North (52 page)

She wades over to the magistrate . . . through the mud . . . she speaks to him . . . he takes his monocle out of his vest pocket and examines us . . . they talk and talk! they're stuck in the mud, both of them! . . . they take each other's arms, they pull each other out . . . they come back . . . they pass right near us . . . not a word . . . as if we didn't exist . . . fine! . . . perfect! . . . in that case we can go upstairs, but just then: hey! hey! . . . Kracht stops me . . . an order! for us! . . . to move! immediately! . . . the examining magistrate is taking the drawing room . . . for himself and his four
Wehrmacht
soldiers . . . I should drop in morning and evening to look after the
Revizor
. . . and bring him his messkit . . . but no more!. . . we should stay in our tower . . . and wait!. . . we'd been pretty comfortable in the drawing room . . . the amiable Marie-Thérèse had blackened us . . . oh, very amiably. . . that's what she'd been saying to the beaver . . . I think it over for half a second . . . I say to Lili and Le Vig:

"Go upstairs, you two . . . straighten the place out a bit . . . I'll join you . . . just a little injection . . ."

An idea . . . the
Revizor
must know who this examining beaver magistrate is . . . I knock at the drawing room, I go in . . . nobody there but the
Revizor
flat on his stretcher . . . nothing's been moved . . . the
Revizor
sees me . . . he asks me . . .

"Untersuchung?
. . . the investigation?"

"Ja! ja!"

I ask the next one . . .

"The fat man? . . .
dieser dicke?"

"Ja! ja!"

"Who is he?"

"I know him . . . he used to be a hairdresser . . . on Gegmerstrasse . . . before Hitler . . . he was an agitator! you know . . .
politik!"

"Nein! nein!"

I don't want him to tell me any more . . . that's enough . . .

"Your arm . . ."

I examine it . . . and his leg . . . right, a fracture of the lower fibula . . . I'll make him a little contraption with two splints . . . he'll be able to walk . . . with a cane . . . or two canes . . . it won't be pretty, but better than nothing . . . I tell him . . .

"You'll walk!
spazieren!"

"Oh
danke! . . . danke!"

Delighted! . . . but then his obsession! . . .

"Die Frauen! die Frauen!
the women!"

Afraid the furies will come back!

"Nein! nein! kaput! alle kaput!"

I comfort him . . .
boom! boom! 
. . . for the laugh . . . I can imitate the bombs too! . . . I know about morale, I know its laws! . . . the worse is for the better! . . .

"I'll come back and see you this afternoon, Herr
Revizor!
boom!
. . . are you hungry? hunger?"

"Ja! ja! very! . . . sehr!"

I'll bring him his messkit . . . if the examining hairdresser magistrate is here, well see . . . he and his
Wehrmächts . . .

The minute I get up from our straw I say to myself: the
Revizor!
. . . him first! . . . no trouble waking up, I'd been waiting for daylight . . . actually it's still dark . . . four o'clock by my timepiece . . . I'm ahead of the game! . . . I go down, I open the door, I go into the drawing room . . . nothing! . . . no beaver, no sentries . . . only the
Revizor
flat on his ass . . . he speaks to me . . . he's fallen off his stretcher trying to pee . . . he's lying on the floor . . . he fills me in . . .

"They didn't even come . . . they've left, they were afraid!"

In a car?"

"Nein! nein! . . . zu fuss!
on foot! sofort!. . . right away! . . .
ein! . . . zwei!"

He's imitating them, he's laughing and it hurts . . .
ein zwei!
in cadence! . . . I pick him up, I put him back on his stretcher . . . I ask him . . .

"Afraid of what?"

"Die Frauen!
. . . the women!"

His mania! . . . no women around here . . . they're far away . . . the man's haunted! . . . the memory of that massage!

"They're in Hamburg by now!"

That ought to cheer him up! . . . Hamburg is at least two hundred miles . . .

"But otherwise . . . you've had a good night?"

His legs?. . . his ribs? . . . his brain? . . . yes, very good! . . . not too much pain . . . but how was he going to get up? . . . he didn't want to break something else . . . no! no! I'll help him! . . . I'll be back with the equipment . . . I'll bring my syringe and fix his fracture! but he mustn't move!

"Will it hurt?"

"Oh, not at all but now I'm leaving you! . . . it can't be helped!"

"Are you going to the funeral?"

"I think so . . . I think so . . ."

I embrace him and leave . . . they've already assembled! . . . fifty or sixty of them . . . the
bibelforschers
with picks and shovels . . . no manpower shortage . . . at least an hour ahead of time! . . . so are we, the three of us, and Kracht . . . with his "torches"! . . . I can see that everything's ready in the graveyard, they've been digging all night, these convicts of ours don't lie down on the job . . . felling trees, putting up a theater, getting a graveyard ready, they're on the spot . . . hard-working, efficient, and not a word! . . . how many of them? . . . no way of knowing . . . I see the coffins . . . three of them . . . planed and nailed . . . ready to ship, so to speak . . . side by side . . . each with its name . . . no, not the name! the initials . . . in red . . . two big LS's . . . that must be
Landrat
Simmer . . . an L . . . von Leiden . . . the cripple . . . and then a big R . . . the third coffin . . . the
Rittmeister
. . . to recognize them by . . . and now: fall in! rows of three like the German Army . . . except they've got picks and shovels over their shoulder . . . special squads for the coffins . . . four
bibels
under each one . . . little by little, it's getting lighter, I see they've put on their Sunday best, their A-1 overalls with violet, yellow, and red stripes . . . their wooden shoes scraped and planed, clean and shipshape! . . . how'd they find time to do all that? . . . I look at the three of us . . . and even Kracht! our outfits . . . horrible! . . . they weren't on vacation . . . they'd been digging all night! . . . when it comes to work, I hate to say it, but there's no other choice:
bibelforscher
or bench warmer! . . . forward march! . . . off we go! the three coffins one behind the other . . . then the
bibels
with their picks . . . then Le Vig, Lili, and me . . . and then Kracht with his "torches" and his revolver . . . he's on his guard, he's right . . . all these convicts with their picks and shovels could perfectly well evaporate . . . they're religious, yes . . . but suppose they panic! . . . especially with those planes overhead . . . suppose a Marauder breaks away from the pack, dives and sprays our funeral . . . they'll all go over the hill! . . . and try to find them! . . . on the road more people join us . . . prisoners, workers . . . and some others I don't know . . . we'll be quite a crowd in the graveyard! we pass the church . . . just then I hear a drum from behind a bush . . . everybody looks around . . . we hadn't heard it for months . . . Hjalmar back? . . . and then a song, a hymn . . . well, kind of . . . could the pastor be back too? . . . naturally our people go and see . . . believe it or not! . . . it's them! . . . Hjalmar and Pastor Rieder! one beating the drum, the other singing! where have they been all this time? . . . the people ask them . . . so does Kracht . . . they don't answer . . . but it's them all right! . . . the pastor doesn't sing in tune any more . . . far from it . . . Hjalmar has covered his drum with crape . . . three thicknesses! . . . where did he find the crape? . . . his rolls sound muffled . . . very muffled . . . what would you expect? . . .
d-r-r-r!
 
d-r-r-r! 
. . . a dirge! . . . now we can see them plainly . . . the pastor has put on his ruff . . . his big ruffed collar . . . his black gown is practically green, it's taken a lot of rain . . . Hjalmar looks very ragged, but no worse than before . . . maybe a little worse . . . knee pants, like an elderly hoy scout . . . his shoes don't match, one half-length boot, one pump . . . oh, but the shoulder belt makes up for everything . . . polished, resplendent . . . they're clean-shaven, a lot cleaner than us! . . . where have they been living? at least two months since they'd faded . . . they hadn't put on weight, but they weren't so skinny either, they'd kept body and soul together . . . what everybody wanted to know was how! . . . they weren't saying . . . not a word! . . . the pastor sang, the! other did his
d-r-r-r
. . . and that's all . . . they'd joined the procession right after the
bibels
with the picks . . . in addition to singing, the pastor had an enormous book under his arm . . . must nave been the Bible . . . the housewives were making remarks . . . they were both nuts, but the pastor was responsible for the hives . . . and he'd deserted them! abandoned them! and the bees were gone! that yellow-bellied sabotaging Pastor Rieder! . . . all very well for him to sing, but they had certain dungs to say too!
"honig! . . . honig!
honey!" . . . he ought to be arrested! . . . him and his accomplice! . . . and hanged on the spot! . . . both of them! . . .
honig! honig!
. . . no need of coffins . . . "just chuck them in the hole" right now! . . .
honig! honig!
but that didn't trouble the pastor and his friend in the feast . . . perfectly calm . . . perfectly calm . . . the one with his drum, the other with his hymns, they followed the coffins . . . you'd have taken them for men from nowhere, a little like Le Vig . . . ah, here we are! . . . the graveyard . . . a hedge . . . and on the other side a sandy slope . . . and tombstones . . . little ones . . . big ones . . . names . . . German . . . all German! . . . no French like in Felixruhe . . . I see the trench . . . wide and deep! . . . big enough for twenty coffins . . . at least! those
bibels
haven't been sleeping! . . . hoopla! the coffins are lowered! . . . and in less than five minutes the whole thing is filled in! . . . those mighty gravediggers! something to see . . . the pastor's stopped singing, he's opened his enormous book, Hjalmar's holding it, he's the lectern . . . the pastor reads . . . he recites . . . the
bibels
don't stand there twiddling their thumbs . . . always active . . . they tamp down the mound . . . the sand . . . the finishing touches . . . they put up the tombstones . . . all the people around them . . . the housewives keep repeating . . . and not in a whisper! . . . "pigs!
honig!
saboteurs! cowards!" . . . for Rieder's benefit . . . the other one's too, the lectern . . . it doesn't faze them . . . the ceremony's over . . . the
bibels
smooth down the ground . . . clouds of sparrows fly down, and titmice . . . all that earth turned over . . . the worms . . . you've got to be a bird to see those little worms . . . the whole sky seems to be flying! . . . big party! . . . robins too! . . . and crows and gulls! . . . Lili and the one-armed sergeant clap their hands . . . to chase away the crows . . . the pastor, has finally finished reciting . . . he closes his big book . . . the housewives are still blasting him: "pig! thief! . . . yellow-belly!" . . .
d-r-r-r!
Hjalmar starts drumming again, and they amble away . . . up toward the birch woods above the graveyard, nobody runs after them! . . . we thought maybe . . . Kracht doesn't see the point . . .
"kein Sinn!
no sense!" . . . why should I be more curious than he is? . . . the housewives are still yelling
"honig! honig!"
. . . the hives are empty . . . he and the other down have taken it all away with them! . . . and we're cowards too! . . . and accomplices! . . . all the honey in Zornhof! 

"Over there! over there!"

I say . . . they could see the pastor and his pal . . . as well as we did . . . under the birches! . . . why didn't they chase alter them?

The
bibels
were all in, they wanted to get back to their isbas quick! . . . so did we! . . . and the Gypsies to their wagon! . . . the three of us were the last . . . Bébert in his bag, Lili, me, and Le Vig . . . Lili points . . . the pastor and Hjalmar out on the plain after the birch woods . . . in the north, the other field . . . they must have an idea . . .

"You think so? . . . you think so?"

"Not very hard to be smarter than us!"

Talking about ideas . . . Le Vig . . . curses! . . .

"Look here, Le Vig, promise not to say that again!"

"What?"

"That you killed the
Landrat 
. . ."

"I said that?"

"You said it all right! you yelled it! at the magistrate!"

"Ferdie! Ferdie, you're sick!"

That's a good one! . . . what's wrong with me? he shows me . . . he touches my forehead! that's where the trouble must be! . . . the consternation in his eyes!

"Well see about that, Le Vig . . . meanwhile, son, let's go home . . . I want to look at those maps . . ."

'"What maps?"

The coasts . . ."

"Won't that be lovely!"

Outside our park we stop . . . just for a moment . . . and listen . . . seems to me I can hear it . . . just a little . . . the drum . . . in the north . . . very feeble . . . could be! . . . there's a thick mist . . . or maybe they're in some gully . . . I don't mention it to Le Vig . . . or Lili . . .

Worrisome that funeral . . . of the three of us, Le Vig seemed the most shaken . . . more haggard than usual . . . and squinting . . . from wall to wall . . .

"Don't worry, Le Vig! . . . it's all over . . . nothing's going to happen!"

"Oh yes it is, Ferdie! . . . all sorts of things! . . . naturally you don't realize, you're sick!"

In the head! . . . he taps my head again . . . something wrong with it . . . he'd figured it out . . . he knew . . . no possible doubt . . .

"Mind my words, Ferdie! they'll be back!"

Who "they"? . . . better agree with him . . . and keep him quiet . . . in the straw . . .

"Listen, son . . . suppose we let them keep their
mahlzeit
. . . and their messkits . . ."

We've got enough right here . . . a bit of funny honey and half a loaf of bread . . . well go to the
Tanzhalle
this evening or tomorrow . . .

"What do you say?"

"All right with me, but what about Bébert?"

Right. . . there was nothing left for him . . . the hunchback wasn't bringing any more fish and we were out of counterfeit coupons . . . and
leberwurst
. . . the poor cat was already on short rations . . . one consolation, the
Landrat
wouldn't be able to liquidate him now! . . . he'd be busy fighting off the worms! . . . that arrogant clown! . . . we'd seen him going down with his big red L . . . to the big rendezvous . . .

"Okay, Le Vig . . . we'll fill the messkits?"

Life is chores, from end to end . . . you put them off . . . bingo, they catch up with you . . . everything forgets you . . . oblivion . . . Time does its work, but the chores . . . ah yes, Madame! . . . are always with you . . . they're rough! . . . you're fed up, they summon you, bop you, tug at you, hunt you down and kill you . . .

"And Lili, you go upstairs!''

I don't believe in haunted houses . . . but I didn't care to leave her alone in our tower cubbyhole . . . with the rats . . .

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes!"

"And you?"

I reassure her . . . we'll be back right away . . . we won't hang around in Zornhof . . . just the messkits and home again! . . . besides there'd be rumors . . . naturally we're blasé, but even so . . . more planes or less? . . .

We leave Lili . . . I feel the walls shaking . . . more? . . . or less? . . . the same . . . maybe a little more on the north side . . . it seems to me . . . the clouds are no blacker . . . Le Vig . . . I look at him . . . is squinting just as bad . . . maybe his face is a little more frozen . . . that startled look . . . he's no worse . . . here we are in the park . . . Lili's up at Marie-Thérèse's, I hope she'll be able to dance . . . maybe the piano's
verboten
during the mourning period . . . say, I wonder if the old bag's due to inherit . . . or Inge as the son's wife . . . Kracht'll tell me . . . I never understood much about all this flapdoodle . . . their titles and appanages . . . direct and in direct lines of descent . . . anyway, none of my business . . . they had laws of their own . . . all these Orders of nobility . . . one thing, though . . . the two of them dying at the same time or just about . . . the family would certainly be in mourning . . . maybe only hymns were allowed . . . and no dances . . . another thing I'm going to tell the old bag, heiress or not, is that she hadn't been to see him very much, she hadn't come down once while the Count
Rittmeister
was dying all by himself . . . the old bag was playing it safe . . . while he was kicking off! if I don't see her, I'll go up and tell her in her tower! . . . that's the only true thing in the world . . . to bide your time! to bide your time and remember all the details, and go all out! . . . plunge your rapier to the hilt! nail 'em to the wall! . . .
zing!
. . . full in the gut! . . . bust open the casing! . . . fountains of blood! all over the place! . . . and blow the horns! and sound the bagpipes!