I am taking a break from reading everything Malaysiana that is related to my book project. And I have finally decided to read Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s For the Good of the Cause that has been resting on my bookshelf for more than a year.

Here is an excerpt which I would like to share.

But the story fell flat. Fyodor did not laugh. Grachikov knew that it was better not to revive war memories. But having started this train of thought, he now recalled what had happened the following day, when his division was suddenly ordered to cross the River Sozh and deploy itself on the other side.

The bridge across the river had been badly damaged. The engineers had repaired it during the night, and Grachikov was posted as the officer in charge of the guard on it. He had instructions that nobody was to be allowed through until the division had crossed over. It was a narrow bridge—the sides had collapsed, the surface was very bumpy, and it was important to keep the traffic moving, because twice already single-engine Junkers had sneaked up on them from behind the trees and dive-bombed the bridge, though so far they had missed. The business of moving the division across, had moved up, but they waited their turn in small pine wood nearby. Suddenly, six covered vehicles—they were brand-new and all alike— drove up to the head of the column and tried to force their way onto the bridge. “St-o-p!” Grachikov shouted furiously at the first driver and ran across to head him off, but he kept going. Grachikov may have reached for his pistol, perhaps he actually did. At that point a middle-aged officer in a cape opened the door of the first truck and shouted just as furiously. “Hey you, Major, come over here!” and with a quick movement of one shoulder he threw back his cape. And Grachikov saw that he was a Lieutenant-General. Grachikov ran up, his heart in his mouth.

“What were you doing with your hand?” the General shouted ominously. “Do you want to be courtmartialed? Let my vehicles through!”

Until the General order his trucks to be let through, Grachikov had been willing to settling things amicably, without raising his voice, and he might even have let them through. But when right and wrong clashed head-on (and wrong is more brazen by its very nature), Grachikov’s legs seemed to become rooted to the ground and he no longer cared what might happen to him. He drew himself up, saluted and announced:

“I shall not let you through, Comrade Lieutenant-General!”

“What the hell…?” The General’s voice rose to a scream and he stepped down onto the running board. “What’s your name?”

“Major Grachikov, Comrade Lieutenant-General. And I’d like to know yours!”

“You’ll be in the stockade by tomorrow!” the General fumed.

“That may be, but today you take your place in the line!” Grachikov shot back and then planted himself right in front of the truck and stood there, knowing that his face and neck were flushed purple, but quite determined not to give in. The General choked with rage, thought for a moment, then slammed the door and turned his six trucks around. [Page 95-96. For the Good of the Cause. Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Sphere Books. 1971]

That is integrity at work.

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