Now there stands Seelig at the bar, and not five yards from him sits Kosole. But neither is a soldier any longer.
For the third time the orchestrion thunders out the march from The Merry Widow.
"Another round of schnapps, mate," cries Tjaden, his little pig's eyes sparkling. "Coming up!" answers Seelig, bringing the glasses. "Health, comrades!"
Kosole looks at him scowling.
"You're no comrade of ours," he grunts. Seelig takes the bottle under his arm. "No? Very well then—that's that," he retorts and goes back behind the bar.
Valentin tosses down the schnapps. "Soak it up, Ferdinand," says he, "that's the main thing."
Willy orders the next round. Tjaden is already half tight. "Well, Seelig, you old blighter," he bawls, "no more field punishment now, eh? Have one with me!" He slaps his former superior officer so heartily on the back that it nearly chokes him. A year ago that would have been enough to land him for court-martial, or in a mad-house.
Kosole looks from the bar to his glass and from his glass back again to the bar, and at the fat, obsequious fellow behind the beer pumps. He shakes his head. "It's not the same man, you know, Ernst," he says.
So it seems to me also. I hardly recognise Seelig now. In my mind he was so much of one piece with his notebook and his uniform, that I could hardly even have imagined what he would look like in his shirt, to say nothing of this bar-tender. And now here he is fetching a glass for himself, and letting Tjaden, who used to be of less account to him than a louse, slap him on the back and call him "Old fellow-my-lad!"—Damn it, but the world is clean upsidedown!
Willy gives Kosole a dig in the ribs to stir him up. "Well?"
"I don't know, Willy," says Ferdinand bewildered. "Think I ought to give him a smack over the mug, or not? I didn't expect it would be like this. Just get an eyeful of the way he is running about serving, slimy old shit! I just haven't the heart to do it."
Tjaden orders and orders. To him it is a hell of a joke to see his superior officer go hopping about at his bidding.
Seelig also has got outside of a good many by this time, and his bull-dog cranium glows again, partly from alcohol and partly from the joys of good business.
"Let's bury the hatchet," he suggests, "and I'll stand a round of good pre-war rum."
"Of what?" says Kosole stiffening.
"Rum. I've still a spot or two left in the cupboard there," says Seelig innocently, going to fetch it. Kosole looks as if he had been struck in the face and glares after him.
"He's forgotten all about it, Ferdinand," says Willy. "He wouldn't have risked that else."
Seelig comes back and pours out the drinks. Kosole glowers at him.
"I suppose you don't remember getting tight on rum from sheer funk once, eh? You ought to be a night watchman in a morgue, you ought!"
Seelig makes a pacifying gesture. "That was a long time ago," says he. "That doesn't count any more."
Ferdinand lapses into silence again. If Seelig would but once speak out of his turn the fun would begin. But this compliance puzzles Kosole and leaves him irresolute.
Tjaden sniffs at his glass appreciatively, and the rest of us lift our noses. It is good rum, no mistake.
Kosole knocks over his glass. "You're not standing me anything!"
"Ach, man!" cries Tjaden, "you might have given it to me, then!" With his fingers he tries to save what he can; but it is not much.
The place empties little by little. "Closing time, gentlemen!" cries Seelig, and pulls down the revolving shutter. We get up to go.
"Well, Ferdinand?" I say. He shakes his head. He cannot bring himself to it. That waiter there, that's not the real Seelig at all.
Seelig opens the door for us. "Au revoir, gentlemen! pleasant dreams!"
"Gentlemen!" sniggers Tjaden. "Gentlemen!—'Swine' he used to say."
Kosole is already almost outside when, glancing back along the floor, his eyes light on Seelig's legs, still clad in the same ill-omened leggings as of old. His trousers, too, have the same close-fitting military cut with piping down the seams.
From the waist up he is inn keeper; but from the waist down sergeant-major. That settles it.
Ferdinand swings round suddenly. Seelig retreats, and Kosole makes after him. "Now, what about it?" he snarls. "Schröder! Schröder! Schröder! Do you remember him now, you dog, damn you? Take that one, from Schröder!" His left goes home. "Greetings from the common grave!" He hits again. The inn keeper dodges, jumps behind the counter and grabs a hammer. It catches Kosole across the face and glances off his shoulder. But Kosole does not even wince, he is so enraged. He grasps hold of Seelig, and bashes his head down on the counter—there is a clatter of glass. He turns on the beer taps. "There, drink, you bloody rum keg! Suffocate, drown in your stinking pigs'-wash."
The beer pours down Seelig's neck, it streams through his shirt into his breeches, making them swell out on his legs like balloons. Seelig bellows with rage—It is no easy thing to get such beer in these days—At last he manages to free himself and seizes a glass, with which he drives upwards against Kosole's chin.
"Foul!" cries Willy, from where he stands in the doorway watching. "He should have butted him in the guts, and then pulled his legs from under him!"
None of us interferes. This is Kosole's show. Even if he were to get a hiding, it would not be our business to help him. We stand by merely to see that no ones tries to help Seelig. But Tjaden has already explained the matter in half a dozen words, and nobody is now disposed to take his part.
Ferdinand's face is bleeding fast; he now gets properly mad and quickly makes short work of Seelig. With a hook to the jaw he brings him down, he straddles over him and bashes his head on the floor a few times till he feels he has had enough.
Then we go. Lina, looking as pale as a cheese, is standing over her gasping master. "You'd better cart him away to the hospital," Willy shouts back. "Looks to me like a matter for two or three weeks. Not a very bad case, though."
Kosole is smiling, as happy as a child—Schröder, so he feels, is avenged. "That was fine," says he, wiping the blood
from his face. "Well, now I must be trotting back to my missus, or the neighbours will be thinking things, what?"
At the market-place we separate. Jupp and Valentin go off to the barracks and their boots clatter over the moonlit pavement.
"I wouldn't mind going along with them," says Albert suddenly.
"I know," agrees Willy, thinking of his fowl, no doubt. "They're a bit pedantic, the people here, don't you find?"
I nod. "And we'll have to be starting school again soon, I suppose "
We stand still and grin. Tjaden cannot contain himself for joy at the mere thought of it. Still laughing, he trots off after Valentin and Jupp.
Willy scratches his head. "Think they'll be very pleased to see us? We're not quite so docile as we used to be, you know."
"We were more to their liking as heroes," says Karl, "and a long way off for preference."
"I'm rather looking forward to the fun," explains Willy. "What with our present temper—hardened in the bath of steel and all, as they used to say "
He lifts one leg a trifle and lets off a terrific fart. "Twelve-point-five," he announces with evident satisfaction.
4.
When our company was disbanded we had to take our rifles along with us. The instructions were to give them up on arrival at our home town, so now we have come to the barracks and passed in our arms. At the same time we received our demobilisation pay—fifty marks discharge money per man, and fifteen as sustenance allowance. In addition to that we are entitled to one greatcoat, a pair of boots, a change of underclothes and a uniform.
We climb up to the top floor to take delivery of the goods. The quarter-master makes a perfunctory gesture: "Look something out for yourselves."
Willy sets off on a hasty tour, nosing through all the things displayed. "Listen here, you," he then says in parental fashion, "you keep this for the recruits. This stuff ca
me out of the ark with Noah. Show us something new."
"Haven't got any," retorts the Q.M. in a surly tone.
"Is that so?" says Willy and considers a while. He brings out an aluminium cigar-case. "Smoke?"
The other shakes his bald pate.
"Chew, is it?" Willy gropes in his tunic pocket.
"No "
"Good, then you drink?" Willy has overlooked nothing—he feels toward a protuberance on his chest. "Nor that either," replies the quarter-master off-hand.
"Well, there's nothing for it but to swipe you a couple on the snout," explains Willy amiably. "Anyway we're not leaving here without a decent set of new togs, get me?"
Fortunately at this moment Jupp appears, who, being a Soldiers' Councillor, now carries some weight. He tips the Q.M. a wink. "Pals of mine, Heinrich. Old foot sloggers. Show 'em into the salong, won't you?"
The quarter-master brightens up. "Why couldn't you say so at first?"
We accompany him to a room at the back and there the new things are hanging. We hastily discard our old gear and put on new. Willy submits that he needs two greatcoats, explaining that his blood has got very thin under the Prussians. The Q.M. hesitates. Jupp takes him by the arm into a corner and has a talk with him about sustenance allowance. When the two return the quarter-master is pacified. He casts an eye over Tjaden and Willy who have grown noticeably stouter. "Very good," he growls, "it's all one to me. A lot of them don't even trouble to collect their stuff. Have enough brass of their own, I suppose. The main thing is, my invoice must be in order."
We sign that we have received everything. "Didn't you say something about smoking a while back?" says the Q.M. to Willy.
Willy is taken by surprise and produces his case with a grin.
"And chewing?" the other persists.
Willy turns out his tunic pocket. "But you don't drink, I believe," essays Willy.
"On the contrary," says the Q.M. calmly, "that's the one thing the doctor has ordered me. I'm a bit anaemic myself, as a matter of fact. Just leave the bottle here, will you?"
"Half a mo'!" says Willy, and takes a long pull at the flask so that something at least may be rescued. Then he hands over a half-empty bottle to the astonished storeman. A moment ago it was full!
Jupp accompanies us to the barracks gate. "Guess who else is here," says he. "Max Weil! On the Soldiers' Council!"
"That's where he belongs, too," says Kosole. "Nice soft job, I should say, eh?"
"Not so bad," answers Jupp. "Valentin and I are in the same line, for the time being. If ever you want anything— railway passes or the like—I'm at the fountain-head, don't forget."
"Give me a pass then," I say, "and I can go and see Adolf tomorrow."
He takes out a block and tears off a pass. "Fill it in yourself. You travel second, of course."
"Sure."
Outside Willy unbuttons his greatcoat. There is another beneath it. "It's better I should have it, than that it should be sold off later by some swindler or other. And anyway, the Prussians owe it to me for my half-dozen shell splinters."
We set off down the High Street. Kosole is telling us that he proposes to repair his pigeon-loft this afternoon. He used to breed carrier-pigeons and black-and-white tumblers before the war, and is thinking of starting again now. That had been his one idea out at the Front.
"And what then, Ferdinand?" I ask.
"Look for work," says he bluntly. "I'm a married man, you know. Always got to keep the pot boiling now."
Suddenly from the neighbourhood of St. Mary's Church comes a sound of shots. We listen. "Rifles and service revolvers," says Willy professionally, "two revolvers, by the sound of it."
"Anyway," laughs Tjaden gaily, swinging his new boots by the laces, "it's a bloody sight more peaceful than Flanders."
Willy stops short in front of a gentlemen's outfitters. In the window is exhibited a garment made out of paper and stinging nettle instead of cloth. But that interests him little. On the other hand a row of faded fashion plates set out behind the suit of clothes holds him spellbound. He points excitedly to one picture of an elegant gentleman with a goatee beard, lost in eternal converse with a huntsman of sorts. "Know what that is?"
"A shot-gun," says Kosole, looking at the sportsman.
"Rot!" interrupts Willy impatiently. "That's a cut-away, that is. A swallow-tail, you know. Absolutely the latest thing. And do you know what's just occurred to me? I'll have one of them made for myself from this overcoat here. Take it to pieces, you see, and dye it black, remodel it, cut away the bottom part here—bong, I tell you!"
He is obviously in love with his idea. But Karl damps his ardour. "Have you the striped trousers to go with it?" says he loftily.
Willy is nonplussed a moment. "I know, I'll pinch the old man's," he decides at last. "And his white waistcoat for weddings as well. What will you think of Willy then, eh?" Beaming with pleasure he surveys the whole row of us. "We'll see life yet, lads, eh? damn it all."
I return home and give half of my demobilisation pay to my mother. "Ludwig Breyer's in there," says she. "He's waiting in your room."
"He's a lieutenant, too!" adds my father.
"Yes," I reply, "Didn't you know?"
Ludwig seems rather better. His dysentery has improved. "I just wanted to borrow some books from you, Ernst," he says, and smiles at me.
"Take whatever you like, Ludwig," I say.
"Won't be wanting them yourself, then?" he asks.
I shake my head. "Not at the moment, anyway. I tried to read a bit only yesterday. But it's queer, you know—I don't seem to be able to concentrate properly any more. By the time I've read two or three pages I find I'm thinking of something else altogether. As if one were looking at a blank wall, you know. But what is it you want, novels?"
"No," says he, selecting a few books for himself. I glance at the titles. "Heavy stuff, eh, Ludwig?" I say. "What are you going to do with that?"
He smiles, a little embarrassed; then hesitatingly he says:"Well, Ernst, you know, out there a lot of things wouldkeep coming into my head, and I could never get the rightsof them somehow. But now it's all over, there's a heap I'dlike to understand—I'd like to know, for instance, whatmankind is up to that such a thing could happen, and how itall came about. That raises a lot of questions. Questions forus, too. We had a very different notion of what manner ofthing life was, before, if you remember. There's a lot I'dlike to know, Ernst——"
I point to the books. "Think you'll find it in there?"
"I mean to try anyway. I read from morning till night now."
He soon takes his leave and I still sit on, lost in thought. What have I been doing all this time? With a feeling of shame I reach for a book. But soon I have let it fall again and am gazing out the window. I can do that for hours together, just look out into vacancy. It used to be different, before; I always knew then what I would do.
My mother comes into the room. "Ernst, you are going to Uncle Karl's tonight, aren't you?"
"Yes, I suppose so," I reply, rather disgruntled.
"He has often sent us things to eat," she says prudently.
I nod. From the window I can see the twilight beginning outside. Blue shadows lurking in the branches of the chestnuts. I turn round. "Did you often go down by the poplars in the summertime, mother?" I ask suddenly. "That must have been beautiful——"
"No, Ernst—not once all this year."
"Why not, mother?" I ask in surprise. "You used to go there every Sunday before."
"We gave up going for walks altogether," she replies quietly; "one is always so hungry afterwards. And, you see, We had nothing to eat."
"Ah, so——" I say slowly, "but Uncle Karl, he always had enough, I suppose?"
"He often sent us some too, Ernst."
All at once I feel utterly dejected. "What was the good of it all, mother?" I say.
She strokes my hand. "It must have been for some good, Ernst. The Father in heaven knows, you may be sure of that."
&n
bsp; Uncle Karl is the famous member of our family. He has a villa and was Chief Paymaster during the war.
Wolf accompanies me to the house, but he must stay outside—my aunt dislikes dogs of any sort. I ring.