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the dead procurator. He raised his finger; the sergeant hurried over to fill
his glass.
At Lasch s nod, the young man also poured more schnapps for him. The major
drank, then said,  I should hope so. We are more civilized, more
sophisticated, than the Romans ever dreamed of being.
But Model was still in that fey mood.  Are we? My procurator was such a
sophisticate that he tolerated anything, and never saw the danger in a foe who
would not do the same. Our Christian
God, though, is a jealous god, who puts up with no rivals. And one who is a
National Socialist serves also the Volk, to whom he owes sole loyalty. I am
immune to Gandhi s virus in a way the
Roman was not to the Christian s.
 Yes, that makes sense, Lasch agreed after a moment.  I had not thought of it
in that way, but I see it is so. And what is our other advantage over the
Roman procurator?
Suddenly the field marshal looked hard and cold, much the way he had looked
leading the tanks of Third Panzer against the Kremlin compound.  The machine
gun, he said.
The rising sun s rays made the sandstone of the Red Fort seem even more the
color of blood.
Gandhi frowned and turned his back on the fortress, not caring for that
thought. Even at dawn, the air was warm and muggy.
 I wish you were not here, Nehru told him. The younger man lifted his
trademark fore-and-
aft cap, scratched his graying hair, and glanced at the crowd growing around
them.  The
Germans orders forbid assemblies, and they will hold you responsible for this
gathering.
 I am, am I not? Gandhi replied.  Would you have me send my followers into a
danger I do not care to face myself? How would I presume to lead them
afterwards?
 A general does not fight in the front ranks, Nehru came back.  If you are
lost to our cause, will we be able to go on?
 If not, then surely the cause is not worthy, yes? Now let us be going.
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Nehru threw his hands in the air. Gandhi nodded, satisfied, and worked his way
toward the head of the crowd. Men and women stepped aside to let him through.
Still shaking his head, Nehru followed.
The crowd slowly began to march east up Chandni Chauk, the Street of
Silversmiths. Some of the fancy shops had been wrecked in the fighting, more
looted afterwards. But others were opening up, their owners as happy to take
German money as they had been to serve the British before.
One of the proprietors, a man who had managed to stay plump even through the
past year of hardship, came rushing out of his shop when he saw the procession
go by. He ran to the head of the march and spotted Nehru, whose height and
elegant dress singled him out.
 Are you out of your mind? the silversmith shouted.  The Germans have banned
assemblies.
If they see you, something dreadful will happen.
 Is it not dreadful that they take away the liberty which properly belongs to
us? Gandhi asked. The silversmith spun round. His eyes grew wide when he
recognized the man who was speaking to him. Gandhi went on,  Not only is it
dreadful, it is wrong. And so we do not recognize the Germans right to ban
anything we may choose to do. Join us, will you?
 Great-souled one, I I  the silversmith spluttered. Then his glance slid past
Gandhi.  The
Germans! he squeaked. He turned and ran.
Gandhi led the procession toward the approaching squad. The Germans stamped
down
Chandni Chauk as if they expected the people in front of them to melt from
their path. Their gear, Gandhi thought, was not that much different from what
British soldiers wore: ankle boots, shorts, and open-necked tunics. But their
coal-scuttle helmets gave them a look of sullen, beetle-
browed ferocity the British tin hat did not convey. Even for a man of Gandhi s
equanimity it was daunting, as no doubt it was intended to be.
 Hello, my friends, he said.  Do any of you speak English?
 I speak it, a little, one of them replied. His shoulder straps had the twin
pips of a sergeant-
major; he was the squad-leader, then. He hefted his rifle, not menacingly,
Gandhi thought, but to emphasize what he was saying.  Go to your homes back.
This coming together is verboten.
 I am sorry, but I must refuse to obey your order, Gandhi said.  We are
walking peacefully on our own street in our own city. We will harm no one, no
matter what; this I promise you. But walk we will, as we wish. He repeated
himself until he was sure the sergeant-major understood.
The German spoke to his comrades in his own language. One of the soldiers
raised his gun and with a nasty smile pointed it at Gandhi. He nodded
politely. The German blinked to see him unafraid. The sergeant-major slapped
the rifle down. One of his men had a field telephone on his back. The
sergeant-major cranked it, waited for a reply, spoke urgently into it.
Nehru caught Gandhi s eye. His dark, tired gaze was full of worry. Somehow
that nettled
Gandhi more than the Germans arrogance in ordering about his people. He began
to walk forward again. The marchers followed him, flowing around the German
squad like water round a boulder.
The soldier who had pointed his rifle at Gandhi shouted in alarm. He brought
up the weapon again. The sergeant-major barked at him. Reluctantly, he lowered
it.
 A sensible man, Gandhi said to Nehru.  He sees we do no injury to him or
his, and so does none to us.
 Sadly, though, not everyone is so sensible, the younger man replied,  as
witness his lance-
corporal there. And even a sensible man may not be well-inclined to us. You
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notice he is still on the telephone.
The phone on Field Marshal Model s desk jangled. He jumped and swore; he had
left orders he was to be disturbed only for an emergency. He had to find time
to work. He picked up the phone.  This had better be good, he growled without
preamble.
He listened, swore again, slammed the receiver down.  Lasch! he shouted.
It was his aide s turn to jump.  Sir?
 Don t just sit there on your fat arse, the field marshal said unfairly.
 Call out my car and driver, and quickly. Then belt on your sidearm and come
along. The Indians are doing something stupid. Oh, yes, order out a platoon
and have them come after us. Up on Chandni Chauk, the trouble is.
Lasch called for the car and the troops, then hurried after Model.  A riot?
he asked as he caught up.
 No, no. Model moved his stumpy frame along so fast that the taller Lasch had
to trot beside him.  Some of Gandhi s tricks, damn him.
The field marshal s Mercedes was waiting when he and his aide hurried out of
the viceregal palace.  Chandni Chauk, Model snapped as the driver held the
door open for him. After that he sat in furious silence as the powerful car
roared up Irwin Road, round a third of Connaught
Circle, and north on Chelmsford Road past the bombed-out railway station
until, for no reason
Model could see, the street s name changed to Qutb Road.
A little later, the driver said,  Some kind of disturbance up ahead, sir.
 Disturbance? Lasch echoed, leaning forward to peer through the windscreen.
 It s a whole damned regiment s worth of Indians coming at us. Don t they know
better than that? And what the devil, he added, his voice rising,  are so
many of our men doing ambling along beside them? Don t they know they re
supposed to break up this sort of thing? In his indignation, he did not
notice he was repeating himself. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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