Rigadoon (6 page)

"Swiped 'em?"

"Yeah . . . at the Kretzers' °, they'd split!"

"And the pushcart?"

"Ditto! . . . they had everything!"

I see he knows his way around . . .

"They didn't use kid gloves at my pad either! . . . it was better stocked, too! . . . four bicycles! . . . hell! . . . and all the stuff in the cupboards! . . . it's the way of the world!"

I see that he's come out of his dream . . . he's realistic . . . and proud of himself . . .

"You're going to stay at the station?"

"Rather have them murder me at Zornhof?"

"Think so?"

"I sure do!"

"You'll wait for us?"

"There's company, I won't be alone . . . people! lots of people! . . . nobody'll notice me . . . nothing like railroad stations! . . . everybody's waiting . . . I'll wait for you . . . me and Bébert!"

"Whatever you say . . . we won't be long!"

"If it's too long you won't find us! oh, we won't go back to Zornhof! . . . don't worry! . . . never!"

That sounds definite . . . one more remark he makes . . .

"I've got Bébert! luckily! you'd never come back for me! listen! . . . listen! . . ."

He hears something . . . it's true! . . .
choo! choo!
a train . . . asthmatic . . . still far away, lots of smoke . . .
choo!
. . . must be the Berlin-Rostock . . . been expected for a week . . . but the tickets? I ask around . . . no more tickets, no more ticket windows, you just get in . . . you pay later, so they say . . . but how do you get in? . . . now we see this streamliner . . . all wood . . . five six cars . . . bristling with all the stuff that's sticking out the windows . . . caterpillars bristle like that . . . now you can see what's sticking out . . . a hundred arms, a hundred legs . . . and heads! . . . and guns! . . . I've seen jampacked Métro trains, cars so full you couldn't get a finger in, but that train was so crammed, so bristling with legs, arms, and heads you couldn't help laughing . . . all that stuff sticking out the windows . . . it pulls in . . .
choo! choo!
but that's not all! . . . right after the engine, a flatcar, a gun, and artillerymen . . .

"Le Vig, my word of honor! wait for us! you've got Bébert!"

Choo! Choo!
the train's stopped . . . be pulling out soon . . . I've said it was full . . . not just arms and legs . . . heads, I told you that too . . . another . . . another . . . looks like they were asleep . . . one with its eyes wide-open, staring . . . this train must have been riddled, from the air, I guess . . . lots of griping and groaning from somewhere inside . . . not just heads, boots too . . . must be soldiers . . . civilians too . . . no room at all . . . maybe we could try the tender, I'd seen it was empty . . . we see . . . two Fritzes, engineers . . . I show them our pass to Rostock . . . trouble is they've got to load their tender, six tons of coke . . . they show us another flatcar at the tail end, just been hooked on . . . antiaircraft it looks like . . . maybe they'd take us aboard . . . we run . . . there are five guys on the flatcar, five
Luftwaffe
gunners . . . hundreds of women, children, and soldiers clutching the edges, the wheels . . . all waving stamped papers . . . and bottles and babies . . . some of those people have seen four trains pull out, a month on the platform, had their fingers smashed a dozen times . . . never even tried to get into a passenger car . . . too jampacked with everything, wounded, passengers, corpses, impossible to pry apart, too amalgamated . . . the five air gunners are defending their flatcar . . . with mine stakes . . .
bam!
and
wham! 
. . . on all the clutching hands . . .
ouch!
do they yell! . . . the crew is in a good position! . . . high up!
wham!
the attackers plead! . . .
bitte! . . . bitte!
. . .
Luftwaffe hier!
I'm air corps! . . . Red Cross armband . . . Bezons, passive defense . . . I yell, I show them . . . armband, stamp, paper . . .
Reichsbevoll
. . . those brutes can't read! . . . yes! one of them can!
da! . . . da!
. . . I insist . . . I make him look at it . . . I shove it under his nose, the eagle . . . he sees . . . it's no ordinary pass . . . he asks me . . .

"All three? . . .
alle drei?
"

He's in command of the flatcar . . .

"Nein! . . . nur uns zwei!
only us two!"

I point at Lili and myself . . . he looks again . . . the stamp, the eagle, the swastika . . .

"Gut!"

We should climb on! . . . he gives us permission, but on the other side . . . there are already three characters on the other side, must be "special cases" too . . . heave-ho! . . . we climb up, all five! . . . come what may! . . . we're all set! practically! . . . thanks to my initiative! . . . and the armband! . . . and the stamp! . . . must be a noncom, the one that can read . . . no visible stripes, all smeared with grease and soot like the others . . . only natural, all the smoke comes down on them! . . . well, they took us on. We made it . . . the rest of them . . .
bitte! bitte!
they'd be getting their fingers smashed for a long time to come! . . . they'd never get on! . . . the ones in the cars, same story, they must have got caught in the doors or the broken windows, or been crushed against the roadbed . . . somebody must have taken their shoes at some station . . . or are they dead? . . . anyway they don't move . . . this train has six wooden cars plus the flatcars, fifth class, that's for sure . . . taken from the boneyard . . . and put back on wheels . . . I ask the others where it's come from . . . Berlin, direct! . . . evacuating the wounded from the last air raids! . . . sure, some of them die on the way, they drop some off at every station . . . hell of a time getting them out . . . that's why the train looks so funny, all bristling with naked legs, dead heads, and arms . . . and guns wedged into the windows and doors . . . all bound for Rostock! . . . they've got everything there, so it seems . . . especially for surgery . . . this train is more than full already, it won't stop anywhere after this . . . Rostock direct! . . . what they don't know! . . . that hospital . . . I didn't exactly believe it . . . a way of getting rid of them . . . sending them someplace else to rot . . . the German system . . . no nurses, no doctors . . . being I was there with my armband, maybe I could help a little? . . .
ach, kein sum! 
° oh, it's no use! . . . that sergeant was in a position to know it was no use! . . . the gun crew had smashed at least a hundred hands . . . go to it, boys! . . . more and more hanging on! . . . at every station . . . with their mine stakes . . . one car had been taken off someplace, hit, gutted, ripped apart . . . a pile of live people had fallen out . . . they'd been lying under the others, under the magma . . . the sergeant tells me the train is full of phony stiffs, stowaways of both sexes, who'd jumped at the chance . . . to get out of Berlin! . . . they'd see when they got to Rostock! . . . they'd straighten them out in Rostock! . . . all right with me, but why aren't we moving? taking on coke, that's it! . . . filling up the tender! . . . and water! . . . no more Stationmaster, no more workers . . . the engineer has to do it all himself . . . what's the news? . . . the Russians? . . . the sergeant doesn't know . . . all he knows is that the telegraph isn't working or the telephone or the turntable . . . the whole town's deserted, so it seems . . . the Russians? nobody'd seen them . . . all he knows is nonstop to Rostock! . . . as long as the cars are full and there's certainly no room for any more, might as well skip the seven eight stations . . . full speed ahead . . . manner of speaking, fifteen m.p.h. . . . when we get there we'd see about the ones that can move . . . the rest? . . . we'd do the best we could . . . seems they've got nurses up there and stretcher bearers . . . running slow, operating the turntables and the signals by hand, it would take us five hours . . . best you can do with coke . . . not much snow, though it's November, just a bit of powder . . . funny winter . . . it's cold, maybe about 25, but not so bad . . . they say it'll come on all of a sudden . . . ah, the engineer is motioning to us . . . he's got his coke! . . . we're ready too! nobody's been able to climb on except those three, the ones that were ahead of us . . . come to think of it, the other flatcar, the one right after the tender, wasn't as smoky as ours . . . the tail end of the train gets most of the soot . . . but too late to change now! the ones who haven't made it are still weeping, sighing, imploring . . . their troubles aren't over! . . . they'll wait for the next train . . .
choo! choo!
we're pulling out! . . .

"So long, Le Vig! don't go anywhere! . . . if we can get through, we'll be back! right away!"

Watching us leave, he bursts into tears, he doesn't trust us . . . we're crying too . . . hell, he knows I'm sincere, I wouldn't do anything unreasonable, I'm not selling him a bill of goods! . . . we just want to see about the crossing . . . a slight chance? . . . animals are better off, they know right away what's possible and what isn't . . . we humans hesitate, we fuddle and stumble, natural drunks . . . we live pretty near seven cat's lives . . . the result? we're seven times more idiotic . . . getting that rattler to Rostock . . . the main thing was not to goof at the switches . . . and end up in the middle of the woods . . . the sergeant was worried too . . .
choo! choo!
especially with all that smoke . . . thick! you'd have thought you were in a tunnel . . . but they had to get the direction right! no time for mistakes! . . . Rostock was north-northeast . . . the sergeant had a compass . . . so did I . . . first he looks at his . . . with his
torch
. . . then at mine . . . right! right! hurrah! north-northeast! . . . the engine driver hasn't gone wrong . . . he's a champ! he's doing it all by himself, coke, water, turntables, signals . . . lucky they don't ask us to get out and push . . . wouldn't surprise me . . . and the smoke that's coming down on us! not just smoke . . . live coals . . . enough to set fire to every haystack for miles around . . . and the sky all full of R.A.F.  . . . if they don't bomb us, it's sheer contempt . . . we'll get there by midnight, if we don't jump the track . . . if the R.A.F. clobbered us, there wouldn't be much loss . . . cars, guns, engine, we wouldn't bring a hundred francs at the junkyard . . . it takes special conditions, really unusual . . . to make a train like that run . . . through thick and thin! . . . you can say that again! . . . now it's dark . . . the gunners are all huddled around their gun . . . the stowaways that got on before we did are off to one side, they're not talking, we're chugging along . . .
choo! choo!
. . . we skip a few stations . . . luck at the switches, our needles are steady . . . north-northeast . . . but the smoke we're getting! looks like they're doing it on purpose . . .
clank clank
, it's been about four hours now . . .
bam!
. . . guess some of these tracks have been cut! . . . and new ones put in! . . . ah! . . . the sergeant points at a light . . . way ahead . . . on the left, a red light. . . he must have been expecting it . . . we slow down . . . I ask him where we're at . . . Rostock? . . . no! but we're going to stop! . . . they're going to open the cars and take everybody out . . . he asks me if I can help . . . glad to! . . . Lili too! . . . and those three over there that aren't talking! . . . oh, there's a crowd already! . . . in the middle of the fields . . . funny idea, making us stop here . . . who gave us that signal anyway? . . . I ask the sergeant. . . him over there! . . . can't you see him? . . . I couldn't see "him" very well . . . he comes over to our platform . . . I bend down . . .

"Doktor Erbert Haupt!"

He introduces himself . . . not so easy in the darkness . . . he repeats . . .

"Oberarzt Haupt! . . . Rostock! . . ."

Chief medical officer of Rostock . . . it can't be far . . . but out here in the fields . . . in the pitch-darkness . . . it's not warm . . . not so very cold, but enough . . . I show him my paper, the signatures, the
bevoll
stamp . . . he looks it over with his
torch
. . . he can make his
torch
red . . . or white . . . a railroad
torch
. . . why this stop in the middle of the night? . . . I can't see him, but he points . . . I understand his German . . .

"Those men are going to clear the train . . ."

"
Wo
. . . where?"

I ask him . . . there are teams . . . special workers . . . here in the plain . . . medics? . . . I can't make out. . .

"We'll see tomorrow!"

He explains . . .

"Tomorrow! . . . the day after! . . . well see! . . . the ones that can move! . . . the ones that are dead!"

I get it, it's simple! . . . he doesn't want us to help . . .

"
Ach! nein! . . . nein!
"

He's going to take us to a hotel . . . fine! . . . anything he likes! . . . let's go! good-bye to the four gunners and the three stowaways . . . here we are on the roadbed . . . we follow the
Oberarzt!
he knows the way! . . . fast walker . . . I struggle to keep up . . . this hotel can't be very far . . . we pass a switch and a long shack . . . no light, no switchmen . . . guess they've beat it too . . . better keep my thoughts to myself! . . . ah, a street! . . . we've left the tracks . . .

"Here's your hotel!"

Sure enough, there it was . . . a real hotel . . . still standing . . . Rostock must have been hit, but not this place, not yet . . . I look at my watch . . . two a.m.  . . . still snowing some, light powder . . . I'm thinking about those people in the train . . . dragging all those bodies out of the cars . . . we might have been doing it too . . . but where did all those people come from in the first place? . . . evacuees from Berlin, I know . . . but how many? . . . we never found out . . . the ones that are dragging them out of the cars are in teams, men and women I think . . . at certain times, when conditions are too rough, you don't pay much attention whether it's men or women . . . especially when they're all in rags . . . At last he's going to show me his face, this
Oberarzt
Haupt . . . there's a light bulb . . . one for the whole lobby . . .

About my age, but very sure of himself . . . not the smiling type . . . khaki uniform . . . gold braid, boots, swastika armband . . . he hardly looks at us . . .