Telegrams began to reach the White House, and one of the first came from a mother in Florida, who wrote, “Thank you for my three sons’ deaths not being in vain.”

But no one at the White House had heard of the armistice. The operator called the navy, which had also heard nothing, and together they called General Pershing’s secretary, who had also heard nothing.

Finally, a cable came from Chimay. There was no armistice. It had been a mistake.

Never before had the entire world shared a single mood. It was like watching a rescue boat torpedoed in the harbor.

The New York Tribune’s headline the next morning was “JOY DASHED UPON THE ROCKS,” and its editor asked in his column, “When the real news of peace arrives shall we have another celebration as good as those first hours? Hardly, we think. The edge has been taken off.”

For the men who fought, those who had seen three blue lights understood: the promised land did not fulfill its promises. Any attempt to find a symbol (three blue lights) and give it meaning (a climax!) was not just doomed but punished. The war was worse than a farce. A comedy ended with a marriage, and a tragedy had no end.

28

When the puppies were almost two months old, Lee awoke with a weight on his chest. It was Nanette. She had somehow gotten out of her kennel (he’d fitted it with a wire top and a latch) and was now patiently sitting on him, front paws placed symmetrically, rear legs tucked under. When his eyes were open, her eyebrows fluttered, as if registering that he had reported for duty, and then she returned to what she had been doing while he slept: staring at him. Which was disconcerting. Shouldn’t she be playing or chewing on something?

Lee ran a hand down her back, which caused her to readjust fussily— she had no patience for that—and she licked her lips. Her eyes were brown, lucid little measuring wands that seemed to take Lee’s temperature. He had the disturbing sense that she was judging whether the balance of power in the pack had shifted overnight. “Are you sure you’re two months old?”

As Harry had taught him, Lee took his pointer finger and drew it downward, mouthing “down.” Nanette continued to stare, so he knocked her front legs out from under her. Then she relaxed, and put her head down between her paws as if he were confirming her understanding of how the world worked.

He glanced down at the kennel to look for her brother. He could see Boy in the dawn gloom, belly upward, paws outstretched, asleep to the world.