The Moon Is Down by John Steinbeck Page A

helmeted men could be seen.
    Orden said, “Alex, go, knowing that these men will have no rest, no rest at all until they are gone, or dead. You will make the people one. It’s a sad knowledge and little enough gift to you, but it is so. No rest at all.”
    Alex shut his eyes tightly. Mayor Orden leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. “Good-by, Alex,” he said.
    The guard took Alex by the arm and the young man kept his eyes tightly closed, and they guided him through the door. The squad faced about, and their feet marched away down out of the house and into the snow, and the snow muffled their footsteps.
    The men about the table were silent. Orden looked to ward the window and saw a little round spot being rubbed clear of snow by a quick hand. He stared at it, fascinated, and then he looked quickly away. He said to the colonel, “I hope you know what you are doing.”
    Captain Loft gathered his papers and Lanser asked, “In the square, Captain?”
    â€œYes, in the square. It must be public,” Loft said.
    And Orden said, “I hope you know.”
    â€œMan,” said the colonel, “whether we know or not, it is what must be done.”
    Silence fell on the room and each man listened. And it was not long. From the distance there came a crash of firing. Lanser sighed deeply. Orden put his hand to his forehead and filled his lungs deeply. Then there was a shout outside. The glass of the window crashed inward and Lieutenant Prackle wheeled about. He brought his hand up to his shoulder and stared at it.
    Lanser leaped up, crying, “So, it starts! Are you badly hurt, Lieutenant?”
    â€œMy shoulder,” said Prackle.
    Lanser took command. “Captain Loft, there will be tracks in the snow. Now, I want every house searched for firearms. I want every man who has one taken hostage. You, sir,” he said to the Mayor, “are placed in protective custody. And understand this, please: we will shoot, five, ten, a hundred for one.”
    Orden said quietly, “A man of certain memories.”
    Lanser stopped in the middle of an order. He looked over slowly at the Mayor and for a moment they understood each other. And then Lanser straightened his shoulders. “A man of no memories!” he said sharply. And then, “I want every weapon in town gathered. Bring in everyone who resists. Hurry, before their tracks are filled.”
    The staff found their helmets and loosed their pistols and started out. And Orden went to the broken window. He said sadly, “The sweet, cool smell of the snow.”

5
    The days and the weeks dragged on, and the months dragged on. The snow fell and melted and fell and melted and finally fell and stuck. The dark buildings of the little town wore bells and hats and eyebrows of white and there were trenches through the snow to the doorways. In the harbor the coal barges came empty and went away loaded, but the coal did not come out of the ground easily. The good miners made mistakes. They were clumsy and slow. Machinery broke and took a long time to fix. The people of the conquered country settled in a slow, silent, waiting revenge. The men who had been traitors, who had helped the invaders—and many of them believed it was for a better state and an ideal way of life—found that the control they took was insecure, that the people they had known looked at them coldly and never spoke.
    And there was death in the air, hovering and waiting. Accidents happened on the railroad, which clung to the mountains and connected the little town with the rest of the nation. Avalanches poured down on the tracks and rails were spread. No train could move unless the tracks were first inspected. People were shot in reprisal and it made no difference. Now and then a group of young men escaped and went to England. And the English bombed the coal mine and did some damage and killed some of both their friends and their enemies. And it did no good. The