The Encounter
by James C. Clar © 2008
“The story that moved in shadows ends in shadows.”
Jorge Luis Borges
It is widely believed that, the evening before the decisive battle in the War for Liberation, Shalimar visited Zattu in the latter's field tent. Precisely how the rebel general made it through the government lines undetected is not known … or at least that part of the story has never been told. Beyond that, the fact that he gained access to Zattu's person lends credence to the oft-repeated theory that he had been expected and/or that there was something of a conspiracy at work.
Although the events in question took place over fifty years ago now, and thousands of pages have since been devoted to conjuring the details of the alleged conversation between the two men from the miasma of time and the mists of legend, nothing truly definitive is known. Yet, given their prior relationship – Shalimar had, before joining the Army of Liberation, served for more than a decade as Zattu's adjutant – as well as the outcome of the fateful battle the next day, one can indeed speculate in broad terms with a certain degree of boldness if not of confidence …
In the first place, whatever one might think of General Zattu as a person – his temper and his appetites are well-documented – everyone nevertheless agrees that he was a first-rate commander and that he had the well-being of his troops uppermost in his mind at all times. In fact, his unflinching concern for the men who served under him was often the source of conflict between Zattu and the politicians whose sometimes heedless orders he was, in turn, duty bound to obey. The general's proclivity to “interpret” such orders in a manner that would spare his soldiers any unnecessary risk was tolerated by those who remained safely back in the capital simply because he had achieved a remarkable record of success.
It thus seems entirely probable that Shalimar reminded his former superior of the overwhelming popular support that the Army of Liberation had won in its fight for freedom as well as its vast advantage in troop strength. Their better equipment and, admittedly, better training aside, the government forces could not reasonably be expected to hold out much longer against the relentless and virtually never-ending onslaught of the insurgency without incurring losses of almost biblical proportions. In the face of such an argument, assuming that something along those lines formed the basis of Shalimar's presentation as, indeed, it must have, it is quite easy to see how the battle and, in essence, the war ended the next day with the surrender of the government forces almost before a shot was fired or a sword was drawn from its scabbard. Zattu's subsequent suicide makes sense in this scenario, of course, but there may be more to the story … as there almost always is to stories of this kind.
Although it may not be more accurate, an altogether more literarily compelling reconstruction of the details of the pre-battle conversation between the two combatants might very well take into account the national scandal that ensued two years prior when it was discovered that Zattu's nineteen-year-old daughter, Miranda, was pregnant out of wedlock. Try as it might, the press was never able to ascertain the identity of the child's father. Miranda gave birth to a boy. Mother and son were immediately sent off to live with “relatives” outside of the capital. The outbreak of hostilities and the consequent disruption of life throughout the country caused the entire sordid affair to be forgotten in the wake of more pressing news.
With the eventual victory of the Army of Liberation as well as the tumultuous and painful events that accompanied the gestation and birth of a new government, little thought was ever really given again to the arival of one little baby boy. Only in hindsight can that simple event (perhaps) assume its properly portentous aspect.
To see things in that light, it must also be recalled that after the end of the war and once Shalimar was elected president, Miranda Zattu and her son, Elizar, were once again seen in the capital. Miranda lived quietly, almost reclusively. Elizar, however, went to the finest schools and soon distinguished himself as, first, a soldier, and then as a member of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Bear in mind that General Emilio Zattu is a man whose memory would eventually become reviled by both insurgents and reactionary holdouts alike. The fact that his grandson achieved the success that he did must, in the minds of many observers, be attributed only to the fact that the young man had “friends in high places.” Might it not also be conjectured that the future of Elizar Zattu was one of the topics of conversation between the leaders of two opposing armies in the field headquarters of one of them on the night before a climactic battle?
If such speculation seems outlandish, otiose even, the reader would do well to remember that history turns not on epic events. Despite what practitioners of the so-called discipline of History desire the uninitiated to believe, common sense prevails here … as it does in most matters … and few people are actually deceived. History, real history, over and over again proves to be more a matter of the chance encounter, the private, microcosmic, even intimate detail. The fate of empires is, more often than not, delimited by the direction of the wind or balanced on the edge of a single sword; and, in some cases, the future of a nation is determined by a few moments of passion between a young woman and an ambitious officer in an upstairs room or in a dark corner of a rambling mansion in the military district of a great capital.
James C. Clar is a teacher and writer living in upstate New York. His work has appeared in a variety of print and internet publications. Most recently, his short fiction has been published in TAJ MAHAL REVIEW, EVERDAY FICTION, POWDER BURN FLASH, ORCHARD PRESS MYSTERIES, MYSTERYAUTHORS.COM, STATIC MOVEMENT and LONG STORY SHORT to name a few venues. James is an ardent jazz fan as well as an avid digital photographer.