Two Friends

Paris was surrounded by the German army and the population was starving. There were not even many birds on the roofs or rats in the streets. People were eating anything they could get.

As Mr. Morisé, a watch maker but unemployed at the moment, was walking along the street one bright January morning, his hands in his trousers pockets and his stomach empty, he suddenly met a friend, Mr. Savage, a fishing companion.

Before the war, Morisé used to go out every Sunday morning with a fishing rod in his hand and a lunch pack in his bag. He took the train, got out at Colombes, and walked. The moment he arrived at this place of his dreams, he began fishing, and continued till nightfall.

Every Sunday he met Mr. Savage in this spot, a fat, happy, little man, a tailor in the high street, and also a fisherman. They often spent half the day side by side, rod in hand, feet hanging over the water, and a warm friendship had grown between the two.

Some days they did not speak; at other times they chatted, but they understood each other perfectly without any words, having the same tastes and feelings.

In the spring, about ten o'clock in the morning, when the early sun warmed the backs of the two fishermen, Morisé occasionally said to his neighbour:

"It's really very pleasant here."

And the other would reply:

"I can't imagine anything better!"

And these few words were enough to make them understand and appreciate each other.

In the autumn, towards the close of day, when the setting sun made a blood-red light over the western sky, the faces of the two friends seemed to shine and the trees were like gold, whose leaves were already changing colour at the first touch of winter. Mr. Savage would sometimes smile at Morisé, and say:

"What a wonderful evening!"

And Morisé would answer, without taking his eyes from the river:

"This is much better than the street we work on, isn't it?"

As soon as they recognised each other they shook hands with affection, saddened at the thought of meeting in such changed conditions. Mr. Savage murmured:

"These are unhappy times!"

Morisé shook his head miserably.

"And such weather! This is the first fine day of the year."

The sky was, in fact, a bright, cloudless blue.

They walked along, side by side, thoughtfully.

"And to think of the fishing!" said Morisé. "What good times we used to have!"

"When shall we fish again?" asked Mr. Savage.

They entered a small cafe and took a strong coffee together, then continued their walk along the street.

Morisé stopped suddenly. It was a fine day and a light breeze was blowing. The fresh air had a dramatic effect on Mr. Savage. He stopped suddenly, saying:

"Suppose we go there?"

"Where?"

"Fishing."

"But where?"

"To the old place. The French advance guards are close to Colombes. I know Colonel Dumol, and we’ll easily get permission to pass."

Morisé smiled.

"Very well. I agree."

And they separated, to fetch their rods and lines. An hour later they were walking side by side on the highroad. Soon they reached the colonel’s villa. He smiled and agreed when he heard what they wanted. They started walking again, but now they had a password to tell French soldiers who might think they were spies.

Soon they left the guards behind them, made their way through the deserted town, and found themselves in the small fields which are next to the River Seine. It was about eleven o'clock. Before them was a lifeless village. The great valley was empty, quite empty.

Mr. Savage, pointing to the hills, murmured:

"The Germans are up there!"

And the sight of the deserted country filled the two friends with fear. The Germans! They had never seen them but they had felt them in the neighbourhood of Paris for months – ruining France, massacring the people. And terror mixed with the hatred they already felt for this unknown, victorious nation.

"Suppose we meet any of them?" said Morisé.

"We'll offer them some fish," replied Mr. Savage, with that French light-heartedness which nothing can destroy.

Still, they hesitated to show themselves in the open country, frightened by the silence around them.

At last Mr. Savage said:

"Come, we'll make a start. Just let’s be careful!"

And they made their way through one of the fields, with eye and ear alert.

They ran across some empty ground before the river and as soon as they were at the water, hid among the trees and plants. Morisé put his ear to the ground, to hear any footsteps coming. He heard nothing. They seemed alone.

They now became more confident and began to fish.

They put the fish they had caught into a bag at their feet; they were filled with happiness – the happiness of once again enjoying a hobby they had greatly missed. The sun shone on their backs; they no longer heard anything or thought of anything. They ignored the rest of the world; they were fishing.

But suddenly a low and loud sound, which seemed to come from the earth, shook the ground beneath them: the guns were starting their thunder again. Morisé turned his head and could see towards the left white smoke moving past the mountain. The next moment a second followed the first, and in a few moments another gun made the earth tremble. Others followed and, minute by minute, the mountain was covered with white smoke, which rose slowly into the peaceful sky.

Mr. Savage shrugged his shoulders.

"They’re starting again!" he said.

Morisé, who was anxiously watching his line going up and down, suddenly felt the angry impatience of a peaceful man to the madmen who were shooting, and said angrily:

"What fools they are to kill one another like that!"

"They're worse than animals," replied Mr. Savage.

And the two began discussing political problems with the common sense of peaceful citizens. And the guns thundered without stopping, destroying the houses of the French and many of the people’s dreams; causing endless pain in the hearts of wives, daughters and mothers.

"Life’s like that!" said Mr. Savage.

"Death’s like that” replied Morisé, laughing.

But they suddenly trembled with alarm at the sound of footsteps behind them, and, turning round, they noticed four tall men, dressed like servants and wearing caps on their heads. They were aiming at the two fishermen with their rifles. The rods fell from their owners' hands down the river.

In a few seconds they were thrown into a boat, and taken across to the German camp, where there were about twenty German soldiers. A giant, with his legs across a chair and smoking a long pipe, said in excellent French:

"Well, gentlemen, have you had good luck with your fishing?"

Then a soldier dropped at the officer's feet the bag full of fish, which he had brought with him. The German smiled.

"Not bad, I see. But we have something else to talk about. Listen to me, and don't worry:

"You must know that, in my eyes, you are two spies. Naturally, I must capture and shoot you. You pretended to be fishing to disguise your real work. You are now my prisoners and must pay the price. This is war. But as you came here through the French advance guards you must have a password for your return. Tell me that password and I’ll let you go."

The two friends, pale as death, stood silently side by side, their hands trembling.

"No one will ever know," continued the officer. "You will return peacefully to your homes, and the secret will disappear with you. If you refuse, it means death – immediate death. Choose!"

They stood motionless, and did not open their lips. The German, completely calm, went on, with his hand towards the river:

"Just think that in five minutes you will be at the bottom of that water. In five minutes! You have family, I suppose?"

The two fishermen remained silent. The German turned and gave an order in his own language. Then he moved his chair a little way, so that he might not be so near the prisoners, and a dozen men stepped forward, rifle in hand, twenty steps away.

"I give you one minute," said the officer, "not a second longer."

Then he got up quickly, went over to the two Frenchmen, took Morisé by the arm, led him a short distance away, and said in a low voice:

"Quick! The password! Your friend will know nothing."

Morisé did not answer.

Then the German took Mr. Savage to one side in the same way, and made him the same offer.

Monsieur Savage made no reply.

Again they stood side by side. The officer gave an order; the soldiers raised their rifles.

Then, by chance, Morisé's eyes fell on the bag full of fish lying in the grass quite near him.

The sunlight made the fish shine like silver. Despite his efforts at self-control, his eyes filled with tears.

"Goodbye, Mr. Savage," he whispered.

"Goodbye, Mr. Morisé," replied Savage.

They shook hands, trembling from head to foot with an uncontrollable fear.

The officer cried:

"Fire!"

The twelve shots were like one.

Mr. Savage fell forward at once. Morisé, the taller man, swayed slightly and fell across his friend with his face turned towards the sky and blood coming from a hole in his coat.

The German gave new orders. His men went away, but soon returned with ropes and large stones, which they put on the feet of the two friends. Then they carried them to the river.

Two soldiers took Morisé by the head and the feet. Two others did the same with Savage. The bodies were thrown and fell into the stream. The water splashed high, then grew calm. A few spots of blood coloured the river.

The officer went back to the house. Suddenly he saw the bag full of fish, lying forgotten in the grass. He picked it up, examined it, smiled, and called:

"Wilhelm!"

A white-aproned soldier answered, and the German, throwing him the two murdered men’s fish, said:

"Have these fish fried for me at once, while they are still alive. They'll be very tasty."

Then he continued with his pipe.