Beneath Gray Skies (20 page)

“What in the name of God was served here this morning at luncheon?” he asked.

“Fried chicken with rice and beans and turnip greens, sir,” answered David.

“Is this the kind of food you are expecting to be serving to my men?” asked Weisstal.

“Why, yes sir. There’s no special arrangements been made that I’ve heard tell.”

Weisstal made no verbal answer, but sniffed, dismissing the culinary achievements of the South in one noisy inhalation of breath. “There are in my company some men who can cook well,” he said. “Maybe we should help in the kitchen and prepare our own food? Some of the civilians in my party are important men. Professors and doctors of engineering who are not used to this kind of army food. For myself, of course, as a German soldier, I do not care too much what I eat. But I have been told that we soldiers must look after the civilians, so I think my men should be cooking.”

“That’s a question for my Major to decide, sir,” answered David stolidly.

“Of course, Sergeant. I quite understand you cannot make these decisions by yourself.”

The rest of the tour of inspection went the same way, with the Major making some scornful remark or passing a snide comment on the cleanliness or efficiency (or to be precise, the lack thereof) of the Army of the Confederacy. Nothing seemed to escape his criticism; the barracks, the latrines, the recreation facilities (“what sort of person plays this game, anyway?” when looking at the baseball diamond), and David became more than a little tired of this constant complaining. It wasn’t that he thought that the food or conditions in the Army were the best to be found anywhere—heck, anyone knew that Army food was the worst in the world, and you had to share your bed with a variety of many-legged creatures, but it wasn’t for some darn foreigner to come round and sniff at things that any Southern soldier took in his stride.

By the time they returned to the offices, David could have spit a possum, as his grandfather would have put it.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” said the Major as he went inside. David saluted as smartly and as insolently as he dared, and inwardly wished Major LeHay joy of the meeting. He had already discovered that his Major had a short fuse when it came to what he called “this administrative bullshit” and he expected fireworks. Nor was he wholly disappointed. About twenty minutes after Weisstal and his Germans went inside, they came out, looking, as David told it later, “as though each one of ‘em had a poker stuck down the back of his pants.” They were followed by an angry shout from inside the office for David to get inside.

“Yes, sir?” said David innocently, saluting and closing the door behind him.

“I tell you, Sergeant, those goddarn Germans. Do you know what they want to do?”

“I can guess, sir.”

“Darn it, Sergeant, I’m an engineer, not a soldier. I trained in aeronautics at Georgia Tech, and they expect me to make decisions about who cleans the latrines!”

“Yes, sir,” said David, as neutrally as he could manage without laughing. “My advice, sir, is if the Germans want to clean their own latrines, and do their own laundry and wash their own dishes, we should let them. Let our own boys do what they want, and not be doing the dirty work for those Germans. We’re to help them, not be their servants, ain’t that right, sir?”

“You reckon we could give them a few of our darkies to help out, Sergeant?”

David hesitated, and picked his teeth before answering. “My reckoning is that that wouldn’t be a very smart idea, sir. See, we Southerners, we know how to treat colored folks. We’re kind of good to ‘em, long as they stays in line, but they knows with us just where that line is, and not to step over it. Those Germans, see, they don’t rightly know how to treat our Nigras. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, sir, but when I was in Germany, I seen and heard some things that made me worry a bit about those German folks.”

“I see your points, Sergeant, but it might be easier for everyone if we let them have the use of two or three of our coloreds to start with. If it doesn’t work out, we can always do something about it, and if it does, we can let them have a few more and we’ll all be happy.”

“Yes, sir,” said David, much less sure of the wisdom of this idea than LeHay.

“So pick out a couple, say three, of the better-spoken colored boys and make sure that Major Weisstal knows they’re his boys. And Sergeant,” he added, noticing David’s continued look of doubt, “you might just happen to be right about what you say. So I’d like you to instruct Major Weisstal on the right way to handle darkies—the Southern way, that is. To be frank with you, I don’t think I want to spend much more time with Major Weisstal, so you have this job.”

“Yes, sir,” said David, saluting.

“Remember, Sergeant, RHIP.”

“Sir?” said David, turning the letters over in his puzzled mind, and thinking of gravestones.

“Rank Hath Its Privileges, Sergeant. Means I can tell you to do what I goddamn please. There are some things I don’t feel like doing right now, and talking to Major Weisstal about Nigras is one of them. So you’re doing it. Go off and see about them coloreds now.”

“Yes, sir,” said David, saluting again as he walked out of the office towards the slave quarters.

He picked out three of the most likely bucks, and took them over to the Germans, who were sitting round a table in the officers’ mess.

“Sir,” he addressed himself to Major Weisstal. “Major LeHay’s compliments, and he says these is yours on loan while you are here. From left to right, we have Jacob, Sammy and Leonard.” The three slaves grinned and ducked their heads in a half-bow deferentially. Sammy sketched a salute.

“Now, sir,” said David, making himself feel brave about talking to an officer in this way. After all, if Major LeHay didn’t think that these Germans amounted to much, why should he bother himself being that polite with them? He let a little more down-home slip into his speech than usual to make his point. “I know this may be seeming a trifle impertinent to you at first, but I hope you’ll take it as part of this Southerner’s welcome to this fine country of ours. I’ve been in your land, and I know there’s different ways of doing things there than there is here. So I’d surely appreciate it if you won’t take it amiss when I explain to you some of the ways we do things in these parts, and you can pass the word to your folks. These three boys is government property, sir. Means that you can’t do what you like with them as if they was your own. Don’t let up on these lazy boys, sir, but don’t be too hard on ‘em, either, and they’ll do you proud. Ain’t that right, boys?” turning to the slaves.

“Yessir,” in chorus.

“You see, Major,” David turned back to Weisstal. “Any problems with these three, just send for me, and I’ll be happy to help out.” He saluted.

“Thank you for your explanation, Sergeant. We’ll make a start by getting those huts cleaned up. You three,” to the black slaves. “Follow me there and I’ll explain exactly how things should be done for me.”

David watched them set off for the huts, and sighed. He had a feeling that this was going to lead to trouble. In fact, he rather hoped it was going to lead to trouble, so that he could be proved right, and Major LeHay could be proved wrong.

-o-

D
avid’s expectations were not disappointed. Early the next day Sammy came up to him, his face heavily bruised on one side, and one eye almost shut as a result of what looked to be a blow to the face. The skin above one eyebrow was split and the blood that had welled from the split seemed to be still drying.

“Sir,” Sammy said almost apologetically. “I’m not usually one to complain, sir, but I really don’t want to work for them Germans no more, sir.”

“What happened, Sammy?” asked David.

“Well, sir, I was cleanin’ up the huts late last night, and sir, them Germans is fussy, I tell you. I was just finishin’ up to go back, when one of them German officers—”

“Major Weisstal?” asked David.

“No, sir, it was one of them others. The young officer with the fair hair. Spits or a name like that I think. He told me to clean out them latrines, sir. Well, I’d already done ‘em once and I told him that. So then he tells me, sir, I was to clean ‘em out again, but this time I was to use my tongue, if you can believe that, sir. And I says no to him, so he hits me,” pointing to his face, “and then he kicks me out with those boots of his so as I can hardly sleep last night, sir.”

“You’re sure about this, Sammy? You really had cleaned those latrines already? You’re not trying to get out of the extra work?”

“No, sir, I’m not trying to get out of nothin’, sir. And I really had cleaned those latrines good. They was cleaner than I ever seen ‘em before, and that German just found that one little piece of dirt before he started on me.” There was pain and sincerity in Sammy’s eyes. One of the reasons that David had picked out Sammy was that he was always honest, and had never been known to shirk work or to tell lies about what he had and had not done.

“You’re sure you weren’t in no fight?” he asked. Sometimes the slaves fought among themselves. Punishments were severe for both the winners and losers of these fights.

Sammy shook his head energetically. “No, sir. It was the German who did this. I never laid no hands on no-one.”

David was not naturally a cruel boy or a bully, and he was also first and foremost a Confederate. The thought of a foreigner doing all this to a Southerner, even if the Southerner was a Nigra, filled him with anger. Added to this was the fact that he had personally picked Sammy to assist the Germans, and he felt a heavy responsibility for what had happened.

“You and me, Sammy, is going to see the Major right now. Step along there.”

With Sammy trailing in his wake, David marched to Major LeHay’s office and knocked hard three times. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and pushed Sammy through it, following close behind him.

-o-

M
ajor LeHay was not alone. A tall slim man wearing Colonel’s insignia, from a regiment that David couldn’t place, was sitting in the visitor’s chair, smoking a cigar and drinking from a glass of iced tea. The face was vaguely familiar.

Major LeHay looked up from his own tea and stared at Sammy and David crossly. “Yes, Sergeant? Did I tell you to come in?”

“No, sir,” David admitted. “But I thought that what we have here is important.” Briefly, he repeated what Sammy had told him, while Sammy himself stood silent, acting as both witness and evidence.

“Heck and darnation!” exclaimed the visiting Colonel. “What was I saying to you just before the Sergeant here came in, Major?”

Major LeHay nodded. “I’d figured something of the sort myself, but this kind of brings it home, doesn’t it? The young blond one?” he asked David. “That’s Lieutenant Spitz, isn’t it?” David nodded. Major LeHay turned to Sammy. “You, boy. Go back to your quarters. No,” he stopped himself. “Get the Sergeant to take you to the soldiers’ sick call with this note I’m going to give you, and then go back to your quarters. No more work for you today or tomorrow.”

“Not the coloreds’ sick call?” asked David.

“You heard me, Sergeant. This boy’s been through some unnecessary pain and suffering. I want to show these Germans how they should be treating our darkies. Sergeant,” turning back to David.

“Sir?”

“When you’ve made sure this boy’s been taken care of proper, please give my compliments to Major Weisstal and ask him to step this way along with this Lieutenant Spitz that this boy says hit him. If he won’t come, you may ask the MPs to help you persuade him. Colonel Vickers, I surely would appreciate it if you would remain here while I talk to this German Major and his Lieutenant.”

“It would be my pleasure,” replied the Colonel, with a faint smile. “I was going to suggest the very same thing myself if you hadn’t had that idea. And I hope,” turning to Sammy, “that you boys appreciate what a fine officer you have here in Major LeHay, who’s taking such care of you. And your Sergeant here,” he added, more generously and expansively than seemed to be warranted by the circumstances. David was beginning to wonder if the glasses on the table contained something other than iced tea. He thought he could smell whiskey but wasn’t sure at this time in the morning. “Haven’t we met before, Sergeant?” he asked David.

“Can’t say that we have, sir.”

“Weren’t you in Berlin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then that’s where I saw you. Maybe we didn’t meet, but I seem to remember you’re the one who wrote out that poem for Goering.” Major LeHay looked at David curiously.