The Road Back (11 page)

Ferdinand's face is bleeding fast; he now gets properly mad and quickly makes short work of Seelig. With a hook to the jaw he brings him down, he straddles over him and bashes his head on the floor a few times till he feels he has had enough.

Then we go. Lina, looking as pale as a cheese, is standing over her gasping master. "You'd better cart him away to the hospital," Willy shouts back. "Looks to me like a matter for two or three weeks. Not a very bad case, though."

Kosole is smiling, as happy as a child—Schröder, so he feels, is avenged. "That was fine," says he, wiping the blood

from his face. "Well, now I must be trotting back to my missus, or the neighbours will be thinking things, what?"

At the market-place we separate. Jupp and Valentin go off to the barracks and their boots clatter over the moonlit pavement.

"I wouldn't mind going along with them," says Albert suddenly.

"I know," agrees Willy, thinking of his fowl, no doubt. "They're a bit pedantic, the people here, don't you find?"

I nod. "And we'll have to be starting school again soon, 
I suppose "

We stand still and grin. Tjaden cannot contain himself for joy at the mere thought of it. Still laughing, he trots off after Valentin and Jupp.

Willy scratches his head. "Think they'll be very pleased to see us? We're not quite so docile as we used to be, you know."

"We were more to their liking as heroes," says Karl, "and a long way off for preference."

"I'm rather looking forward to the fun," explains Willy. 
"What with our present temper—hardened in the bath of 
steel and all, as they used to say "

He lifts one leg a trifle and lets off a terrific fart. "Twelve-point-five," he announces with evident satisfaction.

When our company was disbanded we had to take our rifles along with us. The instructions were to give them up on arrival at our home town, so now we have come to the barracks and passed in our arms. At the same time we received our demobilisation pay—fifty marks discharge money per man, and fifteen as sustenance allowance. In addition to that we are entitled to one greatcoat, a pair of boots, a change of underclothes and a uniform.

We climb up to the top floor to take delivery of the goods. The quarter-master makes a perfunctory gesture: "Look something out for yourselves."

Willy sets off on a hasty tour, nosing through all the things displayed. "Listen here, you," he then says in parental fashion, "you keep this for the recruits. This stuff came out of the ark with Noah. Show us something new."

"Haven't got any," retorts the Q.M. in a surly tone.

"Is that so?" says Willy and considers a while. He brings out an aluminium cigar-case. "Smoke?"

The other shakes his bald pate.

"Chew, is it?" Willy gropes in his tunic pocket.

"No "

"Good, then you drink?" Willy has overlooked nothing—he feels toward a protuberance on his chest. "Nor that either," replies the quarter-master off-hand.

"Well, there's nothing for it but to swipe you a couple on the snout," explains Willy amiably. "Anyway we're not leaving here without a decent set of new togs, get me?"

Fortunately at this moment Jupp appears, who, being a Soldiers' Councillor, now carries some weight. He tips the Q.M. a wink. "Pals of mine, Heinrich. Old foot sloggers. Show 'em into the salong, won't you?"

The quarter-master brightens up. "Why couldn't you say so at first?"

We accompany him to a room at the back and there the new things are hanging. We hastily discard our old gear and put on new. Willy submits that he needs two greatcoats, explaining that his blood has got very thin under the Prussians. The Q.M. hesitates. Jupp takes him by the arm into a corner and has a talk with him about sustenance allowance. When the two return the quarter-master is pacified. He casts an eye over Tjaden and Willy who have grown noticeably stouter. "Very good," he growls, "it's all one to me. A lot of them don't even trouble to collect their stuff. Have enough brass of their own, I suppose. The main thing is, my invoice must be in order."

We sign that we have received everything. "Didn't you say something about smoking a while back?" says the Q.M. to Willy.

Willy is taken by surprise and produces his case with a grin.

"And chewing?" the other persists.

Willy turns out his tunic pocket. "But you don't drink, I believe," essays Willy.

"On the contrary," says the Q.M. calmly, "that's the one thing the doctor has ordered me. I'm a bit anaemic myself, as a matter of fact. Just leave the bottle here, will you?"

"Half a mo'!" says Willy, and takes a long pull at the flask so that something at least may be rescued. Then he hands over a half-empty bottle to the astonished storeman. A moment ago it was full!

Jupp accompanies us to the barracks gate. "Guess who else is here," says he. "Max Weil! On the Soldiers' Council!"

"That's where he belongs, too," says Kosole. "Nice soft job, I should say, eh?"

"Not so bad," answers Jupp. "Valentin and I are in the same line, for the time being. If ever you want anything— railway passes or the like—I'm at the fountain-head, don't forget."

"Give me a pass then," I say, "and I can go and see Adolf tomorrow."

He takes out a block and tears off a pass. "Fill it in yourself. You travel second, of course."

"Sure."

Outside Willy unbuttons his greatcoat. There is another beneath it. "It's better I should have it, than that it should be sold off later by some swindler or other. And anyway, the Prussians owe it to me for my half-dozen shell splinters."

We set off down the High Street. Kosole is telling us that he proposes to repair his pigeon-loft this afternoon. He used to breed carrier-pigeons and black-and-white tumblers before the war, and is thinking of starting again now. That had been his one idea out at the Front.

"And what then, Ferdinand?" I ask.

"Look for work," says he bluntly. "I'm a married man, you know. Always got to keep the pot boiling now."

Suddenly from the neighbourhood of St. Mary's Church comes a sound of shots. We listen. "Rifles and service revolvers," says Willy professionally, "two revolvers, by the sound of it."

"Anyway," laughs Tjaden gaily, swinging his new boots by the laces, "it's a bloody sight more peaceful than Flanders."

Willy stops short in front of a gentlemen's outfitters. In the window is exhibited a garment made out of paper and stinging nettle instead of cloth. But that interests him little. On the other hand a row of faded fashion plates set out behind the suit of clothes holds him spellbound. He points excitedly to one picture of an elegant gentleman with a goatee beard, lost in eternal converse with a huntsman of sorts. "Know what that is?"

"A shot-gun," says Kosole, looking at the sportsman.

"Rot!" interrupts Willy impatiently. "That's a cut-away, that is. A swallow-tail, you know. Absolutely the latest thing. And do you know what's just occurred to me? I'll have one of them made for myself from this overcoat here. Take it to pieces, you see, and dye it black, remodel it, cut away the bottom part here—bong, I tell you!"

He is obviously in love with his idea. But Karl damps his ardour. "Have you the striped trousers to go with it?" says he loftily.

Willy is nonplussed a moment. "I know, I'll pinch the old man's," he decides at last. "And his white waistcoat for weddings as well. What will you think of Willy then, eh?" Beaming with pleasure he surveys the whole row of us. "We'll see life yet, lads, eh? damn it all."

I return home and give half of my demobilisation pay to my mother. "Ludwig Breyer's in there," says she. "He's waiting in your room."

"He's a lieutenant, too!" adds my father.

"Yes," I reply, "Didn't you know?"

Ludwig seems rather better. His dysentery has improved. "I just wanted to borrow some books from you, Ernst," he says, and smiles at me.

"Take whatever you like, Ludwig," I say.

"Won't be wanting them yourself, then?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Not at the moment, anyway. I tried to read a bit only yesterday. But it's queer, you know—I don't seem to be able to concentrate properly any more. By the time I've read two or three pages I find I'm thinking of something else altogether. As if one were looking at a blank wall, you know. But what is it you want, novels?"

"No," says he, selecting a few books for himself. I glance at the titles. "Heavy stuff, eh, Ludwig?" I say. "What are you going to do with that?"

He smiles, a little embarrassed; then hesitatingly he says:
"Well, Ernst, you know, out there a lot of things would
keep coming into my head, and I could never get the rights
of them somehow. But now it's all over, there's a heap I'd
like to understand—I'd like to know, for instance, what
mankind is up to that such a thing could happen, and how it
all came about. That raises a lot of questions. Questions for
us, too. We had a very different notion of what manner of
thing life was, before, if you remember. There's a lot I'd
like to know, Ernst——"

I point to the books. "Think you'll find it in there?"

"I mean to try anyway. I read from morning till night now."

He soon takes his leave and I still sit on, lost in thought. What have I been doing all this time? With a feeling of shame I reach for a book. But soon I have let it fall again and am gazing out the window. I can do that for hours together, just look out into vacancy. It used to be different, before; I always knew then what I would do.

My mother comes into the room. "Ernst, you are going to Uncle Karl's tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so," I reply, rather disgruntled.

"He has often sent us things to eat," she says prudently.

I nod. From the window I can see the twilight beginning 
outside. Blue shadows lurking in the branches of the chest
nuts. I turn round. "Did you often go down by the poplars 
in the summertime, mother?" I ask suddenly. "That must 
have been beautiful——"

"No, Ernst—not once all this year."

"Why not, mother?" I ask in surprise. "You used to go there every Sunday before."

"We gave up going for walks altogether," she replies quietly; "one is always so hungry afterwards. And, you see, We had nothing to eat."

"Ah, so——" I say slowly, "but Uncle Karl, he always had enough, I suppose?"

"He often sent us some too, Ernst."

All at once I feel utterly dejected. "What was the good of it all, mother?" I say.

She strokes my hand. "It must have been for some good, Ernst. The Father in heaven knows, you may be sure of that."

Uncle Karl is the famous member of our family. He has a villa and was Chief Paymaster during the war.

Wolf accompanies me to the house, but he must stay outside—my aunt dislikes dogs of any sort. I ring.

An elegant man in a dress-suit opens to me. "Good evening, sir," I say, rather taken aback. Then it occurs to me, he must be a domestic. I had quite forgotten such things in the army.

The fellow looks me over, as if he were a battalion commander in civvies. I smile, but he does not smile back. When I take off my greatcoat he raises his hand as if to help me. "Why," I say, to regain his favour, "surely an old soldier can do that much for himself, eh" and I hook my things up on a peg.

Without a word he takes them down again and with a superior air solemnly hangs them on a peg near by. "Poor worm!" I think to myself, and pass in.

Uncle Karl comes toward me, spurs clinking. He greets me condescendingly. I merely belong to the ranks. I look at his flashing regimentals in astonishment. "What's on today?" I ask, by way of making a joke, "roast horse?"

"Horse? how do you mean, horse?" he asks, mystified.

"Well, you wearing spurs to dinner," I reply, laughing.

He gives me a sour look. Without meaning to, I seem to have touched a sore spot with him. It is often so with these army-office pen-pushers—they are prone to swords and spurs.

Before I can explain to him that I meant no offence, my aunt comes up rustling. She is still as she used to be, flat as an ironing board, and her little, black eyes shining as ever, as though they had been newly polished on a button stick. While she is showering me with a flood of words, her quick eyes are glancing continually here, there, and everywhere about the room.