Hunter and the Trap by Howard Fast Page A

Felton, and you look down on him as a rather uncivilized sort of man, but for what actually do you condemn him? For shooting the baboons for the fun of it or for beating the child?”
    â€œFor both,” I replied.
    â€œBut he kills only animals, and surely the child will recover from the beating.”
    â€œAnd do you see virtue in killing animals for fun, as you put it?” I asked her.
    â€œNo virtue indeed, Mr. Felton, but I see less evil in it than in the slaughter of human beings.”
    â€œBy that, just what do you mean, Miss Oland?”
    â€œI mean that, like Ned Archway, you have been a hunter. You hunted men.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, I hunted men?”
    â€œYou told me you were an infantry captain, didn’t you? What other purpose would an infantry captain have but the hunting down and the slaughter of human beings?”
    â€œBut that was different.”
    â€œHow was it different, Mr. Felton?”
    â€œMy goodness, I don’t have to go into all that, do I? You’re not going to trap me with that old, old saw? You lived in the world that Adolf Hitler was remaking. You inhabited the same world that contained the concentration camps, the abattoirs, the gas ovens, the slaughter pits. How can you ask me such an absurd question?”
    â€œOf course the question is absurd,” she nodded. “Any question, Mr. Felton, becomes absurd when it is new to you or irritating to you or outside of your particular sphere of mental agreement. My question disturbed you; therefore, it becomes absurd.”
    â€œBut surely you are not going to defend the Nazis.”
    â€œNow that indeed becomes rather absurd, doesn’t it, Mr. Felton? You know that I would not defend the Nazis. How could you conceivably think that under any circumstances I would?”
    â€œYou’re right. I could not conceivably think that. I admit it.”
    â€œI am not objecting, Mr. Felton, to your attitude toward the Nazis. I am simply objecting to your attitude toward killing. Obviously, you resent the pointless and witless killing of baboons, but you do not resent the equally pointless and witless slaughter of human beings.”
    â€œI like to think, Miss Oland, that I was fighting for the survival of human civilization and of human dignity, and that whatever killing I was forced to do was neither thoughtless nor witless.”
    â€œOh come now, Mr. Felton, we are both a little too old for that sort of thing, aren’t we? Were you fighting for man’s dignity? And by what process did you know that whatever German soldier you happened to kill was not equally aware of what was demanded by man’s dignity? What did you know of that soldier’s life or of his record? Did you know whether he opposed Hitler, if he did not oppose Hitler, how he agreed with Hitler, or whether he agreed or disagreed with Hitler? You knew nothing of that; and certainly you knew enough of military structure to know that, like yourself, he had no choice but to face you and fight you.”
    â€œHe could surrender,” I said.
    â€œCould he really, Mr. Felton? Now I am going to ask you a question. Did you shoot first and ask questions afterwards? Or did you ask questions first and shoot afterwards? I have never been on a battlefield, but I have a good imagination, and I have read many stories about what goes on on a battlefield. Could he have surrendered, Mr. Felton?”
    â€œNo,” I admitted, “you’re quite right. In most cases he couldn’t have surrendered. There were cases where he could and maybe he did, but in most cases he could not have surrendered. Certainly, as an individual, he could not have surrendered. So you are absolutely right there, and I will not argue it. Nevertheless, I also will not relinquish my belief that there was a virture in our cause in World War II, a virtue in what we fought for and what so many of us died for.”
    â€œThen why don’t you say