North (25 page)

It wasn't really breaking, too many clouds . . . Hjalmar the beadle wasn't in the praying mood . . . he was whispering to the servant girl . . . he wanted a little "tonic" with his coffee . . . gin, I think . . . I only hoped la Kretzer had gone up to see Lili . . . for the gossip of course . . . but with, coffee, bread, and butter . . . those Kretzers had everything they wanted . . . But like it or not, we had to see the von Leidens!

I've been telling you about the pastor, but I haven't mentioned his costume . . . he wasn't wearing a coat but a long gray blouse . . . an enormous lid, gray too, with a veil tied under his chin . . . the apiculturist at work . . . he explains . . . he won't let us go till he's told us . . . his function as keeper of the hives, his pursuit of the swarms had led him to the planes . . . his bees were all in the fuselage . . . none of those planes had taken off for two years . . . the last plane, the last pilot had made a hole in the field . . . the plane was still there, the pilot too, way down deep . . . there were still twelve planes, grounded, peaceful and quiet . . . so naturally the swarms were attracted! . . . especially the insides of the wings . . .

"I'll tell them in Berlin! . . . they don't know, they never come! . . . the sky belongs to God! God created the bees! His will be done!"

"Sicher!
Certainly!"

We agreed with him . . . so did Hjalmar Spikehat . . .

I was going to ask about honey . . .

Somebody coming oyer there . . . In boots . . . Kracht, our
Sturmapotheke!
. . . what's he want? Hjalmar tells me . . . observing . . . he has to send in reports about us, about everything, to his 
Standartführer
in Berlin . . . perfect! . . . here he is! . . . he's crossed the yard in a hurry . . . he doesn't ask the pastor any questions, he just motions to us: everybody up! assembly!

"Komm! Komm!"

We should follow him . . . where's he going? . . . Hjalmar can't move, he's chained to the pastor . . . quick! quick! . . . the key! he gets up! . . . we take off his handcuff . . . there! . . . we straggle off . . . finally Kracht speaks up, we're going to the airfield for the investigation . . . couldn't he leave us here? . . . oh well! . . . here's the path . . . first through alfalfa, then woods . . . still going . . . pretty far, I'd say . . . since Berlin it seems to me that everything is far . . . bad limp . . . I lag behind . . . ah, at last! . . . a big clearing . . . Hjalmar has brought his bugle and drum . . . on his back, jigglejoggling . . . he limps too, worse than me actually . . . he must have been wounded in the war too . . . we seem to be about the same age . . . his instruments make a terrible clatter . . . he's got the pastor on the chain again, by (he handcuff . . . I can't make out what Kracht wants, why he's brought us . . . when I had things to do at the manor and the farm and the grocery store . . . why were we wasting our time here . . . whenever they get a chance, never fear, people make you waste hours and months . . . they use you as a wall to bounce their bullshit off of . . .
blah!
and
blah!
and
blahblahblah! 
. . . you put up with it for an hour, you'll need two weeks to recover . . .
blah! blah!
. . . hitch a thoroughbred to a plow, it'll take him a month, two months, to get back in his stride . . . if he ever does . . . the same can happen to you for trying to be nice, for listening . . .

Kratz, though, wasn't the talkative expansive type . . . he must have had some good reason for taking us out on that military airfield . . . especially Le Vig and me, a very special brand of Frenchmen . . . where we really had no business . . . I see something coming out of the ground . . . a cap . . . a head . . . out of a trench . . . and then the torso . . . a flier . . . a sergeant . . . yellow piping on his cap . . .
heil! heil!
. . . we all spring to attention!
heil! heil!
. . . he comes out of his hole . . . he's only got one arm . . . if I'm not mistaken, he guards the camp and the planes . . . what planes? . . . where? . . . far away! . . . he points to the end of the clearing . . . through his binoculars I can see . . . he's got binoculars . . . six planes on the ground . . . he's the sergeant who arrested the pastor . . . in the fuselage . . . red-handed . . . going too far! . . . he'd already caught him three times . . . now he washed his hands! . . . handed him over to Hjalmar! . . . this sergeant, I gathered, was only in temporary command . . . the regular commander had gone to Berlin . . . or Potsdam for orders . . . the sergeant had tried to contact him . . . all the lines had been cut . . . not surprising with all the stuff they'd been dropping . . . but some kind of official news bulletin had reached Zornhof early in the morning . . . the "Wehrmacht Communiqué" plus two or three "special announcements" . . . "We are retreating on all fronts but very soon our secret weapon will destroy London, New York, and Moscow."

Everybody . . . soldiers and housewives and prisoners . . . had stopped paying attention to these "special announcements" . . . the only thing that interested anybody was the paper . . . this rare paper was brought by cyclists . . . four of them had vanished without trace! . . .

That paddy wagon didn't have much chance of getting there either . . . the pastor was resigned, so was Hjalmar . . . meanwhile up there in the clouds there were trails of fluff, all crisscrossing . . . amusing . . . long . . . very long . . . and then all of a sudden! cut! "abstract" so to speak . . . and
boom!
crater on crater! . . . We there on that airfield seventy miles away, we could feel the rain of torpedoes . . . definitely! . . . good thing I'd bought my canes . . . that store must be all powder by now . . . even then it was openwork . . . I got to wondering where they printed their bulletin . . . I ask Kracht . . .

"In a bunker thirty feet down, south of Potsdam . . ."

Really stubborn bastards! . . . but I'd still like to know: why had he brought us up there? . . . if people invite you out for a walk they must have something in mind . . . like Harras in Felixruhe . . . what had we gone there for? I'm still wondering . . . anyway there we were, gazing at the sky, the extravaganza of fluff and clouds . . . All of a sudden he speaks to me:

"Doctor, would you mind . . . going over to the planes with me? you see them? at the end of the field . . . I want your opinion, for my report . . ."

"Certainly! . . . Certainly!"

But what for? . . . and suddenly so familiar? a stroll in the woods? . . . get me away from the others? . . . the field is covered with cinders . . . but very soft all the same . . . with his boots he sinks in even deeper than I do . . . more trouble walking . . .

Ah, here we are . . . six planes . . . we go up to one! he pulls back the tarp, I see the state it's in . . . the holes in the wing! . . . both wings! . . . enormous holes! . . . rusty . . . and the fuselage, and the propellers! . . . scrap! I say as much to Kratz, there's nobody around . . . he answers very frankly . . .

"Doctor, I'll tell you something worse . . . much worse . . . no more pilots! . . . no more oil! . . . no more gas! . . . there's the last pilot!"

He points to a hole a little farther on . . . a crevasse in the runway . . . with the tail of a plane sticking out. . .

"The pilot's at the bottom of that hole . . . the last pilot . . . buried . . . the experts were supposed to come from Berlin, they never came . . . I had them pour in quicklime . . . what more could we do? the hole is full of quicklime . . . they pour some in once a week . . ."

But the swarms? . . . he shows me . . . inside every wing . . . I see three . . . four swarms . . . the pastor knew what he was doing . . . he'd left all his boxes and his butterfly net right where the sergeant had caught him . . . but the sergeant hadn't been able to keep him . . . no room in his little shelter . . . no chain, no handcuffs . . . so he'd passed him on to Hjalmar to hold until the police van came . . . question of adjusting to very difficult conditions . . .

"Listen to me, Doctor . ; . I've brought you here to ask you a little favor . . ."

"Delighted, Kracht . . . delighted . . ."

Ah, at last!

"A delicate matter . . . yes, rather delicate . . . have you got any cigarettes?"

"No, Kracht, I haven't . . . I don't smoke . . . neither does my wife . . . but I've got the key to the big cupboard . . . you know that . . ."

No use his saying any more, he wants me to dig into the stock . . . I can't say no . . . and I can't give him an out-and-out yes . . . he'd taken me all this way to sound me out . . . When you've been around a while, you know the ways of
agents provocateurs
. . . all their dodges . . . it always starts with a little "heart-to-heart'' talk . . . the appetizer . . . after the "heart-to-heart," watch out! . . . then he comes to the point! I'd never have got back from that airfield if I'd said what I was thinking . . .

"Why, of course, my dear Kracht . . . Cravens? Luckies? Navys?" Boosting my merchandise . . .

"Make it Luckies . . . twenty cigarettes . . . that's all! . . . no more!"

"Where?"

"Here . . . in my holster . . ."

He shows me . . .

"I'll leave it in the entrance for you . . . I'll hang it on the hatrack . . . when we come down . . . you know . . . for the
mahlzeit
. . ."

We have a good laugh over the
mahlzeit!

"Don't forget to close the holster!"

And he adds:

"Oh, you needn't worry . . . Harras will never come back!"

Very encouraging . . . Harras not coming back . . . looked bad for us, it seemed to me . . . nothing to stop this guy . . . he'd con us into a dozen shady deals . . . all to the same effect . . . this dodge . . . slipping cigarettes into his holster . . . everybody'd see me . . . that was the whole idea . . . suppose they were all . . . the girls and the Kretzers . . . in cahoots! Kracht was laying it on thick, it seemed to me . . . fixing to have us shipped out . . . chained and handcuffed . . . in the same cage as Pastor Bieder . . . not just me, Le Vig, Lili, and the cat . . . I guess we cramped their style at the manor . . . sure they were in this together . . . some racket . . . what? . . . no telling . . . geese?. . . honey? . . . anyway some gimmick . . . and we bugged them . . . in certain situations people stop at nothing, you'll see next time . . . when all the cities are in flames, they'll have only one idea . . . for you to burn with them!

"Very well, Kracht . . . perfect . . . your holster on the hatrack . . ."

The main thing was to get moving in the other direction . . . back to Le Vig . . . this little stroll had been going on long enough, we'd seen the planes, the bees, the pastor's boxes . . . We'd arranged about the cigarettes . . .

I take another look at the field . . . about twice as big as the Place de la Concorde . . . you could see far away into the distance over the pine trees . . . the steeple, the clock . . . The Fortresses keep passing over . . . they certainly know all about this airfield and the shelter . . . they know the last pilot is down at the bottom of that hole in the quicklime . . . been there for three months . . . and that nobody's come to investigate . . . that's why they leave us alone . . . Hjalmar's the only one who takes it seriously . . . or pretends to . . . he keeps bugling the alarm . . . same path, mud and cinders . . . back again . . . Le Vig . . . whew! . . . he's been wondering what Kracht wanted of me . . .

"Oh, nothing . . . a bit of information . . . you know, about my application . . ."

"What application?"

"My license to practice . . ." .

"Oh yes . . . oh yes!" 

I wasn't going to tell him about the cupboard . . . he'd find out . . . I'd tell him later . . . but what now? . . . the sergeant is attached to the farm for rations, that's where he fills his messkit . . . so was the lieutenant before he cleared out . . . the von Leidens' Russian cooks make the slobgullion . . . for all those people . . . civilians and soldiers . . . we string out again, the one-armed sergeant with Kracht, the sergeant limps too . . . at least as much as me . . . he ought to have a cane . . . I couldn't give him the address of the store where I bought mine . . . must be up in the clouds by now . . . I wouldn't ask for the address of the Steinbock Hotel either . . . it seems, the hunchback told me so, the Chancellery has been squashed, Adolf must have been out of town . . .

We straggle back . . . Kracht, the one-armed sergeant . . . then, maybe six feet behind, Hjalmar, limping badly . . . still with his drum and bugle and his pastor on the chain . . . he puts back the chain . . . takes it off . . . puts it on again . . . Hjalmar Spikehat limps worse than any of us! . . . the pastor gives him his arm, helps him along . . . Here we are! . . . Hjalmar's all hopped up . . . he wants the women to hurry . . . he looks at the sky . . . he'd been gone a long time . . . what's going on? a special alert? . . . the telephone? . . . I ask him . . . 

"Nein! ach! . . . nein! Kaput! . . . Kaput! telefon!"

 The
telefon
hasn't worked in a long time! . . . guess he does it by instinct . . . bugles when the spirit moves him! anyway he can see the lousy planes for himself . . . coming and going . . . and the horizon . . . that tall frantic army of flames! yellow and green . . . I show him . . . 

"Achtung! Hjalmar! . . . watch out!
rat-tat-tat!"
 

For laughs! . . . but he doesn't laugh, he takes his work to heart . . . he's going to split a gut! . . . disasters are like love, very serious at first, inspiring, then after a while hopelessly grotesque . . . Hjalmar's inner clock was off kilter, he was still in '14 . . . his Berlin was a porridge of ruins . . . after this Moscow, Hiroshima, New York won't horrify anybody or even be taken very seriously . . . the world of the sixties is too jerksome, nicotinized, alcoholic, airborne, and blabblative not to find it perfectly natural if it goes out of existence . . . Pastor Rieder now, who had good reason to be worried, set us an example of perfect calm . . . he was even singing snatches of hymns . . . I didn't understand them all, but pretty near . . . one song I've often heard in England and Denmark . . . "Wisdom Is My Strength" . . . bad fix, though . . . hunting bees on a military airfield could mean plenty of trouble . . . and crimp his desire to sing for evermore . . . the Luftwaffe's court-martials had never been warmhearted . . . but now with the total debacle, with the BAF doing as it pleased, pulverizing a city a day, they saw spies everywhere . . . Suspects . . . pastors or not . . . were shot by the carload . . . this pastor, it seemed to me, wouldn't be singing when they got through with him . . .