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they are！ Seeing that this same whole is never again to take shape in the world。 Never again will be heard exactly that note of laughter； that intonation of voice； that quality of repartee。 Each individual is a miracle。 No wonder we go on speaking of the dead for twenty years。
Here； in Spain； a man is simply stood up against a wall and he gives up his entrails to the stones of the courtyard。 You have been captured。 You are shot。 Reason： your ideas were not our ideas。
This entrainment in the rain is the only thing that rings true about their war。 These men stand round and stare at me； and I read in their eyes a mournful sobriety。 They know the fate that awaits them if they are captured。 I begin to shiver with the cold and observe of a sudden that no woman has been allowed to see them off。
The absence of women seems to me right。 There is no place here for mothers who bring children into the world in ignorance of the faith that will some day flare up in their sons； in ignorance of the ideologist who； according to his lights； will prop up their sons against a wall when they have e to their twenty years of life。
We went up by motor into the war zone。 Barricades became more frequent； and from place to place we had to negotiate with revolutionary mittees。 Passes were valid only from one village to the next。
〃Are you trying to get closer to the front？〃
〃Exactly。〃
The chairman of the local mittee consulted a large…scale map。
〃You won't be able to get through。 The rebels have occupied the road four miles ahead。 But you might try swinging left here。 This road ought to be free。 Though there was talk of rebel cavalry cutting it this morning。〃
It was very difficult in those early days of the revolution to know one's way about in the vicinity of the front。 There were loyal villages； rebel villages； neutral villages； and they shifted their allegiance between dawn and dark。 This tangle of loyal and rebel zones made me think the push must be pretty weak。 It certainly bore no resemblance to a line of trenches cutting off friend from enemy as cleanly as a knife。 I felt as if I were walking in a bog。 Here the earth was solid beneath our feet： there we sank into it。 We moved in a maze of uncertainty。 Yet what space； what air between movements！ These military operations are curiously lacking in density。 *
Once again we reached a point beyond which we were told we could not advance。 Six rifles。 and a low wall of paving stones blocked the road。 Four men and two women lay stretched on the ground behind the wall。 I made a mental note that the women did not know how to hold a rifle。
〃This is as far as you can go。〃
〃Why？〃
〃Rebels。〃
We got out of the car and sat down with the militiamen upon the grass。 They put down their rifles and cut a few slices of fresh bread。
〃Is this your village？〃 we asked。
〃No； we are Catalans； from Barcelona。 munist Party。〃
One of the girls stretched herself and sat up on the barricade； her hair blowing in the wind。 She was rather thick…set； but young and healthy。 Smiling happily she said：
〃I am going to stay in this village when the war is over。 I didn't know it； but the country beats the city all hollow。〃
She cast a loving glance round at the country…side； as if stirred by a revelation。 Her life had been the gray slums； days spent in a factory； and the sordid pensation afforded by the cafes。 Everything that went on here seemed to her as jolly as a picnic。 She jumped down and ran to the village well。 Probably she believed she was drinking at the very breast of mother earth。
〃Have you done any fighting here？〃
〃No。 The rebels kick up a little dust now and then； but 。 。 。 We see a lorryload of men from time to time and hope that they will e along this road。 But nothing has e by in two weeks。〃
They were awaiting their first enemy。 In the rebel village opposite sat another half…dozen militiamen awaiting a first enemy。 Twelve warriors alone in the world。
Each side was waiting for something to be born in the invisible。 The rebels were waiting for the host of hesitant people in Madrid to declare themselves for France。 Barcelona was waiting for Saragossa to waken out of an inspired dream； declare itself Socialist； and fall。 It was the thought more than the soldier that was besieging the town。 The thought was the great hope and the great enemy。
It seemed to me that the bombers； the shells； the militiamen under arms； by themselves had no power to conquer。 On each side a single man entrenched behind his line of defense was better than a hundred besiegers。 But thought might worm its way in。
From time to time there is an attack。 From time to time the tree is shaken。 Not to uproot it； but merely to see if the fruit is yet ripe。 And if it is； a town falls。
II
Back from the front； I found friends in Barcelona who allowed me to join in their mysterious expeditions。 We went deep into the mountains and were now in one of those villages which are possessed by a mixture of peace and terror。
〃Oh； yes； we shot seventeen of them。〃
They had shot seventeen 〃fascists。〃 The parish priest； the priest's housekeeper； the sexton； and fourteen village notables。 Everything is relative； you see。 When they read in their provincial newspaper the story of the life of Basil Zaharoff； master of the world； they transpose it into their own language。 They recognize in him the nurseryman； or the pharmacist。 And when they shoot the pharmacist； in a way they are shooting Basil Zaharoff。 The only one who does not understand is the pharmacist。
〃Now we are all Loyalists together。 Everything has calmed down。〃
Almost everything。 The conscience of the village is tormented by one man whom I have seen at the tavern； smiling； helpful； so anxious to go on living！ He es to the pub in order to show us that； despite his few acres of vineyard； he too is part of the human race； suffers with rheumatism like it； mops his face like it with a blue handkerchief。 He es； and he plays billiards。 Can one shoot a man who plays billiards？ Besides； he plays badly with his great trembling hands。 He is upset； he still does not know whether he is a fascist or not。 He puts me in mind of those poor monkeys who dance before the boa…constrictor in the hope of softening it。
There was nothing we could do for the man。 For the time being we had another job in hand。 Sitting on a table and swinging my legs at mittee headquarters； while my panion； Pepin； pulled a bundle of soiled papers out of his pocket； I had a good look at these terrorists。 Their looks e belied their name： honorable peasants with frank eyes and sober attentive faces； they were the same everywhere we went； and though we were foreigners possessing no authority； we were everywhere received with the same grave courtesy。
〃Yes； here it is；〃 said Pepin； a document in his hand。 〃His name is Laporte。 Any of YOU know him？〃
The paper went from hand to hand and the members of the mittee shook their heads。
〃No。 Laporte？ Never heard of him。〃
I started to explain something to them； but Pepin motioned me to be silent。 〃They won't talk；〃 he said； 〃but they know him well enough。〃
Pepin spread his references before the chair…man； saying casually：
〃I am a French socialist。 Here is my party card。〃
The card was passed round and the chairman raised his eyes to us：
〃Laporte。 I don't believe。 。 。 。〃
〃Of course you know him。 A French monk。 Probably in disguise。 You captured him yesterday in the woods。 Laporte； his name is。 The French consulate wants him。〃 Title： Wind； Sand； and Stars
Author： Antoine de Saint…Exupery
Translator： Lewis Galantiere
Publisher： Harcourt Brace Javanovich； New York； 1967
Date first posted： February 2000
Date most recently updated： January 2006
XML markup by Wesman 02/23/2000。
Wind Sand and Stars
Antoine de Saint…Exupery
10
Conclusion
Here； in the final pages of this book； I remember again those musty civil servants who served as our escort in the omnibus when we set out to fly our first mails； when we prepared ourselves to be transformed into men … w