The Good Soldier Svejk (39 page)

The volunteer officer put back his watch.

"Well, Corporal," he said, "I wonder what you're going to do in half an hour."

"In half an hour," insisted Schweik gently, "my place is in the cattle truck." Whereupon the corporal, now quite dazed and bewildered, said to
him :

"Look here, if it's all the same to you, I reckon you're much more comfortable here than you'd be in the cattle truck. I reckon -"

He was interrupted by the Chaplain, who, from the midst of his slumbers, exclaimed:

"More sauce!"

"He's asleep," said Schweik indulgently, laying beneath his head the tip of the overcoat which was falling down from the seat. "Let him go on dreaming about grub, like he was before."

And the volunteer officer began to sing :

"Sleep, my child, sleep, and close your eyes. You shall be lulled by an angel from the skies."

The corporal, now reduced to the depths of despair, said no more. He stared out of the carriage window and let the disorganization of the prisoners' carriage take its course unhindered.

Suddenly the Chaplain fell off the seat and continued his slumbers on the floor. The corporal gazed at him blankly and then, while all looked on with bated breath, he lifted him back to the seat without any assistance. It was clear that he had lost all authority, and when he mumbled feebly : "You might give me a hand with him," the men of the escort just stared at each other, without lifting a finger.

"You ought to have let him go on snoring where he was," re-

marked Schweik. "That's the way I always used to treat my chaplain. I just left him wherever he happened to be when he fell asleep. Once it was at home in a wardrobe, another time in somebody else's wash tub. He used to snooze in all sorts of places."

The corporal suddenly became brisk and resolute. He wanted to show that he was the master and he therefore said in a bullying tone :

"You shut your mouth and keep quiet, will you? All you batmen have got too much to say for yourselves. You're a bloody nuisance, that's what you are."

"Ah, you're right there, Corporal," replied Schweik, with the composure of a philosopher who desires peace on earth and goodwill unto men, but who nevertheless embarks upon the most perilous controversies. "I am a bloody nuisance, and you're God Almighty."

"Almighty God," exclaimed the volunteer officer, clasping his hands together, "fill our hearts with love for all N. C. O.'s, that we may not behold them with repugnance. Bless our assembly in this den upon wheels."

The corporal flushed angrily and jumped up.

"Here, you stop passing those remarks. I won't have it."

"Corporal," said the volunteer officer, "as you sit there watching the rustling hills and the fragrant forests, you remind me of Dante. The same noble and poetical countenance, a man of gentle heart and mind, susceptible to all magnanimous feelings. Remain seated in that attitude, I beg you. It suits you so well. You gaze upon the landscape with such an expression of spirituality, devoid of all posing o'r posturing. I am sure you are thinking of how delightful it will be in the springtime, when these bare expanses will be covered with a many-hued carpet of field blossoms -"

At this moment the train steamed into the station where the inspection was to take place.

The military staff had appointed Dr. Mrâz, a reserve officer, as train commandant. Reserve officers were always dropped upon for absurd jobs of that kind. Dr. Mrâz had got everything muddled up. Although in civil life he was a teacher of mathematics at a secondary school, there was one carriage which, try as he

would, he found it impossible to account for. Also, he could not make the nominal roll, which he had received at the last station, tally with the figures which were reported after the troops had entered the train at Budejovice. Also, when he examined his documents, it seemed to him that there were two field kitchens too many, though for the life of him he couldn't make out where they had come from. Also, it made his flesh creep to discover that the horses had increased by some mysterious process. Also, among the officers, two cadets were missing and he had failed to run them to earth. Also, in the regimental orderly room which was installed in the front carriage a typewriter had disappeared. Now, as a result of this wholesale muddle, Dr. Mrâz had a splitting headache. He swallowed two asperins, and was now carrying out the inspection of the train with a very wry face.

When he entered the prisoners' carriage with his orderly, he looked at the documents and after receiving the crestfallen corporal's report, he once more compared the figures. Then he looked round the carriage.

"Who's that you've got with you?" he asked sternly, pointing to the Chaplain, who was sleeping flat on his stomach and whose posterior was challenging inspection.

"Beg to report, sir," stammered the corporal, "that we sort of -"

"Sort of what?" growled Dr. Mrâz. "Why don't you express yourself plainly?"

"Beg to report, sir," interposed Schweik, "this chap who's asleep on his belly is a chaplain and he's a bit squiffy, like. He joined in with us and got into our carriage, and him being our superior officer, we couldn't very well chuck him out, or it would have been an infringement of superordination, as they say. He must have mistook the prisoners' carriage for the staff carriage."

Dr. Mrâz heaved a sigh and gazed into his documents. The nominal roll contained no reference to any chaplain who was to proceed with the train to Brack. His eyes twitched nervously. At the last station there had been a sudden increase of horses and now a chaplain had turned up from nowhere in the prisoners' compartment.

All he could do was to tell the corporal to turn the sleeper over,

as in his present posture it was impossible to ascertain his identity.

After a certain amount of effort, the corporal managed to turn the Chaplain over on his back, the result being that the latter woke up and, perceiving Dr. Mrâz, he said :

"Hallo, old boy, how are you? Supper ready yet?"

Whereupon he closed his eyes again and turned toward the wall.

Dr. Mrâz, who saw that it was the same gluttonous fellow who had eaten himself sick in the officers' mess on the previous day, heaved a sigh.

"You'll report yourself to the orderly room for this," he said to the corporal. Just as he was on the point of departure, Schweik detained him.

"Beg to report, sir," said Schweik, "this ain't my place now. My time's up to-day at eleven o'clock. I got three days in cells and now I ought to be with the others in the cattle truck. It's past eleven now, sir, so perhaps you wouldn't mind seeing that they put me on the line or take me into the cattle truck or send me to Lieutenant Lukash. That's my proper place."

"What's your name?" asked Dr. Mrâz, inspecting his papers again.

"Beg to report, sir, Schweik, Josef."

"H'm, then you must be
the
Schweik," said Dr. Mrâz, "and in that case you most certainly ought to have been let out at eleven o'clock. But Lieutenant Lukash asked me not to let you out till we get to Bruck. He said that would be safer and would keep you out of mischief on the way."

When Dr. Mrâz had gone, the corporal remarked gloatingly :

"You see, Schweik, it didn't help you damn all
to
go blabbing to an officer. If I'd wanted, I could have made it hot for the pair of you."

At this moment the Chaplain awoke in all his beauty and dignity. He sat up and asked in astonishment :

"Good gracious me, where on earth am I?"

The corporal, perceiving that the great man had woke up, replied cringingly :

"Beg to report, sir, you're in the prisoners' carriage."

A flash of amazement darted across the Chaplain's countenance. He sat speechless for a moment and pondered deeply. In vain. An ocean of obscurity lay between what had happened to him overnight and his awakening in the railway carriage with the barred windows. At last he asked the corporal, who was still cringing before him :

"But at whose orders was I -"

"Beg to report, sir, at nobody's orders."

The Chaplain stood up and began to walk to and fro, mumbling to himself that he couldn't make head nor tail of it. He then sat down again, saying :

"Where are we going to?"

"Beg to report, sir, to Brack."

"And what are we going to Brack for?"

"Beg to report, sir, all the 91st regiment, that's ours, sir, has been transferred there."

The Chaplain again began to rack his brains as to what had happened to him, how he had got into the carriage and why he was on his way to Bruck of all places, with the 91st regiment, accompanied by a kind of escort. He had now sufficiently recovered from his fuddled condition to perceive the presence of the volunteer officer, to whom he now addressed himself.

"You seem to be an intelligent fellow. Perhaps you can tell me, without any beating about the bush, how I got among you."

"By all means," assented the volunteer officer amicably. "You joined us at the station this morning simply because you had a bit of a head."

The corporal looked at him severely.

"You got into our carriage," continued the volunteer officer, "and there you were. You lay down on the seat, and Schweik here put his greatcoat under your head. When the train was inspected at the last station you were, if I may say so, officially discovered and our corporal is going to be had up in the orderly room on your account."

"I see, I see," sighed the Chaplain. "At the next station I'd better make a move into the staff carriage. Do you happen to know whether lunch has been served yet?"

"Lunch won't be served till we get to Vienna," announced the corporal.

"So it was you who put the greatcoat under my head," said the Chaplain to Schweik. "Thanks very much."

"Don't mention it," replied Schweik. "I only did what any-one'd do when he sees his superior officer with nothing under his head and a little bit tiddly, like. It's the duty of every soldier to respect his superior officer, even if he's not quite himself. I'm what you might call a dab at handling chaplains, because I was orderly to Otto Katz. They're all fond of a spree and they're good sports, too."

As the result of emerging from the effects of his yesterday's carouse, the Chaplain felt in a hail-fellow-well-met mood, and producing a cigarette, he handed it to Schweik, saying:

"Have a fag."

"I hear that you're going to be had up in the orderly room because of me," he then said to the corporal. "But don't you worry. I'll get you out of that scrape all right."

He turned to Schweik again :

"You come along with me. You'll have the time of your life."

He became exceedingly magnanimous and promised he'd do them all a good turn. He'd buy chocolate for the volunteer officer, rum for the men of the escort ; he'd have the corporal transferred to the photographic section attached to the staff of the 7th cavalry division; in fact he'd see that they all had an easy time and he'd forget nobody.

"I don't want any of you to bear a grudge against me," he said. "I know lots of people and as long as I keep an eye on you, you won't come to any harm. If you've done anything wrong, why, you'll bear your punishment like men, and I can see you're cheerfully putting up with the burden that God has laid upon your shoulders."

"What was the reason for your punishment?" he asked, turning to Schweik.

"What God laid upon my shoulders," replied Schweik piously, "came from the orderly room, on account of me being late for my regiment through no fault of my own."

"God is merciful and just," said the Chaplain solemnly. "He

knows who should be punished, for it is thus that He reveals His omnipotence. And why are you here?" he asked the volunteer officer.

"Because of my overweening pride," answered the volunteer officer. "After I have atoned for my guilt, I shall be sent to the cook house."

"Wonderful are the ways of God," declared the Chaplain, whose heart expanded at the sound of the word "cook house." "Yes, there's plenty of scope in a cook house for a man to make his mark, if he's got anything in him. The cook house is the very place for people who've got their wits about them. It's not so much the cooking itself, but the proper way of mixing the various parts of a dish, the arrangement and so on. A man must have his heart in it to do that sort of thing properly. Take sauces, for example. Now an intelligent man, when he's making onion sauce, will take all kinds of vegetables and steam them in butter, then he'll add nutmeg, pepper, more nutmeg, a little clove, ginger and so on. But a common or garden cook just takes some onions and boils them, and then pours some greasy gravy on top. I'd like to see you get a job in an officers' mess. Last night in the officers' club at Budejovice they gave us, among other things, kidneys à
la madeira.
May God forgive all the sins of the man who prepared that dish. He knew his job thoroughly. And I've eaten kidneys
à la madeira
in officers' mess of the 64th militia regiment, but there they put caraway seeds into it, just like in common eating houses when they do them with pepper. And what do you think the cook who prepared them like that was in civil life? He used to feed cattle on an estate."