The Cross of Iron (36 page)

‘No,’ the boy stammered, confused. ‘I didn’t know that you—I mean, sir-’ He gulped, and sweat actually started out on his face at his sudden discovery of Steiner’s rank.

Steiner gave him a poke. ‘Drivel! If we always knew the whole truth about other people, sooner or later we’d turn hermit. Where’s this canteen of yours? My throat is dry as a hot stove-lid.’

‘We can take care of that.’ The boy laughed, at ease again. He led Steiner inside. ‘I was just going out to look you up,’ he said. ‘Things are getting gay downstairs.’ As they descended the stairs he told Steiner that the canteen was intended only for the use of occupants of the house and their guests. ‘If you came alone they’d throw you out. Otherwise the mob in this town would drink us dry in two days.’

At the bottom of the stairs was a long corridor which led to a door from which a din of laughter and singing sounded. ‘Sounds good,’ Steiner murmured and followed the boy in. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dense cloud of cigarette smoke which enveloped the whole of the large room. Some two dozen men were sitting around small round tables, bottles and glasses in front of them, loudly singing to the harsh notes of an out-of-tune piano in the rear corner opposite the door. Steiner followed the boy to the bar. A soldier in rolled-up shirt sleeves was acting as bartender. He scowled at Steiner. Towhead leaned forward and whispered a few words that Steiner could not make out, but the man’s face cleared. He nodded and asked: ‘What will you have?’

‘What have you got?’

‘Red wine and beer.’

Steiner chose beer. When the man set two bottles on the counter, Steiner opened his eyes wide in astonishment. ‘Pilsner in Russia!’ he exclaimed, overpowered by emotion. ‘This is a dream. Give me five bottles.’

‘The two of us will finish them off in good shape,’ Towhead said serenely.

‘The two of us!’ Steiner laughed harshly. ‘What do you mean, the two of us? I’m going to drink these five alone. What do you think I am, an infant? I’ve been waiting for this moment for six months. You guys don’t know what it’s like to go without beer for six months. I don’t know what the stuff tastes like any more.’ 

‘It’s three marks a bottle,’ the bartender said.

‘I wouldn’t care if it was a hundred,’ Steiner replied. ‘What good is this drivel in my pocket? Here!’ He brought out a roll of big notes. ‘Six months pay and not a chance to spend the stuff.’ He tossed a note on the counter, tucked the bottles under his arm, and strode over to a table. Sitting down, he lined the bottles up in front of him. Towhead followed, shaking his head, and sat down beside him. There were two other men at the table, so absorbed in a game of chess that they scarcely noticed them. Steiner picked up a bottle, regarding the label lovingly. His mouth was parched as if he had not drunk for days. As he opened the bottle, his hands shook.

‘Here’s your change,’ Towhead said. ‘You had five marks coming to you; you left it on the counter.’

With the back of his hand Steiner swept the bill off the table. He disregarded the glass and set the bottle to his lips. As he drank, he closed his eyes. ‘You can stow it away,’ Towhead said enthusiastically. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ He laughed. ‘That stuff will knock you over, believe me. It’s pre-war beer.’

Steiner wiped his mouth and grinned. ‘The first three bottles won’t, and after that it doesn’t matter.’ He opened the second bottle.

‘Here are your five marks,’ Towhead said, holding out the money which he had picked up from the floor. Steiner took it from him, cursed and tore the bill to pieces. The boy stared at him in dismay.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked.

‘Another word about money tonight and I’ll hit you over the head with a bottle. What the hell is it good for? To drink myself to death?’

‘But you can always send it home,’ Towhead stammered.

‘Home!’ Steiner laughed insultingly. 'The two chess players lifted their heads. He paid no attention to them, raised the second bottle to his lips and drank half of it. ‘Do you send your money home?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why, may I ask?’

Towhead shrugged. ‘So it will be there for me later, when I get home.’

‘Later! You mean so they can put up a tombstone for you? With your name on it, and under the name “ Died for Nation and Fatherland”, and all that rubbish?’

Towhead shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Steiner leaned across the table toward him and fixed him with his eyes. ‘Don’t worry; I don’t get plastered on a bottle and a half. I’m still cold sober; it takes me at least five to get going. I want to tell you this. Later, when you’re walking barefoot over the heavenly prairies you won’t need your money, and if you’re shovelling coal in hell you certainly won’t.’

‘No need to get so pessimistic,’ Towhead replied crossly.

‘Sure. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to pound rock in Siberia or clear ruins at home and shout Heil Hitler.’

‘Be quiet,’ Towhead said anxiously, glancing at the two men who had turned back to their chess game, but who must be hearing every word. Steiner snorted. He was starting on the third bottle by now. ‘We’re all poor lousy bastards,’ he said vehemently. ‘We’re all sick and scared to death of it, all of us.’ He spat on the floor.

‘I like that—coming from you,’ Towhead commented, throwing a somewhat envious glance at the decorations on Steiner’s chest. 

Steiner caught the look and laughed contemptuously. ‘You mean on account of those things. If you only knew-’ He broke off and stared darkly down at the table. ‘Why aren’t you drinking ? Go on, get yourself something to drink.’ He tossed money across the table and watched Towhead go over to the counter and return with two bottles. ‘Now we’re really getting started,’ Steiner said, opening the fourth bottle. More men had come into the room meanwhile. The pianist was worn out and had taken a seat at a nearby table. Among the uniforms the white of a nurse’s costume gleamed, and Towhead began shifting impatiently in his chair. ‘Piles bothering you?’ Steiner asked maliciously.

Towhead shook his head. ‘I’m just wondering where Gertrud is.’

‘Is she the breasty one?’

‘No, that’s the other one. I’m speaking of Gertrud.’

Steiner took out his cigarettes. He passed them across the table. ‘I don’t smoke,’ Towhead said.

Lighting one for himself, Steiner smiled pityingly. ‘You don’t smoke and you hardly drink and you send your money home. What do you live for?’

Towhead shrugged. ‘I’m satisfied. As for the money, they can use it at home.’

‘Your parents.’

‘Yes.’

Steiner glowered at him. ‘I’m sure they can use it. That’s what I thought two years ago. I wrote to them to take a holiday, to have a good time with the money I was sending them.’ He stared down at his hands and his lips quivered.

‘Well?’ Towhead asked. ‘Did they do it?’

‘Oh, they went off on their holiday all right,’ Steiner said. His voice was hoarse.

Towhead leaned forward, intensely curious. ‘And then?’ Steiner puffed at his cigarette. His face was red and his forehead beaded with tiny drops of sweat. He picked up the bottle and finished it off. ‘And then,’ he said, ‘and then—ah-’ He snapped the cigarette to the floor, and opened the last bottle. ‘Shut up,’ he said roughly. ‘You ask too many questions. You ought to drink, not ask questions. Drink, drink.’ They drank in silence. After a while Towhead went back to the bar. He walked unsteadily, touching a chair for support now and then. Milksop, Steiner thought, watching him; these children can’t take it. He began mumbling to himself, and rested his head on his hands. The sounds in the room reached his ear in a vague, distorted manner. Someone started to sing. The pianist was playing again: ‘Underneath the lamplight, by the barrack gate....’ Steiner hummed the melody. All at once he felt a gentle indifference. The canteen began to sway; the walls rose almost imperceptibly; all the harsh, sharp angles disappeared and everything became soft and round as a woman’s breast. When Towhead returned with several bottles, Steiner slapped him on the back. He was in high spirits. ‘Them and them and more to come; today we drink, today we swill.’

‘Today we swill,’ Towhead said thickly, opening a bottle with a loud pop. ‘In four days,’ he went on, ‘I’ll be on my way back into it again, back to Smolensk. Ever heard of the place?’

Steiner nodded. ‘Birthplace of Shakespeare. Everything comes from Russia, everything stays in Russia. Everything.’

They guffawed and clinked bottles. The chess players dumped their pieces into the box and moved closer. Steiner thrust two bottles toward them. ‘That’s it; why wear your brains out. The game is lost either way.’ He suddenly began to sing, pounding the table with his fists in time to the music.

*
 Auf der Strasse nach Tuapse 

Marschiert ein Bataillon,

Und das sind die Reste 

Von unserer Division.

There was a silence at the other table. Laughing, the pianist turned his head and looked over toward them. In one comer someone joined in, then a third voice followed, and when it came to the refrain almost all of them roared out:

Wir konnten schon Tuapse sehn 

Und mussten wieder stiften gehn 

Wie einst Napoleon.

The song faded out. The men raised their glasses, drank thirstily and started another song. As Steiner opened the second bottle, a voice behind his back roused him. Towhead stood up quickly, exclaiming: ‘Gertrud, here you are. Come over here, sit down. I’m so glad you’ve come.’ He dragged a chair over from the next table. His face was radiant; he was so excited that he seemed almost ridiculous. Steiner placed his bottle on the table and slowly turned his head. He looked into a pallid face, a face which kept its distance and knew its worth. A wealth of chestnut hair gathered in a bun at the nape of the neck emphasized the high arched forehead. The girl’s large, almond-shaped eyes had a look of great self-assurance in them. There was a fineness and regularity about all her features, and the comers of her soft mouth were disturbingly sweet. Steiner stared at her and slowly lifted his hands from the bottle. He watched with narrowed eyes as she sat down opposite Towhead and greeted the other men with a friendly smile. Then she turned to Towhead. ‘You’ve drunk too much, Klaus,’ she said. She had a throaty voice, and Steiner suddenly felt a painful stabbing sensation around his heart. He bent over a little and pushed his chair back as though intending to get up.

At the reprimand in the nurse’s tone Towhead had looked guiltily down at the floor. He seemed absurdly embarrassed. He raised his head, shrugged in comic despair and said to Steiner: ‘This is Trudel, the finest girl I ever met. But when she sees a fellow sitting over a bottle, she behaves as if he’d thrown away his chance for Paradise.’

Steiner coughed lightly. He felt out of control and bad-mannered and tried to steady himself by lighting a cigarette. But the seven bottles of Pilsner were taking effect. His face, he felt, had become a stupid mask, and he rubbed his hand over his mouth. Hoarsely, he muttered, ‘Perhaps she reads the Bible too much.’ As soon as the words were out he was sorry he had spoken. The nurse looked at him. He saw her face as a vague whiteness through the smoke of his cigarette, and reached for the bottle again. To hell with her, he thought; what do I care what these uniformed whores think of me.

He finished the bottle and rapped it down on the table. The nurse continued to look fixedly at him, and his insecurity intensified. Angrily, he thrust out his lower lip. ‘Don’t you like what I say?’ he asked sharply.

She pretended not to have heard. Turning to Towhead, she asked: ‘Who is this?’

‘An acquaintance,’ Towhead replied, abashed. He looked imploringly at Steiner.

‘I’m surprised,’ the nurse replied coolly. ‘Where did you pick him up?’

Steiner had had enough. Before Towhead could answer, he used both arms against the table to push himself to his feet. ‘You sound as if I was a new pair of his pants,’ he said. ‘But if I was, I’d prefer to be on the part of you where pants belong. Good night, everybody.’ He staggered to the bar and dropped a fifty-mark note on the counter. ‘Two bottles; the rest is for you.’

The man behind the bar stared unbelievingly at him. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘Of course. And you can do me the favour of wiping your arse with it one of these days.’ Paying no attention to the man’s baffled face, he picked up the bottles and made his way among the tables to the opposite end of the canteen. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw Towhead speaking earnestly with the nurse. He grinned.

Passing by the piano, he stopped. For a few seconds he watched the man’s fingers moving over the keys. Then he gripped his shoulder and said: ‘Play the Volga song. Do you know it?’

‘I do. I played it only five minutes ago.’

‘Did you now?’ Steiner pondered that. Then he shook his head. ‘I don’t remember; play it again.’

The man nodded. ‘Often as you like.’

Steiner found an empty seat at one of the rear tables. The other men at the table fell silent and looked at him. He set his bottles down and said: ‘Don’t you like my mug? Sorry, it’s the only one I have.’ He sat down and opened a bottle. The men laughed and drank to him. Through the noise, bits of the Volga song could be heard. ‘Be quiet a minute,’ Steiner said. He tilted his head and felt his heart beating in short, hard thumps. Although he was completely drunk, he had not entirely lost mastery of himself. He looked across the room to where the nurse was still sitting with Towhead. For a brief moment their glances met. She quickly looked aside. Steiner lit another cigarette. I shouldn’t have drunk so much, he told himself. But then he promptly shook his head in anger. What did he care about the woman—and a nurse at that. He grinned scornfully. Had he come so far that he thought every skirt was another Anne. He puffed hard at his cigarette, thinking. You had to have something you could cling to. Something real with meaning because you felt it, not something you imagined just because you wanted something meaningful. His head was growing heavier and heavier. With a terrible effort he forced his eyes open, emptied the last bottle and pushed his chair back. As he stood up, the canteen began whirling around him. He compressed his lips and took a deep breath. The other men at the table laughed as they watched him. He became aware of them and stiffened his body. Then he steered toward the door, left the canteen and stumbled up the stairs.