acquaintance calls me to the table. Probably to annoy the others. He is tipsy. "This is a real soldier!" he introduces me. I join them.
Those present send me a few unfriendly glances and don’t inter-rupt their conversation. They are talking about the presentation of wartime experiences, about the need to keep some distance from the actual events, about current, epic, and romantic literature. I feel sorry for them. How naive they are. To spend the whole war sitting in a cafe or an office and to believe they could express the experience of war, without ever having dared to get a real taste of it. How can a writer find the way to the hearts of his generation if he is not prepared to accompany them?
Someone mentions a newspaper’s suggestion of giving a special medal to the soldiers on the front. At this table the idea arouses only protest.
"We will never allow such discrimination among us!" protests a high voice from a fat face.
"Down with discrimination!" shouts my drunken acquaintance, who plays an important role in some cultural institution or other. "Let’s all go to the front!"
The fat face turns on him angrily: "Our duties are too important for us to be wandering around at the front with a rifle. Anyway! Who does go to the front? Only neurotics trying to escape from their own complexes. We are to blame. We have glorified them in literature. And now the general public finds them romantic."
"That’s right," I say. "If you hadn’t made propaganda for the sol-diers at the front, then nobody would know that they exist at all. It is a pity that the frontline soldiers don’t appreciate your efforts."
"They are being stirred up!" In his excitement his voice rises even higher. "In the end any rogue who happened to be at the front will think that he deserves privileges. We will have to deal with the inciters. Then everything will fall into place."
"You should let them finish off the fighting before you stick them in prison!"
"We have to deal with the inciters!" he stubbornly repeats.
"OK. But don’t forget to put up a notice at the front: fighting is postponed until further notice."
My drunken companion whispers to me the ranks and duties of those present at the table. Judging by the ranks of the officers, it