by Ian Fleming
‘I suppose you think that’s paid me back for knowing what the Muntzes were up to. Well, I’ll call it quits. Incidentally, we’ve got them in the bag. They were just some minor fry hired for the occasion. We’ll see they get a few years.’
He rose hastily as the doctor stormed into the room and took one look at Bond.
‘Out,’ he said to Mathis. ‘Out and don’t come back.’
Mathis just had time to wave cheerfully to Bond and call some hasty words of farewell before he was hustled through the door. Bond heard a torrent of heated French diminishing down the corridor. He lay back exhausted, but heartened by all he had heard. He found himself thinking of Vesper as he quickly drifted off into a troubled sleep.
There were still questions to be answered, but they could wait.
20 ....... THE NATURE OF EVIL
BOND MADE good progress. When Mathis came to see him three days later he was propped up in bed and his arms were free. The lower half of his body was still shrouded in the oblong tent, but he looked cheerful and it was only occasionally that a twinge of pain narrowed his eyes.
Mathis looked crestfallen.
‘Here’s your cheque,’ he said to Bond. ‘I’ve rather enjoyed walking around with forty million francs in my pocket, but I suppose you’d better sign it and I’ll put it to your account with the Crédit Lyonnais. There’s no sign of our friend from SMERSH. Not a damn trace. He must have got to the villa on foot or on a bicycle because you heard nothing of his arrival and the two gunmen obviously didn’t. It’s pretty exasperating. We’ve got precious little on this SMERSH organization and neither has London. Washington said they had, but it turned out to be the usual waffle from refugee interrogation, and you know that’s about as much good as interrogating an English man-in-the-street about his own Secret Service, or a Frenchman about the Deuxième.’
‘He probably came from Leningrad to Berlin via Warsaw,’ said Bond. ‘From Berlin they’ve got plenty of routes open to the rest of Europe. He’s back home by now being told off for not shooting me too. I fancy they’ve got quite a file on me in view of one or two of the jobs M.’s given me since the war. He obviously thought he was being smart enough cutting his initial in my hand.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Mathis. ‘The doctor said the cuts looked like a square M with a tail to the top. He said they didn’t mean anything.’
‘Well, I only got a glimpse before I passed out, but I’ve seen the cuts several times while they were being dressed and I’m pretty certain they are the Russian letter for SH. It’s rather like an inverted M with a tail. That would make sense; SMERSH is short for smyert shpionam – Death to Spies – and he thinks he’s labelled me as a shpion. It’s a nuisance because M. will probably say I’ve got to go to hospital again when I get back to London and have new skin grafted over the whole of the back of my hand. It doesn’t matter much. I’ve decided to resign.’
Mathis looked at him with his mouth open.
‘Resign?’ he asked incredulously. ‘What the hell for?’
Bond looked away from Mathis. He studied his bandaged hands.
‘When I was being beaten up,’ he said, ‘I suddenly liked the idea of being alive. Before Le Chiffre began, he used a phrase which stuck in my mind … “playing Red Indians”. He said that’s what I had been doing. Well, I suddenly thought he might be right.
‘You see,’ he said, still looking down at his bandages, ‘when one’s young, it seems very easy to distinguish between right and wrong, but as one gets older it becomes more difficult. At school it’s easy to pick out one’s own villains and heroes and one grows up wanting to be a hero and kill the villains.’
He looked obstinately at Mathis.
‘Well, in the last few years I’ve killed two villains. The first was in New York – a Japanese cipher expert cracking our codes on the thirty-sixth floor of the R.C.A. building in the Rockefeller centre, where the Japs had their consulate. I took a room on the fortieth floor of the next-door skyscraper and I could look across the street into his room and see him working. Then I got a colleague from our organization in New York and a couple of Remington thirty-thirty’s with telescopic sights and silencers. We smuggled them up to my room and sat for days waiting for our chance. He shot at the man a second before me. His job was only to blast a hole through the windows so that I could shoot the Jap through it. They have tough windows at the Rockefeller centre to keep the noise out. It worked very well. As I expected, his bullet got deflected by the glass and went God knows where. But I shot immediately after him, through the hole he had made. I got the Jap in the mouth as he turned to gape at the broken window.’ Bond smoked for a minute.
‘It was a pretty sound job. Nice and clean too. Three hundred yards away. No personal contact. The next time in Stockholm wasn’t so pretty. I had to kill a Norwegian who was doubling against us for the Germans. He’d managed to get two of our men captured – probably bumped off for all I know. For various reasons it had to be an absolutely silent job. I chose the bedroom of his flat and a knife. And, well, he just didn’t die very quickly.
‘For those two jobs I was awarded a Double O number in the Service. Felt pretty clever and got a reputation for being good and tough. A Double O number in our Service means you’ve had to kill a chap in cold blood in the course of some job.
‘Now,’ he looked up again at Mathis, ‘that’s all very fine. The hero kills two villains, but when the hero Le Chiffre starts to kill the villain Bond and the villain Bond knows he isn’t a villain at all, you see the other side of the medal. The villains and heroes get all mixed up.
‘Of course,’ he added, as Mathis started to expostulate, ‘patriotism comes along and makes it seem fairly all right, but this country-right-or-wrong business is getting a little out-of-date. Today we are fighting communism. Okay. If I’d been alive fifty years ago, the brand of conservatism we have today would have been damn near called communism and we should have been told to go and fight that. History is moving pretty quickly these days and the heroes and villains keep on changing parts.’
Mathis stared at him aghast. Then he tapped his head and put a calming hand on Bond’s arm.
‘You mean to say that this precious Le Chiffre who did his best to turn you into a eunuch doesn’t qualify as a villain?’ he asked. ‘Anyone would think from the rot you talk that he had been battering your head instead of your …’ He gestured down the bed. ‘You wait till M. tells you to get after another Le Chiffre. I bet you’ll go after him all right. And what about SMERSH? I can tell you I don’t like the idea of these chaps running around France killing anyone they feel has been a traitor to their precious political system. You’re a bloody anarchist.’
He threw his arms in the air and let them fall helplessly to his sides.
Bond laughed.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Take our friend Le Chiffre. It’s simple enough to say he was an evil man, at least it’s simple enough for me because he did evil things to me. If he was here now, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, but out of personal revenge and not, I’m afraid, for some high moral reason or for the sake of my country.’
He looked up at Mathis to see how bored he was getting with these introspective refinements of what, to Mathis, was a simple question of duty.
Mathis smiled back at him.
‘Continue, my dear friend. It is interesting for me to see this new Bond. Englishmen are so odd. They are like a nest of Chinese boxes. It takes a very long time to get to the centre of them. When one gets there the result is unrewarding, but the process is instructive and entertaining. Continue. Develop your arguments. There may be something I can use to my own chief the next time I want to get out of an unpleasant job.’ He grinned maliciously.
Bond ignored him.
‘Now in order to tell the difference between good and evil, we have manufactured two images representing the extremes – representing the deepest black and the purest white – and we call them God and the Devil. But in doing so we have cheated a
bit. God is a clear image, you can see every hair on His beard. But the Devil. What does he look like?’ Bond looked triumphantly at Mathis.
Mathis laughed ironically.
‘A woman.’
‘It’s all very fine,’ said Bond, ‘but I’ve been thinking about these things and I’m wondering whose side I ought to be on. I’m getting very sorry for the Devil and his disciples such as the good Le Chiffre. The Devil has a rotten time and I always like to be on the side of the underdog. We don’t give the poor chap a chance. There’s a Good Book about goodness and how to be good and so forth, but there’s no Evil Book about evil and how to be bad. The Devil has no prophets to write his Ten Commandments and no team of authors to write his biography. His case has gone completely by default. We know nothing about him but a lot of fairy stories from our parents and schoolmasters. He has no book from which we can learn the nature of evil in all its forms, with parables about evil people, proverbs about evil people, folk-lore about evil people. All we have is the living example of the people who are least good, or our own intuition.
‘So,’ continued Bond, warming to his argument, ‘Le Chiffre was serving a wonderful purpose, a really vital purpose, perhaps the best and highest purpose of all. By his evil existence, which foolishly I have helped to destroy, he was creating a norm of badness by which, and by which alone, an opposite norm of goodness could exist. We were privileged, in our short knowledge of him, to see and estimate his wickedness and we emerge from the acquaintanceship better and more virtuous men.’
‘Bravo,’ said Mathis. ‘I’m proud of you. You ought to be tortured every day. I really must remember to do something evil this evening. I must start at once. I have a few marks in my favour – only small ones, alas,’ he added ruefully – ‘but I shall work fast now that I have seen the light. What a splendid time I’m going to have. Now, let’s see, where shall I start, murder, arson, rape? But no, these are peccadilloes. I must really consult the good Marquis de Sade. I am a child, an absolute child in these matters.’
His face fell.
‘Ah, but our conscience, my dear Bond. What shall we do with him while we are committing some juicy sin? That is a problem. He is a crafty person this conscience and very old, as old as the first family of apes which gave birth to him. We must give that problem really careful thought or we shall spoil our enjoyment. Of course, we should murder him first, but he is a tough bird. It will be difficult, but if we succeed, we could be worse even than Le Chiffre.
‘For you, dear James, it is easy. You can start off by resigning. That was a brilliant thought of yours, a splendid start to your new career. And so simple. Everyone has the revolver of resignation in his pocket. All you’ve got to do is pull the trigger and you will have made a big hole in your country and your conscience at the same time. A murder and a suicide with one bullet! Splendid! What a difficult and glorious profession. As for me, I must start embracing the new cause at once.’
He looked at his watch.
‘Good. I’ve started already. I’m half an hour late for a meeting with the chief of police.’
He rose to his feet laughing.
‘That was most enjoyable, my dear James. You really ought to go on the halls. Now about that little problem of yours, this business of not knowing good men from bad men and villains from heroes, and so forth. It is, of course, a difficult problem in the abstract. The secret lies in personal experience, whether you’re a Chinaman or an Englishman.’
He paused at the door.
‘You admit that Le Chiffre did you personal evil and that you would kill him if he appeared in front of you now?
‘Well, when you get back to London you will find there are other Le Chiffres seeking to destroy you and your friends and your country. M. will tell you about them. And now that you have seen a really evil man, you will know how evil they can be and you will go after them to destroy them in order to protect yourself and the people you love. You won’t wait to argue about it. You know what they look like now and what they can do to people. You maybe a bit more choosy about the jobs you take on. You may want to be certain that the target really is black, but there are plenty of really black targets around. There’s still plenty for you to do. And you’ll do it. And when you fall in love and have a mistress or a wife and children to look after, it will seem all the easier.’
Mathis opened the door and stopped on the threshold.
‘Surround yourself with human beings, my dear James. They are easier to fight for than principles.’
He laughed. ‘But don’t let me down and become human yourself. We would lose such a wonderful machine.’
With a wave of the hand he shut the door.
‘Hey,’ shouted Bond.
But the footsteps went quickly off down the passage.
21 ....... VESPER
IT WAS on the next day that Bond asked to see Vesper. He had not wanted to see her before. He was told that every day she came to the nursing home and asked after him. Flowers had arrived from her. Bond didn’t like flowers and he told the nurse to give them to another patient. After this had happened twice, no more flowers came. Bond had not meant to offend her. He disliked having feminine things around him. Flowers seemed to ask for recognition of the person who had sent them, to be constantly transmitting a message of sympathy and affection. Bond found this irksome. He disliked being cosseted. It gave him claustrophobia.
Bond was bored at the idea of having to explain some of this to Vesper. And he was embarrassed at having to ask one or two questions which mystified him, questions about Vesper’s behaviour. The answers would almost certainly make her out to be a fool. Then he had his full report to M. to think about. In this he didn’t want to have to criticize Vesper. It might easily cost her her job.
But above all, he admitted to himself, he shirked the answer to a more painful question.
The doctor had talked often to Bond about his injuries. He had always told him that there would be no evil effects from the terrible battering his body had received. He had said that Bond’s full health would return and that none of his powers had been taken from him. But the evidence of Bond’s eyes and his nerves refused these comforting assurances. He was still painfully swollen and bruised and whenever the injections wore off he was in agony. Above all, his imagination had suffered. For an hour in that room with Le Chiffre the certainty of impotence had been beaten into him and a scar had been left on his mind that could only be healed by experience.
From the day when Bond first met Vesper in the Hermitage bar, he had found her desirable and he knew that if things had been different in the night club, if Vesper had responded in any way and if there had been no kidnapping he would have tried to sleep with her that night. Even later, in the car and outside the villa when God knows he had had other things to think about, his eroticism had been hotly aroused by the sight of her indecent nakedness.
And now when he could see her again, he was afraid. Afraid that his senses and his body would not respond to her sensual beauty. Afraid that he would feel no stir of desire and that his blood would stay cool. In his mind he had made this first meeting into a test and he was shirking the answer. That was the real reason, he admitted, why he had waited to give his body a chance to respond, why he had put off their first meeting for over a week. He would like to have put off the meeting still further, but he explained to himself that his report must be written, that any day an emissary from London would come over and want to hear the full story, that today was as good as tomorrow, that anyway he might as well know the worst.
So on the eighth day he asked for her, for the early morning when he was feeling refreshed and strong after the night’s rest.
For no reason at all, he had expected that she would show some sign of her experiences, that she would look pale and even ill. He was not prepared for the tall bronzed girl in a cream tussore frock with a black belt who came happily through the door and stood smiling at him.
‘Good heavens, Vesper,’ he said with a wry g
esture of welcome, ‘you look absolutely splendid. You must thrive on disaster. How have you managed to get such a wonderful sunburn?’
‘I feel very guilty,’ she said sitting down beside him. ‘But I’ve been bathing every day while you’ve been lying here. The doctor said I was to and Head of S. said I was to, so, well, I just thought it wouldn’t help you for me to be moping away all day long in my room. I’ve found a wonderful stretch of sand down the coast and I take my lunch and go there every day with a book and I don’t come back till the evening. There’s a bus that takes me there and back with only a short walk over the dunes, and I’ve managed to get over the fact that it’s on the way down that road to the villa.’
Her voice faltered.
The mention of the villa had made Bond’s eyes flicker.
She continued bravely, refusing to be defeated by Bond’s lack of response.
‘The doctor says it won’t be long before you’re allowed up. I thought perhaps … I thought perhaps I could take you down to this beach later on. The doctor says that bathing would be very good for you.’
Bond grunted.
‘God knows when I’ll be able to bathe,’ he said. ‘The doctor’s talking through his hat. And when I can bathe it would probably be better for me to bathe alone for a bit. I don’t want to frighten anybody. Apart from anything else,’ he glanced pointedly down the bed, ‘my body’s a mass of scars and bruises. But you enjoy yourself. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy yourself.’
Vesper was stung by the bitterness and injustice in his voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I just thought … I was just trying …’
Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed.
‘I wanted … I wanted to help you get well.’
Her voice strangled. She looked piteously at him, facing the accusation in his eyes and in his manner.
Then she broke down and buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘I’m really sorry.’ With one hand she searched for a handkerchief in her bag. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she dabbed at her eyes. ‘I know it’s all my fault.’
