The Tower: A Novel (85 page)

‘Report direction indicator.’

No reply from Burre.

‘Position!’ Christian bawled. The loader raised his head that he was apathetically leaning against the gun pointer’s shoulders, as if the latter were giving him a piggyback; his eyes were large dark splodges.

‘Ze-hero,’ Burre sang out. He was actually singing. Anything that occurred to him, it seemed: the ‘Internationale’, the hymn of the German Socialist Party, a setting of a Goethe poem and the song of the Thälmann Column in the Spanish Civil War. The sound of flowing water changed, suddenly the tank slipped to the right, sank down, took a knock.

‘What are you doing, arsehole?’ The gun pointer stamped down but his boot caught in the MG cartridge holder; he stamped down again, directing a stereotyped ‘arsehole, arsehole’ at the space between the optical periscope and the cylinders of compressed air, where Burre’s back must be. And now water burst in. Before that the tank had been sweating, Christian had observed drops swelling up in the join of the turret race ring, thinking, OK then, it’s sweating as well, it’s pretty hot in here. A sauna. Warm sweat from his feet was going through his grey military socks into his boots, where it sloshed about for a while; sweat dripped from the extensor side of his thigh to the flexor side, built up, dribbled down when he moved, mingling with the sweat from his feet; sweat was trickling down from his back into the groove between his buttocks, he was sitting in warm soup. The cover plate of the
intermediate transmission, Christian thought. He hadn’t checked it. Pancake had climbed through to the back but shortly afterwards the order to change drivers had come. Criminal, really, Christian thought, you don’t split up a crew used to working together and certainly not just before a night UD. The loader caught some drips and rubbed them between his hands. Christian looked at the gun pointer. He didn’t even know his full name, only his surname and that he came from a village in Thuringia and was a mechanic for farm machinery. ‘Pump out.’ The bilge pump began to spin, bubbling, smacking noises, reassuring. Funny that a tank had similarities to a U-boat. The bilge pump couldn’t cope with all the water, by now it was also coming from the drive into the forward area, Christian was surprised the engine was still running. The radio still wasn’t working. The water was rising. It was up to the gun pointer’s boot. Burre must be right in it. And the smell: a mixture of burnt rubber and fossil hen’s eggs. The tank tilted further down. Christian tried the periscope, found a floodlight far to the left. They must have come off the route. They’d be doing something up there – if they’d noticed, which Christian hoped they had. ‘Left, left,’ he shouted as the tank went further to the right. His diving goggles were gradually misting over and his view of the others was blurred. And then the stupid tank hood with its fleece getting wetter and wetter. Where was all the water coming from? The bilge pump couldn’t cope with it –

‘Dear Christian, There’s not much that’s new to tell. I hope you can read my “gentian script” (as Gudrun calls it); I prefer phoning to writing, but since you haven’t got a phone I’m sending you these brief items of news. Please excuse the “case history” sheet, I’m writing this between seeing two patients. Our veranda’s almost completely rotten by now, perhaps Meno told you. It’s also sunk so that the windows are squint and the glass has cracked. The glazier cut the new ones to fit the slanting frames. We had to supply the material ourselves. We went all round the town. The leak in the roof hasn’t got worse, thank
God – the roofing felt you got us is worth its weight in gold. The roofer said, Have you got an allocation for roofing felt? One for adhesive? No? Then let the rain come in, pal. Not long ago I was sitting in my favourite chair with a pipe and
Tannhäuser
(Max Lorenz, State Orchestra, Fritz Busch) and there was a crack! then plaster crumbling, one of the wall ties had come out. I thought: well, to sink slowly down into the spruce tree along with the veranda, listening to
Tannhäuser
(and that recording above all), having just got my pipe going and enjoying a nice little glass of liqueur, that could definitely be a source of new insights. For three and a half months now, since the severe frost in January, it’s been like living on a farm here, both toilets were frozen up, only the water in the kitchen was still working, we have to get water from there to fill the buckets we use to flush the lavatories. The Schwedes below us have this ingenious water-pipe-heating-ring (one of Herr Stahl’s brilliant inventions) that has just the one disadvantage – it’s dependent on electricity. If there hadn’t been a power cut the pipes wouldn’t have frozen. The Communal Housing Department immediately wanted to copy the water-pipe-heating-ring – but, God, who’s going to do that? The next time you’re here, pop in to the practice to see me; I’ll take you with me on my rounds. Or to the Friends of Music, we’ve managed to find some more lovely records. Since Chernobyl old Frau Zschunke’s been stuck with all her vegetables. The accident to the reactor’s the big topic of conversation in the town. Officially it’s played down, but the Valley of the Clueless borders on the hills that can receive Western television. See you soon. Best wishes, Niklas.’

then the engine stopped. The bilge pump gurgled on for a while then that fell silent too. The light made a rasping noise but stayed on. Christian could just make out the outlines of the others. The lashing bar of the gun had an unnatural white gleam. The water was rising more slowly, a dark mass that looked as if it had crackling cellophane stretched over it; it calmly started to swallow a fragmentation shell.

‘Jan?’
He didn’t answer. ‘Jan!’ Christian bellowed. The gun pointer shook his head. ‘Can’t see him.’

‘Restart!’

No one answered. The characteristic rumbling start of the engine after the explosion of the compressed-air ignition didn’t come. ‘Switch on recovery frequency.’ Nothing there either. It was quiet, the warmth was pleasant now. If they had to get out then it must be the way they’d practised in the diving bell, enclosed in a flooded steel chamber. Swimming goggles and life-saving equipment on, breathing, the others panicking but not him, Christian Hoffmann, the son of a metalworker and trauma surgeon. Under water the sounds came with a delay, echoed sleepily, taps with a wrench were used for communication. Unlock hatch, calmly climb up into the water-filled cylinder – don’t panic, that was the most important thing. Panic destroyed everything, made an ordered sequence of actions impossible. An algorithm, Baumann, the apple-cheeked mathematician from Waldbrunn, would have said. Why did that occur to him now, of all times? What was the matter with Burre? Why wasn’t he replying? Christian signalled to the gun pointer to go and check. He pointed to the rising water. But then the light did finally go out.

‘RG-UD on.’ The instruments gradually took on a phosphorescent glow: infrared sighting mechanism, radio dial and the stupid thermometer the gun pointer had brought that wasn’t part of standard equipment. Sixty-eight degrees in the tank. They had to get out. He thumped the turret walls, perhaps someone from the rescue boat would hear, perhaps the tug commander was experienced enough to realize what had happened. White buoy at the front, red buoy at the rear. Put the hawsers on the downstream side, otherwise they’ll be pressed against the turret and could twist. It was dark but he could breathe. At this moment a verse by Goethe occurred to him. ‘White as lilies, candle-pure, / Starlike, bowing modestly, / From their centre, from their hearts, / The fire of love is glowing brightly.’
The Chinese–German Book of Seasons and Hours
. He murmured to himself. He heard the boat,
someone was tapping the UD tube. Christian tapped a response; wait. ‘The water roared, the water rose, / A fisher sat beside it.’ If Burre had tried to climb out of the exit hatch at the bottom of the hull, the tank might crush him when the tractor pulled the recovery hawser.

‘Dear Reina, Thank you for your letter. Perhaps we can see each other. There’s been an accident. My driver was injured during an exercise and died in hospital. I did something stupid, I attacked my company commander. Now I’m back in the barracks with no idea what they’re going to do with me. It’s possible I might get a pass since almost the whole of the regiment is still out on the exercise; officially I’m confined to barracks but I know the company clerk who’s in charge of the passes that have been signed but aren’t filled in very well. Please don’t say anything to my parents. Best wishes, Christian.’

‘There’s no salt.’

‘My weak side. Here. Sorry. I’m always forgetting it. I’ve made three cups of coffee for you. You can leave them, if you like. I’m on the afternoon shift.’

‘Do you need the car? It’d be nice if I could have it. When I’ve finished I could go to the plumber’s, they’ve finally got some instantaneous water heaters in stock again.’

‘If you’d finally got your Süza working you could go in that.’

‘Suiza.’

‘It seems a bit fishy to me what the pair of you are doing out there. Are we ever going to get to see the car?’

‘Why don’t you come out there. Bring Robert with you, he’s interested in it.’

‘He’s to concentrate on his work for the school-leaving exam. – And Stahl’s helping you just for the sake of it, with nothing in it for him? Because, as an engineer, he loves the Süza?’

‘Are you suspicious?’

‘There’s just one thing I ask: don’t get involved in anything. Think of the children.’

‘Morning, Reglinde.’

‘Morning. Can I use the bathroom?’

‘I just need to wash my hands, then you can. Would you take the rubbish when you go? Do you need anything from the chemist’s? I’m going shopping when I’ve finished.’

‘Just some toothpaste, Anne. I’m starting a bit later today, I can give you a hand, if you like.’

‘My God, who can that be at the door at this time in the morning?’

‘I’ll get it. – Morning, Niklas. Something urgent?’

‘Morning, Richard. Switch on West German radio. Our radio’s on the blink.’

‘The one from Japan? The one you brought back when you were abroad with the State Orchestra?’

‘Morning, Anne. Yeah, the Sharp. And who’s going to repair it for me now? Just listen. – It’s a disgrace. And they don’t tell us, the devious swine. Think we won’t cotton on. They’ll end up blowing us all sky high. A nice breakfast there. I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.’

‘Do sit down.’

‘Morning, Lindy.’

‘Morning,
Schmoops.’

‘And what have your monkeys to say about that?’

‘They’re radiant.’

‘They’ll poison us, I tell you. Sell us down the river, down the toxic river. Bastards. – What have you on today, Richard?’

‘As per schedule.’

‘Aha, routine, eh. For me too. There’s a bit of flu about again. Meno’s going to drop in later on, the poor soul’s got a bit of a cough. Well, I’ll be on my way again. Thanks for the coffee. But it’s a funny business with Teerwagen, don’t you think? Was supposed to have secret papers on him. Rockets or something of the kind. A U-boat the like of which has never been seen before. Oh God, when I go back I’ll have all the stoves to do … It’s nice and warm in here. Well, Ezzo has to do the stove in the children’s room himself. But the living room, the music room … The one in the living room’s on its last legs. Fibrosis of the lungs, the final stage, I’d say. When I think I’ll have to let a stove fitter loose on it, oh horror! The dirt, the noise!’

‘Do sit down, Niklas, you’re getting on my nerves going up and down like that.’

‘Thanks, Richard, but I’m off. Though if you have another cup of coffee there … One has to keep awake. Any news from Christian?’

‘His regiment was on an exercise, night alert and so on.’

‘Now then, Anne, don’t take on. The lad’ll get through. Takes after Richard as far as his constitution’s concerned – I’d like to know how you can stand it all, mate, operating for hours on end, then writing reports and your outpatients. By the way, I’ve got some more great records. Great records, I tell you. We must listen to some again. State Orchestra, Rudi Kempe, Strauss. Terrific. Simply terrific.’

‘Won’t you have something to eat?’

‘Well, if you insist. I wouldn’t say no to that piece of cherry cake. It’s a real miracle is your cherry cake. – Tell me, Richard: Müller, he’s retired now, isn’t he?’

‘Officially
from the first of May but he’s already had his leaving party.’

‘And you’re the boss now?’

‘Whatever gave you that idea! Trautson’s the temporary head of the clinic until the appointment procedure’s completed. I haven’t applied.’

‘You just be careful you don’t get sidelined. That sometimes happens after change-overs. – It’s an absolute disgrace, this Chernobyl, I’m really getting worked up about it. The dirty liars, that gang of criminals, no, no. Where’s it all going to end? You tell me, where’s it all going to end? There’s a little space here, Lindy.’

‘You know Sperber, don’t you, Niklas?’

‘Not personally and not particularly well. Why?’

‘He’s invited us round. To his house.’

‘Tricky business. A dubious character, if you ask me. A go-between – and he doesn’t get stung by either side, as my teacher Rudi Citroën used to say. – Y’know what? I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.’

‘I’ll make some more.’

‘Oh, I’m bein’ a nuisance, putting you to all this bother. I’ll toddle along at once. If things go on like this we’ll have to get out, Richard. ’s not the money, you know. But you have the feeling … as if you’re slowly being drowned. But wouldn’t that be betraying our patients?’

‘That keeps on cropping up: the doctor as a bastion of morality. There are patients on the other side as well.’

‘Yes, but you’re here to make the patients here well again.’

‘With what? What should I do if the health service is ailing itself? Use empty syringes? Is that moral?’

‘I didn’t even get any more plasters the last time. You’re right, y’know, it’s all very well for them to talk about it being morally unprincipled for a doctor to skedaddle over there. You never hear anything about how morally unprincipled it is to be a doctor with nothing to give your patients here. I’ve been havin’ to prescribe Julie from the
riding school cold-water treatment that she doesn’t even administer to herself. It wouldn’t be ’cause of the money. That’s jus’ what they say it’s about. An’ then havin’ to tell your children to lie so they don’t get into trouble. An’ to tell the “firm” what you hear from your patients. Oh yes, that’ll be moral all right, won’t it? Not that I do that, though.’

‘Dad.’

‘OK, OK. But that’s the way things are. You get drowned here, slowly and thoroughly. Y’have to breathe through y’r ears, keep y’r trap shut with y’r eyes, an’ you’re s’posed to stay here into the bargain. All right, all right, I’m on my way.’