We Are What We Pretend to Be by Kurt Vonnegut Page B

angrily.
    “For the way you treated me and Haley and the girls.”
    The General laughed quietly and shrugged, master of the situation. “I’m deeply apologetic for the terrible way I have treated all of you. Will that do?”
    “Now pray.”
    Haley, stupefied with horror, watched the General’s stern features sag and whiten into fear. “Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy—”
    “Pray on your knees.”
    The General sank to his knees. “Spare the children,” he whispered.
    “Pray!”
    “Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done . . . ”
    Haley stepped from the wall to stand between the gun and the General. Through his shock-hazed senses he saw only the golden bead of the weapon’s front sight. A vivid, buoyant tension flooded his muscles, and his fancy whirled his thoughts away to a distant field, to watch himself with the eyes of a faraway stranger.
    “You’re on my side, Haley,” he heard Mr. Banghart say. “Don’t make me kill you, too.”
    All was quiet. The General had stopped praying. Haley took
a step toward the muzzle. He could reach out and touch the bead now, if he wished. He imagined it the mark of a star on the duck pond, a—
    “Keep away!” cried Mr. Banghart, closing his hand about the gunstock.
    Haley lunged, grasped the muzzle, and threw it upward with all his strength. Thunder crashed in his ears, and his hands recoiled from the searing barrel.
    Mr. Banghart dropped the shotgun and fled through the kitchen and into the night. There were men’s shouts outside, then a volley of shots, then silence.
    “Police,” croaked Annie.
    Haley turned to look at the General, who was still on his knees, his head bowed. “Amen,” said the General.
    Haley laughed nervously, walked over to the couch and sat down, and closed his eyes until the wave of nausea passed.

IX.

    IX.
    “Haley, it’s morning, time to get up,” said Annie, shaking Haley’s shoulder diffidently, then stepping back to a respectful distance, her hands at her sides, her lips pursed. She repeated the procedure several times, each time gently, until Haley rolled over on his back, yawned, and blinked at the sunbeams.
    “What time is it?” he mumbled. He still tingled with the delicious warmth of sleep, mixed with the insolent exhilaration of an awakening hero. He studied Annie’s uncustomary humility. There was no doubt about it; the high adventure had not been dreams. He was a hero.
    “Eight o’clock, Haley. The General said we could all sleep late. Remember? I’ve got breakfast all ready, and the General and Hope are up and around. If you feel like coming down—”
    “I’ll be down in twenty minutes or so,” said Haley.
    “I’ll keep everything warm in the oven until you’re ready.”
    “Good.”
    Annie started to leave, but stopped in the doorway for an instant. When she turned, Haley saw that her lower lip was
trembling. “Haley, what you did last night was the most wonderful thing I ever saw or heard of,” she said. She left, dabbing at her fat cheeks with her apron corner.
    “Thank you,” he called after her, bounding from his bed. He walked over to his dresser and picked up the two hairbrushes the General had given him. He scrubbed his hair into a natty part, leaned his elbows on the dresser top, and winked at himself in the mirror.
    When he sauntered into the kitchen, he was greeted by cheery good-mornings from Annie and Hope. The General cleared his throat by way of salutation and gave him a stiff, unsmiling nod.
    “Sleep well?” said the General.
    “Yessir.”
    “That’s good.” The General paused and toyed nervously with a spoon, as though he were thinking hard about what he was going to say next. He laid the spoon down. “I always say it does a man good to sleep late now and then, but it dulls the wits to overdo it.”
    Disappointed that the General had nothing to say about the night before, Haley pulled out his chair and sat down. Annie immediately placed a