Lie Down With Lions Read Online Free PDF Page B

surprised. “I heard you had been offered a marvelous job in Houston.”
    “I turned it down.”
    She was impressed. “But why?”
    “I consider it worthwhile to save the lives of freedom fighters; but a few Texan millionaires more or less won’t make any difference to anything.”
    The radiologist was not as fascinated by Jean-Pierre as his girlfriend was. He swallowed a mouthful of potatoes and said: “No sweat. After you come back, you’ll have no trouble getting that same job offer again—you’ll be a hero as well as a doctor.”
    “Do you think so?” said Jean-Pierre coolly. He did not like the turn the conversation was taking.
    “Two people from this hospital went to Afghanistan last year,” the radiologist went on. “They both got great jobs when they came back.”
    Jean-Pierre gave a tolerant smile. “It’s nice to know that I’ll be employable if I survive.”
    “I should hope so!” said the brunette indignantly. “After such a sacrifice!”
    “What do your parents think of the idea?” wondered Valérie.
    “My mother approves,” said Jean-Pierre. Of course she approved: she loved a hero. Jean-Pierre could imagine what his father would say about idealistic young doctors who went to work for the Afghan rebels. Socialism doesn’t mean everyone can do what they want! he would say, his voice hoarse and urgent, his face reddening a little. What do you think those rebels are? They’re bandits, preying on the law-abiding peasants. Feudal institutions have to be wiped out before socialism can come in. He would hammer the table with one great fist. To make a soufflé, you have to break eggs—to make socialism, you have to break heads! Don’t worry, Papa, I know all that. “My father is dead,” Jean-Pierre said. “But he was a freedom fighter himself. He fought in the Resistance during the war.”
    “What did he do?” asked the skeptical radiologist, but Jean-Pierre never answered him because he had seen, coming across the canteen, Raoul Clermont, the editor of La Révolte, sweating in his Sunday suit. What the devil was the fat journalist doing in the hospital canteen?
    “I need to have a word with you,” said Raoul without preamble. He was out of breath. Jean-Pierre gestured to a chair. “Raoul—”
    “It’s urgent,” Raoul cut in, almost as if he did not want the others to hear his name.
    “Why don’t you join us for lunch? Then we could talk at leisure.”
    “I regret I cannot.”
    Jean-Pierre heard a note of panic in the fat man’s voice. Looking into his eyes, he saw that they were pleading with him to stop fooling around. Surprised, Jean-Pierre stood up. “Okay,” he said. To cover the suddenness of it all he said playfully to the others: “Don’t eat my lunch—I’ll be back.” He took Raoul’s arm and they walked out of the canteen.
    Jean-Pierre had intended to stop and talk outside the door, but Raoul kept on walking along the corridor. “Monsieur Leblond sent me,” he said.
    “I was beginning to think he must be behind this,” said Jean-Pierre. It was a month ago that Raoul had taken him to meet Leblond, who had asked him to go to Afghanistan, ostensibly to help the rebels as many young French doctors did, but actually to spy for the Russians. Jean-Pierre had felt proud, apprehensive and most of all thrilled at the opportunity to do something really spectacular for the cause. His only fear had been that the organizations which sent doctors to Afghanistan would turn him down because he was a Communist. They had no way of knowing he was actually a Party member, and he certainly would not tell them—but they might know he was a Communist sympathizer. However, there were plenty of French Communists who were opposed to the invasion of Afghanistan. There was nevertheless a remote possibility that a cautious organization might suggest that Jean-Pierre would be happier working for some other group of freedom fighters—they also sent people to help the rebels in El