‘Of course, I say, there’s a plague of them in our country. We’d have ten times as many soldiers if the wolves didn’t gobble up so many of our little children. But for many people it’s also a chance to earn a crust, especially trapping bears. And trapping bears is a real art form back home in Germany. This is how we go about it. You need two men: one carries a noose like a lasso that you throw; the other puts on a pair of trousers like small boys wear, with flies that do up. Now as everyone knows, bears go crazy for honey, and this is what the trappers are banking on. To capture the bears alive – because if you shoot them, the bullets damage the fur, which then plummets in value – the second man undoes his trousers and the other one covers his backside in honey. This is normally done using a huge paintbrush. Then he goes on all fours and starts grunting amorously. This attracts the bears, as does the honey. They immediately start licking, and now it’s easy for the second man to catch the bear with his lasso. He just has to be careful when he throws the noose that it doesn’t stick in the honey.
‘Now in our village we had two men who were experts in trapping bears. One was called Mouser, the other Louser. One winter’s evening, it was about two years ago, they went into the forest to catch bears. It’s better to go at night, because the bears can’t see as clearly. So Louser takes down his trousers and lets Mouser paint him with honey. Then he goes on all fours and starts grunting amorously, an art in which he was peerless. But not a single bear showed its face. As it was miserably cold, his backside began to freeze. The men were about to pack up when all of a sudden an old beast came toddling along, droning loudly. Like all old bears, he had a real sweet tooth, and started licking the thick honey right away.
‘Mouser ought to have thrown the lasso at this point, but he had an idea. Where there’s a bear, he told himself, there must be two bears. So he covered the bear’s behind with honey too. He’d brought along a whole pail of honey, because you have to keep applying new coats. And hey presto! A second bear comes creeping up, and Mouser paints his behind as well. As if the devil himself has a hand in all this, a third and a fourth huge bear appear. Meanwhile, Louser had started heading back to the village on all fours. The bears followed him every step of the way, and Mouser smeared the behind of the last bear with honey. By the time the procession arrived in the village, Mouser was painting the bottom of the twenty-second bear, and all the honey was used up.
‘Louser skipped towards the fire station; Mouser, dripping with sweat, ran in front and opened the doors, and Louser entered with his sizeable entourage, marching round the walls until he came back to the doors. The last bear plodded in and, in a single bound, Louser darted out. Mouser closed the doors and congratulated his comrade with a shake of the hands. They’d caught twenty-two bears, and had become rich.’
Paul Gottlob split his sides laughing. He couldn’t believe the French were stupid enough to believe such nonsense.
•
Schlump’s head was full of the most outlandish ideas, and he was able to entertain the entire hospital with them. It was only after two months that he was permitted to get out of bed. He had a very cautious doctor, who liked Schlump because of his bright and cheerful eyes, and so he made him his clerk. This suited Schlump down to the ground because he was longing for some freedom; he wanted to show his gratitude to the girls he’d met some time before at the garden wall – each day he was allowed to stroll for two hours outside – and who’d given him chocolate and other goodies. Now he was able to go outside and return their favours.
As the autumn of 1916 slowly drew in – the rowan trees were starting to change colour – he had to take the soldiers who’d had their legs shot to pieces to see a doctor at the other end of town. This man had all manner of torture instruments, which he used to rack and twist the soldiers’ injured limbs to make them flexible again. Schlump would deliver the heroes to the doctor at two o’clock in the afternoon and pick them up again at five. In between he was free. In this beautiful old town he’d discovered a wonderful, charming inn, covered up to the eaves in a vine. A romantic arch inscribed with an old, faded date that nobody could read led into this little paradise. Schlump went into the low bar, beneath the panelled ceiling, where at the counter stood the friendly landlady with her strong arms, red cheeks and gold teeth. Two lovely young creatures, Elly, her niece, and Nelly, her daughter, served the customers. But there were seldom customers in the afternoons. Only in the evenings did the red noses assemble to win the war with their grand words.
Elly was exactly Schlump’s age and had a sergeant for a sweetheart. Nelly was barely sixteen, and shone white and rosy like apple blossom. Her father was with the artillery at the fortress in Metz and wore a huge sabre whenever he was on leave. But he was rarely on leave, and the landlady, who loved him very dearly, had to make do with a fat paymaster who paid court to her every evening. On occasion she’d go away with him, which was good news for the impoverished Schlump because it meant he didn’t have to pay for his beer. On those days the inn was a heavenly place to be. Schlump sat on the old-fashioned curved sofa, a lovely young girl either side of him, and was able to kiss them to his heart’s content. Sweet little Nelly would sometimes unsheathe her claws if he got too close, for she was still a virgin. But Elly had a sergeant for a sweetheart and she knew that you had to keep still when a soldier kissed you. These were delightful afternoons. The sun spun golden threads through the bar and shot glowing white sparks in between. The vine in front of the window wove a lovely pattern into the light. The only sounds to be heard were Schlump’s kisses and the girls’ giggles. Sometimes Schlump wasn’t so lucky: the girls would assault him with waves of tickles until he could bear it no longer.
One day Elly was in a bad mood when Schlump arrived, while sweet little Nelly was nowhere to be seen. Schlump crept out of the bar, but rather than go back out into the street he headed up the narrow staircase to seek out his little creature. The doors were not locked, and he went along dark, narrow corridors from one room to another. In the living room he discovered a small concealed door. Approaching it with caution, he opened it as carefully as he could, and stuck his head in the tight opening. What a sight met his eyes! Two steps led down into a small, bright white room, into which the sun smiled just as it did in the bar below. Behind the curtains by the window he saw red and blue flowers in full bloom, and on the table in front of the window gleamed large white roses. But behind the curtain by the wall was a sweet little bed, painted white. And beside the bed waited a pair of charming slippers, one leaning wearily against the other. Schlump could hear his heart pounding and didn’t dare move a muscle. For he saw a slender little foot peeking out from behind the curtain!
He stayed where he was for ages. Then, plucking up courage, he closed the door behind him and went down the stairs with the utmost circumspection. With each step he’d wait in trepidation, as the floorboards creaked terribly. Eventually he was standing by the curtain, which he lifted gently. There was sweet little Nelly, sleeping on the bed, her cheeks as rosy as wild poppies. She lay there without a cover, dressed in only a pair of see-through knickers. Her stockings had slipped to reveal two charming dimples on her knees. One hand was by her nose, the other where the great artists tend to paint it when they don’t want to reveal everything. Throwing caution to the wind, Schlump kissed her on the lips. With a jolt she opened her eyes, turned as red as a peony, fended him off and was on the point of turning very angry. But with the other hand she held him tight and pulled him down to her small breasts.
On this occasion Schlump arrived back late at the military hospital. He would have happily taken any punishment they might wish to throw at him, but they did nothing.
Every day from now on he went straight up into the tiny bedroom, where Nelly would be waiting impatiently for him. She now kept her claws retracted, showing him her velvety paws instead. Elly made sure that nobody disturbed them, for she had understanding for such matters. Nelly’s mother happened to be away for a particularly long period of tim
e, and the honeymoon lasted until autumn had sacrificed her last leaves. Then the mother returned and the sabre-bearer came back too, on four weeks’ leave. By now, however, Schlump had fully recovered, and when a rather severe army panel made a round of the hospital – wicked military doctors who threw out all shirkers – Schlump’s days were numbered.
Half a year later, sweet little Nelly wrote to him in the field that she was expecting a little Schlump. But he should not fret about it. Her mother wasn’t angry; she herself was expecting a little paymaster. And her father, too, had commissioned a little sabre-bearer in Metz, while Elly would be giving birth to a little sergeant. What a christening there would be! She, Nelly, had found a sweetheart who wanted to marry her, a man who no longer had to play at being a soldier as his right arm had been shot off. So the wedding would probably be soon. This long letter had come in a big package of goodies containing salami, bacon and ham, all from a pig that had been slaughtered in secret, for by this time people in Germany were already starving.
•
Schlump was discharged from hospital and transferred to the reserve battalion in his regiment. He travelled home and even obtained a fortnight’s leave. He would be seeing his mother again!
When he caught sight of the house where they lived and where he’d grown up, he quickened his pace, then started to run, finally charging up the steps. He rang with such fervour that he broke the bell. Although his mother knew that her son was coming back, the shock when she saw him at the door was so great that she screamed out loud and fainted in Schlump’s arms. But her joy revived her at once. Although she was beside herself with happiness, the thought that her child might be hungry kept her mind straight. She placed everything in front of him that she’d put by from her own meals. She didn’t tell him she’d starved for his sake; when he came back to his mother he should find bread on the table, and be able to eat heartily. Fear that the bread might run out threatened to ruin a portion of her happiness. They were rationed down to the last gram, and Schlump’s father needed to eat as he worked hard in a factory. He’d given up tailoring because there was no longer a man in the land who wanted a suit. The mother felt sorry for the boy because he’d have no stollen for Christmas. She only had a tiny amount of flour left, which she wanted to use to make a cake for him.
But Schlump came to the rescue. He’d brought home a huge sack, which he proceeded to unpack. It contained two enormous stollens that Nelly had given him. There was no danger of starving at their inn, for they were amongst the lucky people in Germany to have a field where they could grow their own grain. Schlump’s mother was proud of her son when she heard that the stollens were from a girl; all mothers feel pride and delight when girls spoil their boys.
That evening Schlump’s father came home from work, shook his hand earnestly, and enquired about the war. The question troubling him was whether Germany would win. Schlump couldn’t give him an answer to that. He told them about Loffrande and the French people he’d met, and his parents listened blissfully to their son until late in the night. They became young, cheerful and lively again.
Schlump’s mother was a very happy woman. Her son stayed for a fortnight. He seldom went out, for he knew that she regretted every hour he wasn’t with her. She’d suffered greatly in his absence. It was like a knife in her heart whenever she saw his school friends in the street, still going around in civilian clothes because they hadn’t volunteered. But she didn’t reveal any of this to her son, because the last thing in the world she wanted to do was hurt his feelings.
Schlump was annoyed by many things at home. He despised the milk women, who put on airs and graces and demanded a fortune for the dribble of milk they handed out to the poor. Then the clerks at the town hall, who distributed bread coupons and behaved as if they were the Lord God themselves, snarling at the timid women. One afternoon Schlump went into the countryside with his mother to beg the peasants for some butter in exchange for money. But they were chased from the door at every farm they tried. Eventually they got hold of a pound of curd cheese and went home in fear of the gendarme who would confiscate their hard-won booty and eat it himself if he searched them. As they passed a barn, they saw a couple of plump maids enjoying breakfast with French prisoners. They waved to Schlump and his mother, each of them with salami in one hand and a thick slice of bread in the other. Schlump wanted to fire a volley of bullets in their direction, but all he had was his bayonet hanging on his belt, and you couldn’t shoot with that.
His leave came to an end three days before Christmas. When he reported to his battalion, the sergeant sent him to the supply sergeant, where he was given new clothes. On Christmas Eve a transport was leaving for the Front. Two men had fallen ill so Schlump had to step in straight away. His mother was horrified when she saw him in his new uniform, because she knew exactly what that meant. He said goodbye to her; she was brave and didn’t cry. He joked and laughed to comfort her. On the street he turned round and gave her another wave. She was holding a handkerchief and wiping her eyes.
On the bridge by the barracks he met a worker, a woman who was still young but had an old face. Noticing Schlump’s new cap and uniform, she stared at him wide-eyed. She stopped to let him pass, then mumbled quietly to herself, ‘Another poor animal off to slaughter. And such a young one, too.’ Schlump heard her and couldn’t help laughing.
Taking some time off work, his father accompanied him and his comrades to the station. The band played as it had that first time he went to France. The train pulled slowly out of the station. The soldiers lit candles, put up some fir twigs and celebrated Christmas. They smoked cigarettes and sang carols. Then most went to sleep, though some played cards.
•
Schlump had been in the trenches for several days, and this time he was in the front line. On the journey there he’d met an old friend, Willy, the tracer in the factory where he had once worked. Having joined up at the start of the war, Willy had been part of the advance on Paris before being transferred to Russia. His body had been subjected to the most unbelievable exertions – endless marches, hunger, thirst, and all-out assaults. He’d seen trenches full to the brim with dead Russians, while his entire regiment had got dysentery and many had died. Now he was on his way to France, where death was awaiting him.
For five days they stayed in the front trench, after which they would go back to the third line. They were not far from the place where Schlump had been injured. Twice the regiment had fought at the Somme, and twice it had haemorrhaged so badly that only the sergeants, their clerks, the kitchen boys and the supply unit behind the Front were left. Even some of those had copped it. The few who’d survived said that the war couldn’t throw up anything worse than that. Schlump came across almost no familiar faces in the company.
In spite of the squad of reinforcements Schlump had arrived with, the regiment was still very weak, and the group had to guard three posts. The nights were painfully cold and during the day it snowed. And when the sun shone, the ground would thaw and everything would be wet. Schlump was in sap three. Now he was facing the British, who often fired with long-range ship guns. Those cursed straight shooters! Barely had you heard the shot than the shell was already there; you didn’t have time to take cover.
Shioou! Christ, they’re firing short today, Schlump thought. Have they forgotten where the second trench is? Up till now the straight shooters had always fired at the second trench, where the lieutenant was. Yesterday the lieutenant came forward with the sniper. From the sap here you could see the Tommies going to collect their food. They went quite a distance above cover, probably because they sank a metre in the mud in their trench too. Then they disappeared into a wreck of a house, behind which was a barrel. Yesterday the sniper got one. He was paid three marks for each Tommy he shot dead so long as there was a witness. The British had noticed this and had started firing early this morning at sap three with their straight shooters.
As Schlump lit a cigarette, his friend Willy came round the corner. ‘Whe
re are you going?’ Schlump asked.
Shiouu!
Bullseye. Schlump collapsed into the parapet and vanished beneath his steel helmet. White smoke all around him, and more puffing from small cavities pitted into the chalk by the shrapnel. His rifle was smashed, and the gas mask over his shoulder full of holes. He was buried in dirt up to his waist, and there was a whooshing in his ears. With superhuman strength he heaved up the mass of limestone and scrambled to his feet. There was Willy, bathed in blood. His face was green and his left hand quivering. His chest was ripped open, red lumps hung out, and in his neck was a hole the size of a fist.
Schlump leapt over the body and dashed away. Knowing that a second shot would follow quickly, he darted round the corner and fell into a tunnel that the sappers had dug. All his limbs were trembling, his teeth chattering; he was no longer in control of his body.
It went on like this for two days before his nerves calmed down. The others said his face had been as green as Willy’s.
At eight o’clock in the evening it was his turn to go back on guard, sap three again. Three men from his group had dragged Willy’s body away. The sap had caved in and there was blood everywhere. Only now did he notice that his coat was also splattered in blood, all over the breast: his friend’s blood. He’d taken Willy’s rifle because it was cleaner. The others had already squabbled over his bread and the rest of his things; that was how hungry they were. Comradeship was thin on the ground because these men barely knew each other and hadn’t yet had the benefit of shared experience.
•
Front line, third line, rest, six days at a time – this was the gruelling and perilous rhythm in which Schlump was now fixed. It was thrilling and deadening at the same time. You didn’t see an enemy; you were exposed to shelling and couldn’t fight back. Just standing guard by the barbed wire, nothing but standing guard. And in between, fetching food, fetching coffee, digging, delousing.
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