The Young Lions

"Unfortunate," Lewis said. "Most unfortunate." Then he flushed, because the barest hint of an ironic smile played across the corners of the girl's mouth at his sympathy. "Now," he said briskly, "this is the situation. Your husband has asked to be transferred to another unit… Technically, he can be tried by a court-martial on the charge of desertion."

"But he didn't desert," Hope said. "He gave himself up."

"Technically," Lewis said, "he deserted, because at the time he left his post, he did not intend to return."

"Oh," said Hope. "There's a rule for everything, isn't there?"

"I'm afraid there is," Lewis said uncomfortably. The girl made him uneasy sitting there, staring steadily at him. It would have been easier if she cried. "However," he went on stiffly, "the Army realizes that there are extenuating circumstances…"

"Oh, God," Hope said, laughing dryly. "Extenuating circumstances."

"… and in recognition of that," Lewis insisted, "the Army is willing not to press the court-martial and return your husband to duty."

Hope smiled, a grave, warm smile. What a pretty girl, Lewis thought, much prettier than either of the two models…

"Well, then," Hope said, "there's no problem, is there? Noah wants to be returned to duty and the Army is willing…"

"It isn't as simple as that. The General in command of the base from which your husband deserted insists that he be returned to the Company in which he was serving, and the authorities here will not interfere."

"Oh," Hope said flatly.

"And your husband refuses to go back. He says he would stand trial before going back."

"They'll kill him," Hope said dully, "if he goes back. Is that what they want?"

"Now, now," Lewis said, feeling that since he was wearing the uniform and the two bright captain's bars, he had to defend the Army to a certain extent, anyway. "It's not as bad as that."

"No?" Hope asked bitterly. "Just how bad would you say it was, Captain?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Ackerman," Lewis said humbly. "I know how you feel. And remember, I'm trying to help…"

"Of course," Hope said, touching his arm impulsively with her hand. "Forgive me."

"If he stands trial, he is quite certain to be sent to jail." Lewis paused. "For a long time. For a very long time." He did not say that he had written a biting letter to the Inspector-General's office about this matter, and had put it in his desk to be reworded the next morning to get it perfect and that he had begun to think, as he had re-read the letter, that he was sticking his neck out awfully far, and that the Army had a quiet way of sending obstreperous officers, officers who found it necessary to make complaints about their superiors, to unpleasant places like Assam or Iceland or New Guinea. And he neglected to tell Hope that he had put the letter in his pocket and had re-read it four times during the day and then had torn it up at five o'clock in the afternoon and had gone out and got drunk that night.

"Twenty years, Mrs Ackerman," he said as gently as possible, "twenty-five years. Courts-martial have a tendency to harshness…"

"I know why you called me here," Hope said in a dead voice.

"You want me to convince Noah to go back to his Company." Lewis swallowed. "That, more or less, is it, Mrs Ackerman."

Hope stared out of the window. Three prisoners in blue fatigues were heaving garbage into a truck. Two guards stood behind them, with shotguns under their arms.

"Are you a psychiatrist in civilian life, too, Captain?" she asked suddenly.

"Why… uh… yes," Lewis said, flustered by the unexpected question. Hope laughed sharply. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself today?" she asked.

"Please," Lewis said stiffly. "Please. I have a job to do and I do it the best way I know how."

Hope stood up. She stood up heavily, carrying the child within her a little awkwardly. Her dress was too small for her and hung grotesquely in front. Lewis had a sudden vision of Hope desperately trying to alter her clothes because she could not afford to buy maternity dresses.

"All right," she said, "I'll do it."

"Good," Lewis beamed at her. After all, he told himself, this was the best possible way for everybody, and the boy would not suffer too badly. He almost believed it, too, as he picked up the phone to call Captain Mason in the Provost Marshal's office and tell him to get Ackerman ready for a visitor.

He asked for Mason's extension and listened to the ringing in the receiver. "By the way," he said to Hope, "does your husband know about… the child?" Delicately he avoided looking at the girl.

"No," Hope said. "He hasn't any idea."

"You might… uh… use that as an argument," Lewis said, holding the buzzing phone to his ear. "In case he won't change his mind. For the child's sake… a father in prison, disgraced…"

"It must be wonderful," Hope said, "to be a psychiatrist. It makes you so practical."

Lewis could feel his jaw growing rigid with embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to suggest anything that…" he began.

"Please, Captain," Hope said, "keep your silly mouth closed."

Oh, God, Lewis mourned within him, the Army, it makes idiots of every man in it. I would never have behaved so badly in a grey suit. "Captain Mason," a voice said in the receiver.

"Hello, Mason," Lewis said gratefully. "I have Mrs Ackerman here. Will you get Private Ackerman down to the visitors' room right away?"

"You have five minutes," the MP said. He stood at the door of the bare room, which had bars on the windows and two small wooden chairs in the middle of the floor.

The main problem was not to cry. He looked so small. The other things, the queer, smashed shape of his nose, the grotesque broken ear, the split, torn eyebrow were bad, but what was hard to conquer was that he looked so small. The stiff blue fatigues were much too large for him and he seemed lost and tiny in them. And they made him seem heartbreakingly humble. Everything about him was humble. Everything but his eyes. The soft way he came into the room. The mild, hesitant little smiles as he saw her. The embarrassed, hasty kiss, with the MP watching. His low, mild voice, when he said, "Hello." It was dreadful to think of the long, cruel process which had produced such humility in her husband. But his eyes flared wildly and steadily.

They sat almost knee to knee on the two stiff chairs, like two old ladies having tea in the afternoon.

"Well, now," Noah said softly. "Well, now." He gri

"What?" Hope asked. "What do you think about?"

"Something you once said."

"What was that?"

"'You see, it wasn't too hot, not too hot at all.'" He gri

"What a thing," Hope said, trying to smile, too. "What a thing to remember."

They stared at each other in silence, as though they had exhausted all conversation.

"Your aunt and uncle," Noah said. "They still live in Brooklyn? The same garden…"

"Yes," Hope said. The MP moved a little at the door, scratching his back against the wood. The rough cloth made a sliding sound on the wood. "Listen," Hope said, "I've been talking to Captain Lewis. You know what he wants me to do…"

"Yes," Noah said. "I know."

"I'm not going to try to tell you one way or another,'.' Hope said. "You do what you have to do."

Then she saw Noah staring at her, his eyes slowly dropping to her stomach, tight against the belt of the old dress. "I wouldn't promise him anything," she went on, "not a thing…"