Castle to Castle (48 page)

And then Restif discovers a treasure! . . . a vein! . . . a hiding place! he rummages all over . . . from under the big sofa he brings out one . . . two . . . twenty pieces of violet muslin'. . . Parma violet! it must have been to hang on the nightmare ornaments . . . garlands . . . all across the car . . . big flounces! . . . suddenly I get to thinking . . . this Parma violet color? . . . it rings a bell! . . . a "throwback" . . . ah, I've got it . . . I know a thing or two about Germany . . . more than I want to! . . . this Parma muslin . . . right! . . . Diepholz, Hanover . . . Diepholz, the
Volksschule!
. . . 1906! . . . they'd sent me there to learn Boche! . . . come in handy in business! . . . Hell! ah, Diepholz, Hanover! . . . sweet memories! . . . even then they were vicious mean! maybe worse than in '44 . . . the clouts they gave me in Diepholz, Hanover! in 1906! . . .
Sedantag! Kaisertag!
the same savages as in 1914 . . . the same as I faced in Poelcapelle,° Flanders! which reminds me that Madeleine wasn't there! in Capelle, Flanders! or Vermersh! or even de Gaulle! standing up against the Germans really takes men! nor Malraux, the idol of the youth! and they don't leave many of them intact! take me for instance!

Getting back to that muslin! . . . they had the stuff hanging over all their china closets, lamps and balconies in Diepholz, Hanover! no wonder I remember! with the other school kids, all over the streets, across the streets! the same muslin . . . Parma violet . . . the
Kaiserin's
birthday, her color . . . I was the only
franzose
in Diepholz, Hanover . . . you can imagine if they put me through the mill . . . if they made me hang muslin! I remembered well! . . . Kaiserin Augusta! . . .

This treasure he'd unearthed! miles of muslin! all the ministers want some! secretaries of state, excellencies pounce on the bolts of Parma violet . . . unroll it all, wind themselves dresses and turbans out of it! they think they look better . . . more dignified in half-mourning . . . but there's not enough muslin to go around . . . especially five, six layers from head to foot! only the ministers! . . . they're pleased with their little num
ber! . . . they billow and smooth . . . they gather in
the
waist with upholstery braid . . . the whole car is full of it . . . all the draperies . . .
krrr! rip!
. . . are they going to get out like this . . . in Parma violet gowns? . . . if they ever arrive! . . . our calliope starts going even slower . . .
choo! choo!
from jolt to jolt . . . I said to myself, something's happening . . . you could see the roadbed, you could see the tracks . . . we must be getting somewhere . . . are we in Russia? I ask somebody . . . half joking . . . it's perfectly possible . . . maybe they've sent us to Russia . . . handed us over to the Red Army? with the bodies everything is possible, you've got to know them! the whole car is yelling, ready for the Russians!
tovaritsh! tovaritsh!
"they won't be any worse than the Germans!" that's the unanimous opinion . . . Franco-Russian alliance? . . . why not? good deal! . . . let's go! especially swathed in Parma violet! . . . it'll put the Russians' eye
out!
. . . with them maybe well eat? . . . the Russians eat! . . . in fact they eat like elephants! . . . some of our passengers know all about it! . . . borscht, red cabbage, etc! salt pork! they know what we'll get! it's all right with me! . . . so I fill them in, I inform the Delegation that I'm the author of the first Communist novel ever written, that they'll never write another! never! . . . they haven't got the guts! . . . and we'll announce it to the Russians! . . . to clinch it: translated by Aragon and his wife! they mustn't land like nobodies . . . they should tell them who they are . . . and who's with them! . . . it's not enough to talk about borscht! maybe do a danse triste? with sobs? . . . a little "downcast impromptu"? . . . won't look bad in Parma violet! I'm full of ideas, but I can't make them laugh . . . me and my gags . . . they want to eat! . . . they want to see those mess kits . . . Chinese, Turkish, Russian! . . . so long as it's chow! and would we find the L.V.F.? Possible . . . maybe they'll take us to the L.V.F. . . . why not? . . . we speculate . . . and their field kitchen!
canard aux navets!
. . . yum yum! . . . and heaps of meatballs! all you can eat! possible! possible! wouldn't that be a good one? but
brrt!
the train vibrates, comes to a stop . . . yes . . . Completely! and
tzimm!
BAM! boom!
a band! . . . an anvil chorus! . . . on top of the embankment . . . Russians? . . . no! . . . Boche soldiers! . . . the
Horst Wessel Lied!
Boches all right! . . . way on top of the snow bank! serenading us . . . it's really for us . . . Krauts! genuine Krauts! . . . not the L.V.F., not Russians! it's not even a station, we've stopped in the middle of the steppe . . . is it Hohenlychen? . . . nobody knows! . . . where's the hospital? . . . we don't see it, we don't see a thing . . . all we see is the embankment, the band on top, and the Boches . . . the Boches in high boots . . . their leader has a beard, he waves his baton . . . the
Horst Wessel Lied
again . . . and again . . . they must be expecting us to climb up . . . the leader motions to us . . . ah, it's not so easy! . . . especially in the pumps we've got on! never mind, we help each other up, we ascend . . . here we are! . . . oh, they've thought of everything! . . . a suitcase full of
butterbrot!
. . . it doesn't last long! . . . three shakes and it's all gone! nothing left! . . . they're still playing their
Horst Wessel
. . . we haven't got any boots . . . looks like they're going to lead us . . . well follow . . . but here comes a handsome young officer . . . he salutes us . . . from up top next to the band . . . has he brought us something to eat? . . . he requests us to line up . . . first "Justice"! . . . he must be the protocol officer . . . I've told you about the protocol . . . "Justice" first! . . . "Justice" represents Pétain . . . after Justice, the band . . . and then the rest of the Delegation . . . but in strict order! . . . oh, but they've changed their tune! . . . it's not the
Horst Wessel
any more, it's the
Marseillaise!
. . . We start out . . . we skid . . . especially "Justice"! . . . we put "Justice" back on his feet! . . . it's slippery as hell! . . . gales and gales! . . . the wind of the Urals six months out of twelve! . . . you've got to feel it to know . . . then you understand all the retreats! . . . all the disasters in Russia! nobody can take it! Napoleon's a little boy, Hitler a delirious straw in the wind! really that plain is no place to be! if we didn't have the Vosges and the rampart of the Argonne, we'd have the same gale! . . . you get to understand the conquerors of the East, their hordes are maddened, drunk with the cold . . . they should stay home and croak! why send us up there? that's what I'd like to knowl . . . it takes the politicians of today, who've never taken off from the Gare de l'Est, to miragine what goes on in those places! . . . the taxis of the Marne and blah-blah! . . . why don't they go see?

I won't tell you the names of the ministers behind the band . . . or the other people's either . . . Marion, okay, you know him . . . he's at the tail end . . . that's his place in the protocol, the last born of the ministries . . . we're nine in all . . . too damn slippery, we're really pooped . . . the officer puts us back together, arm in arm . . . and we start off again . . . where can that hospital be? . . . we can't see it! . . . you can't see anything in this snow! . . . even clutching each other this way we keep on slipping, we're not getting anywhere! . . . it's frozen like a skating rink . . . it's all right for them, for the band, they've got hobnailed boots! they can play the
Marseillaise!
with us it's a miracle we don't fly away and break our necks . . . the whole lot of us . . . and never get up . . . and every bone . . . naturally there were protests! . . . slower! slower!
langsam!
they don't hear us, if anything they go faster! Where are they taking us? ah, there's something after all . . . up there . . . it must be! . . . in the snow . . . something in the distance! . . . a flag! . . . I see it! . . . an enormous flag! . . . that must be for us! "wave wave grand flag!" . . . tricolor, blue, white, red, in front of a kind of shed . . . that's where they're taking us, must be! . . . not to the hospital at all . . . the officer makes a sign: halt! . . . the music stops, too . . . okay! . . . the officer comes over and starts telling us something . . . okay . . . we listen . . . he speaks French . . . "It grieves me to inform you that Monsieur Bichelonne is dead . . . he died ten days ago . . . at the hospital . . ." he points out the hospital . . . too far for us! we can't even see it . . . through the snow! . . . he tells us they've been expecting us for ten days! we're too late! . . . Bichelonne is in his box . . . here under the shed? . . . nothing remains but to pay the last honors . . . would one of us like to speak? . . . nobody feels like it! . . . too cold, too much snow, we're shivering too hard . . . Even in this getup, all swaddled in muslin, carpets, double curtains, puffed and stuffed, our teeth are chattering like knitting needles! speaking is out of the question! it's wonder enough that we got this far! I'm getting to understand the Great Retreats better and better . . . that they lie down in their own horses' bellies! fresh-opened and warm! in their guts! horrors! that's easy to say! we haven't got any horses, only this military band! and they start up again! . . . the
Marseillaise!
looks like we have to go over to the shed to pay the last honors . . . are we the honors? . . . who'd pay us any honors if we crack our skulls on this ice? nobody! . . . not a soul! . . . but as long as we're here by some miracle, I'd like to see Gebhardt at least! . . . he operated on him . . . he's not here, I don't see him, he hasn't come . . . too many operations, so it seems . . . I wonder if they're all so successful! I guess he doesn't exactly want to see us . . . nobody wants to see us . . . and no mess kits! Nothing! all they've got for us is a wreath! a wreath apiece, ivy and immortelles! . . . holding together, we struggle up to the shed . . . is this where he is, under this shed? . . . we lay our immortelles on the coffin . . . is Bichelonne in it? . . . no confidence in the Germans . . . you never know . . . anyway it's a fine coffin! Bichelonne doesn't have to account to anybody anymore! . . . with us it's different, it's not over yet! . . . we've got a bit of explaining to do! we've got to account to everybody . . . even to my pilllagers! . . . I'm always talking about myself! . . . It was easy for Hamlet to philosophize about skulls! . . . he had his "security"! We certainly didn't!

The protocol officer sees that we don't want to say anything . . .

"
Nun, messieurs!
the ceremony is ended! You may return, Messieurs!"

Oh, the flag . . . we were forgetting the flag! . . . we were supposed to take it back to the Marshal . . . the musicians rip it out of the ice . . . with a great deal of difficulty! . . . they hand it to us! . . . plenty heavy, I assure you! . . . the wind rushes into it! we grab hold of the pole seven . . . eight . . . ten of us . . . it carries us away! . . . we sail with the gusts . . . we and the band! . . . luckily the wind is blowing from east to west . . . in the direction of our car . . . assuming it's still there! . . . the Delegation rolls and pitches! . . . ministers and musicians together . . . hanging on to the flag . . .
bam!
. . . we're all reeling! we crumple! we lie down! . . . ah, but then the wind starts up again! . . . everybody up, let's go! but the flag isn't vertical any more, oh, no! now it's flat, horizontal! everybody on the pole, but lengthwise! . . . we discovered the gimmick! . . . the band follows us! . . . they're still playing their
Marseillaise
. . . we're still slipping, but not so much . . . the whole thing is finding the gimmick! we're not skidding any more . . . the officer follows us . . . we get to the top of the embankment . . . right next to our car . . . was he glad to get us into that train! we didn't need to be asked twice . . . we'd paid those last honors! . . . but how were we going to stow this enormous flag? . . . it's as long as the car! . . . luckily there's no glass in the windows! . . . it barely fits . . . lengthwise along the sofa . . . and a little on the slant . . . but what about the engine? . . . is it still here? how are they going to turn it around? . . . Is she going to push instead of pulling? . . . I ask a Kraut . . . she'll push us as far as Berlin . . . Berlin-Anhalt . . . then there'll be a different engine . . . okay! . . . this old railroad man fills me in . . . Berlin-Anhalt! . . . a little courtesy after all! it won't kill them to be a little polite . . . so we take our places . . . that is, we pile up . . . we're not in Berlin-Anhalt yet . . . the officer salutes us from up on the bank . . . a big sweeping salute! . . . his band plays the
Horst Wessel
again . . . no more
Marseillaise
. . . come to think of it, everything's gone off fine . . . except for the chow . . . not a crumb! . . . We're getting sore . . . "How about it? How about it?" Restif yells at his nibs up on the bank . . . "Give us something to eat! We're starving! . . .
fressen! fressen!
" . . . the train was pulling out . . . the character up there, the officer with the saber, pretended not to hear us, he kept on saluting! the whole car starts in "
butterbrot! butterbrot!
Stupid up there didn't give a shit . . . but he called out to us: "You'll get some in Berlin!" Berlin my eye! he's sending us somewhere to croak . . . that's what we're thinking . . . the general opinion . . . sure thing:
puff! puff!
. . . the locomotive is pushing . . . the Shah's car was home ground to us! we'd swaddled ourselves in it! . . . all the curtains went! . . . and the carpets! we were something to look at! all those layers of muslin! . . . we were freezing anyway! even lying all together piled up on the floor! Funny, we're not jolting! . . . we seem to be sliding along . . . maybe we've gone off the track? maybe we're sliding over the frozen roadbed? . . . we've been moving at least three hours . . . this must be some suburb . . . ruins, rubble . . . some more rubble . . . maybe it's Berlin? . . . yes, you wouldn't think so . . . but there's a sign . . . and an arrow! . . .
Berlin!
and another . . .
Anhalt
. . . very slowly we pull in . . . sliding along . . . here we are . . . a platform . . . two . . . ten platforms . . . really an enormous station! . . . three . . . four times the size of the Gare d'Orsay . . . it's taken a lot of punishment . . . not a window . . . not a pane of glass . . . but plenty of tracks and switches, worse than Asnieres! . . . and the mob on the platform! . . . especially women and children! jampacked! . . . the second our two cars stop, we're invaded! . . . we're smothered! submerged under women and brats! . . . a flood, they walk on us, they squash us . . . they pour in through every opening . . . and porters! here come the porters! they throw in crates on top of us! . . . I know those crates! . . . canned goods . . . is it for us? . . . "
Red Cross
" it says . . .
Red Cross
for us? and enormous bags of bread . . .
Red Cross
too . . . tons! enough to eat for a hundred and ten years! . . . the damn train can start moving, we'll put it away . . . bumps or no bumps, let's get moving! . . . hell, and all these women and brats! . . . we don't want to die in the Anhalt station! here we go! a whistle! Christ, we're moving! but those crates aren't for us, no dice! . . . right there in the station the brats have broken everything open . . . ten or twelve of them to a cover! real savages! . . . and the stuff they pull out! the things they eat right then and there! . . . buckets of jam! bread and jam! and not just the brats, the women too! some of them very old . . . but greedy! . . . and some pregnant women . . . okay . . . okay . . . the whole lot of them devouring . . . and not just jam . . . whole hams! . . . yes, hams! . . . we see it all, it's all happening on top of us, square on top of us! . . . What do they think we are? mattresses? . . . bundles? . . . they don't give a damn! . . . neither do we! . . . we catch what we can . . . when they don't want any more . . . the bottom of the crates . . . the stuff is still good! . . . whole strings of sausages! they let us eat, they're full . . . they give up, they collapse . . . they sleep . . . fine! . . . that gives us two, three hours of peace . . . the train jolts . . . but not too much . . . where can we be going now? . . . but then they wake up! first they start yacking! and then singing! in chorus! how many can there be? . . . forty? . . . fifty? . . . in three voices and in tune! and gay! . . . the children are from Königsberg, the pregnant women from Danzig . . . I've still got their tunes in my head . . .
tigelig! . . . ding! . . .
digdigeling!
. . . little bells . . . must be a Christmas song . . . they must be rehearsing? . . . anyway, they're enjoying the trip . . . a trip full of jam and millions of oranges and chocolate! everything! . . . but then they go too far, they get difficult . . . they start stripping everything off us . . . they want our blankets! they've got their own from the
Red Cross!
damn brats! they want our frippery too! all our carpets and muslins! that we've been to such pains . . . everything we've got on . . . they tear us to pieces! we've got to defend ourselves! terrible pirates these kids! . . . girls and boys! . . . horrible little tearing baboons, worse than we are! they go for our rivers of muslin! they take advantage of the jerks and jolts to skin us! . . . ten at a time! and pull! and rip! . . . the ministers are sawing wood . . . they go for them! . . . they undress them! especially after the fifth day they got to be real thugs! five days shut up, no chance to go out! five days and five nights . . . and still they find parts of the car to wreck! ah, the Shah's train! . . . vestiges of easy chairs! . . . and all fighting and yelling at once! throwing everything they can break off out the windows! or at us . . . the Fraülein, their nurse, does the best she can! you can imagine! . . . name of Ursula . . . she's not even speaking to the kids anymore . . . '"Fraülein Ursula! Fraülein Ursula!" they want her to watch how the're smashing everything . . . really every thing! . . . and they're proud of it! . . . she's stopped paying attention . . . she's given them everything there was in the crates . . . condensed milk, buckets of jam . . . she's stuffed the damn brats and us too! . . . plus what they've thrown out of the windows! naturally they've all got the shits! luckily the toilet works . . . but even so . . . there's shit all over the place! . . . that's another sport, shit all over the place! . . . the Fraülein tries to stop them, the brats won't listen . . . "
Kinder! Kinder!
" she does her damnedest, but it's no use! the kids are sick of their Fraülein! What they want is for her to stop the train and right away! they want to run around in the country! right outside the window! and bring them more jam! . . . more! more! and open more crates! . . ah, beer! . , . they want to drink beer too! . . . like the ministers . . . right out of the bottle! . . . they clink bottles! . . .
glug! glug!
. . . you . can imagine the effect on the kids! . . . the beer knocks them for a loop . . . they're sleeping with the ministers right on the floor of the car . . . we've passed through a tunnel . . . Marion tells me, I hadn't noticed . . . sleeping as fast as the kids? . . . and I hadn't had anything to drink . . . I never drink . . . except my can of water . . . but Marion was right, we'd passed through a tunnel . . . Marion explains . . . the Eiffel Mountains . . . hadn't seen a thing! . . . there'd been bombs on the way out, so it seems . . . hadn't heard! . . . all the better! . . . we'd changed engines, we'd shunted back and forth . . . under the tunnel . . . all that while I was asleep? . . . all the better! . . . a knockout sleep! . . . the Fraülein was lying asleep too . . . she was out cold! . . . their little nap had really rested the brats! wilder than ever! devils multiplied by ten! . . . there they go depluming the ministers! . . . really enjoying themselves! . . . uniforms, braid and muslin, especially muslin . . . they start in again! they peel them bare! they make coats for themselves! and capes . . . the girls, too . . . gowns with trains! . . . a carnival! . . . the ministers defend themselves a little, the best they can, not much, they're afraid the brats will fly out the windows! all fighting and punching and yelling . . . all over the car! . . . the pregnant women are quiet at least, stretched out on the floor . . . reasonable . . . but in their condition . . . shaken up! . . . batted together! disgraceful! . . . I feel sorry for them . . .
puff! puff! puff!
. . . we're moving anyway . . . I'm doing the locomotive for you . . . these pregnant women were practically all "due" . . . well, at least in their eighth month . . . I hope we'll get there first! I hope . . . a fine mess for me if one of them starts spawning! . . .