To Finn’s right, Otto continued to throw his hunting knife absently at the ground, trying, without success, to get it to stick in blade first. Sal shifted away a little, since Otto was throwing it perilously close to his foot, and settled into the place just vacated by Goldwin, who had wandered to the margins of the clearing to listen to his hounds. The barber’s favorite, Mina, a pure redbone, too old and sick to keep up with the pack, dragged herself after him, crumpling at his heels whenever he stopped. Magnus was standing also, leaning on his staff and staring gravely into the fire like some old soothsayer. Siggy, cutting himself a chaw, lay slumped in a folding chair beside Bennet, who sat on a cooler, grim potentate with his Easter Island head, holding his rifle like a scepter across his lap.

It was Bennet who finally broached the silence again, addressing Finn. “You were in the war. Weren’t that like hunting?”

Inspecting his hot dog, Finn answered quietly, “No.”

“You ever kill a man?” Otto asked, now scraping the blade of his knife tenderly over his own stubble.

“Must’ve done, I guess.”

“You don’t know?” Goldwin rejoined them at the fire, Mina slumping down behind him.

“Sure, I didn’t write them after to find out, you know.”

“You ever kill anyone up close?” Bennet said.

Finn took a moment to answer, that rueful gargoyle face turning, indeed, to stone. “One time. We were in a town called Beauville. Only I remember it ’cos one of the fellas tells me it means lovely town. Funny, isn’t it? Call a place lovely town. Where you from, then? Lovely town, sure. Tempting fate, isn’t it? Like calling a girl Chastity. Krauts had bombed the behind out of the place. A mate of mine in Ireland had cystic fibrosis. Name of Fergal. Know what Fergal means? Man of strength. Couldn’t swallow his own spit in the end.”

“So what you do in this town?” Bennet said.

“Well my point is, that Lovely Town was bombed to shite. There was house-to-house fighting. No one knew where anyone was or where the hell we were meant to be going. So I turn into this alley, and right at the end of it is this Kraut. Has his back to me. Doesn’t have a notion I’m there. Looks relaxed, you know, having a sly fag, leaning up against the wall.”

“How far away was he?” Goldwin asked.

Finn pointed. “About where Magnus is from me.”

All the men looked at Magnus, who meekly put up both hands in surrender.

“So you shot him in the back.” Otto, softly stropping the knife’s blade over his lips, smiled.

“I did.”

Bennet leaned in. “What you shoot him with?”

“American M-One carbine, piece of shite.”

“One shot?” Bennet asked.

Finn blew out his cheeks, shaking his head. “I just pointed the thing and let loose.”