Dr. Trefusis was no longer my teacher; there was nothing left to learn. But still, of an evening, we sat there in a field of fires, looking across the channel at the rebels’ hill of fires, and we spake as we could of the day just past.
On this night, as we sat in company, we discoursed on many things; and I told Dr. Trefusis that some weeks before, I had finished with Apollonius’s Voyage of the Argo, upon which I had a query.
My preceptor indicated that it would delight him to offer assistance upon any point wherein his small powers might prove of use — declensions, verb irregularities.
I said, “I have a question regarding the dragon’s teeth.” I told of the war-like births witnessed by Jason and by Cadmus, the one crop of souls arriving at truce, the other so involved in its savagery that none was left alive.
“Which,” said I, “are we?”
“As a species,” said Dr. Trefusis, “I believe we hunt in packs and show our bellies. We are territorial as the beasts of the savanna. We mate for seven years, in which time our young grow to full mobility; and that accomplished, we turn to fornication as a means of further propagating our seed. Oh, we are a delightful guest. That is all, say I.”
“Pleased you delivered my wedding sermon,” mumbled Bono. “Can double at my God-damned funeral.”
“There must,” said I, “be some place one could go and begin again. This time, untainted.”
“The taint,” said Dr. Trefusis, “is not a stain upon us, but is, I believe, our primary operation. It is not simply a mark upon our skin.”
“As the mark of Cain?” said I.
“Cain, yes. The first slaughter,” said he.
“Which accursed and darkened my race, say your theologians.”
“They do not belong to me,” said Dr. Trefusis. “I simply use them and return them baggy.”
“I wish to know if we might begin again somewhere,” I said.
“Throw down your spears and such,” said Bono. “Break your swords. How long you think before someone swoops into your paradise and makes short work of you? No defenses.”
Quoth Dr. Trefusis, “‘Only the dead hath seen the end of war.’”
“We must persist,” said I.
We did not speak after that, save Bono, who said, touching his wife upon the neck, “There must be joy.”
So we were agreed; but late at night, lying in our tent, I heard Bono, outside, wrapped in a blanket, whisper his seductions to Nsia. His douceurs were nought but such as an artillery marshal might declaim.
“Attention!” (murmured) “Tend the vent! . . . Lower the breech! . . . Advance the worm!” I heard her laugh through the canvas; to each command, she whispered, “Yes, sir.”
“Swab the piece,” he continued.
“Yes, sir.”
We heard the fumbling in the grass. Will we or nil we, we could do no other than hear. “Handle the charge!” said he. “Ram down the charge! . . . Take aim! . . . Prime! . . . Make ready! . . . Give! Fire!”
The engagement was not long. Mayhap he turned his sword to ploughshare; but perhaps, too, all was combat now.