11

Everything does not come together in the end; everything falls apart in the end. General Blake was a poetic hero. There was none of the dry wearisome desert at the end of the road; rather, there was a jungle bog of meaning over meaning, meaning under meaning, a tangle of meaning, every part mixed in with every other part, a terrifying mesh. Thus were General Blake's thoughts as he gazed upon a portrait; there was a secret under the black surface of a deep black sea. His very mustaches radiated out Mystery & Birth. Oh how does a general do? I was trapped down under the deck in a tiny little womb of space; such was the beginning of the world, such shall be my fate once the hell has burst through the surface of the world like a belly bursts through the skin of a carcass, and the entrails come out and meet the air, refusing to be ignored by eye & nose.

When the enemy spy was let into General Blake's tent, Blake stood staring at a portrait of his wife; and the portrait of his wife stared back up at him. She had no being beyond the portrait; there was nothing in this world that the portrait was mere semblance of; rather, the portrait was his wife entire, for he had always only known the portrait, and adored it.

He put the portrait back into his chest of drawers, without saying a word to Billy, who stood with his hands tied behind his back, his wrists blistered and weeping from the rope. Then Blake pulled a chair up, sat across from Billy (who still hadn't been offered a chair), and said, "Well, if you would tell me who our enemy is, the complete disposition of his army, we shall be able to avoid the unpleasantness of torturing you." Billy was terrified, but he was relieved that he would be allowed finally to tell his story to someone, anyone, and no longer had to keep silent. "Sir," he said. He cleared his dry throat (he had been given nothing to drink all the time of his capture). "Sir," he said again, "there's been a terrible mistake. I am a private in the 12th Company, 42nd Regiment, Joseph's Brigade, Italy's Division. I wandered into the camp of someone in your . . ." he couldn't remember the company and regiment numbers of the ones who had captured him, and was very scattered & exhausted. His stomach was empty withal, and it felt like it was eating into itself, or vainly gnawing on some hard stone or peach pit; and he was shivering and damp. "I wandered into the camp of some privates in your division looking to find out where the army got firewood. They, not knowing who I was, took me for a spy and captured me. It was really all a big mistake." "Firewood?" said General Blake. "You wanted to know where the army got firewood?" "Yes," said Billy, now with more confidence. "I haven't seen a tree in three days march, and every night we have fresh cords." "Well," said General Blake, "so far from your brigade . . . and on a purely theoretical curiosity . . . is that the bearing of a soldier who knows his duty?" "I suppose not," said Billy. "And it isn't even the correct way to go about answering the question. I don't suppose, after all you've been through, that you are still disturbed by such a curiosity?" "Yes, yes," said Billy; "if you can tell me where the army gets firewood, even if I am to be shot, I would certainly like to know before I die." The general laughed and finally stood and moved a chair over by Billy, who cautiously sat. "As would I like to know," said General Blake, "as would I. But I leave that to the philosophers. When I consider the size of this army--and it is incomprehensibly vast--I am struck with a sense of awe that tells me I am very, very tiny. Do you know how many corps I myself have counted, taking notes on the sketchy intelligence I receive? Over 24 thousand. And I have yet to count a fraction of the total number. At least 12 divisions to a corps, 20 brigades per division, 20 regiments per brigade (roughly speaking), and 50 companies of 100 men per regiment. That doesn't count your daily missing at roll call, etc.; but you get the picture. My division supplies your division with firewood. We get it from Harold & Key's Division; Harold & Key get it from Twin James's Division (we all call him Twin, though I don't think he has any siblings), and the wood supply gets beyond my ken right around there. Had I an infinite mind I could tell you the ultimate source of firewood, but I'm afraid I don't have the intellectual capacity needed to contemplate such infinities. Right now my division is in the process of having discipline restored to the men--your capture caused some disorder, I'm ashamed to say--but there are other divisions ahead of us on this march that have been marching already nine hours today, other divisions ahead of them that are just setting up camp, and ahead of them perhaps there is a corps that is six hours into its nightly rest. Behind us there are other divisions and corps that are some eating breakfast, some eating dinner, and others dreaming of sugarplums. Right now fifty thousand miles to our rear there are men celebrating Christmas by opening their Christmas whisky rations, and fifty thousand mines ahead there are men attending Easter services. So you see, if I were to follow this trail of wood to its conclusion, I would not have the time to lead & manage this division, and do my duty as it is given me to do."

Billy was surprised how warm, even kind was his tone. He had come in expecting to be harshly interrogated; instead, he was being given to understand the very mysteries of the Army. But then, looking at the general's eyes, he reconsidered. The man had just gone on for some time, and now he seemed to be struggling to recall who Billy was and what was supposed to be his (Blake's) attitude toward Billy. Self-conscious, the general would not meet Billy's eyes with his own, but was obviously, though without saying it, begging to be reminded of why Billy had been shown in to see him, in a way that did not draw attention to his obvious senility. "So you no longer believe I'm a spy?" said Billy. "What did you say your name was?" asked the general. "Billy Calhoun," said Billy, "of the 12th Company, 42nd Regiment, Joseph's Brigade, Italy's Division." The general went to the door of his tent, where Billy could see just barely the shoulder of an attendant who stood ready to serve; and the general asked that a courier be sent to ascertain if a Billy Calhoun were missing at roll call from the . . . what was it? . . . Billy reminded him. "Well," said the general when he returned to his seat, "we'll find out soon enough if you're a spy. In the meantime, I suppose you'd like something to eat." "Yes," said Billy; "yes Sir very much Sir." The general again went to the door of his tent and sent orders for breakfast to be brought for the both of them.

"I have a question," said Billy as they waited, "if you please, Sir, before you dismiss me. In what direction is the Army marching?" "That depends upon what time it is," the general replied.

End