Mittelstaedt stops in front of him. Home Guardsman Kantorek, do you call those buttons polished? You never seem to learn. Far from satisfactory, Kantorek, far from satisfactory
Inwardly I am roaring with delight. At school Kantorek used to criticize Mittelstaedt in exactly the same tone of voice: Far from satisfactory, Mittelstaedt
Mittelstaedt continues his disapproving comments. You ought to take a lesson from Boettcher, his turn-out is an example, you might learn something from him.
I can scarcely believe my eyes. Yes, Boettcher is there as well, Boettcher, the school janitor. And he really is exemplary. Kantorek shoots me a look as if he would like to eat me alive. But I just grin harmlessly right at him, as if I havent recognized him at all.
How stupid he looks with his little cap and his uniform. And once upon a time we used to be terrified of a creature like that, when he was perched on the teachers chair and prodding us with his pencil while we were learning the French irregular verbs that were not of the slightest use to us later on in France. Its still barely two years ago and now here is Home Guardsman Kantorek, with all the mystique rudely stripped away, bow-legged, with arms like pot-handles, his buttons badly polished and looking ridiculous, a quite impossible soldier. I cant reconcile him with that threatening figure at the front of the class, and I would really like to know how I would react if this miserable scarecrow were ever allowed suddenly to ask me, an old soldier, Baumer, give me the imperfect of aller[209]
For the moment, Mittelstaedt has them practise skirmishing. For this he graciously appoints Kantorek platoon leader.
Thereby hangs a tale. In skirmishing, you see, the platoon leader always has to be twenty paces ahead of his men; so if the order comes At the double, about turn![210] the skirmishing line just has to about face, but the platoon leader, who is now suddenly twenty paces behind the line has to rush forward so that he gets twenty paces in front of the men. That makes forty paces altogether at the double. But hardly has he got there when the order comes At the double, about turn! and he has to belt forty paces across to the other side as quickly as he can. In all this the group merely carries out a few steps and a leisurely about face, while the platoon leader is rushing about like a fart in a colander. The whole manoeuvre is one of Himmelstosss tried and tested recipes.
Kantorek cant expect anything else from Mittelstaedt, because he once made sure that he failed the end-of-year exams and was kept back a year, and Mittelstaedt would be daft not to make the most of this opportunity before he is sent back to the front. Perhaps you really do die a bit more easily if the army gives you a chance like that just once in a while.
Meanwhile Kantorek is scurrying backwards and forwards like a stuck pig. After a while Mittelstaedt tells them to stop, and he begins the terribly important exercise of crawling. Holding his rifle in the regulation manner, Kantorek drags his incredible shape on his elbows and knees through the sand right in front of us. He is panting heavily, and that panting is music to our ears.
Mittelstaedt encourages him by offering Kantorek-the-Home-Guardsman comforting quotations from Kantorek-the-School-master. Home Guardsman Kantorek, we are fortunate to be living in a time of greatness, and so we need to pull ourselves together and learn to overcome misfortunes.
Kantorek spits out a dirty scrap of wood that has managed to get in between his teeth and sweats.
Mittelstaedt leans down to him and assures him with great fervour, And in the face of trivialities we must never lose sight of the greater experience, Home Guardsman Kantorek!
Im only surprised that Kantorek doesnt explode with a great bang, especially since they now move on to PE, during which Mittelstaedt does a wonderful Kantorek imitation by grabbing hold of the seat of his trousers during an exercise on the horizontal bar, so that he can lift his chin up straight over the bar itself, all accompanied by a constant flow of pearls of wisdom. Thats exactly what Kantorek used to do to him in the old days.
After this they are detailed for further duties. Kantorek and Boettcher fetching the bread supply! Take the handcart!
A couple of minutes later the pair of them set off with the handcart. Kantorek, who is furious, keeps his head well down. The janitor is quite happy, because hes only got light duty.
The bakery is at the other end of town. They have to cross the whole town twice.
Theyve been doing it for a few days now, grins Mittelstaedt. People are already starting to wait specially, so that they can see them.
Fantastic, I say, but hasnt he put in a complaint?
He tried. Our commanding officer laughed like a drain when he heard the story. He cant stand schoolmasters. Besides, Im going out with his daughter.
Hell mess up the exam for you.
Who cares? says Mittelstaedt calmly. And in any case the complaint he made couldnt be upheld because I was able to show that he mostly had light duties.
Couldnt you really hammer him for once[211]? I ask.
No, hes too much of a weed for that, replies Mittelstaedt in a spirit of chivalry and generosity.
What is leave? Just a deviation that makes everything afterwards that much harder to take. Already the idea of saying goodbye is creeping in. My mother looks at me without saying anything. I know she is counting the days every morning she is unhappy. Its already a day less. She has tidied my pack away somewhere because she doesnt want to be reminded by it.
The hours pass quickly when you are brooding. I try to shake it off and go out with my sister. Shes going to the slaughterhouse to get a few pounds of bones. These are highly prized, and early in the morning people are already queueing to get some. A good few of them faint.
We are out of luck. After we have taken it in turns to stand there for three hours, the queue disperses. The supply of bones has run out.
Its a good job that I can draw my rations. I take some of my stuff to my mother, and that way we all get food that is a bit more nourishing.
The days get harder and harder, my mothers eyes get sadder and sadder. Four days left. I have to go and see Kemmerichs mother.
It would be impossible to put it down on paper. That trembling, sobbing woman shaking me and screaming, Why are you still alive when hes dead? and then weeping all over me and shouting, Why are you out there at all youre just children until she sinks down into a chair, still crying, and asks, Did you see him? Did you see him then? How did he die?
I tell her that he was shot through the heart and killed instantaneously. She looks at me doubtfully: Youre lying. I know better. I know what a hard death he had. I heard his voice, I felt his terror in the night tell me the truth, I want to know, I have to know.
No, I say, I was right next to him. He was killed outright.
She begs me, softly now, Tell me. You must. I know you just want to make me feel better, but cant you see that you are hurting me more than if you told the truth? I cant stand the uncertainty, tell me how it was, no matter how horrible. It will still be better than what I shall have to think otherwise.
I shall never tell her, shed have to make mincemeat out of me first. Im sorry for her, but it also strikes me that shes being a bit stupid. Why cant she just accept it, Kemmerich is still dead whether she knows or not. When you have seen so many dead men you cant really see the point of so much grief about a single one of them any more. So I tell her rather impatiently, He died instantly. He didnt feel a thing. His face was quite calm.
She doesnt say anything. Then she says, slowly, Do you swear to that?
Yes.
By everything you hold sacred?[212]
God, is there anything I hold sacred? You soon change your views on that sort of thing where we are.
Yes, he died instantly.
And may you not come back yourself if you havent told the truth?
May I not come back myself if he didnt die instantly.
I would swear by anything in the world. But she seems to believe me. She sighs heavily, and cries for a long time. She wants me to tell her how it was, so I invent a story that by now I almost believe myself.
When I leave, she kisses me and gives me a photograph of him. Hes in his recruits uniform, leaning against a round table, the legs of which are rustic birch branches, and there is a painted forest as a background. The table has a beer tankard on it.
Its the last evening at home. Nobody is much inclined to talk. I go to bed early, get hold of my pillow, hold tight to it and put my head into it. Who knows when I shall be lying in a feather bed again?
My mother comes into my room, very late. She thinks I am asleep and I pretend that I am. It would be just too hard to talk, to be awake together.
She sits there until it is nearly morning, although she is in pain and is often bent double with it. In the end I cant take it any longer and pretend to wake up.
Go to bed, Mother, youll catch cold sitting here.
Ill have plenty of time to sleep later, she replies.
I sit up. I dont have to go straight back to the front, Mother. Ive got four weeks in camp first. When Im there I might be able to come over one Sunday.
She says nothing. Then she asks softly, Are you very frightened?
No, Mother.
I wanted to say something else to you. Be careful of those French women. Theyre no good, those women out there.
Oh Mother, Mother, to you Im still a child why cant I just put my head in your lap and cry? Why do I always have to be the stronger and calmer one? Id like to be able to weep for once and be comforted, and anyway Im really not much more than a child the short trousers I wore as a boy are still hanging in the wardrobe. It was such a little while ago, why did it pass?
I say, as calmly as I can, There arent any women where we are stationed, Mother.
And make sure you take good care when you are at the front, Paul.
Oh Mother, Mother! Why dont I take you in my arms and die with you? What wretched creatures we are![213]
I say, as calmly as I can, There arent any women where we are stationed, Mother.