“I understand,” the Colonel said. “But please, Daughter you try to understand my attitude too. When we have killed so many we can afford to be kind.”
“How many have you killed?”
“One hundred and twenty-two sures. Not counting possibles.”
“You had no remorse?”
“Never.”
“Nor bad dreams about it?”
“Nor bad dreams. But usually strange ones. Combat dreams, always, for a while after combat. But then strange dreams about places mostly. We live by accidents of terrain, you know. And terrain is what remains in the dreaming part of your mind.”
“Don’t you ever dream about me?”
“I try to. But I can’t.”
“Maybe the portrait will help.”
“I hope so,” the Colonel said. “Please don’t forget to remind me to give back the stones.”
“Please don’t be cruel.”
“I have my small necessities of honor in the same proportions as we have our great and enveloping love. You cannot have the one without the other.”
“But you could give me privileges.”
“You have them,” the Colonel said. “The stones are in my pocket.”
The Gran Maestro came then with the steak and the scaloppine and the vegetables. They were brought by a sleek-headed boy who believed in nothing; but was trying
