Letters and Papers From Prison (37 page)

Sergeant-Major Meier is ill at ease after this conversation. He wants to forget it. He quickly reaches for the packet again, opens it hastily, cuts off a large slice of sausage and bites into it greedily. Involuntarily he touches the left side of his uniform with his hand, as though the gaze of the young prisoner were still burning there. ‘Cursed people, these soldiers from the front,’ he mutters to himself.

Heavy knocking. Sergeant-Major Meier jumps. He has become nervous. The door is opened quickly, as Meier is still gulping down his bite. ‘Lance-corporal Berg reporting for duty under the Major’s orders.’ A quiet, firm voice. Meier puts his jacket straight, strokes his careful parting, looks up and remains speechless for a moment. What he sees can hardly be called a human face. Severe burning, as though caused by a flame thrower, has completely destroyed this face. Pieces of strange flesh have been stuck on; the nose is in shreds, the mouth has no lips, only half the ears are there. The Sergeant-Major tries to pull himself together, but he still stares speechlessly at the face of the man standing before him, upright and youthful. ‘Did the Major,’ he begins finally, ‘send you to us?’ ‘Yes, Sergeant-Major.’ The Major’s words whirl through Sergeant-Major Meier’s head: ‘Excellent man – soldier from the front - understanding treatment - comradeship.’ ‘Are you fully capable of duty?’ ‘Yes, Sergeant-Major.’ ‘Are you still having hospital treatment?’ ‘No, Sergeant-Major, I’ve been released as cured.’ Meier struggles for words. ‘So you think …?’, he falters. ‘Yes, Sergeant-Major, I think that I will do my duty here as well as at the front.’ ‘The Sergeant-Major shrugs his shoulders. ‘Of course, of course, my friend - the Major - are you married?’ he asks suddenly. ‘No, not yet, Sergeant-Major.’ Not yet. What can this man be hoping for? ‘How old are you?’ ‘Twenty-eight.’ As old as I am, thinks the Sergeant-Major. He shudders at the thought. ‘What’s your job?’ ‘Schoolteacher, Sergeant-Major.’ That life’s finished. Wouldn’t it have been better for such a person if…? The Sergeant-Major does not pursue this
thought to its conclusion. ‘That’s good,’ he says, ‘you can go. The duty sergeant will give you your orders.’

Meier walks up and down his office for a long time without knowing what he is really thinking. He feels an oppressive weight on heart and stomach as though before some imminent evil. He opens the window and takes a deep breath. He walks up and down again. Suddenly he stops in front of the mirror and looks at it for a long time. That comforts him. He finds himself looking neat and good. His new high boots and the close fit of his uniform which he has recently had made give his figure a trim, officer-like look with which he is extremely satisfied. He is at once reminded of the last ladies’ social evening at which he made a strong impression on some of the younger women. He sees himself at the head of the table – but as he tries to conjure up the face of a particularly attractive women the gruesome mask of the wounded soldier appears to him. Then some adventures of the last weeks go through his head. He had arranged
Sekt
and an attractive cold dinner. The amazement of his companion. – Again the face. The face - the woman -the dinner – all follow one after the other. He goes to the telephone and asks for the kitchens. ‘Send me Müller immediately.’

An hour later, Müller leaves the Sergeant-Major’s office. His last words are, ‘You can rely on me completely, Sergeant-Major. I quite understand. It is really quite impossible.’

In front of the door he comes across Lance-corporal Berg, who is returning from his first round of the cells. Müller quickly composes himself and asks with a compulsive laugh, just to say something, ‘Well, how are our scoundrels?’ ‘Scoundrels?’ replies Berg. ‘I’ve just seen a young man in cell 127 - I would be happy if all soldiers were like him. But it’s a shame about him - deserter. If only they would give him one last chance; he would wipe out the disgrace. A shame.’ ‘No, there’s nothing at all to be done,’ says Müller with a coarse laugh, and makes a gesture to describe the impending fate of the young soldier. Berg shakes his head. ‘Comrade, were you out there in Russia?’ Müller is confused. ‘No, unfortunately not - I have heart trouble - nervous heart trouble. But in the end we also make our sacrifices here, air attacks, the exhausting work with these scoundrels…’ ‘Hm’ – Berg shakes
his head again, ‘as far as I’ve seen, those who are sitting here are for the most part comrades who once did a silly thing, but scoundrels -I don’t know, I’m afraid that they’re to be found elsewhere. I don’t want to keep you. I expect you’re on your way to the kitchens. See you later! Cook the prisoners something good. We need them outside again. We can’t do anything there with skeletons. See you later!’ Berg turns away and leaves Müller standing. Müller stammers, wants to say something, but doesn’t know what, thinks for a minute and then says to himself, ‘Well, a young man like that, one like you.’ Instead of going to the kitchens he goes straight into the sick-bay. There he brings the conversation incidentally round to Berg: excellent man, soldier from the front -understanding treatment - certainly, but one cannot ask too much of a man like that. It’s not really his concern that he had this hard service, etc., etc. He gets a smooth rebuff; Berg is quite fit for duty. Anyway, they can’t understand what it has to do with Müller. Does he have a personal interest? Müller stammers that he only wanted to help; he was a comrade from the front and the Sergeant-Major had had hesitations. He is told that he can report to the Sergeant-Major that his hesitations are groundless.

Lunch time. Müller sits by Berg and begins to talk to him with a mellow, amiable smile. He asks about the front, Berg’s injury. Berg is monosyllabic. The Sergeant-Major sits opposite. Berg has to use a straw to drink as there is no feeling in his lips. He does it as unobtrusively as possible. The Sergeant-Major stares at this procedure appalled; Müller turns away. Both think of the next ladies’ social evening. It is simply impossible. During the meal Berg praises the food and says that it is unusually good; now he wants to taste the prisoners’ food immediately afterwards, as in the end they themselves are simply troops at home, whereas the prisoners for the most part have to go back to the front. This remark meets with an icy silence all round.

After the meal, when everyone has left the mess, the Sergeant-Major exchanges a few words more with Müller.

The next day Müller greets Lance-corporal Berg with special warmth and presses a small packet into his hand. ‘You’ll need that after all you’ve been through!’ Berg opens it. ‘How have I
come to deserve a pound of butter?’ he says out loud. At the same moment another NCO goes by. ‘If it’s left over - and I rather wonder about that - I’ll share it among the prisoners in my section. By the way, what the prisoners had was muck. Shame on you!’ Müller bites his lips and goes. Berg cannot be won over that way.

But Müller is tireless. He knows what it means for himself to put the Sergeant-Major at ease. The next day – breaking a standing rule (but he has the Sergeant-Major behind him!) – he enters into conversation with some of the prisoners from Berg’s section. Doesn’t the fearful disfigurement of his face have an oppressive effect on the prisoners in a situation which is already so grim? Astonished shaking of the head, incomprehending and even explicitly hostile denials are the answer to his question. Müller has to hasten to wipe out the bad impression of his question again with all sorts of gossip.

At lunch, Berg, whose mouth muscles do not function properly drops the straw while he is drinking and spills the drink on the table. Indignant head-shaking by the Sergeant-Major and cowardly smirking from Müller.

The following day Berg is assigned to supervising visits to the prisoners by their next-of-kin. The Sergeant-Major entertains one of the visiting women in his room afterwards. Later he makes it known through Müller that a visitor has asked him if it is possible to appoint another NCO to supervise the visiting next time; it is impossible for her to utter a word while looking at such a fearfully ravaged face.

Berg feels that people are talking about him. He begins to suspect why.

At meal time Müller sits next to him. ‘These month-long stretches of imprisonment are nonsense for people who have played foolish pranks. It only corrupts them. A short sharp punishment would be much better,’ says Berg. ‘And then what would become of us?, Müller bursts out. ‘I mean …’ He now tries in vain to gloss over his previous words. ‘I mean - in the end the people must have committed some offence, otherwise they wouldn’t be here, and in that case it does them no harm to stew for a couple of months.’ ‘On the contrary, I think that you’re wrong in every
respect,’ shouts Berg, aroused. ‘Be careful, Berg, be careful,’ Müller now protests, ‘You criticize here, and if the Sergeant-Major hears…‘ ‘Quite different people from the Sergeant-Major will hear what is going on here, I can assure you,’ shouts Berg. Müller goes pale.

The next day, Berg is summoned to the Sergeant-Major. ‘Unfortunately I have to tell you, Berg, that you have been called away with immediate effect. I’m very sorry. I would very much have liked to keep a soldier from the front like you here.’ ‘May I ask on what grounds I’ve been posted away, Sergeant-Major?’ ‘There is no reason why I should answer that question.’ ‘But I insist on an answer, Sergeant-Major,’ says Berg stubbornly. ‘Now take it easy, my dear Berg, I’ll make an exception and tell you. It was an official order.’ Berg goes pale. He does not believe what the Sergeant-Major is saying, indeed he is convinced that the Sergeant-Major is lying, but he has no chance of proving it. Berg comes to attention and leaves the office.

When the formalities have been settled, he opens the cell of the school-leaver once more and sees the traces of tears in his eyes. However, the face of the young deserter lights up when he sees Berg. ‘What’s the matter, lad?’ asks Berg. ‘I want to go back to the front,’ the boy says, and tears spring from his eyes. ‘So do I,’ says Berg, and clenches his teeth. ‘Keep your chin up, lad, I’ll go to the General for you. You’ll get out again. But I have to say good-bye to you now. I’m going.’ ‘You’re going?,’ cries the young man, aghast and in dismay. ‘You’re going? Why? Why only you? You were the only one here …’ ‘I’ll tell you: the Sergeant-Major didn’t like my face.’ Shaken, both are silent. Berg goes to the door. ‘Good-bye, comrade!’ ‘Good-bye, comrade!’

NOTES

1.
In the outline of the letter he also wrote: ‘… in the morning I have a great longing for coffee, and for some alcohol after food, to refresh the heart a little. In the end, a storm will come.’

2.
With an eye to the censor.

3.
The beginning of August saw the three heavy air attacks on Hamburg, after which Goebbels intensified his great evacuation plan, moving families and offices from Berlin.

4.
‘And across the surging ocean that has conspired against me, not one note of your song is lost to me, although it is muffled.’

5.
Pätzig.

6.
Hope that a date for the trial will be fixed soon.

7.
Prof. Harteck, a physicist. He is mentioned in the German edition of the Bonhoeffer biography, p. 71, but not in the English translation.

8.
In Sakrow, near Potsdam.

9.
City commandant of Berlin; his mother’s cousin.

10.
Lawyer and friend of Klaus Bonhoeffer.

11.
The Reich War Court was partly transferred to Torgau.

12.
Susanne Dress.

13.
Eberhard Bethge.

14.
Waiting in vain for news of the date of his trial. Dr Roeder went on long leave and was then transferred.

15.
Published in German in
Gesammelte Schriften
II, pp. 478ff.

16.
The outline reads: ‘The death of the three young pastors affects me very much. All three were specially esteemed among the young theologians; many hundred young pastors will grieve deeply over Klapproth, who combined unusual spiritual gifts with a firm leadership of men. Winfried Krause was with us only a few months ago; I liked his straightforward manner very much. I would be glad if his wife could be told in some way that I cannot write to her now. Also Grosch’s father; he was my schoolteacher. These three were among the closest of my pupils. It is a great loss to me and to the church.’

17.
H. Chr. von Hase, at that time an army chaplain, son of Bon-hoeffer’s mother’s brother, Superintendent Hans von Hase in Frankfurt/Oder.

18.
General Paul von Hase, see p. 92.

19.
Lev. 26.6.

20.
Because of the expected date of the trial.

21.
The family’s summer house in the Harz mountains.

22.
His father added a note: ‘arrived I October.’

23.
Added in the margin: ‘Would you please order for me there a book that’s just appeared,
Das Zeitalter des Marius und Sulla,
Diederich Verlag (16 RM).’

24.
The home of Walter and Susanne Dress was, as mentioned in his mother’s letter of 9 September, damaged by bombs.

25.
Berlin families evacuated to Pätzig.

26.
The next estate to Pätzig.

27.
The lawyer Dr Otto John.

28.
Eberhard Bethge’s home village.

29.
This letter was partly dictated by Eberhard Bethge as it seemed advisable not to let correspondence of any kind between him and Dietrich Bonhoeffer go through the hands of the censor. Even Renate Bethge was to appear as rarely as possible. The illegal correspondence between the two only began at the end of November, when Dr Roeder’s term of office expired.

30.
In the Burchhardthaus in Dahlem, destroyed by a direct hit.

31.
Onnasch, formerly inspector of studies in the preachers’ seminary at Finkenwalde.