JUNE 1940If war can bring one to suicide, it can also replace it, Lieutenant Cossa soberly commented, folding up the newspaper announcing the death of a great writer. The thought that war was a kind of solution in its own way had crossed his mind several times. Although he nursed a horror of war, he had nevertheless been surprised to have often desired it: in order to drown myself in it, like that great writer did in the river.
Stepping out, he happily breathed in the evening’s mild air. He felt in the highest of spirits. One could even say that he was on affectionate terms with the notion of suicide, he even called it his secret friend. This was why the thoughts which had crossed his mind in the wake of the writer’s death hadn’t unsettled him at all. He hardly ever betrayed the melanchol
