We go back. We trot along silently, in line one behind the other. The wounded are taken to the dressing station[112]. The morning is overcast, the orderlies scurry about with tags and numbers, the wounded whimper. It starts to rain.
Within an hour we reach our truck and climb aboard. There is more room on it now than there was before.
The rain gets heavier. We open up tarpaulins and put them over our heads. The drops drum down on top of them. Streams of rain pour off the sides. The trucks splash through the holes in the road and we rock backwards and forwards, half asleep.
Two men at the front of the truck have long forked poles[113] with them. They watch out for the telephone wires that hang down so low across the roadway that they could take your head off. The two men make sure they get them with their forked sticks and lift them over our heads. We hear them shouting, Mind the wires![114] and still half asleep we bob down and then straighten up again.
The trucks roll monotonously onwards, the shouts are monotonous, the falling rain is monotonous. It falls on our heads and on the heads of the dead men up at the front of the truck, on the body of the little recruit with a wound that is far too big for his hip, its falling on Kemmerichs grave, and its falling in our hearts.
From somewhere we hear the sound of a shell-burst. We snap to, our eyes wide open, our hands ready again to heave our bodies over the side of the truck into the ditch by the roadside.
But we dont hear any more. Just the monotonous shouts of Mind the wires! we bob down were half asleep again.
V
Its a nuisance trying to kill every single louse when youve got hundreds of them. The beasts are hard, and it gets to be a bore when you are forever pinching them between your nails. So Tjaden has rigged up a boot-polish lid hanging on a piece of wire over a burning candle-end. You just have to toss the lice into this little frying-pan there is a sharp crack, and thats it.
From somewhere we hear the sound of a shell-burst. We snap to, our eyes wide open, our hands ready again to heave our bodies over the side of the truck into the ditch by the roadside.
But we dont hear any more. Just the monotonous shouts of Mind the wires! we bob down were half asleep again.
V
Its a nuisance trying to kill every single louse when youve got hundreds of them. The beasts are hard, and it gets to be a bore when you are forever pinching them between your nails. So Tjaden has rigged up a boot-polish lid hanging on a piece of wire over a burning candle-end. You just have to toss the lice into this little frying-pan there is a sharp crack, and thats it.
Were sitting around, shirts on our knees, stripped to the waist in the warm air, our fingers working on the knee. Haie has a particularly splendid species of louse: they have a red cross on their heads. Because of that he maintains that he brought them back from the military hospital in Tourhout, where he claims they were the personal property of a senior staff surgeon[115]. He also wants to use the grease that is very slowly accumulating in the tin lid to polish his boots, and roars with laughter for a good half-hour at his own joke.
But today nobody takes much notice. We have something else far too important on our minds.
The rumour turned out to be true. Himmelstoss is here. He turned up yesterday, and we have already heard his familiar tones. Apparendy he was a little bit too vigorous with a couple of recruits on the training field. He didnt know that one of them was the son of the chairman of the district council[116]. That did for him.[117]
He is in for a surprise. For hours Tjaden has been running through the things he wants to say to him. Haie keeps looking speculatively at his gigantic paws and winking at me. Beating up Himmelstoss was the high point of his existence; he told me that he still dreams about it. Kropp and Muller are having a discussion. Kropp has managed to nab a mess-tin full of lentils for himself, probably from the sappers kitchens. Muller gives it a greedy look, but gets a grip on himself and asks, Albert, what would you do if all of a sudden it was peacetime?
Theres no such thing as peacetime, replies Albert curtly.
Muller persists. Yes, but if what would you do?
Id bugger off out of it[118], grumbles Kropp.
Course[119]. And then what?
Get blind drunk, says Albert.
Dont talk rubbish, Im being serious
Me too, says Albert, what else would there be to do?
The idea interests Kat. He claims a portion of Kropps lentils, gets his whack, then he ponders for a long while and offers the view Well, you could get drunk, of course, but otherwise it would be off to the nearest train and home to mother. Bloody hell, Albert, peacetime
He grubs around in his oilskin wallet for a photograph and passes it around proudly. My missus. Then he stows it away and curses: Lousy bloody war
Its all right for you, I say, youve got your wife and your lad.
He nods. Thats true, and I have to make sure theyve got enough to eat.
We all laugh. There wont be any problem there, Kat, youd just requisition something.
Muller is hungry and says he still isnt satisfied with the answers. He shakes Haie Westhus out of his daydreams of beating up Himmelstoss. Haie, what would you do if the war ended?
What he ought to do is kick your arse from here to kingdom come[120] for talking about that sort of thing here, I put in. Where did you get the idea anyway?
Where do the flies go in winter?[121] is Mullers brief answer before he turns to Haie Westhus again.
Haie is suddenly finding it all a bit difficult. He puts his freckled head in his hands: You mean, when there isnt any more war?
Dead right.[122] Youve got it in one.[123]
Then thered be women around again, wouldnt there? Haie licks his lips.
That as well.
Christ almighty, says Haie, and his expression softens, the first thing Id do is pick myself up some strapping great bint[124], know what I mean, some big, bouncy kitchen wench[125] with plenty to get your hands round[126], then straight into bed and no messing! Think about it! Proper feather-beds with sprung mattresses. I tell you, lads, I wouldnt put my trousers back on for a week!
Silence all round. The image is just too fantastic. It sends tremors right across the skin. Eventually Muller gets a grip and asks, And what about after that?
A pause. Then Haie goes on, a little hesitantly, If I was an NCO Id stay in the army and sign on as a regular.
Haie, youre barmy, I say.
But he answers me amiably with another question. Have you ever tried peat-digging? Have a go sometime. With that he pulls his spoon out of the top of his high boot and digs into Alberts mess-tin.
It cant be worse than digging trenches in France, I reply.
Haie chews and grins. Lasts longer, though. And you cant skive off.
Come on, Haie, it must be better at home.
Sometimes, sometimes, he says, and sinks into a kind of reverie, sitting there with his mouth open.
You can read in his face what he is thinking. A run-down shack on the moors, hard work on the hot heathlands from early in the morning until late at night, lousy pay, the dirty clothes a labourer wears
In the peacetime army you dont have to worry about anything, he tells us. You get your grub every day, and if you dont you kick up a fuss[127], youve got your bed, clean sheets every week just like a toff, you do your bit of duty when youre an NCO, you get all your gear and in the evening youre a free man and you can go for a drink.
Haie is extraordinarily proud of his idea. He falls in love with it. And when youve served your twelve years they give you your discharge settlement[128], and you get to be a country copper. Then youre just out and about all day.
This future brings him out in a sweat. Just think about how they treat you then! A brandy here, a beer there everyone wants to be on good terms with the local copper.
Youll never make it to NCO, throws in Kat.
Haie gives him a hurt look, and shuts up. In his mind hes probably already enjoying the clear autumn evenings, the Sundays on the heath, the village church bells, afternoons and evenings with the girls, the buckwheat pancakes with bacon, the hours of aimless conversation in the bar
He cant cope with so much imagining all at once; so he just snarls angrily, You and your bloody stupid questions.
He slips his shirt down over his head and does up his battle-dress tunic.
What would you do, Tjaden? Kropp calls across to him.
Tjaden has only one thing in mind. Make sure that Himmelstoss doesnt get away.
Probably what he would like best is to keep him in a cage and set about him with a cudgel every morning. He urges Kropp with great enthusiasm, If I were you Id make sure I got to be a lieutenant. Then you could make him run like his arse was on fire.
What about you, Detering? Muller continues. Hes a proper schoolmaster with these questions round the class.
Detering is the silent type. But this time he does have an answer. He stares up at the sky and utters a single sentence. Id just get home in time for the harvest.
With that he gets up and walks away.
He is worried. His wife has to look after his smallholding. Besides that, two of his horses have been taken from him. Every day he looks in the local papers that are sent to him to see whether the rain has started yet in his little corner of Oldenburg. If it has, they wont be able to get the hay in.
Just at this moment, Himmelstoss appears. He comes straight for our group. Tjadens face goes blotchy. He stretches out in the grass and shuts his eyes because he is so worked up.
Himmelstoss wavers and slows down. Then he marches towards us. Nobody makes any move to stand up. Kropp looks at him with interest.
He stands right in front of us and waits. When nobody says a word, he comes out with a Well?
A few moments pass; Himmelstoss clearly has no idea how he should behave. What he would most like to do is bawl us out good and proper[129]; but for all that, he does seem to have learnt already that the front is no parade-ground. He tries again, and instead of addressing us all he picks on one of us, in the hope of getting an answer more easily. Kropp is nearest to him, and so he gets the honour. Well, well, you here too?