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I had a sudden memory of how I had almost worshipped Bruce for his clear, unwavering principles. But then I saw that Ferenc was not smiling. Thinking my remark must have seemed ungrateful, I added quickly, "Of course, I guess it's too late now for those things — "
He shrugged. "It was always too late."
"What do you mean?" My sense of well-being was all gone now, though I could hardly have said why.
"I mean," he said almost sharply, "to combat the forces of destiny is always futile. Such waste, those lives lost for a romantic abstraction— "
"Romantic abstraction?" I stared at him. "Is that what you call freedom— democracy? Why, Ferenc, those Spanish boys were fighting our own fight against fascism, and they'd have won, too, if we'd seen in time and helped them instead of
letting fascism get so much stronger before we tackled it — " I stopped, flushed and embarrassed with making such a speech, but meaning every word with all my heart.
He was smiling again, fondly, almost amused. "So earnest," he murmured and laid his hand on mine. "And so naive. Like a child, a charming child — "
"But Ferenc, listen," I persisted, almost unhearing. I had to get rid of that awful uneasiness that had suddenly come upon me. "Ferenc, you act as if this wasn't important. Why, it's the war we're fighting, the war you're in yourself! You're doing an important job in it. Don't you talk every day telling your own people how wrong it is to fight with the forces that are crushing freedom?"
His smile stayed on his face, but as if he had turned it on and forgotten to turn it off. He said, "I do my job. They say it is a good work.
Is it not enough?" Then he drew a long breath and shook his head as if to shake out the thoughts that were in it. His hand tightened on mine. "Let us not discuss such ugly subjects. I shall order a white wine from California to give you no excuse to think about them."
I smiled, but it was not until I had nearly finished the next delicious dish that I quite lost my chilled, unhappy sense of doubt. But then I told myself that I had been stupid and unfeeling to talk of things that must stir such tragic associations in Ferenc's memory. I must remember that it was through suffering that he had learned to wear this mask of cynical fatalism. Surely he needed any protection he could find.
It was easy, after that, to enjoy the wonderful steak that followed, and then to watch Ferenc's brown, graceful fingers as he mixed a complicated salad dressing and tossed green Continued on page 52
/ nodded, my head turned away from him. Oh, why wouldn't he let me alone?
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