The Cross of Iron (2 page)

Krüger turned to the others. ‘Did you hear that?’ 

‘We’re not deaf,’ Anselm said. ‘He can’t tell a Russian from a German and thinks he’s an old sweat.’

Kern looked up at the door again. ‘I wonder what’s keeping Steiner.’

Schnurrbart yawned with great deliberation. Then he turned to Krüger. ‘You might take a look around for him,’ he said. ‘The rest of the company must have left long ago.’

‘Why me?’

‘You’re the most reliable man here.’

Krüger stood up and reached out for his tommy -gun. He detected something in Schnurrbart’s face that he did not like. He quickly dropped back into his chair again. ‘I’m not a nursemaid,’ he said sullenly. ‘Steiner can look after himself.’

‘I’m sure of it,’ Schnurrbart said, getting up in turn. ‘If he had to depend on you, I’d be sorry for him.’ Before Krüger could reply, he had left the bunker.

In front of the door he paused. The position ran through a dense forest, but it was too dark to see even the nearest trees. Schnurrbart groped his way to the trench. He found Maag who wanted to know when his relief was coming. ‘In ten minutes,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘Was Steiner here?’

‘He went over there.’

Schnurrbart peered at the dim white blur which was all he could see of the man’s face. ‘Over where?’

‘To the Russians, of course,’ Maag answered. ‘To see what’s happening.’

‘Alone?’

‘Naturally—he always does. What about it?’

‘That idiot!’ Schnurrbart exclaimed. He ought to have looked for Steiner earlier.

The forest smelled cold, spicy with old leaves, sodden with snow recently melted into the spongy ground. The trees were full of noises. Tiny insects fell from above and rustled through the layers of dead vegetation on the forest floor. Schnurrbart stared into the darkness. ‘Did he say how long he’d stay out there?’ he asked. 

‘How could he? That depends on the Russians.’

Schnurrbart nodded. If only I knew what to do, he thought. For a while they remained silent. When one stood still any length of time, the forest dampness pierced one like a frost.

Schnurrbart took a few steps down the trench. His uneasiness continued to mount. He returned to Maag. ‘Go back to the others and tell them to get ready,’ he said. ‘We’ll wait another ten
minutes. If Steiner isn’t back by then, we’ll look for him.’

While Schnurrbart settled down behind the heavy machine -gun, Maag climbed out of the trench and sped off. For a while Schnurrbart looked thoughtfully over the rim of the trench. His thoughts again reverted to Steiner. Probably he was a fool to be concerned. He grinned to himself as he pictured Steiner sitting somewhere in an abandoned Russian bunker reading the book he always carried with him. Just the sort of thing Steiner would do. Ever since Schnurrbart had known him he had carried Eichendorff’s
Collected Works
in his pocket, and he would start turning through it in the oddest situations. He must have read the thing a hundred times over. Odd, because otherwise reading didn’t seem much in his line.

Schnurrbart remembered how offhand Steiner had been toward him at the beginning, until one day their casual and almost hostile relationship had changed to friendship. The change had come about a year and a half ago. The battalion had held positions south of Kramatorskya, on an endless plain of Russian snow....

For days the snow had been coming down, a veritable blizzard. They were sitting in their bunker warming themselves by the small drum stove. It was late evening. The other men were already asleep on their cots. Steiner was reading, Schnurrbart toasting some slices of bread on the red -hot top of the stove. Suddenly Steiner laid his book aside and asked: ‘You play chess?’

‘So -so,’ Schnurrbart replied. He watched Steiner take a travelling chess set out of his pack and arrange the pieces on the board. They started. After the first few moves Schnurrbart realized that Steiner was several classes above him. The game was over in half an hour. He had no better luck in the second game. When by an oversight he lost his queen, he angrily swept the pieces from the board. Steiner expressionlessly rolled a cigarette. ‘Bad, losing her,’ he said.

They sat in silence while the storm raged with unremitting violence, driving powdery snow through the cracks in the door. Schnurrbart took out his pipe and began filling it. After lighting it he looked up at Steiner and said: ‘I’m not inquisitive, but -’ He hesitated, considering how best to put his question. It was harder than he had thought. Finally he gave himself a mental push and went on ‘But I’d be interested to know whether you have a girl.’

Steiner’s features hardened. His eyes narrowed, and Schnurrbart hastened to apologize. ‘I don’t mean to step on your toes,’ he said hastily, already regretting having brought up the subject. Steiner had indicated on former occasions that this was something he did not want to talk about. But after all, they had been together for more than three years now. What harm was there in asking? Annoyed, Schnurrbart knocked out his pipe against the leg of the table and crammed it into his pocket. If he doesn’t want to talk, that’s all there is to it, he thought, yawning ostentatiously. ‘Think I’ll turn in,’ he murmured. ‘I’m dead tired.’

But this time Steiner relented. ‘Wait.’ He glanced quickly over at the sleeping men; then he laid his arms on the table and leaned forward. ‘I had a girl, but she’s dead,’ he said.

In the silence that followed the roaring wind shouldered the door as though it would knock it down. So that’s it, Schnurrbart thought, trying to keep his expression blankly polite. He leaned back in the chair, crossed his legs and met Steiner’s eyes squarely. ‘I can imagine how it must feel,’ he said carefully.

He fell silent again. Somewhere nearby a heavy shell burst. The bunker rocked, and one of the sleeping men groaned and mumbled something. Schnurrbart looked at the door. A thin ribbon of snow lay on the floor just below the threshold. ‘This will go on for ever,’ he murmured. Steiner said nothing, and at last Schnurrbart turned to face him again and asked: ‘What was her name?’

‘Anne.’

Schnurrbart nodded. ‘Nice name,’ he said noncommitally. ‘What happened to her?’

‘She died in an accident,’ Steiner replied curtly, and Schnurrbart had the feeling that this was the most he was going to learn. He scratched his head, searching his mind for some way to turn the conversation toward some other subject. But again Steiner anticipated him. Gesturing toward the door, he said: ‘It was weather just like this. The two of us used to do a lot of mountain climbing. Just below the peak the storm caught us by surprise. She slipped and -’ He fell silent, staring into the flickering candle flame.

Again there was a long pause. Schnurrbart hunched his shoulders uncomfortably as he spoke. ‘Terrible. When did it happen?’

‘In thirty-eight. Shortly before the war started.’

‘Five years ago. Seems like a long time to me.’

‘Seems long to you, does it,’ Steiner said tightly. He shook his head slowly. ‘It was yesterday, I tell you. Yesterday and today and tomorrow and always.’ A strand of dark hair fell across his forehead; he brushed it aside with an impatient movement of his hand. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘you see, it was all my fault, mine alone. I let go of her—these hands you see here let go of her. If you had been through it you would never forget it, any more than I can.’ 

His face suddenly seemed corroded as though acid had flowed across his skin. If only I had not started it, Schnurrbart thought. In an agony of discomfiture he reached for his pipe again and began filling it once more. The wood in the stove crackled and popped. After a while he began to feel the silence like a physical pain. He propped his elbows on the table, cleared his throat several times, and said at last: ‘I know what you mean; it’s hellish for you. But you can’t go on feeling the same way for ever.’

Slowly, Steiner lifted his hands from his face and stared at his friend. ‘For ever?’ He moved his head as if listening for something. Then he gave a strained laugh. ‘No, it will not go on for ever. It will stop when I meet her again,’ he said.

‘Meet her?’ Schnurrbart asked blankly.

‘Of course. You may think I’m off my head, but I tell you I will meet her again. If I’m still here, she must be too. Somewhere, when this war is over, she will cross my path.’

‘That’s going pretty far,’ Schnurrbart said.

Steiner shook his head. ‘Everyone goes as far as he can.’

For a while there was silence between them, until Schnurrbart ventured again: ‘Suppose you don’t meet her?’ he asked.

Steiner slowly turned his face toward him. ‘What’s that?’

‘I mean, what will you do if you don’t meet her?’

Steiner waved that away with a light motion of his hand. ‘If I live through this war,’ he said quietly, ‘I will meet her. And if I don’t come out of it -’ He stood up, stepped up quickly to the tiny window by the door, and peered out.

Schnurrbart drew the pipe from his mouth and sat looking meditatively at the toes of his boots. When he glanced up he saw that Steiner was watching him with an expression of mockery. 

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

Schnurrbart sensed that he was seeking a quarrel. ‘This and that,’ he said, shrugging pacifically.

‘Give it up,’ Steiner said with scorn. ‘You can’t understand it anyway.’

‘Why not?’

‘You can’t,’ Steiner repeated with sudden anger. ‘None of you can understand it; you’re a crude lot.’

‘Look here -’ Schnurrbart began, but Steiner cut him off.

‘A crude lot; you cannot imagine what a woman can mean. For all of you a woman is nothing but something to sleep with, and it doesn’t matter who she is as long as she lies down.’ His voice had risen, and some of the men on the cots woke up. They stared sleepily over at the two, and one of them grumbled: ‘Be quiet, damn it, let a man get some sleep!’

With a thrust of his hands Steiner forced himself from the wall and took four big strides over to the man’s side. ‘You shut up!’ he snarled. ‘Shut up, you damned idiot! Sleeping and eating and -’ He fell silent abruptly. Disgusted, he gazed for a moment at the cowed faces of the men, and whirled around.

As he went to the door, Schnurrbart gripped his arm firmly. ‘If you want to believe that kind of thing, go ahead,’ he said quietly. ‘But you aren’t fair to the fellows there.’

Steiner stared into his eyes. Then suddenly he leaned forward and asked: ‘What about you? Aren’t I unfair to you too?’ He turned and left the bunker.

Every time he remembered that incident, Schnurrbart had felt a mingling of uneasiness and satisfaction. He was surer than ever that a wrong word at the time was all that was needed to make any future relationship with Steiner unendurable. As it was, they had become quite close. Not as close as he had hoped, for even afterwards Steiner never quite dropped his reserve. There was no one at all in the platoon who could boast of sharing his undivided confidence. Every so often, in small matters, he would make it clear that he wanted to remain aloof and that he felt obligations toward none of them. He kept his thoughts to himself even at such times as this, when he was undertaking a dangerous reconnaissance which might well turn out badly.

The thought brought Schnurrbart to the present. Sighing, he peered over the top of the trench. Darkness hung among the trees like powdered soot. He glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch; in letting his mind wander, he had wasted more than twenty minutes. In a hurry now, he scrambled out of the trench, listened again for a few seconds and then turned toward the bunker.

A figure appeared out of the darkness and came toward him rapidly, He recognized Hollerbach.

‘You haven’t heard from Steiner, have you?’ he asked.

‘No, the devil only knows where he is.’

‘It’s sickening,’ Schnurrbart grumbled. ‘Always this hide and seek business. He might have taken one of us with him.’ 

Hollerbach shrugged. ‘You know how he is.’ Although Schnurrbart was good -sized, Hollerbach towered over him. His head was uncovered, and his pale blond, almost white hair gleamed like a helmet in the night. He, with Krüger, was one of the few ‘old boys’ in the platoon. A steady, easy -going fellow, he was noteworthy for receiving a letter from his girl in almost every mail. For the past week, however, no mail had reached the battalion, and Schnurrbart recalled the rumours of a huge encirclement in which the entire Caucasus army was trapped. Although he took little stock in these tales, he was aware of the possibility that a good many unpleasant surprises might be in store for them all. If only Steiner were here, he thought. Aloud he said: ‘He’s stubborn as a mule.’ 

‘Since he came back from leave he’s been in a bad mood,’ Hollerbach said. ‘Wish I knew what happened back there.’

‘So do I.’ Schnurrbart had given the matter much thought these past several months.

‘At any rate,’ Hollerbach lingered on the subject, ‘he must have kicked up his heels quite a bit to get himself demoted from sergeant to private and four months in a punishment battalion besides.’ 

Schnurrbart scratched his belly thoughtfully. He didn’t particularly want to go into this matter. The platoon had heard one thing and another, but the reasons for Steiner’s demotion remained obscure. ‘There’s less to it than you think,’ he replied in a standoffish tone. ‘All a man has to do is to jabber and they get him for it.’

‘True enough.’ While the conversation lapsed, Schnurrbart reckoned out the time on his fingers. It was just half a year ago that Steiner had rejoined the company. He had been wounded at Izyum and invalided back home. There something must have happened that he refused to talk about. At any rate he had been transferred to Disciplinary Battalion 500. After doing his spell in that unit, he had been promoted to corporal, and six months ago had turned up in the company again—a bit more close -mouthed and grim than he had been before. Schnurrbart recalled how he had responded to all questions with an indifferent shrug, until at last they gave up asking him. In any case, the hectic pace of recent weeks had kept them concentrating on the present. The retreat from Tuapse to this position could no longer be termed ‘an elastic defence’. It really looked like the beginning of the end. Thinking of that, and of Steiner, Schnurrbart sighed.