Of course we did not hear of it straightaway as we live in the wilds, but a workman who comes to gather wood and fallen boughs told us that soldiers had swarmed the town and occupied the one hotel. He said they drank there, got paralytic, demanded lavish suppers, and terrorized the maids. The townspeople hid, not knowing which to fear most, the rampaging soldiers or their huge dogs that ran loose without muzzles. He said they had a device for examining the underneath of cars—a mirror on wheels to save themselves the inconvenience of stooping. They were lazy bastards. The morning we sighted one of them by the broken wall in the back avenue we had reason to shudder. His camouflage was perfect, green and khaki and brown, the very colors of this mucky landscape. Why they should come to these parts baffled us, and we were sure that very soon they would scoot it. Our mother herded us all into one bedroom, believing we would be safer that way—there would be no danger of one of us straying and we could keep turns at the watch.
