My dear son, says my mother softly.
We have never been a very demonstrative family poor people who have to work hard and cope with problems very rarely are. They cant really understand that sort of thing either, and they dont like constantly going on about things that are perfectly obvious. If my mother says my dear son to me, that is just as valid as somebody else making heaven knows what kind of flowery speech. I know for sure that the jar of cranberries is the only one they have been able to find for months, and that they have kept it specially for me, just like the slightly stale biscuits that she gives me now. Im sure that she will have got hold of them by chance at some time, and put them aside for me straightaway.
I sit beside her bed and through the window the chestnut trees in the garden of the inn opposite flash gold and brown. I breathe slowly in and out and say to myself, You are home, you are home. But there is an awkwardness that will not leave me, I cant get used to everything yet. There is my mother, there is my sister, there is the glass case with my butterflies, there is the mahogany piano but I am not quite there myself yet. There is a veil and a few steps between me and them.
And so I go out and fetch my pack, bring it to the bed and get out the things I have brought back for them: a whole Edam cheese that Kat conjured up for me, two army-issue loaves, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two cans of liver sausage, a pound of lard and a bag of rice.
Im sure you can do with these
They nod.
Things are pretty bad here? I ask.
Yes, there isnt much to be had. Do you get enough out there?
I smile and point to the things Ive brought. It isnt always as much as that, but we still manage.
Erna takes the food away. Suddenly my mother grips my hand and asks hesitantly, Was it very bad out there, Paul?
Mother, what kind of an answer can I give you? You wont understand and never will. And I dont want you to. Was it bad, you ask you, Mother. I shake my head and say, No, Mother, not really. After all, there are lots of us together, and that means that it isnt so bad.
Yes, but a little while ago Heinrich Bredemeyer was here, and he told us stories of how terrible it is out there now, with the gas and all the rest of it.
It is my mother saying these things. She says with the gas and all the rest of it. She doesnt know what she is saying, she is just afraid for me. Should I tell her how we once found three enemy trenches, where everyone was fixed and rigid as they stood, as if theyd been struck like it? On the parapets, in the dugouts, wherever they happened to be, they were standing or lying with their faces blue, dead.
Oh, Mother, they say all sorts of things, I reply, Bredemeyer was just spinning a yarn[192]. You can see, Im in one piece and Ive put on weight.
Faced with my mothers anxious concern for me, I manage to get a grip on my own emotions. Im able to walk about again, and talk, and answer questions without being afraid of suddenly having to support myself against the wall because the whole world has turned as soft as rubber and my veins as fragile as tinder.
My mother wants to get up, so while she does so I go out into the kitchen to talk to my sister. Whats wrong with her?
She shrugs. Shes already been in bed for a couple of months now, but we werent to write and tell you. Shes seen a few doctors. One of them told us that its probably cancer.
I go along to district HQ[193] to report. I wander slowly through the streets. Occasionally people stop and have a word with me. I dont stay for long, because I dont feel like talking too much.
When I come out of the barracks a loud voice shouts at me. Still lost in thought I turn round and find myself free to face with a major. He bawls me out: Forgotten how to salute?
Im sorry, Major, I say, still confused, I didnt see you.
His voice gets even louder. Cant you even address an officer properly?
What Id really like to do is hit him in the face, but I control myself or else my leave will be done for, put my heels together and say, My apologies, sir, I am afraid I did not see you, sir.
Then be so good as to keep your eyes open, he snaps. Whats your name?
I tell him.
His fat red face still has outrage written all over it. Regiment?
I respond in the prescribed military manner. He still isnt satisfied. Where are you stationed?
But now Ive had enough, and say, Somewhere between Langemarck[194] and Bixschoote[195].
What do you mean? he asks, bewildered.
I explain to him that I have just arrived on leave an hour ago, and I imagine that now he will push off, but I am mistaken. He gets even angrier. I suppose you think thats acceptable, bringing your front-line manners back here! Never! Good discipline is still the order of the day here, thank God!
Then he gives me the order: Twenty paces back, at the double![196] A dull rage is seething inside me. But I cant do anything against him he could have me arrested on the spot if he wanted. So I double back, march forward and half a dozen yards from him I give him a parade-ground salute, and dont take my hand away until I am another six yards past him.
He calls me back and informs me generously that on this occasion he has decided to temper justice with mercy. Still standing at attention, I indicate gratitude. Dismiss, he orders. I do a smart about face and leave.
This spoils the evening for me. I get off home and throw my uniform into a corner I was going to do that anyway. Then I get my civilian suit[197] out of the wardrobe and put it on.
Ive got out of the habit of wearing it. The suit is a bit short and a bit tight Ive put on some weight in the army. I have trouble fixing the collar and tying the tie. In the end my sister knots it for me. And how lightweight this suit feels. You think you are only wearing your shirt and underpants.
I look at myself in the mirror. Its a strange sight. Looking back in bewilderment at me is a tanned and overgrown sixteen-year-old on his way to church for his confirmation.
My mother is pleased that I am wearing civvies; it makes me look more like my old self to her. My father would have preferred me to wear my uniform, though, because he would like to take me to see his friends dressed like that.
But I refuse.
It is good to be able to sit somewhere quietly, as we can in the garden of the inn opposite, under the chestnut trees, next to the skittle alley[198]. The leaves are falling, on to the table and on to the ground, but only a few, the first. Ive a glass of beer in front of me we learned to drink in the army. The glass is half empty, so that I have a few good, cool pulls yet, and besides, I can order a second or a third if I like. Theres no roll call and no heavy fire, the owners children are playing in the skittle alley and the dog comes and rests its head on my lap. The sky is blue and the green spire of St Margarets church rises up between the leaves of the chestnut trees.
All this is good, and I love it. But I cant get on with the people. The only one who doesnt ask me questions is my mother. With my father it is different. Hed like me to tell him a bit about what it is like out there: what he wants is both touching and silly, and I have no real relationship with him any more. What he would really like best is a constant flow of stories. I can see that he has no idea that these things cant be put into words, although Id like to do something to please him. But it would be dangerous for me to try and put it all into words, and Im worried that it might get out of hand and I couldnt control it any more. Where would we be if everybody knew exactly what was going on out there at the front?
And so I limit myself to telling him a few funny bits. Then he asks me whether Ive ever been in hand-to-hand fighting. I say that I havent, and get up to leave.
That doesnt help matters, though. In the street, after Ive had a couple of shocks because the screeching of the trams sounds like a shell coming towards me, someone taps me on the shoulder. It is my German master[199], who lets fire with all the usual questions: Now, whats it like out there? Rough, Ill be bound, rough? Yes, its terrible, but we have to stand firm. And after all, at least youre all fed well out there, I hear. You look good, Paul, fit. Naturally, things are worse here, of course they are, goes without saying, our soldiers always come first.
He drags me off to his local bar. I am greeted with great enthusiasm and one of the assistant headmasters shakes my hand and says, Well, youre just back from the front? Hows morale out there? Pretty good, pretty good, eh? I explain that everyone would like to come home. He gives a great roar of laughter. I bet they do! But first of all youve got to wallop those Froggies[200]. Do you smoke? Here, have one of these, my dear fellow. Waiter, a beer for our young warrior.
He drags me off to his local bar. I am greeted with great enthusiasm and one of the assistant headmasters shakes my hand and says, Well, youre just back from the front? Hows morale out there? Pretty good, pretty good, eh? I explain that everyone would like to come home. He gives a great roar of laughter. I bet they do! But first of all youve got to wallop those Froggies[200]. Do you smoke? Here, have one of these, my dear fellow. Waiter, a beer for our young warrior.
Unfortunately I have accepted the cigar, so I have to stay. Every one of them oozes goodwill, and theres nothing to be done. All the same Im irritated, and puff away as fast as I can. Just for something to do I toss down a glass of beer in one gulp. Another is ordered for me immediately; everyone knows what they owe to the soldiers. They are arguing about what we ought to annex. The assistant headmaster, who has sacrificed his gold watch-chain to the war effort and is wearing an iron one, wants the most: all of Belgium, the French coalfields and great tracts of Russia. He gives very precise reasons why we need them, and insists on his point of view until the others eventually give way and agree with him. And then he starts to explain where the breakthrough has to be made in France; in the middle of it he turns to me and says, You lads out there should hurry up a bit with your eternal trench fighting. Just chuck em[201] out, and the war will be over.