North (36 page)

"Lesen sie! Lesen sie doch!
read it!"

He insisted . . .
Erlaubnis
. . . "Permit valid until December 30" . . . comical these checks on the future! impudence! imposture! . . . who'll be alive? where'll we be on December 30? . . . fine . . . fine and dandy! . . . All these people around the table had a kind of family resemblance . . . faces to throw tomatoes at. . . they must have had some idea . . . it seemed to me . . . some little idea in addition to the
Erlaubnis
. . . the banquet is in full swing . . . they offered us everything . . . naturally we didn't refuse, but we didn't take much . . . that's irritating! . . . the
Landrat
is irritated all right! . . . he asks Lili what she's got in her sack . . . a hiker's knapsack . . .

"Our cat Bébert, Monsieur!"

"Would you be so kind as to show me that cat?"

Lili opens the sack . . . Bébert sticks his head out . . .

"Is he pedigreed? . . . can he reproduce?"

I tell him the cat has been spayed . . .

"In that case the animal must be destroyed! . . . you know our 'ordinances' . . . animal incapable of reproduction!" . . .

And he makes the gesture of catching Bébert by the tail and bam! against the wall! . . .

Lili doesn't say a word, she puts Bébert back in his bag . . . "good-bye, Monsieur" . . . and gets up and leaves the table . . . she leaves the room . . . not a peep out of anybody . . . except the
Landrat
who thinks it's funny . . . a scream! . . .
ha-ha!
Le Vig and me don't say a word . . . time to lie low . . . we think we'll leave too . . . but politely! . . . first the apologies! . . . for ourselves . . . for Lili . . . she's very very tired . . . nervous . . . I keep an eye on the
Landrat
. . . what's he going to do? . . . they're all nuts . . . but he's got a gun in addition . . . he could perfectly well shoot us down . . . what's he got to fear? . . . Harras warned me . . . as impulsive as the cripple! . . . we back out of the room . . . maybe they've all arranged between them to rub us out right there . . .
boom!
. . . is that the idea of the banquet? . . . but so many people have been out to execute us for so long that maybe these aren't the ones yet . . . maybe it'll be somebody else . . . rain check! . . . reasons? . . . motives? . . . fiddle my sticks! who cares? you're neatly marked . . . you'll protest another day, in another life! . . . the hunted little rabbit and the brave bull . . . you expect them to stand up and say there's been a misdeal? . . . that they're being sacrificed by mistake? . . . Cut the comedy, let's be serious! . . .

Very slowly and discreetly . . . one step . . . another . . . toward the door and the stairs . . . Simmer sees us . . .

"Come, come, Doctor! . . . you're not leaving us? . . . your health!"

And Marie-Thérèse begs us to stay. . .

"To the health of your cat Bébert!"

We sit down again . . . but we'd hardly picked up the thread of the conversation . . . two three affable words . . . when I hear Lili calling us . . . from the yard outside . . . and at the same time
cackle! cackle!
two three
cackles! 
. . . hundreds! . . . and then some! from all directions! . . . all the geese on the farm! . . . the revolt of the geese! . . . a gas! . . . we look out . . . thousands of geese! . . . not just from the farm . . . from all over! furious! . . . and not a farmer! not a workman in sight! only geese! . . . they couldn't have come of their own accord! . . . all together! . . . an organized rally! somebody must have driven them! . . . somebody had brought in nettles! the whole yard was full of nettles . . . piled high! . . . mountains of nettles! . . . while we were sitting there chatting . . . those nettles hadn't grown there . . . somebody had moved them in . . . to make the geese invade the yard . . . and stuff themselves! and keep us from getting out! . . . a conspiracy! . . . ah, the
Landrat
's throwing a fit . . . stamping! . . . a plot against him! deliberate! . . . it seems he's even more detested than us! . . . first prize! . . . we don't get anybody shot, he does! and not just some riffraffity prisoners for no reason at all, Boches too, even soldiers on furlough . . . the guests were having a fine time . . . this intermezzo, the geese packing away nettles all over the yard! . . . and the
Landrat
so mad! scarlet, ready to bust! . . . intolerable!
cackle! cackle!
. . . they were mad too . . . because Lili was trying to get through their nettles with Bébert in his bag . . . I call out to her . . . "wait, we're coming! . . ." but the
Landrat
wants to be first! . . . it wasn't just the von Leiden geese, they'd come from every farm in the neighborhood! . . . who'd brought them? this army? one thing for sure, they didn't want us disturbing their feast . . . as mean as a French family eating lunch . . . ferociously touchy! . . . a tight spot! . . . nobody . . . countesses,
Rittmeister, Landrat
or SS Kracht . . . could get through! . . .
cackle! cackle! 
. . . and they needed to! . . . the outhouse! . . . and Inge and her cripple! . . . he went out on top of Nicholas, pickaback . . . they'd seen the riot from upstairs, the geese storming the nettles! . . . too risky! luckily this wasn't the only outhouse! . . . two more in the garden . . . on the opposite side, facing the northern plain . . . Inge leads everybody out that way, they're all peeing in their pants, they can't hold it . . . Inge knows the way . . . the kitchen garden . . . no geese there . . . everybody goes! . . . first the ladies . . . then the
Landrat 
. . . cursing . . . cursing . . .
"donner! donner!
thunder!" he'd wet his pants . . . you've probably noticed that after the first half-century practically everybody gets leaky, they can't keep it in . . . hence, the cruelty of long drawn-out meals and drinking sessions . . . ships and apartment houses are the same . . . everything starts to leak . . . sphincters, bladders, drain pipes, bowels . . . the half-century is merciless for ladies and gentlemen . . . worse for dogs and cats! . . . with them it comes sooner! . . . five . . . six years . . .

Le Vig, Lili, and me . . . we had a little time . . . those piles of nettles, all that cackling . . . the geese hadn't come on their own, someone had put them up to it . . . from every pond in the vicinity . . . who? why? . . . against Simmler? . . . against the vop Leidens? . . . the amazing part was that we hadn't done it, as a general rule it was always us . . . even, now, twenty years later, they don't have to look far . . . the dogs keeping people awake with their harking, the cats meowing like mad, my parrot conversing . . . the factory down below with its unholy racket and smells, the cars that climb up on the sidewalk and squash mothers and children . . . they don't have to look for the culprit! . . . now, after twenty years, I'm used to it . . . up there in Zornhof, Brandenburg, I wasn't really . . . now after twenty years it all seems normal I'm used to being accused of anything that comes up . . . Le Vig got used to it right away, practically no effort . . . but he's so prodigiously gifted! . . . a born actor . . . "Le Vig," you could say, "you killed your mummy!". . . that turned the trick . . . he'd change before, your eyes . . . into a monster facing the Assizes . . . the look, the bearing . . ."now you're Javert! . . . now you're Valjean!" ° . . . total metamorphosis . . . that's what all the hams who weren't "cut out for it" could never forgive him . . . they'd have had him the in stir, very wise of him to cross the ocean . . . so far away . . . if he wanted to be guilty, guilty he was in half a second . . . he brought you the whole scene, court-martial, scaffold, Théâtre des Champs-Elysées . . . and you felt so sad for him . . . believe me . . . anything he wanted!. . . up there I found it bard to feel guilty . . . no talent in that direction . . . and now after twenty years of bitter hardship since Zornhof! . . . I'm still not ready to confess! . . . I'm just not gifted!

Where are you headed? . . . I don't know . . . bad to worse! . . . what can I say to these obstinate bellowing hordes?

To sum up, we had the impression that everything was going from bad to worse . . . Gypsies, the von Leidens, more bombs on Berlin from day to day, the pastor disappeared, the sky blacker and blacker . . . visions of escaping? of course, but where to? . . . and how? . . . I've told you, I had my little idea . . . but I didn't talk about it . . . Lili suspected . . . I'd have to let Le Vig in on it though and Lili would have to bring down the maps . . . we were at the end of the corridor, in the barred cell next to the kitchen . . .

Knock! Knock!

"Herein! Herein!
Come in!"

"Kracht!"

He announces himself . . .

"Well, Kracht?"

Surprise! . . . Madame Inge von Leiden is calling for us at ten in the morning . . . Lili, Le Vig, and me and Bébert . . . to take us on an outing! If it's agreeable to us . . .

"Delighted! certainly, Kracht!"

In a charabanc . . . we'll go to the lakes . . . well see the sequoias . . . the famous forest . . . those tall trees . . . the only ones in Europe . . . Kracht knew all about it, he gave me the details . . . the forest wasn't as big as Madame Thor von Thorfels's, but even so, we'd see, enormous! . . . and no sequoias in Pomerania! . . . a forest unique in Europe! . . . the only other is in America . . . trees doomed to extinction, too gigantic for this day and age, six hundred feet high . . . I could see they wanted to flamdoodle the countess . . . and us too . . . because she had no sequoias on her fabulous estate . . . these trees grew here! here and nowhere else! we were in for it! the forest, the sawmill, the lakes! . . . and naturally la Thor von Thorfels wouldn't spare us for the thousandth time the story of her social activities, the battle of flowers, the Grand Prix . . . the nights at the Opera . . . all in all the same sentiments, the same memories as Madame von Dopf, just about . . .

"Splendid, Kracht! . . . We'll be ready!"

Here now as I write, what can have become of them all? . . . nobody knows . . . oh, they pretty much expected it . . . they weren't really taken in by the official tararaboom and
heil!
. . . but even so . . . ourselves not at all! . . . only I've got to admit I never thought they'd keep hunting us so long . . . two whole generations! . . . pretty near forty million children, dopes and dopesses . . . things have changed since Caesar! "They promise, they laugh, and that's all!" hell! they don't forget one, thing! . . . 

Hypocrites, fakers, crumbs!

They tell me it's completely out of date to write: "At ten o'clock the countess's charabanc drove up . . ." Damn it all! can I help it if I'm going out of date? . . . what happened happened! . . . we were completely out of date too . . . Lili, Le Vig, me, and Bébert . . . we were ready on time! . . . at the end of the peristyle! . . . the heiress Marie-Thérèse, her brother the
Rittmeister
, as tremulous as usual, his little Polish girls with bare feet, and Kracht in uniform were there too, but they'd come to see us off . . . make sure that everything went all right . . . and say good-bye and come back soon! . . . We had three big baskets crammed full! . . . rolls, ham, sausage, honey . . . everything . . . mineral water, beer, wine . . . were we going to pick up some more people on the way?. . . maybe . . . I knew we were supposed to stop somewhere . . . but pick somebody up? . . . I didn't think so . . . It would have been a nice day when we set out except that the sky was painted from one horizon to another . . . tar and sulphur . . . especially in the south and north . . . roughly, it seemed to me, from Berlin to Rostock . . . the earth was still rumbling, the whole plain, no worse but no less . . . of course you get used to being vibrated and shivered and sprayed with soot, but even so this painting from the air gives everything . . . fields, brooks, trees, manor, charabanc and horses, the countesses young and old . . . a crazy look that makes me wonder where we're going . . . picnic under the sequoias? . . . it's dark enough already! . . . I really can't see what we're going for . . . we know enough about the place already! . . . their airfield, their one-armed sergeant with the robin, the rats, the sunken airplane . . . so what's the point of this outing? . . . to give us pleasure? . . . I have my doubts! . . . all these provisions, these mounds of sandwiches, this chicken, this jam, this picnic deep in the woods . . . what have they got up their sleeve? . . . time will tell! . . . a pinch of powder in the sausage? . . . hm . . . perfectly possible . . . I whisper to Lili . . . we have to wait. . . everything isn't ready . . . the servant girls run over to the farm . . . they'll be back . . . with coats and blankets . . . chilly out there . . . so it seems . . . while I have the chance I ask Kracht . . . I don't mince my words . . . nobody can hear us . . . the far end of the peristyle . . .

"No poison in the sandwiches? . . . what do you think, Kracht? . . . special sandwiches just for us?"

He must know, the booted hypocrite! I tell him, so he can pass it on to the ladies!

"We won't touch the stuff . . . neither will Bébert . . . so what's the good of this trip? . . . so much trouble . . . it doesn't make sense, Kracht! . . . look, the mother, the daughter, the coachman, two horses! . . . all for nothing!"

We laugh . . . I haven't surprised him . . . 

"No! No, Doctor! certainly not! you have nothing to fear!"

What a comfort! . . . but he has a little request . . .

"Doctor, you can help me! Will you?"

"Certainly, Kracht!"

He whispers in my ear . . .

"Out there by the lake, if you see any signs . . . traces . . . if anybody tells you . . ."

"Yes . . . yes, Kracht, of course! the beadle, you mean?"

"Ah, you've guessed?"

I think of him all day long! . . . and Pastor Rieder! . . . and the
Revizor!"

"If you see anything . . ."

"I'll jump them! I'll bind them! I'll bring them back!"

Ah, here we are! . . . the ladies are ready!

I leave Kracht . . . oh, but he wants to be in on our departure . . . he follows me . . . we climb in . . . I sit down between Countess Thor von Thorfels and her daughter . . . Kracht shakes hands with everybody and wishes us fine weather, a fine trip, a fine everything! there! he gets out . . . and away we go!

This charabanc reminds me of Place Clichy before 1914, the barker on the running board, the races . . . "first bus for Au-teuil! the first! . . ." the appeal to the hesitant! . . . here we weren't going to Auteuil . . . what was it all about? . . . oh well, a delightful ride . . . the ladies . . . the baskets . . . we're off to a slow trot . . . I wouldn't exactly call it a road . . . not . . . a kind of track between the beets . . . very wide and sandy . . . no reason to think it would never end . . . anyway, here we are . . . pretty good shaking . . . the springs on this charabanc are very stiff . . . maybe it hasn't even got any springs . . . broken? . . . possible . . . When he slowed the horses to a walk, we joggled a little less . . . not much . . . one good thing, Countess Thor von Thorfels couldn't make me listen to her . . . her marvelous Paris days, the battle of flowers, the Pré-Catalan, Bagatelle . . . the races in Etampes . . . even at a walk the chains and axles on that charabanc made, such a clatter you couldn't possibly talk . . . I saw her open her mouth from time to time and try . . . we crossed fields . . . and more fields . . . potatoes . . . fields and fields . . . and then sand . . . plain sand . . . and stones . . . and then finally after two hours . . . a few trees . . . pines . . . a clump of woods . . . was that their hunting preserve? . . . every three four trees, high up in the branches, a little platform . . . for hunters on the lookout for foxes . . . which reminds me, when I was in prison in Copenhagen, Denmark, I met some soldiers who had served around Tromjö, they told me about the strategy of the Russian "commandos" . . . they had platforms in the treetops too . . . long distance precision firing, they'd pick off the officers and non-coms . . . I spoke about that in another book, you'll say . . . you're getting old, you're repeating yourself, you can't stop! . . . take Duhamel for instance, you won't find ten lines without his trotting out his "egregious" . . . it's a tic of old age . . . like big calves, high arches, the cult of big or little tits . . . they're with you for life! . . . Duhamel, the softsoaping stoolie, "egregious" will be with him for life . . . they'll engrave it on his tomb . . . take the next number of the
Figaro
. . . look through the columns, those mealy-mouthed meanderings . . . very surprising if you don't run across "egregious". . . it's him! it's him!

"My poor friend, you're tottering!"

Old age! just like Duhamel! but him it's every day and very well paid! me, it's for next to nothing! . . . and not every day, every four five years! . . . Duhamel the baleful belcher knew how to go about it . . . five six academies in his buttonhole! . . . can I help it if I'm senile and repetitious and my muse wobbles . . . but it's easy to pretend your memory has played you false! "Prove it! Prove it!" Okay, I will! . . . I'll prove it by starting in again on the war in Lapland . . . the Russian commandos' trick was to hide these "precision markswomen" in the branches . . . their job was to single out the officers . . .
ping
. . . they were only allowed one bullet! . . . if they were located, curtains! . . . no more dead-eyed Dora!