Open Writing

In the pub they were talking about the American civil war.

'Robert E Lee was obtuse at Gettysburg,' said Fromer. 'He shouldn't have chosen a frontal assault. He should have followed Longstreet's advice.’

Somebody said, 'But wasn't Lee's judgment affected by the fact that he had diarrhoea or something?' There were no replies to that.

Then somebody else said, 'I don't understand how Lee's army or what was left of it managed to retreat south from Gettysburg without being destroyed.’

There was more on this topic from these elderly men before they drank up and went their separate ways.

At home, Fromer poured whisky and sat musing. What was the point of talking about the American civil war? Or about any war? Or about anything at all?

Perhaps he should follow Redcare's example and sit in a corner, saying nothing.

Redcare probably knew as much as any of them but never spoke. He just sat there, smiling, nodding and grimacing.

Yes, that was it. Fromer resolved that in future he would let the others do all the talking. He poured more whisky, drank it and felt better.

The following night he sat with Redcare, smiling, nodding and grimacing - and saying nothing. The talk swirled around him. He felt relaxed and lightheaded. What a relief not to have to discuss, assert, argue and browbeat.

Then he heard a voice, it was Redcare's. Redcare was actually talking -and talking to him. But in a whisper so that nobody else could hear.

'You must surely put some of the blame on Longstreet,' Redcare breathed, 'it's unfair to blame Robert E Lee for everything that -'

The whispering voice went on, relentlessly. Fromer wriggled and twisted and looked at the floor and then at the ceiling.

His head began to ache, his hands shook. 'Oh hell, oh bloody hell,' he exclaimed and the others stopped talking and stared at him.