Fear and Desire Page #3

but our lives aren't.

Your rate of exchange...

You make me laugh!

- If you had any guts... - Look,

I don't wanna talk about it anymore.

Forget about the General for a minute.

What about the plane you saw?

That's right!

What about that plane?

We've already been over this.

It looks like a two seater with

that small field built in the clear.

One of us can take the raft down

stream to the field when it gets dark

and start shooting to draw

the sentries from the house.

The other two can plug that guy

and get away in the plane,

while I keep 'em busy

from the raft.

- You?

- Sure, me.

They'd get you.

You'd never make it back alive.

Who else could do it the way I could?

You couldn't.

You'd be riding home sitting down

nice and comfortable up in a cockpit

looking down on what's

going on. Sure.

You'll recite a few tags you picked up

and everything will be alright.

I'll just as soon make the trip

back myself, on a raft.

Do you think you have any chance at all

to get away with it alive?

I don't know.

Here I am.

I'm 34 years old.

I've never done anything

important. Nothing!

When this is over I'll fix

radios and washing machines.

- They'll see.

- Good boy, Mac. That's all.

I don't care if they

got a million Generals.

There's one two miles from here.

If his heist is gonna keep me from

going nuts like Sidney.

Only in a different way,

I'm gonna pull up my own heist.

But why should we?

The raft's still there.

As soon as it gets dark, it can take

us all back tonight.

If I draw 'em down to the river,

you and Fletcher can do the job

and get away in a plane.

What do you say, Fletch?

Well, not that I wanna seem important.

Half the trouble in the world happens

because of what some people do,

but I think half the good things

happen that way too.

If we're gonna get away with it

it would sure be better.

I don't know the words to say

what I mean, but...

This is something for me.

Sure, I guess we could all probably make

it back on that thing, but...

When you walk and walk

through the woods and

then suddenly they dangle a General

in front of you like magic,

and you know it's only

for this once,

you can't turn your back on 'em.

None of us asked to be here,

but we all have to gamble.

It's not as if we could refuse.

We had to gamble once we crashed,

a General raised the stakes

and we've been so lucky.

Why shouldn't we put up

a little more than we have to?

What are you living for anyway?

To make talk? Why?

Why is your life so precious?

Why? The only reason is

to hunt for the reason.

But, can I stand in the way of a man

with a reason to die?

- You'll do it. Won't you, Corby?

- Do it for me.

Well, we have nothing to lose

but our futures.

OK, I guess we leave you now.

Remember, don't start for

a half an hour.

If the plane isn't still there,

we'll have time to get back to you.

Don't worry, it'll be there.

Good luck, Mac.

See you soon.

Try not to get your feet wet.

- You look out for your head.

- OK, fellow.

So long.

- Mac, I hope that sometime...

- You talk too much.

I guess we both do a little.

Sometimes, talk

is an indispensable medicine.

Yeah, but you get sicker later.

Good luck.

I didn't really mean what

I said before about guts.

Yes, you did, but only

to bother you.

- Take it easy, fellow.

- Yeah.

The plane's still there so I guess there

is no really good excuse to go back.

I guess not.

- Can you see?

- Hold it, hold it!

Yes, there he is.

What time is it?

We have about 10 minutes

before Mac begins. Let's hurry!

It's better...

It's better to roll up your life into

one night and one man and one gun.

It hurts too much to keep hurting

everyone else in every direction

and to be hurt with all

the separate hates

exploding day after day.

You can't help it.

A curse buzzes out of your mouth

with every word you say

and nobody alive can tell which is which

or what you mean.

Yeah.

You try door after door when

you hear voices you like behind them,

but the nobs come off in your hand...

Go in!

Where did you find him?

One of the men did down by the river.

He was very busy baying at the moon.

Dear Proteus, aren't you

ashamed of yourself?

Staying away without leave

for two whole days.

- Have a drink, Captain.

- Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

You must never, never

do that again, Proteus.

Don't you know that there are

evil spirits without bodies...

roam the forest looking

for unsuspecting dogs like you?

And that when you open your jaws

to disturb the moon

they leap into your mouth

and possess you?

Then you could become a spy,

a murderer,

or even a traitor.

Not your dog, sir.

He knows his allegiance.

Have you been alert, Proteus?

Have you detected all

the distant marchings?

Has your wet nose become aware

of all the blood on the grass?

What else can you tell us

beside your puppy dog sadness?

Wish he could tell us where those enemy

soldiers from that wrecked plane are.

They've been bothersome

for the last two days.

They'll soon grow tired

of starving and being hunted.

Even Proteus grows tired of it

after two days.

See that Lieutenant Proteus

gets something to eat.

Yes, sir.

Nobody's gonna cry for me later

or cheer for me now.

Nobody else is me.

I know that.

Who else but me is buried under

the chain of everything I ever did?

I didn't mean any of it.

It was all wrong.

Good riddance!

Oh, what a trade,

him for me!

What a thing to come to

at the end,

like building a bridge

or stealing the crown jewels.

Thanks, General!

Thanks! I'll take the tombstone

if it's really mine.

Waiting...

Waiting to kill...

Waiting to heal...

Waiting to die...

Awaiting in the North

with four divisions.

One by one the men turned black

through waiting for

the last snowflake to dissolve.

Across the valley, our enemies

blew on their cold hands

until no more breath came.

Then they were dead.

And they knew it.

We were so well prepared for death

that the armistice was

a mutual disappointment.

Now he's in his cotton house,

taking up the cartridges on his maps,

full of his supper.

They'll get him soon.

A duck at a shooting gallery,

and I'll be the wheeler rolling

the ducks in all the bull's eyes.

I should talk. A clay pigeon

on a slow raft.

Frankly, I still become uneasy

when I find myself trapped

directing the courses

of frightened men.

I cannot quite admit that it is I

who am creating a

slaughter in this abyss,

or that I left the road,

that I ordered this and that.

I'm trapped.

What is a prison for me?

I make a grave for others.

To your health, sir.

It's the only way to finish up.

Alone, like the North Pole

in the middle of the night.

The river is helping me out of my life.

Sometimes, these maps...

Sometimes, as I look at these maps,

I wonder if my own grave

isn't being planned.

Here...

Or here...

Or here.

No more Sundays.

No more a thousand things.

I'm a little scared though.

Just a little...

like kissing my great grandma

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