"THESE HALLS" eugene brough TWO Jeanne...maurine duffine A mass of iron and powder and smoke can disrupt and change the life schemes of those destined to live forever, of those who are immortal, despite their physical destruction. Man reaches down into the earth, spends his time and his strength in the manufacture of iron and steel implements which give material expression of his virtues and vices. A great moving ship cut its way proudly through the strong rolling waves of the sea. With courage and assurance it was carrying men and their materials across the ocean to lands far away. It was iron, brought up from the core of the earth, made useful in the service of men. Within its walls people were sleeping and dancing and spending the fleeting moments of their lives in escaping the set pattern of their schedules at shore. To Timothy and Paul these moments which separated them from the shore were slow in passing. Jeanne, and home, and the life they loved were in London. The hours which passed now were lived as children eat candy hastily, without the full savoring of their sweet flavor. What of thse two, if men had taken the same iron and steel which made the ship, and made a bomb with which to shatter the broad grey expanse of the ship's hull. Jeanne's favorite needle was lost. It seemed foolish, as do many of the whims of girls, that Jeanne should have a favorite needle. But this one was small, and fine, and fitted to a lady's hand. For weeks now, Jeanne had been making a coat, one of bright plaids and strongly sewn seams, against the day that Paul would return against the day that Paul with her son Timothy should come running down the long slope of the gangplank. And they would again be Jeanne and Paul, not just Jeanne, nor simply Paul. Timothy would wear that coat agaist the strong winter winds, that coat which was sewn strongly with that one small needle. What of Jeanne, if men had taken the same steel that had been drawn into that slender shaft, and had made a bomb with which to shatter the broad grey expanse of a ship's hull. Jeanne had moved ino a new apartment while Paul was away. Their home was now to be at the very top of one of the buildings which looked over the city very different from the small dark rooms in which they had lived. It was a new building, straight and true and strong, and only the strongest of iron and steel and cement were in it. Would the lives of those in the building be smashed, if man had taken the same iron that composed the hard, strong framework, and made a bomb with which to crush the walls about the bodies of those within? There were few clear, moonlit nights left in the summer of that year. That meant that there were few nights left on which heavily loaded German planes might complete their missions of death and destructions across the channel. This night was to be clear and moonlit. This night Paul's ship was nearing the shore, and this night Jeanne was scrubbing and arranging the apartment for Paul's return in the morning. Jeanne had finished her cleaning, had gone to the front door, and had pretended she was Paul, walking through and seeing the apartment for the first time. It was fresh and new and clean. The table made her think of the meals she would prepare, of Christinas and holiday feasts they would have, while the whole apartment would be Christmasy in vibrant red and green. And finally, in an effort to make the moments go more quickly, she began to walk down the hall toward the door, and out toward the street. Suddenly, she heard the echo of those words "deises tage angreif in the drumming of airplane motors above. When Jeanne heard the shrill cry of the bombs as they fell, she forgot the airraid shelters, and the safety of the underground rooms. Terror was at her heels as she ran far into the blackness of the night. Jeanne did not see the bombs as they struck deep into the foundations of a city, nor did she see the strong firm framework of her apartment crumpled and crushed. It was hours later, and many miles from London, before Jeanne re-gained her sanity, and began thinking of those at sea, who were coming home to her. A man and a boy struggled through a boiling sea. after the planes had dropped their deadly cargo, and again flown their way home. They reached the shore. Paul stared at the ruins of the apartment, and then he began digging madly into the mass, of splinters and rocks. For hours he tore at the rubble of wood and cement and steel. Everything had gone from him except one thought Jeanne was lost, and he had to find her. Eventually he realised that there was no trace of Jeanne, and Paul died inside, at that moment. Timothy was never to forget the destruction, nor was he to forget the expression in his father's eyes. Paul made a dream of Jeanne that was more real than the daily acts of his life, and lived only in the hope that somehow, somewhere, she was safe. Jeanne read and reread the report telling that there were no survivors from the ship that was bombed several days ago. Far out in the country of England she had sought peace and rest, but she could find neither in the mist that surrounded her. Always she thought of the sea and always she thought of Paul. And then she read a correction of the first newspaper report. She read that there had been survivors from the ship, including a Mr. Paul Toff, and son, Timothy. Life flowed again through Jeanne's veins. The long hours of struggle through the sea were forgotten, as were the new apartment and the plaid coat. Three people became again Jeanne and Paul and Timothy. Not Jeanne in England, nor Paul in a ship on the sea, but quite simply, Jeanne and Paul and Timothy. Men reach deep into the earth, and take up substance with which to create steel, and then spend their time and effort and energy in fabricating the hulls of ships, the needles with which to make plaid coats, the bombs of utter destruction, strong beams on which to build tall protecting shelters. THREE