North (16 page)

Impossible, Harras! impossible!"

Sure thing, at noon next day . . . the big Mercedes . . . another farewell scene, hugs and kisses all around . . . the little Polish girls and Le Vigan crying . . . all very sad . . . the supervisor's crying too . . . the
Volksturms
too . . . used to us already . . . the typists trot out loaded with bouquets, chrysanthemums, ivy . . . daisies, why not wreaths? . . . we pile into the Mercedes . . . we tear ourselves away from the embraces . . . Harras starts up . . . and off we go! . . . not the same road as Felixruhe . . . direction northeast . . . there's the sign, Moorsburg a hundred kilometers, can't go wrong, right fork, northeast . . . this must have been a good road, but all cracked up now . . . dangerous in fact . . . luckily Harras doesn't drive fast . . . we pass through a suburb . . . two suburbs . . . fields . . . beets . . . alfalfa . . . not very hilly . . . almost flat . . . at fifteen mph we won't break anything . . . we can hear the sirens . . . faintly, far away . . . alert . . . all clear . . . bombs too . . . bombs, the heart of war! . . .
booom! oo-oo-oo

"
In two weeks it'll be serious . . . you won't see it!" 

I hadn't said anything . . . I was thinking about his Moorsburg . . . lovely place it must be and some reception we'd get even with our big bouquets . . . I don't care for the sticks and I know why . . . every stranger's suspect, what could we look forward to? . . . and in Prussia? in France it would have been a lot worse, that's for sure! . . . Moorsburg? . . . Harras's high protection wouldn't do us much good . . . probably make them bate us worse . . . did Harras have any illusions? I doubt it . . . he was getting rid of us . . . he had no choice . . . this place we're headed for is a God-forsaken hole . . . he shows me on the map: Zornhof . . . a name to remember: Zornhof . . . map or no map, we were headed for disaster . . . not bad if we were extras, just extras . . . in two weeks the heavy bombing would start in again . . . he assured me . . . I couldn't see why . . . our troubles were real . . .

Taking it very slow . . . we get there just the same . . . a turn up ahead . . .

"Moorsburg?"

Yes . . . we'd taken three hours . . . he'd told me about the place, how picturesque . . . the truth . . . three . . . four Place Vendômes in a county seat, Frederick needed them to drill his thugs . . . and for executions! . . . from every window you could see the drilling . . . brutal! . . . and the executioner at work . . . the floggings . . . free show! . . . a thousand times juicier than our pathetic jerk-off sessions in dark halls . . . people happy! . . . cannon fodder toeing the line! any playwright will tell you . . . the trouble they have drawing a crowd . . . filling three rows in the orchestra . . . with all the ballyhoo! . . . sexhibitions, banner headlines, stripteasing ushers, doormen falling all over themselves! . . . hill of beans! . . . the only reliable drawing card is blood, bowels hanging out! . . . vivisection! . . . guts all over the stage! . . . dead and dying! . . . no gladiators: yawns! a disemboweled gladiator: orgasms! . . . there in the big bus I could see us panting and gasping . . . clearly branded on the shoulder with our Article 75 . . .

"You seem pensive, Céline .. ."

I wasn't talking . . . I hadn't opened my mouth since Grünwald . . . neither had the two others . . .

"Not bad, Moorsburg . . ."

Trying to be friendly . . .

"Oh, you'll come here often! right near Zornhof! . . . four miles . . . a stroll . . . but right now I'll have to introduce you to the
Landrat
. . ."

He stops the car . . .

I'd better warn you, Count Otto von Simmer isn't exactly young . . . or congenial . . . he's a "reserve"
Landrat
, so to speak . . . Prussian aristocracy, his father was governor of the Grand Duchy of "North and Schleswig" . . . he himself was a colonel in the last war, fought at Verdun, as a foot uhlan, wounded at Douaumont . . . he limps, you'll see, and he doesn't like the French at all, or the Russians, or the Nazis, or the Poles, or anybody, else . . . I believe, though, that he's rather fond of Baroness von Leiden . . . you'll see him there at Zornhof . . . you'll enjoy yourself . . . don't tell me about it . . . he hates me, first because I'm younger than he is, second because I'm a doctor, third because I'm in the SS, and fourth because I see the baroness . . . all the same I'm going to introduce you, indispensable!"

Another big square . . . another . . . here it is! . . . two elderly guards in civilian clothes . . . blunderbuses, armbands . . . the
Landrat's
mansion . . .

"Wait here . . . I'll go up and tell him . . . hell come down . . . if he feels like it. . ."

The guards at attention! Harras goes in . . . ten minutes . . . he comes, down with the
Landrat
. . . old buzzard, at least seventy, needs a shave, bad humor, picklepuss . . . comes out to look us over . . . first me, then the two others . . . a flick of the hand and
b'jour
. . .
b'jour
in French . . . now I can see his face close up, wrinkles and hairs . . . delicate though, a certain beauty . . . almost feminine, like an old woman . . . gray eyes, pure gray . . . oh, but steady, nothing old about them . . .

"They're going to the von Leidens?"

"Yes, I'm taking them."

"Gut! . . . gut!"

Shakes hands all around. . . that's it! . . . military salute! . . . bows to Lili! . . . and about-face! . . . in and up the steps . . . trouble climbing . . . he limps worse than me . . . fracture of the hip I'd say . . . he disappears . . . I haven't mentioned his outfit . . . colonel's dolman with brandenburgs . . . boots with gold braid, gold spurs, William II moustaches, but measly, two tufts . . .

"He wouldn't be bad in a ballet!"

"What ballet?"

"Ballet Russe, 1912, at the Châtelet!"

"Think so? . . . you'll see the one at Zornhof! better still for your ballet! . . . and even older! . . . this one is nothing!"

Sounds promising . . . let's go! this Moorsburg is a very small town except for those Place Vendômes . . . a quarter of Chartres on a very flat plain, all sand and clay . . . practically no cattle, no meadows . . . only ponds, rushes . . . but plenty of geese, ducks, hens! . . . right in the middle, of Moorsburg, all over the streets . . .

"They're not to eat!
verboten!
. . . none of them! . . . later! . . . later! . . . after Christmas!"

"You don't have to tell me that . . . in the first place we're very light eaters . . . we won't touch them . . . even after Christmas . . ."

"The geese won't hurt you, Céline . . . but watch out for that old clown!"

"Simmer?"

"I didn't show him to you for nothing . . ."

Ah, here we are! . . . Zornhof! more geese! millions of them! . . . flying up from every puddle . . . a few cows . . . an enormous park . . . there at the edge a small manor house with round towers . . .

"This park was designed by Mansard . . . before the Revocation . . . no Huguenots here! . . . the von Leidens are Lutherans . . . fine family . . . manor house, arms and dovecote!"

Mansard, it's a fact, had made the best of this chunk of plain, all yellow muck and cinders . . . splendid trees! . . . in among these tall ash trees, on this gracefully curving walk, you really felt you were entering an abode of charm . . .

For all his gross Teutonic ways Harras had seen it . . .

"Over here Versailles, Céline! on this side the manor! . . . on the other side the steppe! . . . Russia! . . . the East!"

He leads us through the gardens, around the little lake . . . yes, on one side you could say Versailles . . . the semi-grand marble stairway . . . with two bronze lions . . . on the other side the plain . . . the steppe, as he says . . . a really endless plain . . .

"As far as the Urals!"

Lines of enormous oak trees . . . ponds . . . but right there under the windows, on the plain, the Ural side, we see a small marsh . . . muck and grass . . . they must have been trying to fill it in . . .

"Now let's look inside . . . see what preparations they've made for us! and call on the
Rittmeister
. . . if it's all right with you, colleague?"

"Certainly! Certainly, Harras!"

"Rittmeister
von Leiden!"

He announces . . . I don't see him . . . but I see two . . . three little girls who are very much amused at our arrival! giggles! . . . . they're practically in rags and barefoot . . . but not unhappy! barefoot and long hair . . . they must be about ten . . . maybe twelve years old . . . Polish or Russian . . . I ask . . .

"Little Ukrainian girls! . . . they're his soubrettes, he's got five of them! . . . they amuse him! he spanks them! for fun! they whip him! for fun! . . . they get along fine! . . . none of your hateful squires like the one you just met! . . . except with his dog Iago! . . . you'll see Iago!"

The little girls open the doors for us . . . all five of them . . . something else to laugh about! guffaws! they open the doors wide! . . . monumental! everything's good for a laugh! . . . especially us! . . . ah, here he is, the
Rittmeister
in his study!

"Bitte! bitte! Kindern!
children!"

He tries to calm them down . . . he can keep trying . . . now they're after us . . . tugging at our bags, our straps . . . especially Bébert's bag . . . Harras steps in . . .

"Ruhe!
. . . quiet!"

The old man in his study implores him . . . not to mistreat his little girls! . . . his little girls are uncontrollable . . . they pinch, they scream, they all want to pet Bébert . . . they're impossible . . . Lili lets them pet Bébert . . . that'll keep them busy . . . now we can introduce ourselves to Baron von Leiden! . . . oh, a lot more gracious than the
Landrat!
. . . he speaks French, studied at the Sorbonne before the war of 1870 . . . he stands up, he can't wait to talk about Paris . . . the wonderful time he had! he takes off his bonnet, bald as a billiard ball, he rolls and pitches, merrily, merrily, bandy legs, another horseman . . . like the
Landrat
in Moorsburg, a Uhlan too, that's how it was in Paris! he chows us!
comme ça, comme ça!
. . . he was a waltzer! . . . he can still do it! . . . and a skater too! the Palais de Glace! . . . he shows us the way he waltzed and skated! . . . the movements! . . . bandy-legged across the whole enormous room . . . and he hums, he's the band! . . . the kids are splitting a gut! . . . oh, not at all like the
Landrat!
. . . he slips and catches himself on a chair . . . he makes us laugh too! the five kids are rolling on the floor, he's so funny when he acts silly, it makes them pee in their pants! He bumps into the furniture . . . he sails from one armchair to the next! really comical! . . . All of a sudden it's over, he stops, they're laughing too much! stock still on his bandy legs! . . . he's thinking . . . ah, he's going to show us our rooms . . . enough foolishness! the two of us, Lili and me, in the court! well see! . . . off we go! . . . he has trouble walking! . . . he's waltzed too much! . . . I see him there, as gnarled as die Landrat, but not edgy, not hateful, just the opposite, a charming host. . . only bard on his dog Harras has told me. . . now to our pads . . . we climb . . .rough on him too . . . big stone steps . . . here we are! . . . a circular cell, gloomy, a folding bed, a basin, a pitcher, that's all. . . much less than in Grünwald, a cross between a monastery and a prison . . .

"You know, Céline, it's only temporary . . ." 

"Oh, of course, Harras, of course . . ."

I wasn't going to sulk, neither was Lili . . . but now Le Vig? . . . down again . . . the stone stairway . . . and then another . . . Le Vig's hole is next to the kitchens . . . in the cellar . . . we look . . . another folding bed, a straw tick; and a little pitcher . . . worse than us, all in all . . . except that he looks out on the plain, or rather on the weed pond, we've got the park, the ash trees . . . but through a dismal slit . . . Le Vig it's bars . . . so what? . . . so nothing . . . once you're launched on the "misfortunes of war" all you can do is turn the page . . . to another misfortune . . . and another! . . . "ohs" and "ahs" won't help you . . . no great surprise, you don't expect to be rocked to sleep, coddled with tidbits . . . you've got into this, you shouldn't have! . . . think of the Roman gladiator, the hoots and catcalls if he didn't expose his whole throat! . . . where does that leave you? . . . every kind of criminal, now and forever! . . . don't kid yourself . . . your goose is cooked! . . .

Maybe Harras had pulled a fast one . . . he had his bosses too, invisible super-
Obers
. . . who had their eyes on him . . . witness those mikes in Grünwald, every wall every armchair . . . the Chancellery? . . . or Conti, the minister? . . . maybe he'd done his best . . . just a stopgap . . . while we were making up out minds . . . Good God, to what? . . . was there any choice? . . . Le Vigan in propaganda, like Ferdonnet ° . . . me, a factory doctor . . . we weren't very eager, either of us . . . what would you have done in our place? . . . "shouldn't have left Paris! what were you doing in Berlin?" . . . very true! . . . no business there! especially me, since September 1914 I've known all about it! not from books, from experience . . . the best lessons in the most expensive schools are no use . . . this proves it! . . . the minute I laid eyes on Zornhof, from the distance, I said to myself, this is it! you've seen the East and serves you right! . . . a more blithering grotesque imbecile than forty million Frenchmen! who at least know how to turn their coats! retreat, run the other way with their drawers full of shit and pick themselves up covered with glory, models of honor! feast your eyes! bloated with miraculous endowments, gilt-edged hereditary prebends, enough to snow the Gotha under! . . . "Ferdie boy, you dumb jerk, paying for everybody, you never going to stop? . . . Well, you've got something to look forward to . . . turning pages . . . plenty of pages! you'll never see anything else! . . . lucid or not, you're sunk!''