The Good Soldier Svejk (36 page)

showed me on the map that Budejovice is in the south, but then he goes and sends me
to the
north. "

The captain made a gesture implying that the sergeant at Putim did worse things than send people to the north.

"So you can't find your regiment, eh?" he said. "And you went to look for it?"

Schweik explained the whole situation to him. He mentioned Tâbor and all the places through which he had passed on his way to Budejovice : Milevsko, Kvetov, Vraz, Malcin, Cizovâ, Sedlec, Horazdovice, Radomyśl, Putim, Stekno, Strakonice, Volyne, Dub, Vodfiany, Protivin and then Putim again.

With tremendous gusto Schweik described his struggle with destiny and how, with might and main, regardless of obstacles, he had endeavoured to reach his regiment, the 91st, at Budejovice, and how all his efforts had been in vain.

He spoke with fiery zeal and the captain mechanically sketched with a pencil a diagram of the vicious circle from which the good soldier Schweik had failed to extricate himself, when trying to get to his regiment.

"Talk about Hercules," he said presently, when he had listened with relish to Schweik's account of how upset he had been at failing to reach his regiment. "Why, it must have been a marvelous sight to see you patrolling Putim."

"I might have managed it then," remarked Schweik, "if it hadn't been for the sergeant there. It's an unlucky sort of place, sir, if you ask me. You see, he never bothered to inquire what my name or my regiment was, but somehow or other he thought there was something very fishy about me. He ought to have had me taken to Budejovice and at the barracks there they'd have told him whether I'm Schweik who's looking for his regiment, or whether I'm a suspicious character. Why, I might have been with my regiment, doing my military duties, this very day."

"Why didn't you point out to the people at Putim that it was all a mistake?"

"Because I saw it wasn't any use talking to them. Old Rampa, who kept a pub down at Vinohrady, always used to say, when a customer wanted a drink on tick, that there's times when a man's as deaf as a post, no matter how you try to make him hear."

The captain made a rapid decision and, showing a due concern for all the beauties and niceties of official diction, he had the following letter typed in the office :

To the C. O.

Imperial Royal Infantry Regiment, No. 91. Budejovice.

Herewith beg to transmit Josef Schweik, the same claiming to be a private in your regiment, and detained, according to his statement, at Putim, by the police, on suspicion of desertion. The aforesaid declares he is proceeding to his regiment, as above. The individual in question is short and thick-set, symmetrical features and blue eyes, without any distinguishing marks. Please find herewith enclosure B.I., this being account for expenses incurred in rationing aforesaid individual, which kindly forward to War Office and acknowledge receipt of individual in question. Beg also to send enclosure C.l. for your acknowledgment, this being list of government property in possession of aforesaid individual at the time of his arrest.

Schweik accomplished the journey from Pisek to Budejovice by train, briskly and punctually. He was escorted by a young constable, who had recently joined the force and who kept his eyes glued on Schweik for fear he might run away.

In due course they reached the barracks.

At the time of their arrival Lieutenant Lukash had been on duty for two days. Suspecting nothing, he was seated at the table in the orderly room, when Schweik was brought to him with the appropriate documents.

"Beg to report, sir, I'm back again," said Schweik, saluting with a solemn demeanour.

The whole of the ensuing scene was witnessed by Ensign Kotatko, who, later on, used to describe how, after this announcement of Schweik's, Lieutenant Lukash jumped up, clutched his head in his hands, and fell back headlong on top of Kotatko, and how, when he had been brought to, Schweik, who had remained at the salute the whole time, repeated : "Beg to report, sir, I'm back again," whereupon Lieutenant Lukash, as white as a sheet, with trembling hands had taken the documents referring to

Schweik, had signed them, and told everyone to go outside, after which he had locked himself with Schweik in the orderly room. Thus concluded Schweik's Budejovice anabasis. ...

Schweik and Lieutenant Lukash looked hard at each other.

In the lieutenant's eyes there was a sort of baleful and desperate glare, while Schweik gazed at the lieutenant tenderly and affectionately, as if he were a sweetheart who had been lost and then found again.

The orderly room was as quiet as a church. From the corridor could be heard the footsteps of a passer-by. Some conscientious volunteer officer, who had stayed in barracks on account of a cold in the head, as was evident from his voice, was snuffling the military lore which he was learning by heart. The following filtered through plainly :

"What reception is to be accorded to members of the royal family when they visit fortresses?

"As soon as Their Majesties reach the vicinity of the fortress in question, the guns in all bastions and ramparts are to fire a salute. The commanding officer will receive Their Majesties, sword in hand, and mounted, and will then -"

"Oh, shut that row !" the lieutenant yelled into the corridor. "And for God's sake go to hell. If you're seedy, why the devil don't you stay in bed?"

The conscientious volunteer officer could be heard departing, and like a quiet echo from the end of the corridor came a snuffling recitative :

"Simultaneously with the commandant's salute, the volley is to be repeated, and this must be carried out for the third time when Their Majesties leave their conveyances."

And again the lieutenant and Schweik looked at each other silently, till at last Lieutenant Lukash remarked with harsh irony :

"Delighted to see you, Schweik. You've turned up again like a bad penny. It looks as if there's no getting rid of you. Well, they've already issued a warrant against you and you'll be had up to-morrow in the regimental orderly room. I'm not going to waste any more breath swearing at you. I've had more than enough annoyance on your account, and my patience is exhausted. When I

think that I managed to put up with an idiot like you for so long -"

He paced up and down the room :

"Really, it's appalling. The marvel to me is that I didn't shoot you. What would they have done to me? Nothing whatever. I should have been acquitted. Do you see what I'm driving at?"

"Beg to report, sir, yes, I do, sir."

"Now don't start again with any of your antics, Schweik, or there'll be ructions. You carried your lunacy too far, and so there's been a regular bust-up."

Lieutenant Lukash rubbed his hands :

"Yes, Schweik, you're for it now."

He went back to his table and wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, called the sentry who was on guard in front of the orderly room, and told him to see that Schweik was taken to the warder with the chit.

Schweik was led away across the barrack square and with undisguised joy the lieutenant saw how the warder unlocked the door bearing, on a black and yellow slab the words :
Regiments-arrest,
how Schweik vanished behind the door and how, after an interval, the warder emerged from the door by himself.

"Thank heaven for that," said the lieutenant aloud to himself. "Now he's safe under lock and key."

In the dark regimental dungeon Schweik was heartily welcomed by a portly volunteer officer who was lolling on a straw mattress. He was there all by himself, and after two days of this solitary confinement he was feeling thoroughly bored. Schweik asked him what he was there for and he said it was a mere trifle. By mistake he had punched the head of an artillery officer one night when he had drunk a drop too much. Or rather, he had not exactly punched his head, but only knocked his cap off.

"Of course," he admitted, "there was a bit of a scrimmage and I daresay there was a certain amount of punching as well. But I don't think that ought to count, because, as I explained at the time, it was all a mistake. I thought he was somebody else—a friend of mine. He looks just the same from behind. They're both a couple of undersized little blighters."

The volunteer officer now asked Schweik what he had been up to.

"Looking for your regiment, eh?" he said. "You had a regular Cook's tour. And you're for it to-morrow. Brother, we're in the same boat. We shall meet again in the shadow of the gallows. Colonel Schroder's going to have the time of his life. You wouldn't believe what a fuss he makes over any little shindy in the regiment. He rushes about the barrack square with his tongue hanging out like a rabid bull dog. And you ought to see him making speeches and chewing the rag generally. He dribbles at the mouth like a camel with an attack of the mumps. Once he gets started, there's no end to it, and you'd think the whole blessed barracks was going to fall to pieces."

The door opened and admitted the warder, who brought a quarter of a portion of army bread for the two of them, together with some fresh water. Without rising from the straw mattress, the volunteer officer addressed the warder as follows :

"Welcome, benevolent angel, whose heart is overflowing with pity. You are laden with baskets of food and beverages to alleviate our distress. Never shall we forget the kind services you have rendered us. You are a beam of radiance amid our gloomy captivity."

"They'll knock all that nonsense out of you in the orderly room," growled the warder.

"Now then, don't get shirty, you old stick-in-the-mud. By Jove, if I was Minister of War, you wouldn't half have a rough time of it."

The warder glared at him, shook with rage and went out, slamming the door.

"This is a mutual aid society for the abolition of warders," said the volunteer officer, dividing the bread rations into two equal halves. "According to paragraph 16 of the prison regulations, prisoners are supposed to get army rations until they're sentenced. But this is a place where only the law of the jungle holds good. First come, first served, where the prisoner's grub is concerned."

They sat down on the bench and gnawed at the bread.

"That warder," the volunteer officer continued his délibéra-

tions, "is a good example of how the army turns a man into a brute. I daresay that before he joined the army he was a young man with ideals, a fair-haired cherub, kind and gentle to everyone, and always taking the part of the under-dog. I wouldn't mind

betting that everyone looked up to him ; but now - By Jove,

wouldn't I like to land him one in the jaw or shove him headfirst into the latrine. And there's another proof for you how absolutely brutal a man gets in a military atmosphere."

The key again grated in the lock and the warder lit the oil-lamp in the passage.

"Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord," exclaimed the volunteer officer. "Enlightenment is finding its way into the army. Good-night, old boy; remember me to all the N. C. O'.s, and I hope you'll have pleasant dreams. Perhaps you'll dream about the five crowns that I gave you to buy cigarettes with and that you spent in drinking my health. Sleep well, you brute."

The warder could be heard growling something about the orderly room next day.

"Alone once more," said the volunteer officer. He yawned.

"Well, we're for it to-morrow, so we'd better have a good night's rest. Three cheers for the army. Good-night."

He lay down under the coverlet, but began to move about from side to side. Presently he asked :

"Are you asleep?"

"No," replied Schweik, who was on the other mattress. "I'm thinking."

"What about?"

"About the large silver medal for bravery that was won by a cabinetmaker down our way, named Mlicko, because he was the first man in his regiment to have his leg blown off by a shell at the beginning of the war. They gave him an artificial leg, and then he began to swank about with his medal everywhere and make out he was the first cripple in the regiment since the war started. One day he went to the Apollo Café and had a row with some chaps from the meat market, and they pulled off his artificial leg and banged him on the head with it. The chap who pulled it off didn't know it was an artificial one, and he was scared out of his wits. Anyhow, they put the leg on again at the police station, but after

that, Mlicko couldn't stand the sight of his big medal for bravery and took it to the pawn shop. Well, they took him in charge there, medal and all, and he got himself into a regular mess. The end of it was that they took the medal away from him and then condemned him to lose his leg in the bargain."

"What for?"

"Why, one day there was some committee came to tell him he didn't deserve to wear an artificial leg. So they unfastened it and took it away."

"From this it follows," said the volunteer officer, "that all glory is as the grass of the field. Also," he added after a short silence, "it strikes me that the military spirit is declining among us. I therefore suggest, my beloved comrade, that amid the darkness of night, in the stillness of our captivity, we should sing about Bombardier Jaburek. That'll help to foster the military spirit. But we'll have to yell, if we want to make ourselves heard all over the barracks. I therefore suggest that we should take up our position by the door."