Rigadoon (8 page)

"There won't be anybody left in Rostock!"

Whatsisname told me through the door . . . which reminds me, he didn't breathe a word about his Nietzsche . . . only one thing on his mind . . . getting rid of us! . . . suits me! . . . anyway, we'll be seeing their Baltic! . . . and the harbor . . . we'll have two hours . . . all these people are taking the boat . . . hey, I see it! . . . I see the boat! . . . not far ahead . . . Rostock is a seaport, I'd forgotten . . . a very narrow harbor . . . the tracks go right out on the dock . . . let's go! . . . sure, all these people are taking the boat . . . we move up . . . it's a small freighter . . . great big white letters from gunwale to waterline: Denmark and no mistake . . . the two soldiers who've been following us come up . . . they motion to us: not here! . . . this way! . . . further on! . . . I see the gangplank, all those people going up, one by one . . . we push off, we pass the freighter . . . this freighter has no name, only a number: 149 . . . the sea, the beach? further on! . . . further on! right, we're getting there . . . the channel widens . . . we come to a different kind of port . . . sailboats and fishing smacks . . . here there are people . . . all along the shore . . . this must be Wamemünde . . . neither sand nor shingle . . . little black pebbles, little white pebbles . . . kind of pretty . . . except it looks like three-quarter mourning . . . and then a lot of cottages . . . all along the beach . . . baroque cottages . . . the "frivolous German" style . . . all colors . . . especially raspberry and pistachio . . . no bathers, closed shutters . . . fashionable resort, this Wamemünde . . . nothing doing right now! . . . we haven't spoken to a soul . . . nobody's come near us . . . guess they think our two soldiers are taking us somewhere . . . the season here is two weeks, the Baltic climate . . . ah, a little further on, where they've been loading fish, the Berlin train has been made up . . . let's go see! . . . two reserved compartments . . . for us, I guess . . . that'll do for the beach . . . we've seen it! . . . may as well sit down! us and the older soldier . . . take a load off our feet . . . the young one gets in next door . . . they haven't spoken to us very much . . . sitting there, we get a good view of what's going on, the other people getting in . . . ah, they're checking up! . . . at least ten uniformed cops . . . passing papers back and forth . . . stamping and restamping! asking questions . . . especially the Hungarian soldiers with the red caps . . . fine-tooth comb . . . not so easy getting to Denmark! . . . especially for us! with our guardian angels . . . I wonder what they are . . . S.A.? . . . S.S.? . . . I don't see any insignia . . . or stripes . . . I'll ask them later, right now let's admire the beach! . . . we won't have come for nothing . . . not a rough sea . . . flat gray . . . the sky, the little pebbles, the water . . . they meet in the distance, far away . . . in Zornhof it was the plain that seemed endless . . . so this freighter, the 149, is going out there beyond the sea and sky . . . we wouldn't mind trying it ourselves . . . I don't see anybody on the water, not a boat . . . maybe they only fish at certain hours . . . or at night . . . this beach used to be a garden spot, the snazziest in all northern Germany . . . you wouldn't think it . . . nothing gets gloomier than these so-called beach resorts . . . cottages, casino . . . when the telegrams start pouring in, the bad news and the lightning . . . so us there, looking at the sky and the seagulls, what are we hoping for? . . . gulls and more gulls, diving at the nets and baskets . . . lighting on the deck of the freighter . . . and screaming louder than ever! the whole beach full of them! . . . more and more! . . . we won't go! . . . we won't budge out of the compartment . . . I look at our two sentries . . . one of them must be about fifteen . . . the other's a good deal older . . . the older one gives an order . . . the young one jumps up! . . . he runs across the beach . . . to a shack in the port . . . we wait . . . he comes back with two messkits . . . and a bottle . . . he's made it quick . . . they're taking good care of us . . . piping hot! . . . two messkits full of fish with rice . . . and a quart of water . . . in the last three days . . . I know we're used to it, but all the same . . . if it hadn't been for Proseïdon, we wouldn't have had anything to eat at all . . . those messkits hit the spot . . . the young one asks us if it's good . . . "sure thing!
ja! ja! danke!
" . . . kind of a matelote . . . sautéed in butter! . . . luxury! . . . and out of the blue, just like that! ah, now we feel more like looking around . . . there's plenty to see . . . the freighter's pulling out . . . looks like . . . right, she is! . . . not blowing any whistles . . . the propellers beating . . . very slowly . . . we get a better view of the side . . . from gunwale to waterline . . . Denmark in enormous white letters . . . if they get torpedoed, they're asking for it . . .
bon voyage!
. . . I wave out the door . . . nobody waves back . . . nobody shows himself . . . orders, I suppose . . . and finally the 149 moves into the channel . . . oh, very slowly . . . the sea . . . out she goes . . . the water, flat and gray . . . well, we've seen what we came to see . . . our two soldiers motion us to give back our messkits and empty bottle . . . the younger one takes them back to the shack . . . up ahead they've put the "fish train" together . . . they push our car up to it, they hook us on . . . workmen and fishermen . . . the young soldier comes back, still got his mouth full, and climbs in with us . . . they haven't talked to us very much, neither one . . . haven't said a thing . . . at last the Berlin train is ready . . . nonstop to Berlin . . . except we've got to pick up our colleague in Rostock . . . him and his patients . . . I see it's women loading the train . . . baskets and more baskets . . . same merchandise as Les Sables, Fecamp, or Malmö . . . it's the job that makes the man, a komissar or a deputy without blah-blah, a fishwife without baskets, doesn't exist any more . . . fly-by-nights, ready for anything . . . one thing, those women don't try to talk to us, to find out who we are . . . I guess they're suspicious of people like us, with special guards!
choo! choo!
the engine! this train has no armored flatcars . . . no gunners . . . our two guards, that's all . . . we're moving . . .
choo! choo!
. . . oh, we don't go far . . . Rostock! . . . the train stops . . . there's Proseïdon, waiting for us . . . not alone, far from it, he's got his patients with him . . . I ask him . . . sure! it's them all right! . . . he's managed to round them up, not a one missing . . . and he's brought our stuff from the Hotel Phoenix . . . not heavy, a small bag . . . two shirts, towels, soap . . . now for Moorsburg! seventy miles! . . . we won't be seeing the Oberarzt . . . the ardent Nietzschean . . . again! . . . I never did see him, only heard him . . . and not friendly, through the door . . . never mind, I'll get over it! . . . it's not the same as coming . . . everybody jammed together . . . Proseïdon is in the next compartment with his lepers . . . he can't leave them . . . only half a door between us . . . I can see them all, they're not repulsive, no age, they're beyond age, so to speak . . . pretty pimply, most of them wrapped in big dressings . . . especially the men, it looks like . . . we're moving . . . this train, it's a fact, doesn't stop anywhere . . . but it doesn't go fast . . . the lepers keep swabbing their noses and eyes . . . with their raggedy rags . . . not hard to diagnose . . . blood coming out of their eyes and noses . . . they couldn't have been very good gravediggers . . . might as well ship them somewhere else . . . a leper hospital? . . . where? . . . still rolling along . . . the planes aren't bothering with us . . . they're up there though, coming and going, diving, wheeling . . . I guess they know this fish train and its schedule, and know it isn't armed . . . friendly little arrangement, I suppose, to let the fish through . . . we'd never see any fish in Moorsburg . . . the whole planet, same story . . . the bigshots roll each other in clover . . . when the next one comes, the atomic shindig, you'll see, they'll send each other baskets of strawberries, from Finistère to Svarnopol, by rocket. . . I'm joking, but not all that much . . . I forgot to tell you about the snow . . . now it was coming down . . . not deep, but quite a lot . . . you couldn't see the tracks . . . I was forgetting the seagulls too! . . . but, never fear, there they were . . . you can imagine, four carloads of fish! . . . wheeling in the air, gliding, coming down on top of the cars . . . and Proseïdon? . . . not talking . . . he's thinking . . . we're pretty near there . . . two . . . three stations to go . . . here . . . this must be it! . . . I see, I think I see houses . . . the snow is in the way . . . the train slows down . . . so to speak . . . foot by foot . . .
choo! choo!
sure enough, it's stopping, it's Moorsburg . . . the station! . . .

"Ferdie! Ferdie!"

It's Le Vig! . . . Lili answers . . . with a question:

"Bébert?. . . Bébert?"

"Right here!"

We get out . . . so does Proseïdon . . . and his flock . . . they help each other down, they give each other their arms . . . where they're going? . . . it's all one to them . . .

"This way, colleague! this way!"

That voice! It's Harras! He's not alone, he's with Kracht° . . . both in full battle dress, chameleon designs . . . enormous boots, potato mashers, Mausers this big! I ask him:

'The Russians?"

"No! . . . but not far!"

"Okay, bring 'em on!"

"No need to! They'll get here on their own!"

Always a cheerful word! and obliging! he tells me he's been expecting us . . . he's had a corner of the waiting room rigged up for the four of us . . . Lili, me, Le Vig, and Proseïdon . . .

"Where are we going?"

"First some rest . . . could you sleep a little?"

"Yes! . . . yes! . . . definitely! . . ."

"And eat?"

"Yes!. . . yes! that too!"

"You'll have fish!"

Our two sentries haven't left the train, they're sitting in our places . . . they must be going to Berlin . . . they've neither eaten nor slept . . . duty! . . . duty! . . . and back again on the same fish train . . . except that things could change and there wouldn't be any train for Warnemünde . . . and no more fishing . . .
verboten!
. . . Harras knows more than we do . . . it seems the English had sent two big barges to Zoppot . . . to drop buoys? . . . or mines? . . . why not? there was something funny in the air! . . . and how about Oberarzt Haupt? what did he think of him? . . . wasn't he a number? . . . with his testing field? . . . his moribund workers? . . . Harras knew all about it . . .

"Oh, you know, he's doing his best . . . under the circumstances! of course he's demented . . . but in his place?"

The thermometer says 26 . . .

"It's not too cold . . . excellent, the fish train will stay here in the station . . . you'll take it . . . I'll tell you tomorrow . . ."

I wish he'd tell me right now . . . the waiting room . . . we go take a look . . . full of soldiers . . . stretched out . . . sleeping, I guess . . . all German railroad stations are the same, sleeping soldiers . . . some wounded . . . the right-hand corner is all ready for us, four messkits . . . cabbage soup . . . Le Vig and the Greek are done in . . . they don't touch their food, they drop off . . .

"Destouches! . . . Destouches! let me introduce Sister Félicie!"

Sister Félicie seems perfectly calm . . . not downcast at all . . . almost gay . . . young, about thirty . . .

"Ordre de la Sagesse! . . . practicing nurse! . . . the contagious section . . . at La Charité . . . you know, our big hospital! . . . Sister Félicie!"

"Yes! yes, Harras!"

I introduce her to Proseïdon . . . Proseïdon pulls himself out of his straw . . . bows very low . . . and apologizes . . .

"Sister Félicie!"

Harras explains that she's just arrived from Berlin . . . in a tank . . . direct . . . volunteered for the leper hospital . . . she'd taken care of the lepers in Berlin in the isolation ward . . . I see they're old friends, they embrace . . . first time I'd seen them looking cheerful . . . she'd been at La Charité for ten years . . . first a temporary assignment, just for the Catholic patients, and then she'd stayed on . . . they hadn't deported her . . . and she hadn't asked to leave . . . a lot of nuns like that, from all countries, at La Charité . . . even deaconesses . . . too busy to worry about politics . . . since the air raids, what with all the wounded, they'd put Sister Félicie in charge of all the contagious cases . . . and sent all the lepers to her department . . . these ten, maybe fifteen . . . and more were expected . . . seems there were still some in camps . . . the idea of the leper hospital came from the ministry, Conti's brainstorm . . . Sister Félicie was fully equipped, army shoes, musette bag, black bread . . . the lepers wanted her to attend to them right away, change their dressings . . . all right with her, but there weren't any bandages or cotton . . . ha! surprise! upstairs in the stationmaster's office . . . Harras had brought a whole carload of infirmary supplies . . . ready for use . . . Kracht would bring them down . . .

"Ja! ja! ja!"

But Sister Félicie wasn't ready . . . first she had to tidy up her coif! . . . Harras had thought of that too! upstairs! iron, ironing board, wood for the stove . . . and she'd be alone, the station-master and switchman had left for the Western front . . . I notice that Harras has lost his big laugh, his
ho ho ho!
. . . he wasn't sad, but he didn't laugh any more . . . plenty of things I wanted to know . . . I'd have liked to talk to him . . . we waited, sitting in the straw . . . and then we lay down . . . waiting for Sister Félicie . . . I think . . .