Forgotten Soldier (24 page)

Early the next morning, I set out to find the Neubachs' house. After several hours of hesitant, groping progress, I finally found myself in front of number 112, Killeringstrasse, a simple, three-story house with a graveled walk beside it, which could be shut off from the street by a low gate. A young girl who seemed to be about my age was leaning on the bottom half of the front door, looking out into the street. After a moment's hesitation, I went over to ask a final direction.

"Yes sir," she said, smiling. "This is the right house: they live on the second floor. But at this time of day they're all out at work." "Thank you, miss. Do you know when they'll be back?"

"They'll be here this evening, after seven."

"Thank you," I said, thinking of the long day ahead of me. What could I do with all that time? As I shut the gate, I thanked the girl once again. She smiled faintly, and nodded her head. Who was she waiting for? Certainly not the Neubachs.

I had already walked a short way down Killeringstrasse when it occurred to me that I could, at any rate, have talked to the girl a little longer. After several moments of hesitation, I turned back, hoping that she would still be there. Every minute I could subtract from the interminable day ahead seemed like a minute gained. As long as she didn't laugh at me right to my face, I was ready to take almost any amount of sarcasm. I was soon back at number I12. She was exactly where I'd left her.

"You think they're already home?" she said, laughing.

"Of course not. But I feel so lost in this town that I'd rather sit here on the steps and wait than have to hunt for the house all over again."

"You want to wait here all day?" She seemed astonished.

"I'm afraid so."

"But you ought to look around Berlin. It's an interesting place."

"I agree with you. I should. But really, I feel so lost I'm afraid I wouldn't see anything."

And I still felt so disappointed that I had no wish to flirt. "Are you on leave?"

"Yes. I've still got twelve days. But I'm not allowed to leave the Berlin sector."

"Are you from the Eastern front?"

"Yes."

"It must have been very hard. I can see it on your face."

I glanced up at her in surprise. I suspected that I did look like the undertaker's assistant, but for a pretty girl to remark on it after the first few minutes!

Then she said something about the people on the third floor, but I wasn't really listening. If she thought I looked as bad as all that, this minuscule conversation that was bringing me somewhat closer to normal life might end at any moment. The idea terrified me. I would have done almost anything to keep this encounter going.

I tried to change my expression, to force my mouth to smile, to make myself agreeable. Heavily and clumsily I asked her if she knew the city.

"Oh yes," she said, apparently unaware of the trap I was arranging.

"I've lived in Berlin since before the war."

Then she told me about herself: how she studied for part of the day and was a first-aid assistant for an eight-hour shift. She was studying for a teacher's license. I listened, but with only half my attention. The simple sound of her voice seemed to wrap me in tenderness; I only wanted it to continue. I tried to look agreeable. When she fell silent, I thrust home with my question: the technique of a feldwebel.

"Since you don't have to be at the first-aid station until five, couldn't you show me some of the sights? That is to say, if you don't have anything else to do . . ."

She blushed a little.

"I'd like to," she said, looking down at the ground. "But I can't say until I've spoken to Frau X. . . ." (I no longer remember the woman's name.)

"Oh. Well, I've got lots of time.... Twelve days . . ." She laughed. "Good sign," I thought.

We talked for about an hour, until the good lady arrived. We couldn't avoid the war, of course-although I certainly wanted to but I did my best to embroider what I said. I described heroic deeds the like of which I'd never seen. I couldn't believe that the filth of the steppe was what this girl wanted to hear about, and I was afraid of speaking too frankly. I didn't want her to understand what our experiences had really been like. I didn't want her to catch the stench of mud and blood through anything I said, or to see the huge gray horizon still stamped across my vision. I was afraid of infecting her with my terror and disgust, and afraid that if I did she'd resent it. My descriptions of heroism came straight from Hollywood, but at least we were able to laugh, and I could go on talking to her.

Finally, Frau X arrived. At first, she looked at us disapprovingly. Then Paula-she had told me her name-introduced me as a friend of the Neubachs.

"To tell you the truth, gnadige Frau, I was a friend of Ernst's. I wanted to visit his family."

"I understand, young man. Come in and wait in my place-you'll be more comfortable there.

Those poor Neubachs. Their courage is almost unbelievable. To think of losing two sons in ten days: it's too awful! My God, I hope this war ends before one of mine is killed!"

So the Neubachs already knew. . . . They knew not only that Ernst was dead, but another son as well. I hadn't even known that

Ernst had a brother. Suddenly, Ernst's death came back to me in all its detail: Ernst, the Don, the Tatra . . . "Ernst, I'll save you! Don't cry, Ernst!" These things were blotted out only when I looked at Paula; and they had to be blotted out; I had to forget them. Paula was beside me, smiling ... to forget: how hard it was!

"You may wait here, dear sir, or at the Neubachs'-whichever you wish," said the older woman, addressing the boy of seventeen like a grownup gentleman.

"How was Ernst killed?"

"Forgive me if I don't speak of it," I said, looking down.

But looking down was no help. My eyes fell on my boots: the boots which had trampled the earth on Ernst's grave. Everything here kept reminding me, except Paula's smile.

"You must invent something, then," said the kind-hearted woman, guessing at the horror behind my silence. "You must spare those poor people."

"You can depend on that, gnadige Frau," I said. "I've already had some practice."

Frau X changed the subject, which was clearly too painful. She brought out a large bowl of cocoa and milk, and then began talking to Paula, who worked for her as a dressmaker's assistant.

"I hope, Paula, that you will entertain our friend Sajer here. You should show him Unter den Linden, and the Siegesallee. This young man needs some distraction, and that will be your job today."

I could have kissed her!

"But Frau X, there's all that work I should finish, and . . ."

"Ta, ta, to . . . You take him on a tour of the capital. There's nothing more urgent."

I thanked the kindly woman effusively. Was Paula glad to have a holiday? I didn't really care. I was too pleased with my circumstances to analyze them.

We set out, promising to be back for lunch. I walked along beside Paula, struck dumb with pleasure. She tried to fall into step with me, miming my military stride to tease me, but I only laughed. We passed a little booth painted red, where a woman was selling fried fish, and I thought of buying some for Paula. She followed me, smiling her delicious smile. The woman behind the counter prepared two helpings of fish on two slices of thick bread spread with some kind of ersatz butter. Then she asked for our ration cards.

"But I don't have any ration card. I'm here on leave." I smiled, hoping to gain the woman's sympathy.

This did no good at all. Paula laughed as though she would burst. I felt ridiculous.

"J'aurai to peau, vermine," I added in French.

The fish woman naturally didn't understand me, and went on raking out her ashes. We walked off without our fish.

Our lunch with Paula's employer crowned my happiness. Despite rationing and shortages, the good-hearted woman had managed to prepare some delicious dishes. She also produced some liqueur, which went straight to my head. I left the table aware of an unusual state of excitement, and began to bellow out a marching song, which my two companions absolutely could not sing with me. Belatedly coming to my senses, I begged their pardon, and then began another song which was just as objectionable.

My hostess seemed amused, but somewhat apprehensive. Paula writhed in her seat, and stared at me as if I were some kind of grotesque Punch. Her employer, weighing my drunkenness against her concern for her china, suggested to Paula that she take me out for some air. Paula obediently dragged me off, plainly displeased by the company of a drunken soldier, who might do something stupid at any moment.

On the staircase, my timidity was suddenly overcome by a ludicrous surge of confidence. I grabbed Paula by the waist and spun her into a dance in time to my stamping boots. She frowned, and pulled herself away so abruptly that I almost lost my balance.

"Stop it, or I won't come with you," she said.

This brought me crashing to my senses. The simple fact that she was no longer smiling filled me with anxiety. A fog seemed to have risen between her suddenly hardened eyes and mine, momentarily clouded by a good meal. I felt as if I were back in a foxhole seeing in a dream a glowing fragment from what had been my youth. I felt chilled to the bone. Perhaps by my stupidity I'd lost Paula already.

"Paula!" I cried in desperation.

I stood frozen in my tracks. Paula had already reached the bottom of the stairs, and was standing in the doorway, framed in sunlight.

"All right," she said. "Come along, but pull yourself together." Still somewhat numb, I clutched at my imperiled happiness. "What would you like to see?"

"I don't know, Paula. Whatever you like."

I felt panic-stricken. Clearly Paula was exasperated by the company of a drunken enlisted man. I would have to become an officer. Paula was trying to make me decide something I knew nothing about. Inside my head, her irritated voice seemed to blend with the remembered voices of sergeants shouting orders, exhorting me to actions which I had no hope of accomplishing. "You there! Jump into that Tatra! Well, have you decided? What would you like to do? Put your foot on the gas! Watch out for that chain! Your uniform is spotted; you have to be more careful. Well, have you decided?"

Yes, Herr Leutnant, Jawohl! Yes, Paula. Of course.

Suddenly, she took hold of my sleeve and dragged me from my lethargy. I looked at her. My eyes must have been full of sadness. She seemed astonished.

"Let's go to the square, anyway," she said. "Then we'll decide something. Come on."

She pulled me after her. I let her do it, knowing that, if we ran into an officer or one of the military police, my leave would swiftly come to an end in a labor camp. Holding a girl's arm in the street was strictly forbidden, but when I mentioned this to Paula, she only laughed.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not drunk. I'll be able to see them coming."

Finally, as I remained more or less incapable of speech, she took the initiative herself, and showed me a round of sights. I stared at them with unseeing eyes. I couldn't shake off the feeling that she was simply doing her duty, that my company was no pleasure for her-and I wanted her to enjoy me as much as I enjoyed her. But that was impossible. There was no reason for her to concede me that happiness. There was no reason, either, for me to be walking along that clean, well-organized street in a state of disarray, and no reason for anyone to be patient with a poor, befuddled soldier, just because he'd spent months wallowing in snow and mud and horror. People at peace with themselves have no idea that anyone unaccustomed to happiness shouts himself breathless in the face of joy. I was the one who had to try to understand, to adapt myself to this mood of tranquility, to avoid shocking anyone, to smile a correct smile, neither too wide nor too tense. At the risk of seeming wild or apathetic, I had to make the effort, to invent, and avoid the impression I often felt I was making in France, after the war, of telling boring war stories. I often felt like killing the people who then accused me of lying. It is so easy to kill-especially when one no longer feels any particular link with existence. I-a poor bastard soldier in the wrong army-I had to learn how to live, because I hadn't been able to die. Why, Paula, did you make a point of the stain on my jacket? Why was a stain enough to erase your smile? Why? And why do I still like to smile-I, who have see an infinity of horrifying stains? This evening, perhaps, the Neubachs will laugh, Paula, and I will try to laugh too, like you.

Paula left me near the Oder bruke, at five o'clock, with detailed instructions on how to return to the Killeringstrasse. She held my hand as she spoke, and smiled, as if in pity. I smiled as if I were happy.

"I'll come by the Neubachs' for a moment this evening," she said. "Anyway, we'll see each other tomorrow. Good night."

"Gute Nacht, Paula."

That evening I met the Neubachs. I could easily recognize my friend Ernst in his mother's face. These poor people did not dwell on the double catastrophe which had obliterated all their hopes. The idea of Europe after the war no longer had any meaning for them, because those who should have inherited it no longer existed. But they made heroic efforts to celebrate my passage. The kindly woman from upstairs who had so generously wet my throat that afternoon joined us, and Paula came in for a moment about eleven. Our eyes met, and Paula saw fit to make a joke about our earlier falling-out.

"I had to preach him a sermon about decent deportment this afternoon. He was singing and dancing right in the middle of the street."

I looked carefully at all the faces. Were they going to scold me, or would they laugh? Luckily, all I had to do was laugh with the others.

"That wasn't nice of you, Paula," said the good, kind, generous lady from the third floor. "You must ask him to forgive you."

Paula, blushing and smiling, made her way round the table through a circle of laughter, and put a kiss on my forehead. I received the touch of her lips like a man condemned to the electric chair, and sat blushing, unable to move. Everyone recognized my emotion, and called out: