Extensive Reading

3-rd year

THE MAN THEY COULDN’T DRAFT

Mike Quin

The old sailor removed the pipe from his mouth and expectorated
contemptuously. “War,” he said, ”is neither complicated nor difficult to
understand. You just take a gun and kill people. But my grandfather was too smart
for them. He had a most methodical mind, he did.”
The children sat quietly while he puffed thoughtfully and gazed out to the
sea. They knew he would continue presently. “Twas during the war for the
purification of virtue,” he said, “that was long ago, before you were born. My
grandfather, a handsome young man at the time, was drafted with all the rest. The
doctor looked his throat and thumped his chest and declared him the finest
specimen of them all. They gave him a bath and dressed him in a uniform and then
handed him a gun. “And now you are ready,” they said.
“Ready for what?” says my grandfather.
“Why, ready to go and shoot,” they said.
“And who am I going to shoot?” my grandfather wanted to know.
“Why, the enemy, of course,” they said.
“And who might that be?” asked my grandfather.
“That stumped them. “If it be necessary to shoot a man,” said my
grandfather, “then I suppose I shall shoot him. But who is he? What is his name? Is
he married or single? Does he have any children? What is his profession? How old
is he? I have no objections at all to shooting him, but you can’t ask me to put holes
in a man who is a complete stranger.”
“That was most logical and the General could not deny it. Nothing would do
but they must go to the files of the names of the enemy troops and select someone
for my grandfather to shoot. “Here,” they said. “This man will do as well as any
other. Here is his complete record and you will find a photograph attached. Take it
home and read it carefully. When you know him well enough, come back and we
will send you to the front to shoot him.”
“The very next day my grandfather came back. “This will not do,” he said,
“I cannot kill him. A finer man I never heard tell of. Indeed I have grown as fond
of him as a brother. His name is Oliver Schwaltz and he runs a bicycle repair shop.
He has a wife and three small children. In his spare time he plays the violin and
sings: Sweetheart, the Buds Are Blooming. Tis my favourite song and goes like
this:
Sweetheart, the buds are blooming;
Vanish that tear from your eye.
Smile for me, darling, and kiss me,
Before I march off to die.
Smile for me, darling, and kiss me –
For I must march off to die.
 ”That will be enough,” said the General. You could see that he was very
much impressed. “I know how you feel,” he said, “and I don’t blame you. We shall
give you someone else to kill.”
“Then the General went to the files again and spent a long while studying
over the enemy soldiers. Finally he located one who seemed suitable. “Here,” he
said to my grandfather. “Here is one any man would be happy to shoot. Go home
and study his record. When you are sufficiently acquainted with him, come back
and you may shoot him without delay.”
“My grandfather took home the record and studied it long and earnestly.
This man was indeed a contemptible character. His name was Oscar Finkle. He
spent the days boozing in saloons and the evenings beating his wife. The way he
supported himself was by stealing pennies out of blind men’s cups. He was mean,
irritable, lazy, dishonest, brutal, slovenly and unpunctual.”
“Far into the night, my grand father studied the record and, next morning,
returned to the General. ”This man is unquestionably a louse,” said my
grandfather. ”Indeed I see no reason for not shooting him. He is the most
contemptible scoundrel I have ever heard of.”
“That’s fine,” said the General, “here is your gun. You may go to the front
and shoot him immediately.”
“Just a minute,” said my grandfather. “Even the lowest louse is entitled to
fair play. Here is a personal, heart-to-heart letter I have written to him. I have
decided to give him one more chance. I will give him six months in which to pull
himself together and reform. If at the end of that time he has not improved, I will
shoot him down in his tracks like the dog he is.”
“Naturally, this was a perfectly fair proposition. There was nothing the
General could do but agree. So my grand father went home to wait.”
The old sailor stopped talking and began puffing his pipe with unnecessary
concentration. When it was apparent he was not going to continue, a little girl
asked, “And did the bad man reform?”
“He was not the reforming kind,” said the old sailor. “Two months later he
fell down the back stairs in a drunken stupor and broke his neck. That was the end
of him.”
“And your grandfather,” asked a little boy, “what did he do then?”
“What could he do?” said the old sailor. “The man was dead. You can’t
shoot a dead man. There was nothing else they could do but excuse my grandfather
from the war.”