I guess the cards we draw are those we get.
You wouldn't like to re-deal would you dealer?
No.
They only deal to you once, and then you pick them up and play them.
I can play them, if I draw any damn thing at all, he told portrait; who was unimpressed.
''Portrait,'' he said. ''You better look the other way so that you will not be unmaidenly.
I am going to take a shower now and shave, something you will never have to do, and put on my soldier-suit and go and walk around this town even though it is too early.''
So, he got out of bed, favoring his bad leg, which hurt him always.
He pulled the reading light with his bad hand.
There was sufficient light, and he had been wasting electricity for nearly an hour.
He regretted this as he regretted all his errors.
He walked past portrait, only looking casually, and looked at himself in the mirror.
He had dropped both parts of his pajamas and he looked at himself critically and truly.
''You beat-up old bastard,'' he said to the mirror. Portrait was a thing of the past.
Mirror was actuality and of this day.
The gut is flat, he said without uttering it. The chest is all right except where it contains the defective muscle.
We are hung as we are hung, for better or worse, or something, or something awful.
You are one half a hundred years old, you bastard you.
Now go in and take a shower, and scrub good, and afterwards put on your soldier suit.
Today is another day.
CHAPTER 20
THE Colonel stopped at the reception desk in the lobby, but the concierge was not there yet.
There was only the night porter.
''Can you put something in the safe for me?''
''No, my Colonel.
No one may open the safe until the assistant manager or the concierge arrives.
But I will guard anything for you that you wish.''
''Thank you.
It's not worth the trouble,'' and he buttoned the Gritti envelope, with the stones inside, the envelope addressed to himself, into the inside left pocket of his tunic.
''There's no real crime here now,'' the night porter said.
It had been a long night and he was happy to speak to someone. ''There never really was, my Colonel.
There are only differences of opinion and politics.''
''What do you have for politics?'' the Colonel asked; for he was lonely too.
''About what you would expect.''
''I see.
And how is your thing going?''
''I think it goes quite well.
Maybe not as well as last year.
But still quite well.
We were beaten and we have to wait a while now.''
''Do you work at it?''
''Not much.
It is more the politics of my heart than of . my head.
I believe in it with my head too, but I have very little political development.''
''When you get it you won't have any heart.''
''Maybe not.
Do you have politics in the army?''
''Plenty,'' the Colonel said. ''But not what you mean.''
''Well, we better not discuss it then.
I have not meant to be intrusive.''