The Cross of Iron (24 page)

A long while later, years afterwards, it seemed, he opened his eyes and saw Steiner’s grave face bent over him. He tried to sit up, but Steiner held him firmly and said: ‘Lie where you are, Baby; you must lie very quiet.’

‘Lie very quiet,’ Dietz whispered obediently, and nodded. Steiner glanced at his watch. It was an hour after midnight. He turned his head and looked over toward the men. All except the sentry were wrapped in their blankets and sound asleep. The horses, necks lowered, were standing among the tall, grim trees that surrounded the little clearing. They had reached this place after two hours of trudging through the dark woods, and Steiner had decided to stop here for the night. After arranging the order of sentry duty, he had sat down beside Dietz, pillowed his head on his arms and spent the time in anguished vigil. When Dietz began to stir, he had switched on his flashlight and examined his face. He knew that expression; he had seen it hundreds of times before. There were dark hollows under the cheekbones; the skin was drawn taut and waxen over the jaw, and the eyes were sunk in* deep shadows that seemed to be spreading out slowly, consuming the rest of the face. Dietz would not live through the night. And since Steiner had realized this, something inside him had snapped But he was unable to feel grief.

A while later, when Dietz opened his eyes again, he bent over him and asked: ‘Are you in pain?’ His own voice sounded grating. Dietz stared at him wide-eyed. Then he moved his head slightly and murmured: ‘Thirsty.’ He drank from the canteen Steiner held to his mouth and sighed gratefully. ‘Enough?’ Steiner asked.

Dietz nodded. He was fully conscious now and struggling to seize the broken thread of memory, to find some explanation for his present strange situation. He was conscious of the cold water running down his throat, filling his stomach, spreading through all the channels of his body. But the events of the day just passed were tangled in an inextricable knot with the fading of his recent delirium. Turning his head slightly, he asked: ‘What’s the matter with me?’

Steiner did not answer at once. Dietz’ voice took on a plaintive note: ‘Tell me what’s the matter with me. Why won’t you tell me?’

Steiner swallowed. ‘Nothing much,’ he said roughly. ‘You were creased by a bullet, that’s all.’ He hesitated, and then added with forced cheerfulness: ‘That’s all, really.’

‘Is it bad?’

‘No, just a crease, I tell you. Nothing to worry about.’

‘That isn’t true,’ Dietz stated. There was such certainty in his voice that Steiner caught his breath.

‘What isn’t true?’ he asked helplessly.

‘That it’s nothing much. Don’t lie to me; I can feel myself that my whole chest is smashed.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with your chest,’ Steiner said. ‘You were just nicked in the back, that’s all.’ He felt the perspiration starting on his forehead. ‘Tomorrow we’ll fix up a stretcher on the horses, and take you to the battalion. By the day after tomorrow you’ll be on the hospital train and headed for home.’

Dietz did not reply. As soon as Steiner mentioned the horses, he remembered what had happened. Raising his head, he whispered: ‘I’m sorry, I mean about the horse, that it got away from me. I -
’

Steiner interrupted him. ‘God, don’t worry about the bloody horse. We meant to get rid of it anyhow.’

‘You mean that?’

‘Of course I do or I wouldn’t say it.’

Reassured, Dietz closed his eyes and thought hard. He had been running behind the horse and had not been able to catch it. Then he had stood still, and then.... He opened his eyes wide and let out a terrible cry. The men started up, dazed and alarmed. The scream continued to issue out of Dietz like an endless coil of sound unwinding and unwinding from his throat. The men haltingly drew nearer. ‘He’ll have the Russians on our necks,’ Kern said anxiously.

Steiner held the flashlight close to Dietz’ face. ‘Be quiet now, there’s no need to be afraid, we’re all with you,’ he repeated. At last the screaming stopped. ‘If only we had a medico with us,’ Steiner said. ‘He ought to have a shot of morphine.’

‘He wanted to be a doctor,’ Pasternack said. And after a pause he asked: ‘Do you think he’ll make it?’

Steiner did not reply. At last he looked up and said: ‘You fellows better lie down again.’

‘Lie down yourself,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘I’ll relieve you. You have to get a few hours sleep too.’

Steiner shook his head. ‘I’m not tired.’

The men returned to their places. When Steiner noticed that Schnurrbart was still standing beside him, he frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said irritably. ‘I told you I’m not tired.’

‘Don’t be so pig-headed,’ Schnurrbart said.

Steiner opened his mouth to reply angrily, but Dietz spoke first. Neither of the other two had noticed that his eyes were open and that he was watching them. ‘You mustn't bicker,’ he said softly. ‘Why are you bickering again?’

Steiner turned swiftly toward him. ‘We aren’t bickering,’ he said.

‘You are bickering. Make it up, please, make it up.’

Steiner switched off the flashlight. ‘Please,’ Dietz whispered. Steiner glanced at Schnurrbart, who stood motionless beside him. He could feel Dietz reaching out for his hands in the darkness, and soothingly ran his palm over the boy’s damp forehead. ‘Please.’ The word was barely breathed. He nodded. Then he realized that Dietz could not see the movement of his head. Leaning over him, he framed the words, ‘I will.’ When he looked up again, he saw Schnurrbart softly walking away. Dietz lay motionless. Steiner looked down at the bright oval of his face. The woods were very still. Then a rustling began among the trees, and as it grew stronger the dying man’s face underwent a strange transformation. The lines narrowed, became thinner and more delicate. The eyebrows arched high beneath a clear, white forehead; the ears were hidden in an abundance of wanton, chestnut-brown curls. Breathless Steiner bent over him. Dark rings danced before his eyes, but he could see the face before him with great distinctness....

Lips, red and softly parted, reveal small, shining teeth, and big dark eyes bent upon his in utter despair. His strength is giving out. He sees the snowflakes upon her face, and his bare hands ache unbearably in the frightful cold. A few minutes before she slipped on the narrow, steep mountain trail. He threw himself forward and grasped her outstretched hands. Then he slid, slid until he managed to hook his feet on something. Now he lies pressed flat against the ground, her face directly below his. She is dangling free over the cliff, while his fingers dig into her arms. He knows she is lost, and he stares into her face. She opens her mouth and speaks, but her words do not penetrate to his mind. It is as if he were dead and seeing nothing but her eyes....

‘You have no heart, Anne.’

‘Yes, I do, Rolf. Here, I’ll show you I have.’ She places his hand on her small breast. It is always this way. When he becomes importunate, she disarms his impatience with a ‘no’ and a simple gesture. He shakes his head: ‘You don’t know how hard this is on me.’ ‘I do know, Rolf.’

‘A lot of good that does, then.’

‘Be patient with me.’

He sighs, takes her face in his hands and examines it. His eyes rest upon her lips, and he says: ‘Your mouth.’

‘What about my mouth?’

‘I don’t know-’ He laughs, abashed. ‘You see, once a fellow kisses it he never gets over it.’

‘Don’t talk that way, Rolf. It sounds so strained and-’ Her eyes avoid his, and she looks grave. ‘And so sad,’ she adds. Suddenly she throws herself into his arms. Pressing him close to her, she exclaims: ‘Will you always be fond of me?’

‘What would I be without you?’

When he tries to sit up, she holds him fast by the hair. ‘That isn’t an answer. Promise me.’

It is still and warm. Above the meadow the air quivers, and the trees reach up toward the sun. A butterfly wings past them and vanishes in the grass. Slowly he gropes out for her hand, brings it to his mouth.

‘Always,’ he says, ‘always.’ When she laughs happily, he draws her head to his chest and whispers: ‘I must tell you this: you are everything that is lovely.’ He gazes over her head at the woods, where the mountain lunges toward the sky, and goes on: ‘You are like the air above the glaciers, and you are all the things I cannot understand because I am dazzled when I look at them. You are yourself, and ever so much more.’

Slowly she turns her face toward him, and he sees her tears. ‘Say that again,’ she whispers.

But he shakes his head. ‘That sort of thing can be said only once, as all good things can be really experienced only once.’

She leans her head against his chest again and says: ‘You talk like my father.’

He smiled. ‘And you still behave like a child of fourteen.’ 

‘Why do you say that?’

He places his hand on her firm, slender thighs, whose nakedness he can feel through the thin white skirt. ‘That’s why.’

For a few seconds they are silent. Then she brushes a strand of dark hair away from his forehead and says: ‘Let us save the best for later.’

‘How do you know it is good at all?’ he asks quietly. ‘Some people say it is ugly.’

She leans against him, and in a confusion of feeling he is conscious of the pressure of her breasts against his shoulder. ‘It must be,’ she says pensively. ‘If it weren’t, it would not mean so much to you.’

Her wisdom is such that he has to shake his head. ‘You’re an incredible girl.’ He frowns. ‘Before I met you I did not know what the human being could be.’

‘And now you do know?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Rolf!’ She presses against him. ‘Sometimes I’m so frightened.’

He looks at her in surprise. ‘Frightened. You, Anne? For heaven’s sake, what are you afraid of?’

For the space of a few heart-beats she looks down at the ground, hesitant. Then she lifts her shoulders. ‘You’re right, of course; I’m silly. But you see, you’re going away again the day after tomorrow, and last night father said there might be a war and then you’d certainly go into the army and then you and I would-’ Suddenly she begins sobbing. When he tries to kiss her to comfort her, she shakes her head violently. He waits until she is calmer. Then he says: 

‘Your father is foolish. Even if there were a war, it would be over in a month.’

There is a note of forced confidence in his voice, and she looks up quickly. ‘Would you promise me something, please?’ He looks at her questioningly. ‘If there is a war you must come to our place, in Zurich. Father can get you a job and you can stay with us until the war is over. Promise me that?’

‘That’s impossible, Anne,’ he says, gravely and firmly. She turns away, disappointed, and he places a hand on her arm. ‘Be sensible, sweet. A man cannot simply desert. You can escape the law and the guardians of the law, but you can’t escape your own conscience. I can’t, anyway,’ he adds, in a lowered voice.

She looks down at the ground, pouting, affronted. ‘But you can escape from me, can’t you? You can go away from me, perhaps for years, just on account of your miserable war. I don’t matter to you. That’s what you mean to say, don’t you?’

‘You’re being so unreasonable,’ he says, troubled. ‘I’ve never known you to be like this. Look-’ He lies down again and draws her down beside him. ‘You must understand. If I go away from you I know that we will be parting only for a short time. But if I desert from home, I can never go back again. I’d have to remain an exile, an outcast. Is that what you want?’

She does not answer. His eyes rest upon the gathering clouds in the sky. It is going to rain, he thinks, and turns his head. Anne is lying beside him, eyes shut. He sees that her shoulders are quivering, and gently takes her hand. ‘You must understand that,’ he says softly. ‘And you don’t want me to be a fish out of water. You can’t want that, Anne; you’re not so selfish.’ When she shakes her head, he kisses her. They lie close together, looking up at the silvery cone of the mountain top. Suddenly Anne sits up and says: ‘But I have one thing to ask that you mustn't refuse.’

‘If it’s something I can do, certainly.’

‘I want to climb up there again tomorrow. Up our mountain once more.’ Seeing his worried frown, she bends over him and looks pleadingly into his eyes. ‘We can take the first train tomorrow morning. We’ll be here by four o’clock, and there’ll be plenty of time.’

‘The weather is changing,’ he says, eyeing the clouds.

She shakes her head wilfully. ‘Tomorrow will be fair.’

lt is hard for him to refuse. There is fresh snow on the peak and he knows how unpredictable the weather is at this time of year. Still.... Indecisive, he sits up. The political situation has been going from bad to worse these past few weeks; war is no longer so unimaginable. Although he has said nothing to Anne about his own fears, he knows she is right. This may be their last chance to be together for a long time. And if we do not reach the peak, it doesn’t matter; we can turn back, he tells himself. It is ‘their’ mountain. That was where they had met two years ago, at the peak.... As she kisses him, he nods assent....

Again and again he tries to find some support for his elbows, to draw in his arms, pulling her back up. But he no longer has the strength. She is still holding her head up, her eyes fixed upon his face. The wind is letting up, but the snow continues to fall in big wet flakes. His arms and hands are numb, insensible. Lying face down on the slope, his head lower than his body, has brought a rush of blood to his head; there is a dull roaring in his ears. He is aware that he is gradually losing control over his body. Her face is wet. He sees the snowflakes thawing on her skin, and wants to reach out a hand and wipe them away; he sees her lips twitching; sees the mortal fear in her eyes; and he gasps words that are intended to comfort her and that are only the inarticulate utterance of his horror. When she suddenly closes her eyes, he realizes that the grip of his hands has loosened....

The roaring in his ears went on with unremitting intensity. Steady, monotonous, it seemed to fill all the air, beating its way into his consciousness, bringing him back to reality. When he sat up, he felt the dampness on his back and lifted his face in bewilderment. It was raining. The crowns of the trees were whipping about in the wind, but he knew this only from the sound; the trees themselves were lost in darkness. For a few seconds he peered about him, uncomprehending. Then he realized that his hands were clutched around something soft that felt strangely cold and lifeless. With a surge of disgust he let go and stood up. His clothes were soaked to the skin. He shivered. What has happened? he wondered. Then he came back to the present. The forest, the platoon and... Dietz. He knew at once that Dietz was dead. Feeling along the ground until he touched the flashlight, he snapped it on and directed the beam at Dietz. Dietz’s mouth was open and the whites of his eyes gleamed under half-shut lids. He was already scarcely recognizable. With horror Steiner thought that he had been clutching Dietz’ hands all this while. Quickly he stooped, tugged the woollen blanket from under the dead man, and covered his face. Then he looked over toward the sleeping men.