Castle to Castle (28 page)

At least I had no more nuts on my bed! . . . oh, the patients would come back . . . they'd gone, but they'd be back . . . of course I'd have to clean up . . . or try to! . . .

I wanted Madame Raumnitz to take a look . . . to see what I was up against . . .

I thought the patients would come back . . . but they didn't . . . or the toilet enthusiasts . . . I guess they all hightailed it to the cellars, the caves . . . their favorite caves . . . or under the Castle? . . . they were scared shitless! . . . the R.A.F. was nothing compared to Aisha and Room 36! . . . I know . . . Lili and Aisha are there on the landing, talking it over . . . this, that, and the other thing . . . fine! But I've got to go see Luther . . . Kurt Luther, the Kraut Army doctor . . . a conference! it was time! . . . and after Luther the
Milice
. . . I've got three, four bed patients, too . . . flu . . . Daman is in Ulm, I won't see him . . . I'll see his son and Bout de l'An . . . it's not so far, but all the same a good half hour from door to door . . . in fits and starts! . . . I've told you . . . it wasn't just the Armada . . . they're way up in the sky . . . it's the low-flying Marauders . . . You've seen them, I've told you about the outing, the way they'd framed us in bullets all along the Danube . . . from Luther's to the
Milice
was along the Danube too . . . the
Milice
were in barracks, great big Adrians with triple-decker bunks . . . the military style since 1918 . . . but the Villa Luther, where I went for the conference, was pretty-pretty . . . William II baroque . . .

About that outing, while I'm on the subject . . . if they didn't hit Pétain or his string of ministers, it's definitely because they didn't want to! nothing to it! . . . not a Kraut plane in the air! . . . never! . . . not a single machine gun on the ground! no defenses, period! A pushover for those Pirates of the Air! to pepper any man, cow, dog, cat, at 300 m.p.h. aim! fire! good-bye! . . . automatic! . . . a Mosquito! a Marauder! . . . they never stopped, they were always there on top of us, looping the loop! never a lull! . . . they came in relays . . . a burst! another burst! ricochets! . . .
bzing!
. . . the idea was to "keep 'em off the roads" . . . take Doriot, one look at his car, it was on show outside the
Prinzenbau
(our town hall) for more than a week while the investigation was going on . . . chiseled from end to end, riddled small, like lace! . . . they'd caught him on the road, him, his bodyguards, stenographers, and photographers . . .
ack-ack-ack!
on their way from Constance to a meeting of Party leaders on the other side of the Pzimflingen . . . oh, a very secret meeting . . . but not so secret that they hadn't picked him up . . . and shot him to pieces! . . . if they didn't come down on Pétain's outing, Pétain and his crowd, it's because they had different orders . . . the order was to get Doriot . . . no question! . . . I doubt if they had any orders about me, nothing special . . . I was "routine" . . . "keep 'em off the roads!" . . . the Boches and the English were the same! . . . "keep em off the roads!" Anything that moves:
ping!
. . . in a word, we weren't supposed to get off alive! the shuppos on the ground, the R.A.F. Marauders up top . . . fire! at us! But in spite of the shuppos whistling and yelling at her:
Komm! Komm!
and the ricochets from the sky, Lili always came out to join me . . . the danger appealed to her, I've got to admit . . . it didn't appeal to me . . . when I left the Löwen, I told her: "Stay here, Lili! Don't move! Tell the other patients I'll be right back! . . . stay with Madame Raumnitz . . . don't stay alone!"

I, ordinarily such a boor, was all gallantry . . .

"Madame Raumnitz, won't you please sit down? . . . Stay with Lili just a little while? I'm going to the
Milice
. . ."

Madame Raumnitz had her troubles, too . . .

"Yes, Doctor, yes, I'll stay . . . but if you see Hilda, please tell her to come home . . . quickly! . . . I've been waiting for her since last night . . ."

"Yes, Madame Raumnitz, certainly! Count on me!"

I had a good idea where Hilda von Raumnitz would be . . . and two, three little friends . . . the nymphettes of Siegmaringen . . . well-bred, well-fed girls of excellent military or diplomatic family . . . who had never wanted for anything . . . naturally at that age, in that cold bracing air, their lollypops itched . . . that's the desperate age . . . from fourteen to seventeen . . . and these deluxe little dolls . . . sheltered and pampered . . . weren't the only ones . . . it was the same with the poor devils! . . . different pretexts, homesickness, the constant danger, the sleepless nights, the rutting males! . . . poor devils themselves . . . and ragged! and lustful! and so passionate! every clump of bushes! every street corner! fourteen to seventeen . . . the desperate age, especially for girls! . . . but the girls in this very particular place . . . homesickness, the constant danger, the rutting men on every sidewalk . . . weren't the only ones . . . same thing on the rue Bergère or the place Blanche! . . . for a cigarette . . . for two cents worth of blah blah . . . Heartbreak, idleness, and sex go together . . . and not only the kids . . . grown women and grandmothers! naturally they're most passionate . . . fire in their twats . . . at times when the page is turning . . . when History brings all the nuts together, opens its Epic Dance Halls! hats and heads in the whirlwind! panties overboard! when the Fifis lead their oxen to slaughter! and Corpechot is Master of the Danube! I knew I'd find Hilda and her crowd at the station . . . sure thing! teenage spylets, soldiers, ministers' daughters, and gatekeepers all in a heap . . . in the waiting rooms! the attraction of fresh meat and troop trains, plus the piano and the field kitchens, you can imagine the orgies! something a little hotter than the poor garrulous little jerkoffs at the Seventeen Magots and Neuilly! . . . hunger and phosphorus make people rut and sperm and surrender without looking! pure happiness! no more hunger, cancer or clap! . . . the station packed with eternity! . . . the planes crisscrossing overhead! . . . dropping thunder! and the whole waiting room and the buffet exchanging lice, scabies, syphilis, and love! females, pigtails, expectant mothers of all ages, grandmothers, soldiers! every army and every branch of service, from the fifty trains in the shunting station . . . the whole buffet singing in chorus!
Marleen! lal la! G-sharp! 
. . . in three or four voices! passionately! and enlaced! . . . lying in the chairs! . . . three on the pianist's lap! three of my pregnant women! . . . and naturally, to top it off, plenty of bread! Army bread! and full mess kits! without tickets! you can imagine that the girls weren't particular! . . . four field kitchens full of kettles between trains . . . help yourself on the platforms! the Siegmar switching yards, munitions trains, really the most explosive spot in all South Württemberg . . . Freiburg-Italy . . . three switches and all these trains! gasoline, cartridges, bombs! . . . enough to blow the whole countryside as far as Ulm . . . sky-high . . . blow the planes out of the sky . . . Well, you can see I had my work cut out for me, fighting for Hilda's virtue, keep her from getting laid under a train . . .
"Love is a gypsy child!
. . ." Okay . . . so you're sorry for me! . . . nevertheless, duty comes first . . . first Luther! . . . three, four consultants . . . Boche . . . French . . . and then straight to the
Milice
. . . right next door . . . There I see two, three bed patients . . . two prescriptions and some urine analyses . . . Don't ask me if I knew the pharmacist
Hofapotek
Hans Richter! . . . if I didn't go for the medicines and the results of the urine analyses myself, I could wait all year! . . . he sabotages me! . . . maybe he's anti-Hitler . . . he's certainly anti-French . . . And as usual I'm perfectly "regular" . . . I only prescribe absolutely reliable medicines that have been in the Codex for at least fifty years . . . here it's the Pharmacopia of the
Reichsgesundheitsamt
. . . thirty-two prescriptions . . . oh, an excellent selection, quite sufficient!
Reichsprecept!
. . . I'll even say, I make no bones, that we ought to take a cue in our wasteful! pretentious! idiotic France! . . . Conti, the minister of public health who wrote that Reichsprecept, was convicted in Nuremberg of genocide . . . witnessed, authenticated . . . a kind of Truman . . . and hanged! (not Truman) . . . all the same his Reichsprecept deserves to survive him . . . at the lowest figure, rock-bottom minimum, we (eternal France) would save three hundred billion a year . . . and our patients would be a good deal better off! less hysterical, egotistical, and poisoned! . . . I know what I'm talking about . . .

That's all very well! . . . but the
Milice
? . . . the barracks come after the Danube dike . . . the enormous embankment of stones, bricks, and trees that protects the road . . . I'll show you the
Milice
, three big Adrian barracks . . . and a little shack, the guardhouse! . . . the most imposing thing of all is the enormous tricolor flag at the top of its pole! . . . the
Milice
covered itself with glory on its retreat to Siegmaringen, through five or six armies of partisans . . . the retreat from Berg-op-Zoom to Biarritz wasn't the only one! . . . gready overestimated! France has known plenty of retreats! every type and style! . . . in less than twenty years!

All right, I admit . . . my prescriptions may have been useless . . . even the drugs from the Reichsprecept . . . probably . . .
Apotek
Richter was out of everything! Not to mention his ill-will . . . As far as he was concerned the whole lot of us,
Miliciens
, bigshots from the Castle, embroidered generals, "
collabos
" in rags, spying housemaids, and haughty ministresses, plus the sick and dying at the
Fidelis
, were abject filth . . . fit for the garbage pail! that was definitely Hans Bichter's opinion! . . . same as the heroes of London, Brazzaville, and Montmartre! "Hang the whole shooting match! . . ." When I absolutely wanted him to fill a prescription, I went there in person and made him find the stuff! . . . I didn't waste time . . .
"für den Sturmführer von Raumnitz!"
. . . no nonsense! he found it! . . . I took it . . . he believed me . . . or maybe he didn't . . . but he was afraid to take the chance . . . every time the same racket:
für den Sturmführer!
. . . straight to the solar plexus! . . . unfortunately, solar plexus or not, no morphine! or camphorated oil! and those were my principal weapons! . . . he really had nothing left! . . . he wasn't lying, I knew it because the young ladies told me . . . his assistants . . . young ladies are always glad to betray . . . all young ladies . . . for a little friendliness . . . take it from me . . .
marivaudage
is our amiable secret weapon! . . . America, Asia, Central Europe never had their Marivaux . . . look how heavy, how elephantine they are! those loutish manners! anyway, I knew through the young ladies and Marivaux that Richter was really out of morphine . . . I managed to get some anyway! responsible and devoted as I am! heart of gold! much thanks it got me! . . . morphine! . . . morphine! . . . my head on the block! the worst stratagems! for the exercise of my art and the last resource of the dying! morphine! . . . morphine! . . . oh, not easily, I assure you! . . . through runners! . . . gangsters, the worst kind of pirates . . . between the Kraut and the Helvetian police! I'll tell you about them . . . and out of my own pocket . . . no two ways about it . . . I ruined myself in Germany on Swiss medicines alone . . . naturally I can't expect anything from de Gaulle, some indemnity or diploma, or from Monsieur Mollet . . . they agree with Herr Richter that it would have been a blessing if the Bodies had hanged me . . . Achille has the same idea! . . . his motive is my magnificent works . . . the way they'll
boom!
the other publishers ditto! the least I could have done was to end in the big house, and even now they do everything in their power to make me turn on the gas . . . they see me wasting away . . . "how long do you think he'll last? . . . six months? . . . two years?" . . . They're worried . . . "Ah, he's out for publicity . . . well, why doesn't he get himself some? The coward! the stinker!" They see my book gushing up from the cellars when I'm dead! . . . happy days for Hachette!

Whoa there, Bessie! My mare's running away! . . . where am I taking you now? . . . I'm sidetracking you . . . I was coming away from Luther, then the
Milice
barracks . . . exactly! now it's time to get Hilda back to her mother . . . no more horsing around . . . she must be in the waiting room with her little friends . . . The times I'd chased them out of that buffet! . . .the lousy little delinquents! . . . lectured them that this was no place for them! nor the field kitchens! nor for the pregnant women either! . . . more frantic than all the rest! . . . food, mess kits, bread! "Make her come home! . . . spank her! Do anything you want, only make her come home! . . ." So you see, I was used to it. "Get the hell out of here!" It made them laugh to hear me curse and swear . . . they'd run away, they'd frisk and gallop . . . and two seconds later I'd find them in another huddle . . .
Lili Marleen
, men all around them, in the buffet or the doors of the artillery trains . . . they ran away again . . . I was the big bad wolf . . . I didn't mind that . . . but her father? maybe he'd think I was in cahoots . . . that would be the end of our friendly . . . well almost friendly . . . relations . . . Oh, I've had lots of experience of these lousy rotten situations . . . these icebergs about to capsize . . . God knows that the Germans are mean . . . especially the vons! . . . unctuous, amiable, and ghastly! . . . the station was part of my beat, the medical aspect, first-aid station, refugees . . . naturally that took in the waiting rooms and the prostitution! I was expected to keep things under control! . . . with what equipment? . . . none! . . . everything was missing! . . . sulphur for scabies . . . salvarsan for syphilis . . . nothing! . . . condoms? . . . not a trace! . . . a perpetual headache . . . and now Hilda! . . . I felt like a damn fool! . . . I'm talking about the troops in transit, all those trains that come and go for so-called reasons . . . there are no reasons . . . it's a tradition! . . . all countries at war are the same, trains full of troops in transit, going somewhere . . . and coming back from somewhere else . . . the dance of the switches! poetry! . . . flesh was made to be on the move! the perpetual coming and going isn't just in the sky . . . same on the rails, train after train . . . endless trains . . . soldiers and soldiers . . . every branch of service, every nation . . . and prisoners . . . barefoot, their feet hanging out . . . sitting in the doors . . . hungry too! always hungry! and horny! . . . and singing
Lili Marleen!
. . . Montenegrins, Czechoslovakians, Vlasoff's army, Balto-Finns, soldiers of the European ragout! . . . of twenty-seven armies . . . don't let them stay in one place! let them sing! bump! travel! and armored trains, cannon the size of a house, bristling giants! . . . dinosaur cannon with two, three locomotives apiece . . . And always more trains, one after the other . . . engineers, artillery . . . and still more . . . whole armies! with their hairy, bare feet sticking out! . . . yelling, demanding girls! . . . they can't stand it any more! . . . if s coming up too hard! . . . which gives you an idea of the traffic: upstairs the Armadas, London-Munich-Vienna . . . downstairs the troop and supply trains, armed meat, hardware, Frankfort, Saxony, Italy via the Brenner . . . it would have been child's play for them, one bomb, to blow up the whole station! . . . marmalade! . . . blow the whole mess to pieces! . . . no! . . . it had to go on! the worst part of it was that all these trains stayed there switching and shunting . . . right in the station! for hours! . . . and whole nights! . . . under the sheds . . . they'd pull out . . . and come back! the line was cut! . . . the switches demolished! . . . had to start all over again! more soldiers around the piano! . . . my unmarried mothers on other laps! . . . the party went right on! the same bedlam as at the
Löwen
on our landing, outside the crapper, but here everybody was in uniform and barefoot . . . no time to put shoes on, too much of a hurry to get out of those cars and kiss my big-bellied beauties and join the chorus! and better things to eat than our kohlrabi! . . . the joy of my little scuppers! big mess kits full of sausage and potatoes! . . . real fat, real butter, all you could eat . . . ah, those field kitchens!