Schlump

by Hans Herbert Grimm

  They formed a long line for food: sauerkraut with belly of pork. Schlump took his full piping-hot bowl to the mess hall and was about to sit at the nearest table when a towering cavalryman stood up and sneered, ‘What? Does this snivelling young recruit think he can eat with us?’ Sensing the contempt and derision in these words, Schlump picked up his dish and hurled it at the tall man’s gob. The cavalryman reeled and screamed; the hot sauerkraut was burning his face and running down his neck. His comrades leapt up and fell on the infantrymen, who were coming in with their full bowls. In a trice a battle was being waged with sauerkraut and dishes. There were casualties on both sides and it needed a strong detachment of infantry to restore peace. Schlump had slipped away. The cavalrymen sat in detention, nursing their sore heads.

  The following evening there was an outbreak of dysentery amongst the recruits. A red trail marked the path from the barracks to the latrines. The recruits were segregated and ate apart from the others. Schlump was pleased about this as he feared the cavalrymen might exact revenge.

  A week later, they returned to the garrison.

  •

  On 4 October, they entrained. The band that played at the station sounded as if it were howling with intense pain, and the people on the platform sobbed as if their hearts were being ripped apart. The soldiers were excited and full of curiosity; the future stood before them like a terrible monster they had to overcome. The journey lasted five or six days. They disembarked in Libercourt, after which they marched through grubby villages, staring in wonder at the sober houses and joyless farms of the French. Nowhere did they see the tidy gardens you’d find in front of farms back home, nor the homely timber frameworks on gables nestling beneath huge lime trees. The windows looked like dirty holes, and filthy steps led from the street straight into kitchens. So, was this France? They came across old women with black moustaches and snuff in their nostrils. The sky hung low, heavy as lead, and it started to drizzle.

  The road never ended. The recruits were fully laden; still in their hands were packages from loved ones they’d been given just before the train departed. Some men were already falling out of line; they sat in the gutters, panting.

  Finally they came to a stop. The soldiers assembled their rifles and, after the counting off, which seemed to take for ever, entered their quarters, an empty factory with broken windows through which the rain blew in. Some damp straw was on the floor. It was dark, and the soldiers tripped up on the holes in the floor where the machinery had been. Those fortunate enough to have candles were the envy of the rest. Everyone was given bread and coffee, after which the men slept.

  Duty began the very next day. It was worse than in Altengrabow. The soldiers rolled around on the wet, sticky fields and returned as filthy as swine. This was followed by muster, by which stage they could no longer think straight.

  After a few days Schlump was summoned to the orderly room. ‘You’ve got a school leaver’s certificate; can you speak French?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Report to local occupation headquarters right away. Off you go, march!’

  Schlump took to his heels and reported for duty. He was released from military duties and assigned office work. He made every conceivable effort to make it look as if he knew what he was doing, and indeed it didn’t take long before he found he could understand the French people he had to deal with. He had to act as interpreter, which was no easy task as the Frenchies spoke an appalling local dialect. A few weeks later the communication came through that the headquarters in Loffrande needed a replacement for the service corps, who were moving on from there. Schlump was the only person they could think of sending there.

  Feeling very proud, he set off that evening. He wandered slowly, his thoughts focused on his new job. By himself he would be responsible for the administration of three villages – him, a seventeen-year-old recruit. He ambled through Deux Villes, where the recruits were making a din in their factory. They’d just returned from a march, and Schlump was glad not to have been with them. Then the path continued through open fields. Dispersed beneath him, and partially hidden in the mist, were the houses of Loffrande; to the right a few houses in Martinval, where he’d not yet been; and to the left, Drumez. He stopped by a road sign. On one side it read Occupation Headquarters Mons-en-P; on the other Occupation Headquarters Loffrande. This was to be his realm.

  The village seemed friendlier than the others. It had tall, majestic trees, and the houses were hidden behind dense green hedges, between which narrow little paths snaked. In front of the headquarters – an estaminet, one of those cafés typical of the region – babbled a small, clear, welcoming stream. Jumping over it, Schlump went inside. On the left was the office, a large room with a table, a number of chairs and a small stove. On the right was the bar and a big kitchen. At work in the office were men from the service corps – three clerks, a sergeant and a corporal. They handed him a cigar box and explained that this was the coffer. Then, having showed him a mountain of documents and books, they gathered their bags and left. The men were from Holstein, and Schlump had great difficulty understanding when they chatted amongst themselves. Now he was alone in the headquarters and he felt slightly uneasy.

  As he left the office, Schlump noticed that night had fallen. Opening the door opposite, he was assaulted by clouds of smoke and a clamour of voices. The bar was stuffed with French peasants. He could see nothing but the dim light of a petroleum lamp by the far wall. Finally he found an empty chair, but it was terribly gloomy in that part of the room. The landlady came up to him; she seemed to know who he was. He told her he had no billet for the night and asked whether she could be of any help. At that point a girl stood up, threw a scarf over her shoulders and said something to him before slipping out the door. All he’d been able to make out was the word ‘monsieur’. From the billows of smoke a voice announced that Estelle had gone to find him a billet, but that it wouldn’t be easy as the soldiers weren’t leaving until tomorrow.

  Schlump’s eyes gradually became accustomed to his surroundings. Young lads and powerfully built men sat at small tables playing cards. They were all smoking and nursing tiny glasses of beer. At the back, by the lamp, a woman and her daughter were serving food and drinks. Nobody paid the slightest attention to Schlump any more. He’d brought with him a couple of eggs, which he was keen to have cooked. Eventually he found the landlord and asked him the favour. The landlord was happy to oblige, and a few minutes later his wife came out with a plate, a knife and the eggs. She wanted to stay and chat, but Schlump found it terribly hard to understand her. But he realised that she was anxious and meant well.

  Estelle returned half an hour later, with red cheeks and out of breath. She appeared to be blonde and blue-eyed like the curvaceous girl from the mess. Taking him by the hand she led him out of the estaminet and to his quarters. Schlump was surprised, but very happy to go along with her. The stars were twinkling in the sky; it was a cold night. He asked her whether she was called Estelle. She nodded and said it was the name of a star. He pointed out the star to her – Stella – and she gave it a lengthy gaze. She seemed proud of it, but also amazed that this foreign soldier should know her star. Then the two young people walked side by side in silence, and Schlump thought of his mother. He felt as if he were being guided by his guardian angel.

  All of a sudden Estelle stopped, pointed out his billet and disappeared. He could still feel the warmth of her hand. Then he turned around slowly and entered the house.

  •

  Schlump got a real shock when he set off for his headquarters the following morning. From a distance he was met by a cacophony of voices, and as he approached the building all the heads turned towards him and fell silent. On the right were the men with their horses; on the left the women and children of the village. Schlump realised that they were waiting for him to allocate them their tasks. He started to sweat as he tried to summon up everything he’d learned at school and frantically prepared what he was going to say. He was wearing his field cap and was emba
rrassed by his trousers, which were far too big.

  Plucking up courage, he stepped amongst the crowd and first approached the women, who he was most afraid of. He asked them, ‘Qu’est-ce que vous avez fait hier?’ – ‘What did you do yesterday?’ They all replied at once, the girls gawping at him with mischievous, teasing and scornful eyes, and the women talking at him incessantly, their voices a mixture of amusement and contempt. Unable to understand a word, he said, ‘Eh bien, faites la même chose aujourd’hui!’ – ‘Well, do the same today, then!’ They turned around as one and left, seemingly on the verge of hysterics.

  Schlump was about to turn his attention to the men when he saw an odd-looking soldier coming down the road. The girls greeted him from a distance and Schlump heard that they called him Carolouis. He had unbelievably bandy legs and his hat was perched on his head at an angle, but beneath this was an extremely amicable-looking face. ‘Comrade, I’m part of the occupation authority here; I’m practically a native in Loffrande and I’m in charge of the locals,’ he said in his Palatinate dialect. Then he went away with the men.

  Schlump entered his headquarters and was about to get down to work when the landlady stuck her head around the door and said, ‘Monsieur ne veut pas déjeuner?’ – ‘Would you like some breakfast?’ Schlump went over to the bar and sat at a table with the landlord, Monsieur Doby, where he had a cup of hot milk and some lovely white bread. Monsieur Doby treated him with great respect and was keen to talk, but Schlump could barely understand the man. He returned to his office, behind which was a small room with a bed, where he would sleep from now on. As he held his hands up to the stove, Schlump wondered why the French had no doors on their stoves, and why you had to remove all the pots first and take off the rings before refilling it with coal.

  Then he leafed through the files and books, in an attempt to acquaint himself with everything, telephoned all the authorities he knew, and politely asked the clerks to help by reminding him of all his duties and engagements. For he knew that there were many reports to be made. Once this was accomplished, he sat at the table, held his head in his hands, and listened to the gruesome melody that droned from the Front. The cannons fired incessantly and the window panes rattled in the nails holding them in place, for the putty had long since fallen out. As he listened to the wicked music, Schlump thought of his mother. He found it astonishing that he was now on his own in France, running the local administration.

  Then he went outside, whistling cheerfully as he took a tour of the village.

  •

  The grey sky stretched dismally and tensely over the countryside. As he walked through the fields, Schlump looked over at the forest and saw the leaves falling from the trees. He felt happy to be alive. He could no longer hear the song that the cannons drummed into his ears day in, day out. The young lads were ploughing and the horses whinnying; breath puffed from their nostrils, billowing into the bright autumn air. The men were digging to channel the water that collected in the meadows, and scooping out the sludge from the trenches. Carolouis toppled from one furrow to another, and the freshly ploughed sods smiled up at the sun, which had just forced its way through the mist.

  Schlump walked over to Martinval, where the women were working. He’d installed them in two barns; the women in one, the girls in the other. The women were nattering as they picked over potatoes, and didn’t say much to him. But as he headed for the girls’ barn, he spotted one of them vanishing from beside the door. She must have been looking out for him, for the barn was in the middle of a farm and you couldn’t see anybody approaching. He heard their singing break off abruptly and it went absolutely silent. Schlump entered to find the girls busily at work. One was lighting a spirit stove and offered him a cup of coffee. He was astounded to see that the barn floor had been swept so clean it was virtually gleaming. Another girl showed him the potatoes that had been sorted through and those that were still to do. Then they started singing again. Marie, a pretty girl, stood up and danced, and Schlump had to sit on a chair they’d fetched for him. The girl, whose black hair coiled round her small head like snakes, sang as she danced, flashing sideways glances at Schlump with her dark eyes. Then she gave way to Céline, who invited Schlump to dance with her while the others sang. He realised that the girls liked him, and he pulled them close to him, dancing with each one in turn, all except Estelle, who stayed in the corner, gazing at him with her large, silent eyes.

  Schlump went back out into the autumn air, the girls still singing behind him. In his mind he could see Marie’s head of black hair and Estelle’s large eyes. He was enchanted by all the beautiful girls, but he had no idea that he could also pick many of these roses that offered up their blooms to him so endearingly. This happy young man was content to enjoy their sweet perfume, rather than lusting after their nectar.

  That evening, pretty Marie scurried into the bar, swept past Schlump, and cast him a number of furtive glances with her black eyes, before looking over at Estelle, who did not raise her eyes and kept her hands quietly in her lap.

  •

  On Sunday, Schlump had serious duties to perform. At nine o’clock he had to distribute the oats for the horses. The peasants sent their girls, who were waiting for him at the barn door. When he opened up, they stormed up the steep stairs in a mad rush, their skirts flapping this way and that, allowing Schlump a glimpse of the dimples in their knees. Once in the loft, they frolicked and cavorted and romped about, diving into the oats, jumping on the scales and fixing their eyes on Schlump in an attempt to extract a few more kilos for their poor horses. For the rations were meagre and strictly prescribed.

  At eleven o’clock, the young lads and men between sixteen and sixty gathered for roll call. Schlump read out their names and they answered ‘présent’ before filing into the estaminet. Monsieur Fleury, a rich grain dealer, always insisted on buying Schlump a beer. He was an elderly giant of a man, whose broad back ran in a straight line past the neck up to his head, like a bull. His lively blue eyes were set deep beneath thick white brows, and when he laughed, his full lips parted to reveal two rows of white teeth between red cheeks. His voice droned as if he were speaking from within a wine barrel. He said to Schlump, ‘Only seventeen years old and you’re in charge of the old men and the young women – quite an achievement, eh?’

  When the grain dealer left, the landlord, Monsieur Doby, sat next to Schlump and said, ‘I want to tell you a little story about Monsieur Fleury; he’s an old rogue, you know. He’s the richest man in the area. Well, one day he was going with his horses – they were famous throughout the country; he always had the finest horses around – as I said, he was going with his horses over to Contigny. As he passed the ironmonger’s he was surprised to see the shop closed and the hallway draped in black. He stopped, and as he was well acquainted with the young woman there, he got out and climbed the steps to enquire about the bereavement. Upstairs he found the widow weeping beside her husband’s coffin. He removed his hat, made the sign of the cross, and offered up a prayer, as is only right and proper. Then he sat next to the widow and waited in silence, out of tactful respect for her grief. After half an hour he stroked her hand, gently took the handkerchief from her fingers and dried the tears on her cheeks. But the widow would not be consoled; she just continued to sob, unable to utter a single word.

  ‘Monsieur Fleury had limitless patience. Talking to her as softly as might a pastor, he found stirring words of praise for her husband, causing the woman to burst into tears once more. He dried her cheeks again and now put his arm gently around her waist, for it seemed to him that in her distress she was on the verge of passing out. Her head sought security on his chest and she kept weeping, still unable to speak. Monsieur Fleury softly stroked her hair away from her face, held her chin, patted her cheeks, planted a kiss on her forehead and offered some heartfelt words of comfort.

  ‘And just as another sigh was about to escape from her lips, he kissed it back into her mouth.

  ‘They were sitting very un
comfortably, for their knees were up against the hard coffin. He asked whether they might move it a little to one side, to allow them to be more at ease on the sofa. With a sigh she agreed. Taking one of the handles each, they dragged the coffin into the corner. Then they sat back down, and the horses outside had to wait till the following morning before seeing their master again.

  ‘As he rode off at daybreak, he waved gently at the house with his whip, and behind the curtain the widow waved back with a smile, until he vanished into the distance. Then she wiped away the two big tears on either cheek and let the curtain fall back.’

  Madame Doby, the landlady, had caught the end of the story. She seemed to know it and was not at all pleased with her husband. ‘Don’t believe a word of what Monsieur Doby says,’ she told Schlump. ‘He’s such a big liar.’

  •

  Schlump was now settled in Loffrande and he’d almost forgotten that he was a soldier. He was punctual with his reports and made it a point of pride not to miss an appointment. He let Monsieur Doby advise him on agricultural matters, and all his decisions showed an astonishing technical knowledge. Nobody had reason to be dissatisfied with him. Order prevailed and, apart from the cannons thundering at the Front, everything was peaceful in his three villages. In Loffrande there were only peasants and a blacksmith; no shoemaker, no tailor, no grocer, nothing. The wives bought their soap, their pots and pans, and their odds and ends in Mons-en-P. Every Tuesday they’d assemble for this purpose, for they were not allowed to leave the occupation district without military authorisation. Then they would set off, with Carolouis lurching behind, faithfully escorting the women and protecting them from gendarmes and other authorities. On one occasion, however, Carolouis came back in a rage, cursing like a trooper. One of the women had called him a ‘tête de baudet’. He knew exactly what that meant, which was curious for, in general, his acquaintance with French was rather poor. For example, he found it bizarre that they said ‘chair’ when they meant ‘flesh’, because everyone knew that a chair was something you sat in. But from then on he no longer accompanied the peasant women on their trips to Mons-en-P. Besides, he had work to do in the fields.