The Cross of Iron (33 page)

Steiner watched him in silence. His relations with Brandt had been good from the start, without his having made any effort. Both men had felt drawn to one another, and since the incident at Studenok the commander had displayed an understandable interest in him. After becoming commander of the regiment Brandt had suggested that he stay with him, and had offered him a quiet staff post. But Steiner had politely asked permission to remain with his men. He could still see how disappointed Brandt had looked. Asked for his reasons, he had referred to his feelings of solidarity with the men. It would have been difficult to explain to the commander that he did not want to be dependent upon anyone, let alone a regimental commander, no matter how good a fellow. Since that time he had not seen Brandt, and he was relieved to find that the commander did not seem to hold his refusal against him. Yet he could not stifle a slight sense of uneasiness, and he waited impatiently to be dismissed. When Brandt thrust some papers across the table and told him that beginning tomorrow he was to start two-week’s leave in the Crimea, he could not rise to the occasion. In fact he found himself raising various objections to the leave. However, when it became apparent that the commander was beginning to be seriously displeased, he shrugged his acquiescence. ‘If it’s your command, sir—You see, the reason that I don’t feel easy about it is that every man in my platoon deserves this leave and it will make a bad impression if I-’

‘As far as I can recall,’ Brandt interrupted him sharply, ‘you have never given a hang about the impression you were making anywhere and at any time. You are going on leave tomorrow, and that’s all there is to it. I have already informed your company commander.’ He rose quickly. ‘Sometimes, Steiner, you make it hard for me to forget that I am your superior.’

‘I often wonder why you try to forget.’ Steiner also stood up and looked expectantly at the commander. Brandt’s mouth began to twitch and his voice shook as he shook hands. ‘You’re the most impertinent man that’s ever come my way. If you aren’t gone by tomorrow I’ll have you chased away from this front at bayonet point.’

He gripped Steiner by the shoulders and ushered him out of the door. A little bewildered by the treatment he had received, Steiner began ascending the slope and almost failed to notice an officer who was coming down the path toward him. The officer looked him over carefully. Steiner recognized the regimental adjutant. ‘You are Steiner,’ the officer said, stopping. Carefully, so that the slackness of his reaction would not be overlooked, Steiner placed his feet together and nodded. A fleeting smile passed over the captain’s stem features. ‘So I thought,’ he said. He continued on up the hill and vanished into the commander’s bunker. Steiner looked back after him with a startled expression. Then he continued on his way, whistling.

He was due at the battalion command post at eight o’clock. Since the Russian fire had stopped toward evening, he reached the headquarters without incident. He had more than half an hour before his scheduled interview with Stransky, and he dropped in on Meyer first. The lieutenant gave him a hearty greeting and congratulated him on his impending leave.

‘I’ve already informed the captain,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t seem altogether delighted, but orders are orders and not even Captain Stransky can scotch them.’ He produced cigarettes and schnapps.

‘The two weeks will do you good. I’m afraid, though, that things will be popping here by the time you return.’

‘Really?’ Steiner asked.

Meyer nodded gravely. ‘I’d say that the Russian preparations indicate a big offensive in the making. Since we’re right in a salient, I imagine we’ll be hit hard. That damned hill,’ he added uncomfortably. From somewhere outside came the dull thud of exploding shells. ‘Do you hear that? Must be a 17.2. They’re bringing in new guns every day over there.’

‘They have plenty,’ Steiner said, shrugging.

Meyer leaned across the table. ‘I did want to tell you this. Be careful with Stransky. He seems to have taken a dislike to you. He’s sure to make a stink about the weapons you discarded.’ Steiner waved that away. ‘That doesn’t worry me. I’ve already reported the matter to Colonel Brandt. He let it pass without a word.’

‘That’s good.’ Meyer was visibly relieved. He glanced at his watch. ‘You’d better be on your way; it’s nearly eight.’

Steiner finished his glass and reached for his cap. As they shook hands Meyer said: ‘Don’t forget us while you’re on leave.’

‘I’ve been in your company too long for that,’ Steiner said.

It was dark outside, with stars gleaming among scattered clouds and a soft breeze blowing over the hill. Steiner took a deep breath. It was starting to feel like spring. At home the last patches of snow would be melting among the pine trees. He stood still abruptly, listening with astonishment to his own thoughts and emotions. Was this homesickness? Perhaps—a homesickness for memories. Violently, he started forward again and went toward the battalion headquarters by the shortest route, without bothering to use the trench.

When he entered the commander’s bunker, Stransky was sitting over a map. He looked up and said: ‘Here you are. Sit down. You’re three minutes late.’

‘Dark out,’ Steiner explained laconically, taking the offered seat. Stransky took a cigarette case from his pocket, removed one cigarette, tapped it carefully on his thumbnail several times, and finally put it between his lips. Steiner watched him impassively. There was the outside chance that Stransky would offer him a cigarette—as this was the last thing he wanted, he put on an expression of refusal. But Stransky came promptly to the point.

‘I’ve sent for you in order to clarify certain obscurities,’ he said. ‘Principally I should like to hear again how your casualties occurred. You lost two men?’

‘I’ve been over that,’ Steiner said curtly. This was a subject he preferred to steer clear of. After Schnurrbart had pointed out that even if Zoll had funked, they ought to conceal the fact, out of consideration for Zoll’s parents, they had all agreed on a new version of the story. Zoll was simply to be reported missing. This was the story Steiner had given in his first report and Stransky’s inquisitiveness endangered it. ‘That time we ran into the Russians,’ he went on reluctantly, ‘it was already dark in the woods. Dietz received two shots in the back, while Zoll simply vanished.’

‘Did you look for him?’ Stransky asked.

Steiner shrugged impatiently. ‘We had no time to lose. It would have been mad to risk the safety of the entire platoon for the sake of one man. I’m glad we came out of it as well as we did.’

‘You will have to make a written report,’ Stransky declared. ‘There ought not to be any missing men in such cases. But let us drop that for the moment. There is another matter I cannot understand. What prompted you to exchange weapons? As you surely know, the weapons are entered in the men’s pay-books and each man is responsible for the equipment entrusted to him. You know that, don’t you?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘Furthermore, you must also be aware that the quality of our arms is far superior to that of the Russians and-’

When Steiner shook his head, he broke off. ‘Yes?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘On the contrary,’ Steiner said. ‘In our opinion the German sub-machine-gun is not nearly as good as the Russian. Ask any of the men in the trenches. They’ll all tell you the same thing.’ 

‘That is stupid, loose talk,’ Stransky retorted sharply. ‘The weapons as designed by our engineers and produced in German factories are superior to any others. You have every reason to be grateful for the fine equipment that the Fatherland puts into your hands at the cost of countless sacrifices.’

Steiner could not quite suppress a grin as he replied: ‘I never asked for the stuff to be put in my hands, you know.’

Stransky took a deep breath. ‘I request you for the last time to mind your tone. I haven’t asked you here for a discussion. I have told you that our equipment is far superior to that of the Russians and I do not wish-’ The rest of the sentence failed to reach Steiner’s consciousness. He had no desire to bicker with Stransky. Let him talk, he thought. For his part he let himself drop down into the bottomless weariness which still filled his body, in spite of the rest he had had. From far away Stransky’s voice sounded like the troublesome buzzing of a fly. Steiner looked down at his hands and tried to move his fingers. But they remained stiff and motionless, and he wondered why. Disturbed, he moved his legs, tensed his biceps and concentrated wholly upon his hands.

Then he heard the commander’s voice again; it was violent now, had risen almost to a shout. Uncomprehending, Steiner lifted his head and looked at the captain. He realized that Stransky was now standing; his face was red and his eyes, ordinarily so icy, were flaming. What was this about, Steiner wondered. Active passivity, he thought; I’ve been able to do something without doing a thing. He was still considering this when he suddenly felt himself gripped by the arm and jerked to his feet. With more astonishment than indignation he blinked at the commander’s excited face. Then he pulled free, and reached for the Russian tommy-gun hanging from the chair. Without another look at Stransky he turned to the door. As he stepped out into the night, the stars came rushing at him. For a second he closed his eyes. Tomorrow evening, he thought, tomorrow evening you’ll be in Gursuf.

He tried to think of the mountains, of the endless swells of the sea and the white beach. Then he opened his eyes and looked about him. The bunkers, dark and apparently deserted mounds, lay scattered among the trees. It was beautifully still. Absorbed in thought, he followed the path down the ravine and along the brook.

It was shortly after nine o’clock when he reached Kanskoye. When he entered Fetscher’s house he heard the men’s voices. They stopped talking as he opened the door. The whole platoon was sitting around the big table, bottles and glasses in front of them, looking at him. Schnurrbart pointed to an empty chair and said: ‘Have a seat.’

Steiner looked at them in astonishment. ‘Why so solemn?’ he asked. He sat down and looked around expectantly.

Krüger stood up sheepishly. In a somewhat hoarse voice, he began: ‘Fetscher told us that you were leaving tomorrow, so we thought we would give you a good send-off. Fetscher’s a pretty good hand at rounding up things to drink. Now I’m not much of a speaker and two weeks are a long time, but the fellows here wanted me to say something.’ As he hesitated, Steiner gave him an encouraging nod. The men grinned. Krüger glared at them and went on: ‘As I was saying, two weeks are a damned long time, a hell of a long time, I tell you, and we hope you’ll come back and we’re still here, we hope, and as I was saying-’ He frowned and plucked agitatedly at his nose. ‘The devil take this war, out if this war gets us first we hope you’re with us-’ He became aware of the broadening grins of the men and began to stammer. ‘I don’t mean by that that I want us, I mean that I want to be—but that all of us, all of us sitting here together, if we’re with you and-’ He stumbled to a halt, his face flushed. Abruptly he smashed the table with his fist and turned to the men, quivering with rage. ‘I told you I couldn’t do it, you idiots.’ He reached for his glass, and gulped down its contents, at the same time sneaking a look at a bit of paper he held in his palm. It was done so clumsily that everyone saw him.

‘If I were you I’d start from the beginning again,’ Schnurrbart proposed innocently.

Krüger glowered at him. ‘You know what you can do?’

Schnurrbart nodded soberly. ‘I know. You’ve made that suggestion time and again.’

‘Have I now?’ Krüger leaned far across the table toward him. ‘Then go ahead and do it,’ he bellowed. ‘Why don’t you do it, you big talker-’ The rest of his explosion was drowned out in the roaring laughter of the men. Krüger dropped into his chair and stared bitterly at his glass. Steiner placed a hand on his shoulder and quickly stood up. The men fell silent.

‘There are things that ought not to be talked about,’ he said quietly. ‘We know one another and don’t have to say anything. The fact that this fancy oration didn’t turn out so well’—he smiled at Krüger—‘isn’t the speaker’s fault; it’s because of the subject. There are all kinds of things that make bonds between people— love, respect, habit, and so on. That sort of thing can be talked about. But the bond among us isn’t anything of the sort. Certainly our uniform isn’t a bond; it only brought us together.’ He paused and looked into their earnest faces. There were four candles on the table, half burned down, and for a moment he watched with his mind empty of thought as the hot wax dripped down the candles’ sides. Then he raised his head. ‘Sometimes we feel what it is. But if we wanted to talk about it, it would sound silly. Better to keep it to ourselves. If we want to show one another what our mutual feelings are, there will certainly be better occasions than this. Let us just hold on to those feelings.’

They remained silent a long time after he had sat down again and filled his glass from one of the bottles. The sporadic conversation which commenced again here and there around the table, had none of the usual brashness about it. Steiner said little for a while. He felt that something had gone wrong; something strange and disturbing had taken place within him which he could not relate to any of his previous experiences. And the queerness was not only inside him; there was something wrong all around him also. Pondering, he stared into space. His life ever since, since then— hadn’t it been like slowly toiling through an almost endless tunnel? Walking on and on toward a distant glimmer of light? The thought came as a vision, and for a few seconds it seemed to him that he need only open his eyes abruptly in order to see clearly where he was. But his eyes were open. He held his glass between both hands, his breathing came hard. He struggled toward the lucidity which lay just ahead, just around the corner. Finally, disappointed, he slumped back in his seat. It’s hopeless, he thought; you can be almost on the point of grasping it and then....

He turned to the Professor, who sat at his right, and said: ‘No philosophy tonight, but there’s one question I want to ask you.’