North (39 page)

"Oh, very pleasant! and so learned! . . . Fontane! he knows all about him!"

I don't mention the medicines . . .

He's still got a few errands . . . no! . . . he'll attend to them another time . . . no! . . . well start out, slowly . . . and hell catch up with us, he's got his bicycle . . . he thinks of everything, he gives me his police whistle . . . if the brats start in again, I should just blow . . .
vrrrt!
he won't be far . . . fine! . . . we're back on the sidewalk . . . we leave him . . . in the second doorway two prisoners in overalls . . . they're hauling out a big garbage can, very heavy . . . French prisoners . . . I say hello, they answer but not very friendly . . . guess they know who we are . . . information gets around quick, all Brandenburg must know by now that the three monsters are out for a stroll . . . the more hatefully idiotic a rumor is the faster it travels, from housewives to beet fields, prisoners to barkeepers . . . okay, I take out two three packs . . . I hand them over. . . thanks! . . . well? what's the news? . . . the news is that Simmer the
Landrat
, the bejeweled fruit, had three prisoners shot yesterday, fellow garbage collectors . . . for doing what? . . . saying
"sales Boches''
to some cops from the
Kommandantur
, who'd come to call the roll and take away their overalls to paint them red and black . . .

We sympathize . . . the Krauts stink! 

"Oh, they haven't long to wait! . . . they'll be shitting green around here! so will you!"

No use hanging around . . . they've got our number . . . we give them a pain . . . I slip them two more packs . . .

"Heil! heil!"

Their way of thanking me . . . they pull up their big leather straps . . . and hook on their enormous garbage can . . . heave ho! . . . it's no use . . . we shove off . . . we can still hear them from the next square . . .
heil! heil!
. . . those two garbage men were really hostile . . . and what about the kids! . . . and the whores! . . . not to mention the
Landrat!
all unanimous! . . . plus the geese and the
bibels!
. . . and there must have been plenty more desperate characters in Moorsburg, ready to draw and quarter us! . . . I say to myself: I bet we run into some more between here and Zornhof . . . no! not a one! they must have given each other the high sign . . .

"You think they knew who I was?"

"The garbage men?"

Oh, they'd recognized him for sure!

"Of course! of course!"

That's why they insulted us!"

"Sure thing!"

I think we made pretty good time . . . the way back is always easier . . . but I had nothing for Inge . . . except her powder, lipstick, and
"Kamelia
" . . . she'd understand . . . I was thinking of her when I saw the clock . . . the church . . . home already! . . . the huts . . . anything gets to be "home" . . . the most repulsive spot . . . you get used to it, you warm to it . . . even in solitary, when they change your cell . . . you were used to the old one . . . the cruelty of putting you in a different hole . . .

Kracht must have taken a shortcut, anyway he's there waiting for us . . . 

"Well? . . . well? . . . pleasant walk?"

"Perfect! . . . perfect!"

And he leaves us . . . we go up to our place . . . Le Vig wants to speak to me . . . "come with me!" . . . his cell downstairs isn't very cheerful, I've told you, almost worse than our tower . . . I can see why he prefers our ticks . . . our cubbyhole is no joke, but his basement . . . a tomb! and Iago . . . not so sure that he'd let us by . . . but say! . . . that sausage! that black bread! . . . how about it? at least we didn't go begging for air! . . . and no coupons! . . . sure, we've hiked ten miles and we've been insulted, but one thing at least, today we won't have to go whining around the cookpots . . . the housewives will go without their fun, watching us pass and making cracks . . . We get ready for an orgy, black bread and sausage . . . the black bread is soggy . . . just then:
knock! knock!
. . . somebody's there! . . . Kracht! . . . him again!

"Have you come to see what we're eating, Kracht?"

"No! . . . no, my friend! . . . forgive me for disturbing you . . . so sorry, Madame! . . . just a word! . . . an emergency . . ."

"Some kick in the ribs?"

"No . . . no, Doctor! something very sad!"

"Okay, bring on the sadness!"

"Iago has passed away!"

"Where? Downstairs?"

"No! . . . on the road with the
Rittmeister
. . ."

"They didn't poison him?"

"No, I don't think so, you'll see, no vomiting, you'll see, his heart, I think . . . you know the way he pulled . . ."

"Because they're capable of anything!"

"Yes . . . I know! . . . but I think it was his heart . . ."

"And now what?"

"Our vet's gone . . . the people in the village want you to go see . . . they're worried about their animals . . . if Iago had a contagious disease! . . . they're worried about themselves too . . . they're afraid . . ."

"Very well, Kracht! at your service! I understand! . . . just two minutes! . . . if you don't mind . . . our goodies! . . . absolutely without coupons!"

"My dear friends, of course!"

"Kracht, you know everything . . . may I ask you a question?"

"Please do!"

"Will the war be over soon?"

"Harras must know!"

Harras! oh, Harras! . . . where can that fat slob be now . . . ? we laugh! . . . we chortle! . . . I see Kracht hasn't got his little moustache . . . he's shaved it off . . . he's shaved it off several times . . . his Adolf tickler . . . and let it grow again . . .

All right, we're ready . . . there's some sausage left . . . if we feave it here, the stinkers'll grab it the minute we're gone . . . they'd probably devour Bébert if we left him here . . . like my Purgers on rue Girardon, they didn't leave one thing . . . they even burned my bed . . . ripping mad because they couldn't carry it downstairs . . . too heavy! . . . so we polish off three sardines . . . the rest goes into the bag! . . . with the black bread . . . two loaves . . . and Bébert!

"And now, Kracht, to the 'consultation'!"

Not far? . . . actually pretty far . . . after the last huts, at the fork of the road . . . oh, there's a crowd there already . . . housewives, prisoners, workers, Russians, Polacks . . . and naturally our acolytes Léonard and Joseph . . . and plenty more . . . probably from those farms by the lake . . . Kracht makes them all stand back! back! . . . so I can examine Iago . . . lying there . . . no foam . . . no vomit . . . legs stiff . . . body still warm . . . I ask them . . . he's been dead about two hours . . . dragging the old man . . . out like a light! . . . the people were there, they saw it . . . the evening pull-around . . . no convulsions, nothing! . . . okay! . . . my diagnosis: the heart . . . his heart gave way, age and overexertion . . . nothing contagious! . . . no-danger! . . . and from never getting any meat to eat . . . a dog like Iago, his weight, needed a least a pound of raw meat a day . . . conclusion: no disease, no poison . . . I speak with authority . . . privation! Kracht repeats . . . with still more authority! grunting and grumbling like a
führer! 
. . . a servant girl translates into Russian, so everybody'll understand . . . now we can bury the dog . . . Kracht has made arrangements . . . here come eight
bibelforschers
with picks, shovels, and three big stones . . . they dig a hole . . . the poor mutt at the bottom, the earth stamped down . . . it's all over . . . I turn around . . . hm, Inge! . . . she doesn't go out much . . . I greet her, I bow . . . I hand over her lipstick and
"Kamelia"
. . . nothing to say . . . she looks at me . . . she looks at us . . . that's all! . . . good! . . . I tell Lili and Le Vig that everything's all right, we can go back . . . a voice:
halt!
. . . the old man . . . he's coming up . . . on horseback! . . . he's taken his horse back from the farm, his son had had it working in the fields, a white half-bred . . . oh, he hadn't got it so easily . . . boiling mad! . . . he wanted his horse back, he was the boss on this farm and nobody else! . . . he,
Rittmeister
Count von Leiden! he wouldn't stand for it, he wanted his nag! . . . it was a damn shame! you wouldn't catch him going on foot! . . . or riding on a Russian's back like his own son! never! . . . he wasn't any blasted cripple! . . . and now that Iago was dead, he was going to ride his horse and pretty damn quick!

They were afraid he'd have a stroke . . . drop dead like Iago . . . they'd given him bis horse, all saddled, bit and bridle . . . no snaffle! . . . they couldn't find his spurs . . . then they found them! . . . and there he was, still smoking frumious, Jerk von Leiden on his white half-bred . . . and armed! a memorable sight! . . . saber, revolver . . . he still had a pretty good seat, better than on the bike, you could see he'd been a horseman . . . but the saber on the right? he'd served in the uhlans . . . the uhlans wear it on the left . . . an innovator! he rides up to us . . . or rather to Iago's mound . . . he pulls out his saber, a heroic salute . . .

Now I think we can go back . . . but well let the
Rittmeister
get ahead . . .

There he goes . . . he's off by the poplars . . . you can see him pretty far on his white horse . . . especially against the sky, so gray, so yellow . . . we go back slowly with the six
bibelforschers
and two Gypsies and Léonard and Joseph . . . and Kracht three steps behind us . . . we don't move fast . . . where's Inge? . . . I don't see her . . . I guess she didn't take the road . . . maybe a different road . . . or a sunken path . . . you think you see everything on these plains . . . and everything blurs out . . . anyway she hadn't approached us . . . not surprising . . . maybe nothing at all? . . . I'll see . . .

I've got to admit, I was worried . . . specifically about Le Vig . . . he was acting funny . . . he was always funny . . . but after that trek he seemed weirder than ever . . . I didn't sleep much . . . fits and starts . . . soon as I saw a little light in the window slit, I jump up . . .

"Lili, I'm going down to see Le Vig!"

"Why?"

"I think he's sick!"

Nothing to it . . . I hop out of bed and I'm ready . . . we never undress, we're always ready . . . Down the stairs . . . Iago's corner . . . his chain's still there and his big collar . . . the brick corridor . . . Le Vig's door at the end, his cell . . . I don't knock, I go right in . . . hm, just as I thought! . . .

"You! . . . you! . . . a rat! . . . a rat!" 

"Le Vig, you're nuts! . . . I'm not a rat, I'm me! sit down! . . . you give me a pain!"

He's standing on his fleabag, waving his arms . . . he says he's scared of me, I'm a monster, I'm going to eat him!

"That'll do, Le Vig! sit down!"

"No! No!"

"Yes! yes! cool it! you're making too much noise!"

"All right, look at my hand! did they bite me or didn't they?!"

I look at his thumb! . . . sure as shit! . . . a rat bite!

"And my pants . . . look! . . . am I making it up?"

Right again . . . they've ripped the bottom off one pants leg . . .

"Well, you can't stay here, you'll sleep,upstairs with us . . . we've got rats too, but not as many, we manage! what made them come here all of a sudden?"

"The dog's gone! and they were after bread . . . take a look!"

Sure thing, they'd eaten at least half his loaf . . .

"You didn't light your candle?"

"With all this straw? I'd have gone up in flames! I fought all night in the dark!"

God's truth! . . . he was all rumpled, his face was grimy, sticky, dripping . . . his hair hung down over his nose . . .

To think that I played
Le Misanthrope!"

"Not so long ago, Le Vig!"

"Centuries, Ferdie! centuries!''

"Right you are, son! centuries!''

"And today I wouldn't even know what to do with a piece of ass!"

"You! . . . you were ardor personified! . . ."

"Thing of the past! . . . women turn my stomach! how about you?"

"I'd drown every one of them to make them stop simpering!"

"What about Inge von Leiden?"

"Not interested!"

"It's pink in the sky . . . you noticed? . . . a new color . . ."

"I suppose so, Le Vig . . . who cares? . . . the clouds can look after their own business . . ."

"The walls are shaking worse than yesterday!"

"The ground too!"

And
boom!
. . . and
boo-oom!
. . . scattered explosions across Berlin . . . to the south . . . and east . . .

"Maybe the Russian Army?"

"Possible!"

I'm not eager to reassure him . . .