Rigadoon (12 page)

I wasn't going to show surprise . . . but even so . . . time to think it over . . . sitting there . . . he must have been watching me . . . the train was moving along just about normally . . . except that even out of the tunnel the whole car is so deep in soot . . . every window . . . that you'd better not try to look out . . . him with his special glasses, nothing to worry about . . .

Hey! . . . we're here . . . the train stops . . . the station . . . Ulm! . . . signs . . . we can get out . . . nobody stops us . . .no police . . . we climb out of the cloud, the soot . . . this station is all in one piece . . . or seems to be, we'll see . . . chance to sit down and rest . . . rest? all we've been doing since Rostock . . . but not exactly easy in our minds . . . shunted from leper colony to fireworks to unbreathable tunnel . . . but now we're on the platform . . . we cross the waiting room . . . here's the peristyle, a bench, even a hundred percent fagged out this bench feels pretty good . . . Le Vig's sulking, I can see that . . . me and the Captain shutting ourselves up at the other end of the corridor . . . he hadn't liked that . . . the way he was looking at the sky . . . he was browned off! . . . really beautiful weather, lovely May morning . . . I'd better cheer him up, no good his moping like that . . .

"This avenue is magnificent, do you know why? . . . it's magnificent because there's nobody in sight . . . put in people, it'll stink . . . as soon as people come around . . . not because of anything they do, just because they're there . . . makes you sick to look . . . takes death to clean it up . . ."

Usually he liked that kind of applesauce, vistas, pseudo-profundities . . . lines for a melancholy Scandinavian . . . a dimestore Hamlet . . .

But this time, no soap!

"You pleased with yourself?"

The only effect . . .

I forgot to describe the scene for you, I must have lost some pages, I'd put it all down . . . we weren't in the station proper . . . but on the peristyle, at the head of the stairs . . . from there we can see the whole avenue, as wide as the Champs-Elysées, bordered by sumptuous trees . . . the air was certainly pure in Ulm . . . no factories, no cars . . . and nobody around, neither in the station nor on the sidewalks, not a soul I . . . buildings on both sides, but empty, it looked like . . . ah yes! . . . somebody! not at the windows, right next to us! sitting there . . . this creep must have heard us . . . an old-timer with a goatee . . . who is he? I dive in . . .

"Guten tag!"

I can't claim that he answered me . . . he grunts . . . I try again . . .

"Es geht?
you doing all right?"

"Nein!
no!"

Off to a bad start . . . no use describing my costume, but him . . . some kind of uniform . . . army? . . . police? . . . funny-looking outfit, never seen it before, though I've seen all sorts . . . every possible insignia . . . since Baden-Baden . . . and Moors-burg . . . I'd better ask him . . . He answers . . .

"Feuermann!
. . . fireman . . .
Hauptmann
. . . captain! . . ."

Another captain . . . this fire captain only talks Kraut . . . not a word of French! . . . must have come up from the ranks . . . the ones who've been around some, who've been to some kind of school, even something like our Saint-Maixent, want only one thing: to be at home in Paris, voluble, conversative, blablative, with a bevy of midinettes spellbound at their feet, fireside with the big names and namesses . . . stage and screen . . . and socialites . . . ah, Sainte-Catherine!" ah, the magazine section! . . . Stalingrad? not bad! but wined and dined by the N.R.F.? they'll swoon! our love to Gaston! choir boy at Mauriac's mass, black . . . now you're cooking with gas! but this character with the goatee! Enough idle talk . . . got to find out where he's out of . . . I ask him.

"I'm too old, I don't remember . . . but you? where are you from?"

This old-timer claims all the privilege.

"I'm a doctor, my friend here is an actor . . ."

Ah, a doctor, now he's interested . . . a real doctor? . . . he doubts me . . . he wants proof . . . no problem! . . . in one of my sixteen wallets . . . all you want! . . . and official! . . . four five layers of pockets . . . proofs! . . . and in German! from their ministry . . .
Erlaubnis!
I had quite a struggle . . . here! . . . he takes out his glasses . . . he looks at me . . . he reads . . .

"That's you? . . ."

"Who else would it be?"

This skeptical fire captain is getting on my nerves!

Well . . . in that case he wants me to examine him! just like that, he demands it! . . . and palpate his abdomen! . . . certainly! . . . but where? . . . not here on the steps! . . . he's got a place he knows! . . . up in the station! . . . now where's he taking us? . . . he shows me . . . a window . . . he stands up . . . well, almost . . . not all the way, only half . . . with grimaces . . . we try to help him . . . he refuses, he wants to climb up on his own . . . I offer him my cane . . . both my canes!
no!
now we can see his fireman's uniform . . . he sits down again . . . I get it, he's going to climb on all fours, one step at a time . . . that window is on the third floor, at least . . . one step at a time, we won't be there in a hurry! . . . gives him time to fill us in . . . now he's willing . . . not so suspicious any more . . .

"They call me Siegfried . . .
Hauptmann
Siegfried . . . that's not my name, it's the name they gave me! . . . seems they had to . . . we all changed our names . . ."

How about the uniform? . . . is it his? . . . no, it's not his either! . . . his was burned in Pforzheim . . . how come? . . . because they went there, the whole Ulm fire department, all the engines . . . during the last bombardment . . . mines and phosphorus . . . the usual doses . . . two weeks ago . . . and to Frankfurt on Christmas Day, same story, the whole fire department . . . then Stuttgart, two weeks ago . . .

"We had six engines . . . a hundred and ten men on active duty! . . . and now, only five! . . . five firemen!
und noch! und noch!
. . . and still! one engine, just one! . . . all five at home,
feuermanner . . . verstehen sie?
. . . do you understand? . . . firemen? home in bed . . . burns! . . . me, the engine, the one and only, all by myself!"

We stop . . . sittee downee! . . . third floor? . . . still a long way off! I count . . . fifty steps at least! . . . he wants to take that stairway, he points to the sign,
"Privat
" . . . inside . . . I look him over . . . what's wrong with him? . . . rheumatism? . . . tabes? . . . he's taking us to the stationmaster's office . . . on the third floor . . . one step at a time . . . slow but sure . . . we'll be pals by the time we get there . . .

"They call me Siegfried . . .
Hauptmann
Siegfried . . . that's not my name . . . it's the name they gaye me . . . seems they had to change our names . . . on account of spies . . . the others changed their names too . . ." What about the uniform? Not his either! . . . his was burned in Pforzheim . . . the whole Ulm fire department was in Pforzheim . . . yes! yes! I knew it! . . . and in Frankfurt on Christmas Day . . . I knew that too . . . and in Stuttgart . . . he stands up with his helmet in his hand . . .

"Why did you change your name?"

"I didn't! . . . the authorities! I've told you! and the spies! . . . they had to . . . and captain right away! . . . one day: sergeant! . . . ten years a sergeant! . . . next day: captain! right away! wasn't that quick? . . . no more lieutenants! . . . no more captains! . . . all dead, all burned! . . . Pforzheim! . . . Frankfurt! . . . Captain Siegfried! . . . you understand?"

This fire department had no more officers . . . their headache! . . . no more men, no more engines . . . but he was still doing his best . . . he's older than he says . . . come to think of it, he hasn't told me his age . . . only mumbled some number . . . he must be more than seventy . . . pale as a ghost, sagging cheeks . . . I'll get a better look at him upstairs, seeing he wants me to check his abdomen . . . ah, here we are! the door . . . on the landing . . . a breather! . . . I'm thinking about that captain of engineers . . . his message for Lemmelrich . . . me whispering in his ear that his daughter and so forth! and so on! you won't catch me whispering anything in Lemmelrich's ear any more than I would in the Pope's! anybody that doesn't keep his mouth shut, all times, places, and circumstances, is a ham, a jerk, a deputy, a cop, something to keep away from . . . okay! . . . this door now! . . . I knock, Siegfried doesn't move . . . somebody opens . . . not the Stationmaster, a woman . . . in a cap, she must be filling in for her husband, a raspberry-colored cap, she's the stationmis-tress . . . very friendly, about forty . . . must be her husband's cap, the visor hides her nose . . . the cap covers her ears, you can hardly see her chin . . .
guten tag! guten tag!
a talker, and so glad to see us! . . . and trusting! she tells us the whole story . . . her husband's at the Russian front. . . she's taking his place . . . her children are here, under the bed, three of them . . . she calls them . . . they answer . . . not very loud . . . three little voices . . . already very cautious and well behaved . . . I ask her: two girls and a boy . . . three, five, and six . . . they've got to stay where they are! they mustn't be seen, either in the station or on the street, they'd be picked up . . . probably wouldn't be returned to their mother until after the victory . . . it had happened to other children right here in Ulm, when the Führer had come to town for the big East-West Staff Conference . . . a raid! they'd even picked up members of the
Hitler Jugend!
. . . so obviously these kids under the bed couldn't show themselves . . . not at their age! . . .
"Kindern schweigen!
children, keep still!" . . . our joker Captain Siegfried wasn't wasting his time, he's having trouble with his pants . . . they won't come off . . . they're period pants with an under-strap . . . ah, he's made it! Christ, is he skinny! . . . he puts his helmet back on . . . he goes to the window just like that, mother-naked in his helmet. . . he's got an idea . . .

"Hilda, do you see the steeple?"

"]a Krist! sicher Krist!
. . . of course, Krist!"

"Should I jump out?"

"Nein, Krist!. . . nein!"

She answers very calmly, I guess she's used to it . . . are they living together up here? . . . possible . . . it's not exactly luxurious . . . something like the Zenith . . . about as comfortable, but not so many holes and crevices . . . same dangling wallpaper . . . the place has been shaken . . . all of a sudden Siegfried starts putting his pants back on . . . he turns around and says to Hilda.

"Hilda! . . . Hilda! . . . this slowpoke asked me my age! . . ."

I'm the slowpoke . . .

She motions me not to answer . . . that it's his head! . . . his head! . . . she slips her finger under her cap, her enormous raspberry dip . . . that's where his trouble is! . . . of course! of course!

"Come and look! . . . come and look, you bad boy!"

I'm the bad boy . . . his Hilda motions : go ahead! . . . no time to antagonize him . . .

"Far! . . . far!. . . over there!. . . the steeple?"

"Yes!. . . yes!. . . right you are!"

Fact!. . . at the other end of the avenue . . .

"It's five hundred and thirty-one feet high! . . . understand? the firemen's carnival!
Sedantag!
me up there! . . . way up on top! . . . first! . . . eleven times first! up top!"

I don't quite get it . . . Hilda explains . . . "Sedan Day," their "firemen's carnival" . . . a rope-climbing contest . . . and he'd been first! he, Siegfried, eleven times winner! . . . But she didn't know what year, neither did he . . . his rope-climbing days were over . . . she didn't have to signal me not to contradict him . . . hell no! what if he jumped out the window? . . . why not? . . . since he was already half naked, he'd better just finish the job and let me examine him . . . he'd asked me . . . all of a sudden he's willing, perfectly reasonable . . . Hilda doesn't embarrass him, he even lets her help him . . . his black coat and his helmet on a chair . . . he lies down on the big bed . . . a big bed without a mattress or sheets . . . just the spring and a pile of something on top, rags . . . filthy, greasy . . . they must have been used for wiping machines and lamps . . . before the war . . . I go over to examine him . . . he stops me . . .

"Do you think if I jump out the window I'll break something? . . . in two? . . . in three?"

She motions me not to answer . . . no intention . . . I see him there all naked, really all skin and bones . . . built like an ambassadress . . . a naked ambassadress, first thing in the morning . . . as amyotrophic as they come . . . with him of course it's age and short rations . . . his abdomen? . . . I palpate . . . I palpate some more . . . nothing! cadaverous but normal . . . the heart? . . . a slight murmur . . . aortic? . . . the lungs? . . . emphysema? . . . maybe . . . mouth? . . . only three stumps left . . . doesn't seem to bother him . . . ears? . . . eyes? . . . nothing to examine them with . . . blood pressure? no Pachon!° . . . I feel his pulse . . . very tense . . . same at the temples . . . makes me think of the Hôtel-Dieu in Rennes . . . old man Follet "at the bedside" . . . the ritual . . . the hospital . . . and old Leduc from Nantes . . . funny memories come to you sometimes . . . funny and not so funny, you can take your pick . . . moments like that when you reach a certain age, you get indulgent, once you admit that you're old . . . the stationmistress there, she's thinking too . . . or asleep on her feet? . . . no! the snoring is the kids . . . she signals me: don't make any noise! . . . hell, why would I want to? . . . all I want is to get out of there . . . the police'll be here any minute . . . what kind? . . . Kraut, Russian, Angliche? . . . maybe two together! . . . I want to talk to Lili. . . not to Le Vig! . . . not a word to Le Vig!. . . I ask Siegfried, very gently . . .

"Dann? . . . Dann?
now what? go back down? . . .
hinabsteigen?"

He should get dressed . . . and Mrs. Raspberry Cap should help him . . . I'm waiting . . . she asks me what's wrong with him . . .