Andre Malraux - Man's Fate

“Those goods are sent by a regular contractor. I know him.”

Ironically:

“He’s a traitor.

An odd voice in the dark, when there was no facial expression to back it up. It rose, as if he were ordering a cocktail:

“A regular traitor, ver-ry dry! For all this passes through the hands of a legation which … Not a word! I’ll take care of this. But to begin with, it’s going to cost me a pretty taxi bill: the ship is a long way off…. I’ve got left …”

He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a single bill, turned round so that the light from the sign-board would fall upon it.

“…Ten dollars, my dear! That won’t do. I’ll no doubt be buying some of your uncle Kama’s paintings for Ferral before long, but in the meantime.

“Fifty-will that do?”

“That’s more than enough.”

Kyo gave it to him.

“You’ll let me know at my house as soon as it’s done.” “Agreed.”

“In an hour?”

“Later than that, I think. But as soon as I can.”

And in the same tone as the Russian girl had said: “If only alcohol didn’t make me sick.. ” almost in the same voice, as if all the creatures of this place had found themselves in the depth of an identical despair:

"Al this is no^ joke. ”

He went off, head bowed, back stooped, hatless, his hands in the pockets of his dinner-jacket.

Kyo called a taxi and had himself driven to the boundary of the concessions, to the first side-street of the Chinese city, where he had arranged to meet Katov.

Ten minutes after having left Kyo, Katov had passed through several corridors, had got through gates, and had come to a white, bare room, well lighted by storm- lanterns. No window. Under the arm of the Chinaman who opened the door to him, five heads leaning over the table. Their eyes on him, on the tall figure known to all the shock groups: legs apart, arms dangling, his blouse unbuttoned at the neck, nose upturned, hair tousled. They were handling different models of grenades. It was a cfc’on-one of the Communist combat organizations that Kyo and he had created in Shanghai.

“How many men enrolled?” he asked in Chinese.

“Hundred and thirty-eight,” answered the youngest Chinaman, an adolescent with a small head, a very prominent Adam’s apple, and drooping shoulders, dressed as a worker.

“I absolutely need twelve men for tonight.” “Absolutely” found its way into all the languages that Katov spoke.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Here?”

“No: in front of the Yen T’ang gang-plank.”

The Chinaman gave instructions: one of the men left. “They’ll be there within two hours,” said the chief. Judging by his hollow cheeks, his tall thin body, he seemed very weak; but the resoluteness of tone, the tenseness of the muscles of his face testified to a willpower wholly sustained by nerves.

“How is the teaching progressing?” asked Katov. “With the grenades we’re doing very well. All the comrades know our models now. With the revolvers- the Nagans and the Mausers, at least-we’ll be all right too. I’ve made them work with empty cartridges. I’ve been offered the use of a cellar that’s quite safe.”

In each of the forty rooms in which the insurrection was being prepared the same problem presented itself.

“No powder. It’ll come perhaps; for the moment let’s not talk about it. And the rifles?”

“We’re doing well with those too. It’s the machine- guns that are worrying me, if we don’t get a chance to try them out with the blanks.”

His Adam’s apple rose and fell under his skin each time he answered. He went on:

“And then is there no way to get more weapons? Seven rifles, thirteen revolvers, forty-two charged grenades! One man out of every two has no firearms.” “We’re going to get them from those who have them. Perhaps we’ll soon have some revolvers. If it’s for tomorrow, how many men will not be able to use their firearms, in your section?”

The man reflected. Thought made him look absent- minded. An intellectual, thought Katov.

“When we’ve taken the rifles of the police?” “Absolutely.”

“More than half.”

“And the grenades?”

“They’ll all know how to use them; and very well. I have thirty men here who are relatives of those who were tortured to death in February.. If only.. ” He hesitated, ended his phrase in an embarrassed gesture. A deformed hand, but slender.

“If only.?”

“Those bastards don’t use the tanks against us.”

The six men looked at Katov.

“That doesn’t matter,” he answered. “You take your grenades, six of them tied together, and you throw them under the tank: at the count of four it’ll blow up. If necessary you can dig ditches, at least some going in one direction. You have tools?”

“Very few. But I know where to get some.”

“Get hold of some bicycles, too: as soon as it begins each section ought to have its contact agent, in addition to the central one.”

“You’re sure the tanks will blow up?”

“Absolutely! But don’t worry about it: the tanks won’t leave the front. If they leave it, I’ll come with a special squad. That’s my job.”

“What if we’re taken by surprise?”

“We’ll see them coming: we have look-outs close by. Take a set of grenades yourself, and give one to each of three or four fellows you are sure of.. ”

Al the men of the section knew that Katov, condemned after the Odessa affair to detention in one of the less severe prisons, had voluntarily asked to accompany the wretches sent to the lead-mines, in order to instruct them. They had confidence in him, but they were still uneasy. They were afraid neither of rifles nor of machine-guns, but they were afraid of the tanks: they felt powerless against them. Even in this room to which only volunteers had come, almost all of them relatives of men who had died by torture, the tank inspired blind terror, like a supernatural monster.

“If the tanks come, don’t worry, we’U be there,” Katov went on.

How could he leave with such feebly reassuring words? In the afternoon he had inspected some fifteen sections, but he had not encountered fear. These men were not less brave than the others, merely more precise. He knew he would not be able to dispel their fear, that save for the specialists under his own conunand the revolutionary formations would run before the tanks. It was probable that the tanks would be unable to leave the front; but if they reached the city, it would be impossible to stop them all with ditches, in these quarters where there was such a criss-cross of small streets.

“The tanks will absolutely not leave the front/’ he said.

“How are we to attach the grenades?” asked the youngest Chinaman.

Katov showed him. The atmosphere became a little less heavy, as if this manipulation were a token of future action. Katov, very uneasy, took the opportunity to leave. Half the men would not know how to use their arms. At least he could count on those whom he had organized into combat groups charged with disarming the police. Tomorrow. But the day after tomorrow?

The army was advancing, was getting nearer every hour. Perhaps the last station was already taken. When Kyo returned they would no doubt be able to find out in one of the information-centers. The lamp-dealer had received no news since ten o’clock.

He waited some time in the narrow street, without ceasing to walk; at last Kyo arrived. Each told the other what he had done. They continued their walk in the mud, on their crepe soles: Kyo small and supple as a Japanese cat, Katov swinging his shoulders, thinking of the troops who were advancing, guns gleaming in the rain, toward Shanghai glowing red in the heart of the night. Kyo, too, wanted to know if this advance had not been stopped.