has almost convinced himself that, with a transfer, Molloy will contain his drinking, will wish less for death. A new start. New memories to replace the old ones that plague him. He hopes more than thinks this may happen because he is not certain what he will do if Molloy does not recover, does not cease his slow suicide. He does not allow himself to think about it. He loves no one else on this earth but Molloy and yet much of the time he cannot abide the man. He has only the army and for him, Molloy is the army. He is not certain whether it is the army or Molloy he loves and hates so. Dos hartz makht fun mentsh a nar. It is his mother’s voice this time. The heart makes a fool of men. He has a flashing image of standing in a tin tub as a small boy while she bathed him, his brothers waiting their turn but their mother smiling at him, taking her time.
As if to mock sentiments Kohn can hardly admit to himself, Molloy says, lowering his voice, “Would you not have a dram on your person, Daniel, for an old warhorse recovering?”
“I most certainly goddamn do not, sir.” It is his father’s voice he hears now. A fool goes to the bath and forgets to wash his face.
“There is no need to curse your betters, Daniel. It is unbecoming a man of your rank and breeding.” Molloy sulks but only for a moment. Not as long as Kohn would have imagined and he takes hope in this.
He says, “My betters? You may go and jump, sir, if you think I will aid in your debauch. I need you to speak to the Irish when you are well if we are to discover anything about who killed the sutler and his wife. The fort is full of them and none of them has a mind to bleat to a soreass Jew.”
“The Irish . . .” Molloy says. “A filthy, treacherous race of men, the women fit only for the milking shed or brothel. Round heels have the women of Ireland. Keep that in mind, Daniel, when time comes to choose a wife.”
“I will, sir.” He tosses the sponge into the bucket, dries his hands on a towel and holds out a freshly laundered undershirt for the captain.
“Tell us then, what have you learned on your travels, Daniel?”
Kohn helps Molloy into the shirt, followed by a wool sweater and two pairs of socks. He lifts the captain’s legs, one of them locked in thick plaster, from where they rest on the floor back into the bed and covers them with a fresh laundered sheet, several blankets and a heavy buffalo rug. He makes to tie a woollen scarf around Molloy’s neck but his captain shoos him away and does it himself. The hospital barracks is warm relative to the common soldiers’ barracks, having three wood stoves for heat and a raised floor of planed boards, but the building was hastily constructed and drafts of icy wind find their way through gaps in the planked walls and windows. Kohn can see his breath if he looks carefully.
“Nothing of note, sir. But that every soul on post assumes that it was other than Indians who killed Mr. Kinney and his wife and not one seems to think they did not have it coming. Some of the men I’ve spoken to appear to be delighted by their demise.”
“Death freeing them from debt, no doubt,” Molloy says, nodding, smiling as if he too sees the joy a murder can bring. “Give us a cheroot, Daniel, good man.”
“Yessir. Though they would not be exempt the debt, in fact, since they have signed their names to the monies owed the sutler, whoever that may be, and as such any serving sutler has the right to stop their pay up to five dollars a month until it is paid. You know yourself there are men who are never fully clear of a sutler’s debt and owe money on their discharge. Of course they might be considered free of their debts if the sutler’s account books cannot be found, which according to the new sutler, they cannot.”
Molloy smiles again. “As a Jew, you look first for the account books, Daniel. I would have expected nothing less.”
Kohn smiles back at him. “I thought that if I could have a peek at them, I might find the man or men with the call