He buried his face in her lank hair and pulled her to his heart. He tucked her head in the crook of his elbow, wrapped a leg around hers.

“Stay,” she said in a moan that was almost ecstatic.

“It’s all right,” he said in French. Then he began to murmur in English into her hair. “It’s all right if you pretend I’m him. I’ll do it, too. See, I lost someone. She left me forever. I’ll never see her again. But it’s all right. You and I, we’re together tonight and we can forget the war a little while. I’ll be him and you be her. We understand each other. It’s all right…”

He was a fool. He and Solange could’ve gone to bed, stayed dressed and done only this. She wanted comfort and contact. Wanted the feel of a healthy man’s body against hers, holding still and letting her pretend he was back at home and would stay forever. Prolonging now into something secure and immutable.

Now.

Now backward is won, Kennet thought.

Won and one.

To win the war and be one.

One language and one perspective and one want that couldn’t be misinterpreted or misunderstood. One moment to hold in your hand.

This morning he awoke alone. Solange’s side of the bed was smoothed and in the nest of her pillow lay an enormous, hard-boiled egg.

He stared, his brain still thick with sleep. For a moment he was sure he hadn’t slept with a woman last night, but some enchanted princess. Woman by night. Chicken by day.

He shook his head hard and took up the egg, marveling at its size. It must’ve been from a goose. It filled his palm like a warm moment.

He dressed and ambled back to the hay mow, peeling the egg. The shell was powdery and the yolk an astonishing orange. It would’ve been delicious, if not for the aftertaste of misunderstanding. His stomach held a grudge against it and he hated now. Hated a war that made one and one into a goose egg.

Jock walked by Kennet, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Man, what’s a guy gotta pay to have a little fun around here?”

“You’re a noisy fuck, Jockstrap. You know that?”

“Bite my butt, Fish. You were done in six seconds. Was it your first time?”

“Was it your million seventh? Can you even keep track of who you fucked anymore?”

Jock’s cheekbones winced. “Jesus Christ, put me back in combat where people are friendlier.”

He walked off, kicking rocks. Kennet found his notebook and a pencil. He found a flat board to serve as a desk and a place to sit in the sun.