North (41 page)

"Say! wasn't that something! . . . say! wasn't that something!" 

All our
misanthrope
could think of . . . over and over . . . staring into space . . . 

"Say! . . . wasn't that something!" 

The
Rittmeister
riding off to war had made a big impression . . .

"Say! . . . wasn't that something!"

Our old baboon's saber salute still had him jiggered . . . this wasn't getting us anywhere . . . ah, but suddenly an ideal . . . he comes to . . .

"Ferdie! Ferdie! . . . go see Inge!"

"Why me?"

"You're in good with her!"

"You're crazy!"

I wasn't going to argue with him . . . he'd taken it into his head that something had happened between us in the woods . . . he couldn't believe that she'd taken me out there for nothing . . . which entitled me to ask her what had become of Harras . . .

"What for?"

He'd brought us here, hadn't he? . . . nobody else! . . . where was the stupid bastard? . . . she knew! . . . the rotten Nazi! . . . when was he coming back?

"Okay, then all three of us!"

I knew damn well we'd be thrown out . . . he was completely in the dark . . . quick we take Bébert in his bag . . . and down we go . . . it's cool out, especially on the walk under the maples . . . these trees are so tall and dense it's almost as dark tas our room . . . they don't take care of these walks any more, the ground is covered with leaves . . . from the last two or three winters . . . deep carpets, you sink in up to your knees . . . the Mansard park has fallen into neglect . . . once they stop keeping up the Mansard parks, especially in Brandenburg, you can say that it's all over, that the Great Century is dead and there's nothing left to do but wait for the Chinese . . . clocks don't wind themselves . . . carting away the leaves and pruning the trees mean years of labor . . . and tradition . . . there's no more of that! . . .

I kept these deep thoughts to myself . . . we passed the
bibels
, between their isbas . . . they've built a whole raft of them! . . . tremendous things! . . . log monuments! . . . the builders live in them . . . more comfortable than the
Tanzhalle
. . . the Finnish doctors from Berlin, the bathers in ice water . . . they'll never get here! hell no! I wonder what's left of that place . . . not much! . . . same as the Zenith Hotel . . . or Pretorius and his terrace of rare flowers . . . which reminds me of the
Rittmeister
Count von Leiden! . . . he'd gone off in that direction, westward to Berlin, with his drawn saber! . . . we'd seen him! . . . he was nifty . . . he must be there by now . . . we won't mention him at the farm . . . or anything else . . . only Harras! . . . Le Vig's idea! . . . here's the Gypsy wagon . . . looks like a toy beside the isbas . . . the Gypsies beckon to us to come over . . . we keep going . . .  nothing to say to them . . . do they want to tell our fortunes? . . . we know too much already . . . about the future and its charms! . . . we're coming to the farm . . . the paved yard . . . empty, just a few geese . . . I'm suspicious of those two Frenchmen in the pigpen . . . especially Léonard . . . they beckon to us too . . .

"Okay! . . . okay! . . . later!"

It's been raining . . . the manure pit has overflowed . . . half the yard looks like a swimming pool . . . it's not just manure and rain, there must be beet juice too . . . from the big silos . . . because the smell is something special . . . hell, you get used to it . . . the little stairway . . . I knock . . . we haven't long to wait . . . Inge and the cripple must have seen us coming . . . a Russian servant girl opens up . . . "Madame . . . Monsieur" . . .
krank!
and
bang! 
. . . she slams the door! . . . sick? . . . I doubt it . . . but at least we know what's what!

"Well, Le Vig? you get the drift?"

"Yes . . . I get the drift . . ."

Nothing to do but go back . . . but Léonard and Joseph have watched the whole scene from inside their barn . . . they're laughing at us . . . they make signs . . . they've got something for us . . . what? . . . we circle the manure pit . . . we come up to them . . . their idea . . . now what?

"They take us inside . . .

"You won't tell anybody?"

"We're not cops!"

"No . . . but . . ."

"What's it all about?" 

Very simple . . . just two Mausers they can't keep! . . . nothing at all! . . . they rummage through the straw at the back of the barn . . . the hardware! . . . they show them to us . . . two enormous heaters . . .

"What do you expect us to do with them?"

"We thought of your cupboard . . . nobody'll look there . . ."

"Our cupboard?"

"You know, Harras's . . ."

An open secret . . .

I don't see why we shouldn't refuse . . . but these hicks are slippery . . . God knows what they'll think up . . . better play ball with them . . . or seem to . . .

"Yes . . . yes . . . good idea!"

All right. . . I'll get rid of their gats . . . but certainly not in Harras's cupboard! . . . anywhere else! . . . everybody knows I take tobacco . . . that's enough for them to know! . . . if Harras doesn't come back pretty soon . . . with my generosity . . . he won't find a damn thing! . . . I'll just chuck them in some ditch, certainly not in the cupboard!

During the
mahlzeit
I thought about those lousy guns . . . and nothing else . . .
heil!
. . .
heil!
. . . I make myself listen to the table talk, you never know . . . chatter . . . malicious remarks . . . who and what? . . . worth listening, it turns out . . . Kracht doesn't open his mouth . . . Madame Kratzmuhl is running the show . . . little jokes . . . about us? . . . she's laughing . . . menagerie laughter, sounds like a high-strung hyena . . . no! it's not about us! . . . she's talking . . . they're all talking . . . about an order from the
Landrat
. . . issued yesterday . . . "All weapons, revolvers, rifles, and hand grenades must be turned in at the
Tanzhalle"
. . . a truck from the
Kommandantur
would pick them up . . . at dawn . . . even shotguns! . . . no exception! . . . all who failed to comply would be placed under "surveillance" . . . I don't see what's so funny . . . well yes, there's more to come . . . the cripple has already surrendered his weapon . . . to Kracht! . . . he won't be terrorizing his wife and guests any more . . . the cripple is worried about his skin . . . he knows what this "surveillance" means . . . the
Landrat
may be his friend, but he doesn't trust the
Landrat
around the corner . . . he wants the whole community to know that he's on the right side of the law! . . . which is all right with Inge, his wife . . . she knows he'd kill her one of these days . . . jealousy or something else . . . if he kept his gun . . . and Cillie too! . . . they're laughing fit to kill . . . even our little hunchback . . . but what are they laughing about? . . . our heaters? . . . they certainly knew . . . they couldn't help it . . . just watching us move around . . . sitting down, it wasn't so bad! . . . but those bulging pockets when we stood up! . . . Le Vig looks at me to see if I get it . . . I get it all right . . . La Kratzmuhl is shaking her chair so hard she must be pissing in her pants . . . the whole table was shaking . . . . the plates were rattling! . . . and she kept on barking . . . those cracks of hers had them all yelping! . . . irresistible! . . . the typists, the secretaries, even Kracht! . . . her German wasn't slangy, but she dropped her verbs and left her sentences dangling . . . all at our expense . . . that's for sure . . . I'd caught the word Mauser two three times . . . that clinched it. . . between barks . . . even the girls had dropped the word . . . Mauser . . . that did it! . . . in spite of all the clucking and hiccuping it came through . . . we got it! . . . we weren't going to take those baubles up to our room! . . . our ticks, they'd said, or the cupboard! no soap! those sons of bitches! . . . naturally there'd be, a raid! first our room! . . . and then downstairs! . . . and what do they find? . . . I'm not asleep, just pretending . . . I think, I act! . . . I stand up . . . "Le Vig, I'm sick, got to go out! . . . Come along, Lili!"

Before they know it, we're outside . . . the peristyle, the park . . . first path on the left . . .

"What's the idea?"

"These heaters!"

We've got them right there and they're very heavy! . . . Lili thought we could give them back to Léonard . . . brilliant! . . . they wouldn't take them! . . . they'd say they'd never seen , them, they'd say we'd made it up . . . a provocation! . . . naturally their idea was to get us nabbed! . . . why else would they slip us their rods?! . . . the oily, rotten two-timers! . . . unbelievable! . . . so how would we get rid of them? . . . the manure pit? it was enormous, deep and very black . . . but they'd see us, they were always on the lookout in their pigpen . . . sure, there were other mud holes in the village . . . but which one? . . . in Grünwald I'd slipped my hand grenades into a big shell hole full of water . . . they'd found them next day . . . when they look, they always find . . . objects I mean, not people . . . here the people could see us roaming around, they'd find our Mausers in any hole regardless! . . . we thought we'd reconnoitre the ponds till we found the right one . . . nothing to it! . . . there's two or three in front of every hut . . . all practically dry . . . the geese are gone . . . ah, at last! this one's practically full. . . deep muck . . . the geese come out . . . hundreds of them!. . . and cackle! cackle!. . . with leveled beaks! and flapping wings!. . . they charge us! . . . the housewives come out . . . to watch the riot of the geese! . . . it starts all over again! . . . they're not exactly angry at us . . . what they want is a big feast of nettles, mountains of leaves like the other day! they recognize us from the farm . . . but we've got nothing to offer them . . . they've developed a taste . . . they remember our faces and connect us with the banquet! . . . the whole yard full of nettles! heaps and mounds! and they want us to do it again! . . . they're coming full steam . . . they won't let us get away without recognizing them . . . they'll never let us pass! . . . the rotten frantic gluttons! . . . like the bourgeoisie at the family board . . . they hadn't come for nothing . . . we double bade, but they're still charging . . . ten! . . . twenty of them . . . and
cackle! cackle!
they're not guarding the huts or the capital or the marshes, they don't give a shit! all they want is us! and our nettles! . . . greedy bastards! ready to tear us to pieces! . . . our guts . . . our sleeves . . . our ribs!
cackle cackle!
. . . they've caught the epidemic! . . . our duffel coats! . . . open us up! . . . and tear out our guts and eyes . . . along with the nettles! . . . That business in Rome . . . I can see why the barbarians took a powder! . . . here all the geese in Zornhof were on the warpath for their favorite weed . . . so nobody can get through . . . same as the people of Paris had stormed Versailles to bring back what they needed . . . the royal couple and their heads . . . There at the farm we'd managed to escape through a little doorway and the shed where they kept the peat and firewood . . . here the only hope, of not being torn to pieces was to huddle close together and take little short steps . . . we locked arms and held our hands over our eyes . . . stiff upper lip! . . . just so those blasted geese don't eat us alive! . . . as far as the church! . . . luckily I knew a brick walk between two huts, very narrow . . . too narrow for the geese . . . I'd learned how to slip practically unnoticed between the huts and sheds . . . I always kept an eye open for those little byways . . . I was beginning to know that stinking town . . . whew! we've made it! . . . the
bibelforschers'
kitchen! the cook knows us well . . .
heil! heil!
two packs of Luckies a day! . . . now his chow, cabbage and turnip soup with sausages . . . that's for Bébert . . . he won't eat it all . . . a little for us and the rest for the rats . . . ah, a guest! no stranger . . . the one-armed sergeant from the airfield . . . I hadn't seen him . . . with a cane . . . what's he doing here?. . .
heil! heil!
. . . we recognize each other . . . the sergeant with the robin! . . . how's his little bird? . . . doing all right . . . the sergeant fills me in . . . his shelter in the airfield . . . he'd had to get out . . . more and more rats . . . bigger and bigger . . . besides, it was flooded . . . the rain had turned his shelter into a reservoir! . . . his lieutenant, the field commander, had disappeared, they'd picked him up and sent him to the Eastern Front . . . when would he be back? nobody knew . . . nobody'd told the sergeant anything . . . he'd never received any orders . . . he'd retreated to Zornhof with his robin . . . attached himself to the
Tanzhalle
mess . . . slept there too . . . plenty of room . . . the
bibels
were living in the isbas . . . another thing at the
Tanzhalle
, they had electricity, the only place in Zornhof . . . the juice for the carpenter shop . . . from a very noisy generator! . . . that racket could come in very handy, you could say anything you pleased, the diesel drowned everything out! . . .
boom! boo-oom!
. . . you could scream and yell! . . . the one-armed sergeant took the opportunity . . . he didn't like the people on the farm! . . . and he said so at the top of his lungs! . . . the whole lot of them, owners and Russians! . . . all in the same sack and throw them in the crapper! . . . they laughed at him and his uniform! they'd see! . . .
boom! boo-oom!
diesel!
donner!
. . . the cook tried to make him pipe down . . . he couldn't control his indignation! . . . always ribbing hun! not just the von Leidens . . . their flunkeys too! . . . Polacks! . . . Russians! . . . Franzosen . . . they all asked him why he didn't go up there and stop the Fortresses . . . he was an aviator, wasn't he? . . . even with one arm! . . . couldn't he make a plane out of the junk out there in the field? they'd help him! what was he waiting for? . . . he had a better idea! they should all dig a ditch and bury themselves! . . . they were used to digging! they should all jump in the hole and cover themselves with quicklime! . . . maids, masters, and brats! . . . he was bellowing! . . . the cook agreed with him but thought he was shouting too loud . . . even with the diesel wide open . . .
boom! boom!
and the walls shaking . . . he was shouting louder than the saw . . . some housewife could come by . . . but there was something even better than the diesel and the Fortresses and the bombs to drown out bis voice . . . so you couldn't hear him at all . . . the gramophone . . . it was standing in the corner of the dance hall . . . that did the trick . . . three horns . . . I'd heard it screeching when a company of
bibels
came over to peel potatoes . . . they weren't allowed to talk to each other . . . the
Tanzhalle
was their chance to tell each other the news . . . they didn't have many records . . . mostly hymns for the Sunday services . . .
"Nun Freut Euch Liebe Christengemein
. . ." and
"Ein' Feste Burg Ist Unser Gott"
. . . it gave the cook a good laugh to hear him bellowing against the records, the saw, the diesel, and the bombs! snorting mad! . . . "throw them all in quicklime! . . . I'll send them up in the sky! . . . and you too!
bibel
cook of my asshole!"
boom! bang!
. . . but it didn't shut him up at all! . . . the opposite! . . . von Leiden! shit! all in the hole! . . . the cripple and his wife! if they only knew! . . . and Harras . . . he'd gone off scouting! . . . "quicklime! quicklime!" Harras . . . the sly bastard . . . the cream of the crop!