The Red Collar by Jean-Christophe Rufin, Adriana Hunter Page B

To him, the world’s made up of goodies and baddies. There was another way of putting this: He had no humanity. Of course, he was a dog . . . But
we
weren’t dogs and they were expecting the same from us. The distinctions, medals, mentions, promotions, all that was designed to reward animal behavior.”
    He was now standing facing Lantier but looking beyond him, above him, which, in the confines of this cell, meant staring at the wall.
    â€œOn the other hand, the only demonstration of humanity—the one that involved getting enemies to fraternize, to lay down their weapons and force governments to agree to peace—that act was the most reprehensible of all and would have cost us our lives if we’d been found out.”
    He waited a moment, calmed himself and went and sat back down.
    â€œWhen I realized that,” he went on, “I stopped hating Wilhelm. I didn’t have any reason to love him either. He’d obeyed his own nature and that wasn’t human nature. That was his only excuse. But everyone who sent us off to that massacre had no excuse at all. Anyway, that’s when I decided what I would do.”
    Lantier had sat in silence through this long explanation. He was profoundly shaken. Deep down, he understood everything Morlac said and agreed with it. And yet, had this prisoner been brought before him for desertion or mutiny, he would have condemned him to death without hesitation.
    The prisoner was exhausted by his confession. He sat on the edge of the bed with his arms hanging limply by his sides, and a blank stare on his face. His judge was no more alert than he was, but felt a need to get out of this airless room, to walk about, to put his thoughts into some sort of order. He’d been investigating this case for four days now, and it was time he reached a firm conclusion. After all, he mustn’t grant this character and his actions more significance than they actually had.
    Lantier was known for his ability to act decisively, even in the most sensitive of cases. This time, though, he couldn’t do it. The more he learned about the case, the more his opinion floundered. He wondered briefly whether Morlac was deliberately scrambling his thoughts. But that meant denying the obvious sincerity of his confession.
    The major’s annoyance made him react, for once, without consideration for the defendant. He took his leave curtly with the words, “Be prepared to sign the written statement of your hearing tomorrow.”
    Once he was back outside on the Place Michelet, which was still warm from the sun that had bathed it, Lantier rubbed his hand over his face and stared around him, like someone waking from a nightmare.
    The first living thing he saw was Wilhelm, who had resumed his post under the trees. The dog didn’t bark, but tracked him with his eyes until he turned at the end of the street.
    Â 
    * * *
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    Valentine didn’t smoke, usually. But her initiative had unsettled her and she’d chosen this means of unwinding. Lantier had passed her his packet of shag, and she coughed as she inhaled deeply on her badly rolled cigarette.
    He’d come across her as he stepped into the hotel lobby, and she’d asked to speak with him again. This time, however, it was not for a brief conversation. She wanted to tell him something confidentially and, with the brazenness of the shy, she barely disguised her hope that he would invite her to dine with him. He couldn’t care less what people said and neither, apparently, could she. He’d taken her to the restaurant where he’d met the attorney-at-law. The place was completely empty this time. She was desperately trying to look detached but her eyes shone brightly. She stroked the smooth, white fabric of her table napkin like the soft pelt of an animal.
    â€œIt’s not like me to confide in a man in uniform. You must have done some research. You know my background.”
    She’d drunk