The Good Soldier Svejk (63 page)

"You don't know me yet, but wait till you do, that's all !" "You'd better go and ask Schweik about your queer behaviour," replied Lieutenant Lukash.

So before rejoining his squad, Lieutenant Dub went to look for Schweik, whom he found in the company of Baloun and Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek. Being far from sure of himself, he asked them :

"Well, are you having a good talk?"

"That we are, sir," replied Schweik. "We're just talking about lemon juice. There's nothing like a good talk for making a soldier forget his hardships."

Lieutenant Dub then asked Schweik to come along with him for a little way, because he wanted to ask him something. When they were out of earshot of the rest, he asked in an extremely faltering voice :

"You weren't talking about me, were you?"

"Lord bless you, no, sir. We was just talking about lemon juice, like what I just said, sir."

"Lieutenant Lukash was just telling me that I've been behaving queerly and that you know all about it, Schweik."

Schweik replied in very solemn and emphatic tones :

"You never behaved queerly, sir, not a bit of it. You was just paying a visit to a free-and-easy house. But I reckon there was some mistake about that. I expect, sir, you landed yourself in the wrong place because the weather was so hot, and if you ain't used to liquor, why, when it begins to get a bit warmer than usual, even ordinary rum'll get into your head, and you was drinking gin, sir. So I had orders to hand you a notice telling you to attend the officers' meeting that was going to be held before we started moving forward, and I found you upstairs with a young lady. And what with the gin and the hot weather and one thing and another, you didn't know who I was and you was lying undressed on a sofa. But you wasn't behaving queerly, sir, not by any manner of means. And as I was saying just now, sir, that's the sort of thing that might happen to anyone when the weather's hot. Some people can't stand it at all, and others take to it like a duck to water, as the saying is. If you'd have known old Vejvoda, a French-polisher he was, and he used to live down our way. Well, he made up his mind he'd never drink anything that'd make him tight. So off he goes one day to look for teetotal drinks. Just to give himself a proper send-off, like, he has a good glass of spirits before he starts. Well,

at the first pub he comes to, he orders a vermouth, and in a cautious sort of way he begins to ask the landlord what it is the teetotallers drink. Because he thought, and he was quite right, too, that even teetotallers couldn't stand plain water. So the landlord explains to him that teetotallers drink soda water, lemonade, milk, cold skilly, teetotal wine and other beverages without alcohol. Old Vejvoda rather takes a fancy to the teetotal wine and asks whether there was any teetotal brandy as well. Then he had some more vermouth and tells the landlord what a shame it is for a man to be always getting boozed, and the landlord says he can stand anything except a man who gets boozed in somebody else's pub and then comes to him for a bottle of soda water to clear his head, and then kicks up a row in the bargain. 'If you want to get tight,' says the landlord, 'get tight here in my pub, or you're no friend of mine.' So then, sir, old Vejvoda -"

"Look here," snappishly interrupted Lieutenant Dub, who, as a result of Schweik's recital, had become quite sober, "what are you telling me all this for?"

"Beg to report, sir, this ain't really got nothing to do with our official business, like, but I thought that as we was having a friendly little chat -"

At this moment it occurred to Lieutenant Dub that Schweik again insulted him, and he shouted at him :

"One of these days you'll get to know what sort of man I am. What are you standing like that for?"

"Beg to report, sir, I ain't standing properly, and that's a fact. Beg to report, sir, I forgot to click my heels together, sir."

Schweik now remedied this omission in fine style.

Lieutenant Dub wondered what he was to say next, and finally he growled :

"Just you pay attention to me once and for all and don't let me have to tell you about it."

And, as this seemed somehow inconclusive, he tacked on to it his ancient slogan :

"You don't know me, but I know you."

He then sent for Kunert, his orderly, and instructed him to fetch a jug of water. To Kunert's credit be it said that he was a long time searching for a jug of water in Turowa Wolska. At last

he succeeded in pilfering a jug from the parish priest and he filled this jug with water from a well which was almost completely boarded up, as the contents of it were suspected of containing typhus germs. Lieutenant Dub drank up the whole jugful without any untoward consequences, thus confirming the truth of the old
proverb about ill weeds.

They were all very much mistaken in supposing that they were going to spend the night at Turowa Wolska.

Lieutenant Lukash called for Chodounsky, Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek, together with Schweik, the company runner and Baloun. Their instructions were simple. They were to leave their equipment with the ambulance section, to make immediately for Maly Polanec across the fields, and then along the river, downward in a southeastern direction on the road to Liskowiec.

Schweik, Vanek and Chodounsky were to act as billeting officers and to secure a night's quarters for the company, which would follow them an hour later, or an hour and a half at the outside. Meanwhile, on the spot where he, Lieutenant Lukash, was to spend the night, Baloun was to have a goose roasted and the other three were to keep a sharp eye on Baloun, to prevent him from gobbling up half of it. In addition to this, Vanek, in cooperation with Schweik, was to purchase a hog for the whole company, in proportion to the statutory allowance of meat. Stew was to be cooked that night. The billets must be clean. They were to avoid the vermin-infested huts, so that the troops could get a proper rest, because the company had to leave Liskowiec at half past six in the morning for Krościenko on the way to Starasól.

While the four of them were setting forth on their way, the parish priest turned up and began to distribute among the troops a leaflet containing a hymn in the various languages of the army. He had a parcel of these hymns which had been left with him by a high church dignitary who was making a motor trip through devastated Galicia, accompanied by a number of young ladies.

Now there were many latrines at Turowa Wolska, and before long all of them were clogged with these leaflets.

When it grew dark, the way became extremely unpleasant and the four of them who were to find quarters for the 11th company

got into a small wood above a stream which was supposed to lead to Liskowiec.

Baloun, who for the first time in his life found himself on an errand involving a journey into the unknown, and to whom everything—the darkness, and the fact that they were going on in advance to look for billets—began to appear uncanny, was suddenly gripped by a weird suspicion that all was not as it should be.

"Comrades," he murmured, as he stumbled along the road above the stream, "our lives have been sacrificed."

"What do you mean?" asked Schweik in quiet but gruff accents.

"Comrades, we mustn't make such a row," said Baloun imploringly. "I feel it in my bones they'll hear us and start shooting before we know where we are. I know what I'm talking about. They've sent us on in advance so as to find out whether the enemy are anywhere about, and when they hear the shooting, they'll know they can't go any further. We're what's called an advance patrol, comrades."

"Well, go on in advance, then," said Schweik. "We'll keep close behind you and when you're shot, just let us know, so as we can duck down in good time. You're a fine soldier, you are, afraid of being shot at. Why, that's the very thing that ought to suit every soldier down to the ground. It stands to reason, the more the enemy fire at him, the quicker they'll use up their ammunition. Every time one of the enemy fires a shot at you, his chances of putting up a good fight get smaller. And at the same time he's glad he can fire at you, because he's got fewer cartridges to carry about, and it's easier for him to do a bunk."

Baloun sighed deeply :

"What about my farm?"

"Farm be blowed!" said Schweik. "It's better for you to lay down your life for the Emperor. Haven't they taught you that?"

"They did say something about it," said the boobyish Baloun. "But I wish the Emperor'd fed us better."

"Well, you are a greedy hog and no mistake," objected Schweik. "Before going into action a soldier didn't ought to get anything to eat at all. Captain Untergriez used to tell us that, years and years ago. 'You damned gang of skunks,' he said, 'if

ever there's a war, take good care not to overeat yourselves before you go into action. Anyone who overeats himself and then gets shot in the stomach is done for, because all the soup and army-bread starts spurting out of his inside and the inflammation finishes him off on the spot. But if his stomach's empty, a wound like that is nothing at all, just a mere fleabite, only nicer."

Below, in the village where they were to find quarters for the company, it was pitch-dark, and all the dogs began to yelp, the result being that the expedition was brought to a standstill to discuss how these brutes could be dealt with.

"Suppose we went back?" whispered Baloun.

"If we did that," said Schweik, "you'd be shot for cowardice."

The yelping of the dogs became worse and worse, and Schweik yelled into the nocturnal gloom :

"Lie down, you varmints, lie down, will you !" just as he used to yell at his own dogs when he was still a dog fancier. This made them bark all the more, and so Quartermaster-sergeant Vanek said:

"Don't yell at them, Schweik, or vou'll set every blessed dog in Galicia barking at us."

As they descended toward the village, Schweik favoured them with recollections of his experiences with dogs during the army manoeuvres, and he also pointed out that dogs are afraid of lighted cigarettes at night. Unfortunately none of them had any cigarettes to smoke, so that Schweik's suggestion produced no positive results. It turned out, however, that the dogs were barking for joy, because they had pleasant memories of the troops who had previously passed that way and had always left them something to feed on. From afar they had scented the approach of people who would leave them bones and carcases of horses. And so before Schweik knew where he was, four curs were fawning upon him, their tails wagging with delight. Schweik stroked and patted them as he said in wheedling tones :

"Well, here we are at last. We've come here to have a nice little snooze, a nice little feed ; we'll give you some nice little bones and some nice little crusts, and to-morrow morning off we go again to fight the enemy."

Lights began to appear in the cottages and when they knocked

at the door of the first cottage, to find out where the mayor lived, a shrill and grating female voice was heard from within, announcing in a language which was neither Polish nor Ukrainian, that her husband was fighting at the front, that her children had got smallpox, that the Russians had taken everything away with them, and that before her husband had gone to the front, he had told her never to open the door to anyone at night. It was only when they had emphasized their attack on the door by insisting that they had been sent
to
look for billets that an unknown hand let them in, and they then discovered that this was actually the residence of the mayor, who unsuccessfully tried to make Schweik believe that he had not imitated the shrill female voice. He explained that when his wife was suddenly woken up, she would start talking at random, without knowing what she said. As regards quarters for the whole company, the village was so tiny, he said, that there wasn't room for a single soldier in it. There was no place at all for them to sleep. Nor was there anything on sale ; the Russians had taken all there was. He suggested that if the gentlemen would kindly allow him, he would take them to Krościenko, three-quarters of an hour further on. That was a place with large estates and they would find plenty of room there. Every soldier would be able to wrap himself up in a sheepskin, and there were so many cows that every soldier would be able to fill his mess tin with milk. There was good water, too, and the officers would be able to sleep in a mansion there. But here, in Liskowiec ! A wretched, scabby, verminous place ! He himself had once had five cows, but the Russians had taken everything from him, so that when he wanted milk for his sick children, he had to go as far as Krościenko.

In proof of this, the cows in the byre adjoining his cottage began to low and the shrill female voice could be heard abusing the unfortunate animals and expressing the hope that they might fall a prey to cholera. But this did not nonplus the mayor, who said as he proceeded to put on his top boots :

"The only cow we've got here belongs to my neighbour, and that's the one you've just heard. It's a sick cow, a wretched animal, worthy sirs. The Russians took her calf away from her. Ever since then she's stopped giving milk, but the owner feels

sorry for her and he won't slaughter her because he hopes that the Blessed Virgin will put things right again."

During this speech he had been putting on his sheepskin coat.

"Now we'll go to Krościenko, worthy sirs," he continued ; "it's only three-quarters of an hour from here. No, what am I saying, wretched sinner that I am?—it's not as far as that ; it won't take even half an hour. I know a short cut across the stream and then through a small birch wood round by an oak tree. It's a large village and they've got very strong vodka there. Let's go now, worthy sirs. You must not lose any time. The soldiers of your famous regiment must be given a proper and comfortable place to rest in. The soldiers of our king and emperor who are fighting against the Russians need clean quarters to spend the night in. But here in our village there's nothing but vermin, smallpox and cholera. Yesterday, in this cursed village of ours, three men turned black with the cholera. The most merciful God has cursed Liskowiec, worthy sirs."