to that. You can tell your friend that, too. For a year or two he will be a little a

"I hate it," Margaret said. "I hate them all."

The ski-instructor looked into her eyes, then shrugged, sorrowful and defeated, and swung slowly round. He stared thoughtfully at the mountains. "I'm sorry," he said. "You seem so reasonable and intelligent. I thought, perhaps here is one American who would speak a good word when she got home, one American, who would have some understanding…" He stood up. "Ah, I suppose it is too much to ask." He turned to her and smiled, pleasantly, his lean, agreeable face gentle and touching. "Permit me to make a suggestion. Go home to America. I'm afraid Europe will make you very unhappy." He scuffed at the snow. "It will be a little icy today," he said in a brisk, business-like voice. "If you and your friend are going to ski, I will take you down the west trail myself, if you like. It will be the best one today, but it is not advisable to go alone."

"Thank you." Margaret stood up, too. "But I think we won't stay."

"Is he coming on the morning train?"

"Yes."

The ski-instructor nodded. "He'll have to stay at least until three o'clock this afternoon. There are no other trains." He peered at her under his heavy eyebrows, bleached at the ends.

"You don't wish to remain here for your holiday?"

"No," said Margaret.

"Because of last night?"

"Yes."

"I understand. Here." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and a pencil, and wrote for a moment. "Here is an address you can use. It's only twenty miles from here. The three-o'clock train stops there. It's a charming little i

Margaret took the paper and put it in her pocket. "Thank you," she said. She couldn't help thinking, how decent and good this man is, despite everything. "I think we'll go there."

"Good. Have a pleasant holiday. And after that…" He smiled at her and put out his hand. "After that, go home to America."

She shook his hand. Then she turned and started down the hill towards the town. When she was at the bottom of the hill, she looked back. His first class had begun, and he was crouched over on his skis, laughing, patiently lifting a seven-year-old girl, in a red wool cap, from the snow where she had fallen.

Joseph arrived, bubbling and joyful. He kissed her and gave her a box of pastries he had carried with great care all the way from Vie