Monte Cassino (21 page)

"I'll look up in half an hour, when I close here," he called.

We clambered up a steep flight of stairs. The girl led the way and we could see far up her legs. She wore red knickers and black lace. Her stockings were long and exciting and had dark-coloured tops.

Carl sniggered hungrily and took hold of her thigh:

"Lovely rigging you've got!"

We followed the girl down a long, pitch dark corridor, stumbling into things, and laughing sillily and taking it in turns to strike matches. Every now and again we stopped for a mouthful of beer.

A woman was groaning behind one of the doors. From another room came a man's lewd laugh. A bed creaked protestingly. Something fell. It must have been a bottle, because it went rolling on across the floor.

Otto bent down to look through the keyhole.

"Sbrigatevi!"
the girl whispered impatiently. "What the hell are you hanging about there for?"

"Take it easy," Otto said. "We're on our way into dock. There's no hurry."

"If you don't come, I'll get myself another lout. The night's short. I'm busy." She tossed her head, jerking her long blue-black hair behind her. "What's the idea? Do you want a fuck or don't you?"

"We're coming," Otto growled. "We're just having a glass of beer. Have you ever wondered, Carl, why whores are always in a hurry? They are the most industrious business people in the world. Do you remember that tall thin one at Saloniki, who took two clients at a time? She was so busy, she didn't keep an eye on Obermaat Grant. He went off with four night's earnings, and when she went after him, she fell into the water, cutting her forehead on a bollard."

"Don't you call me a whore," exclaimed the girl, who understood a little German, "For you, sailor, I'm a girl, hag, witch, wench, what you like, but not whore."

"That's all right," said Otto soothingly. "Let's go in and adjust compasses. What were you called by the way, when you were still with mum?"

"Lolita."

"Lolita," Otto savoured the name, "Lolita. Have you ever been under the clothes with a girl called Lolita before, Carl?"

"Can't remember, if I have. Come on, Lolita, show us your bunk."

A bottle of beer slipped from Otto's grasp, rolled along the corridor and down the steps. He made a dive for it, dropping the other bottles he had under his arm, lost his balance and went slithering down the stairs making the most appalling racket.

Carl and I hurried to help, thundering down the quiet stairs. Doors were flung open. Men and women cursed us, as only Italians can. A titch standing beside an enormous girl promised to box our ears, but when he caught sight of Otto he withdrew hurriedly and barricaded the door with a commode and a bidet.

The barman appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his body glistening with sweat, a cudgel in his hand.

"Per Bacco! Accidenti!
If there's anyone after you boys, I'll deal with him."

"It's just that I dropped my beer," Otto explained.

"Did it break?" the fat barman asked anxiously.

"No, praise be. But what bloody awful stairs you have. They remind me of Nagasaki. I went on my arse there too. That was the night I scrouged my syph. A Japanese she was, and only had three toes on her right foot."

"Syph," shouted Lolita. "Then there's nothing doing with me!" She darted off down the passage, and a door slammed.

Carl began to grumble.

"You flaming idiot! What the devil did you want to open your big mouth about your syph for? Don't you understand, Otto, that sort of thing is Top Secret. Have you ever heard me blabbing about the clap I got when we bunkered in Piraeus. And that was your fault, Otto. You insisted on going into that darned cafe. If we had gone to the girls in the telephone exchange, as I suggested, it wouldn't have happened."

"Who says the telephone girls were immaculate?" Otto said, defensively. "If you've got it coming to you, you'll get it even if you stalk into the royal palace and hop into bed with a princess."

We sat down on the stairs and opened a couple of bottles; then slowly we toiled back up again, pausing for beer on every landing.

"Beer isn't what it was," Otto said querulously. "It smells like beer, it's called beer, and they charge for it as if it was beer, but the muck tastes like water. Once beer starts getting bad, it's time to stop the war. Nobody can stand a war without decent beer."

"Are you two regulars," I asked.

"Yes, what else?" Carl snapped. He spat on the wall. "We went to school together, Otto and I. We got fed up together and we joined the navy together in '24. That was the only permanent job they could offer us. We signed on for twelve years straightaway. What the hell's the use of dividing life into little bits? And we've stayed in ever since."

"And you're still only mates?" I asked surprised.

"We could have been Stabsfeldwebels long ago," Otto grinned. "We've been reduced five times now. Too much cunt and beer. And too many idiotic officers. But it was fun, until this filthy war started. Now, we're the only ones left out of 375 from the old U boat school in Kiel."

"What'll you do, when we've lost the war and they do away with the navy?"

"You talk about things you know, son," Carl said with a disapproving shake of his head. "The navy can't be abolished just like that. They'll send you others to hell. They may take the sharks away from us for a bit, but we'll be put on sweeping mines."

Otto had now got as far as Lolita's door and was threatening to shoot the lock, if she didn't open up. He rattled his rifle so that she could hear he meant business.

"Move away from the door. I'm going to shoot," he bellowed.

Two bolts were shot into place on the far side and a stream of oaths and curses poured through. She threatened to send Mussolini, Badaglio, Churchill and the Pope after him, if he didn't go away.

A door opened at the end of the corridor and a hospitable girl invited us in. Otto shouldered his kitbag and carbine, Lolita forgotten.

We shook hands and introduced ourselves. She was called Isabella. She had a whole keg of beer standing beside the washbasin and mugs dangled on strings from the ceiling.

Otto shed his clothes at once. He had big holes in his socks and mould on his trousers. He pointed to his boots.

"Can't get those damned dice-boxes dry," he said. "We had to wade the last bit. The duty boat couldn't get right in. It's a dog's life being a sailor."

Isabella stepped out of her skirt. She had a short black petticoat, which we admired. Carl and I seated ourselves on the edge of the bed, each with a mug of beer. Otto and Isabella squabbled amiably about which position to use. In the end she gave in and knelt on the bed. Carl and I were a bit in the way and had to move over. That was soon done. Then it was the f.l. which was wrong and I had to get another from a packet in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers. Isabella saw to it that it was put on properly.

"Now we're ready," she said.

"Fine," growled Otto, "Let's get to work then."

Carl gave me a description of life in the depot ships to which they delivered the prisoners they took.

"It was on one of them I had the best fuck of my life," he said. "A black girl, she was, and wild as the devil. The African jungle in person. She moved her undercarriage like the flywheel on a steam roller."

Otto sat up, a satisfied expression on his face. Then it was Carl's turn. He went on with his story about the African girl, while taking his trousers off.

Isabella swung her legs round his thighs.

"And while I was on her," Carl went on, "I ate caviar out of a tin with a spoon. I'll give you a hundred extra if you do it French," he said to Isabella.

"As you like. Here with the dough."

"I tried to smuggle her back aboard our shark, but the Old Man saw her just as we were diving into the stern fo'c'sle. I got twelve days, but she was worth it ten times over. You've got a lovely bum," he said with a sigh, pinching Isabella's broad backside.

Otto flung his used f.l. out of the window and put his boots by the radiator to dry.

"You, Sven, what would you say to joining forces with us for a couple of days? The hospital can wait. I think we three ought to have a look at this hole all the fine people seem to want to see. It's part of your education to know Rome."

I agreed, though it meant sacrificing a couple of precious days.

"Our first officer told me of a good hostelry. I have the address. He told me all about it, when we were in a lifeboat in Biscay."

"Were you torpedoed?"

"No, it was a bloody plane. We were up charging our batteries. It came right out of the sun and hammered away at us with its machine cannon. The CO and chief engineer who were sitting smoking forward were killed with the first burst. The next swept the entire gun crew away. They did a crash-dive, of course. The first officer and I were on deck aft. We tugged at the hatch but it was already locked from inside. The first officer just managed to get a life belt loose and in we went with boots, pistols and the lot. We had to get away from the ruddy thing, before we were sucked down. The buggers swung her and darned nearly made pulp of us with the conning tower. A T-boat picked us up two days later. You should have seen Carl's face, when we ran into each other in No. 3 Flotilla's canteen in Bordeaux."

Carl raised himself on his elbows off Isabella's chest and paused long enough to say:

"Jesus is my witness. I had the fright of my life. When that flying bastard had gone, we surfaced to look for you. We searched all night. We even used a searchlight though it's forbidden. The next day, we gathered all your gear together and had a funeral. So, when I saw you in Bordeaux, I nearly peed my bags with fright."

Isabella and he resumed operations.

There was a wild hammering on the door.

"Who is it now," Isabella called in a voice of irritation.
"Via di qua!"

"Don't shout so. It's me, Mario," came the beery voice of the barman.

Otto opened the door and Mario staggered in, a case of beer on his shoulders.

"I've brought you a few bottles, in case you get thirsty," he explained, dumping the beer down in the middle of the floor. He patted Isabella's turned-up backside. "You're busy," he said and laughed. Then he put his head back and emptied a bottle at one draught.

Carl had finished. Otto said he would like another turn and took up position between Isabella's strong thighs.

"This is what keeps a tired hero going," he said. He set the girl's heels on his shoulders. "We get it seldom enough at sea."

"Not without a f.l.," said Isabella freeing herself. I had to rummage in the bottom drawer again.

"Your papers are all in order, I suppose," Mario said. "The MPs will be here in an hour."

"I've nothing to fear," I said and laughed happily.

"Your leave's for Rome is it?"

"No, Hamburg."

"They'll have you then. Don't let them find you here. But, shit take it, you've time enough. There's a blind old thing lives in the basement. She's got ears like a weasel and as soon as she hears anything, she'll smash a bottle against the wall in the courtyard."

Otto was tired out, and Isabella was sitting straddled over the bidet. The sight of her made Mario lust. They couldn't be bothered to get into bed, but did it on the floor like a couple of dogs. Mario had his beer within reach and did not even stop while he was drinking. None of us took exception to them. Why should we? Isabella was in business and we were her clients. It was just the same as going to the stores and having a beer in the back of the shop. Mario was sweating.

"Poof, ugh," he groaned. "I've got out of training. I really must do this more often."

"You can do it here as often as you like," Isabella said, "as long as you pay. Otherwise, the shop's shut." "Haven't you got a fellow?" Otto asked. "Not now. They took him a week ago. Sent him away with the Jews."

"Wonder what they are doing with all the beaks," Carl said.

"Snuffing them out," Otto said. "I've heard they try out chemical warfare stuff on them."

"People say they're gassed in big camps in Poland," Mario put in.

"Aren't you coming too?" Isabella asked, pointing to me. "If you are, let's do it now, while I'm in form."

I tried to get out of it, but the others thought it was just being embarrassed and helped me. Why describe it? Anyway, we were interrupted in the middle of it all by Carl suddenly saying:

"Let me see your armpit. You haven't a blood group marking have you?"

I was so surprised that without thinking, I raised my upper arm, then I lost my temper.

"You two moth-eaten salt-herring sailors have no right to try and throw your weight about here!" I seized a pot that was half full, and heaved it at Carl. He ducked like lightning and it sailed on to hit Mario as he was draining a bottle of beer.

He wiped the stinking stuff from his face at the same time letting out a flow of sulphurous oaths. The next moment Isabella and I were flung apart.

"You lousy German petrol-yokel," he shouted. "Here you're getting Italian cunt at sale price and you fling piss at decent people!" He tried to jump on my belly, but I managed to roll away in time.

Carl and Otto leaped at him and managed to get him down. Tall Otto seated himself astride his chest, while Isabella supplied first aid in the shape of beer and schnaps which she poured down his throat in vast quantities to quieten him. Slowly his equanimity returned, but before he would agree to be sensible Isabella had to promise him a sympathetic fuck, and while he had it we sang "Oh, Tannenbaum!" as a part song.

"I could tell you were one of us," Carl began, his face serious.

At the foot of the air-shaft outside a bottle smashed against a pipe. Hurried footsteps sounded on the narrow stairs. Ironshod boots trying to tread quietly. The military police, blasted headhunters.

Mario jerked himself free of Isabella.

"Hell, boys, they're here. The blind woman's heard them. Out onto the roof!
Sbrigatevi!"

I tried to crawl under the bed, but was pulled out by my legs.

"Are you crazy?" Isabella hissed. "That's the first place they look."