Schlump

by Hans Herbert Grimm

  ‘Then he was called up. He’d seen active service and been transferred to railway duty. And now he was with me in the Argonne. Three months passed and one day he came up to me, a proud beam on his face, and a letter from Anni. “Look!” he said. “A boy! And no negro either! Just black hair and black eyes!” Franz was as blond as a bread roll, with blue eyes; Anni had beautiful golden hair and sky-blue eyes.

  ‘One of the men in our group said, “So, Franz, how long have you two been married?”

  ‘Franz counted on his fingers. “Four and a half months,” he said. “We met five months ago, one Sunday outside the pub, and got married a fortnight later.”

  ‘ “How much does the baby weigh, then? Ten pounds?”

  ‘They all hooted with laughter, and Franz stood there angrily, not understanding a word, his face bright red. They explained everything to him, and he wrote a stroppy letter back home. He was hopping mad and wanted to kill poor Anni. But her reply came just a week later:

  ‘ “Dear Franz, You mustn’t let your comrades tease you all the time. They’ve been pulling your leg and no mistake! And now your poor wife’s suffering for it. They’re right, of course – you have to be married nine months before you have a baby. But isn’t that the case with us? Just work it out. I’ve been married four and a half months, and so have you. Put them together and what do you get? We are together, aren’t we? Just ignore your comrades. Keep quiet and wait till you get the chance to get your own back. The opportunity will come.”

  ‘Good old Anni. Franz came to see me in secret and showed me the letter. I said to him, “Your wife’s quite right. Ignore the others; they’re a crude bunch. Just write your wife a friendly letter and tell her you’re sorry.”

  ‘A year later, when I was on leave, I went to visit his wife and his son, or rather my son. He’s a dark, lively fellow, comrades, you should see him. I know already that he’s going to be an artiste too.

  ‘Then came the terrible battles at Verdun, and Franz and I always stuck together. When I was buried alive, he dug me out with his hands. You know what that entails. I shared my bread with him, and hunted down other stuff when he was starving. We became real comrades-in-arms. On one occasion I told him the true story. We were lying flat in a shell hole and I couldn’t see his face. It took him a while to respond, then he said, “Fritz, we’ve become close friends. Either of us could die at any minute. The one who survives shall have Anni. If both of us do, we’ll let her choose, but I want us to remain good friends.” I’d never imagined he’d react like that. Nobody can tell me that Franz is stupid; he may be a little slow, it’s true, but he’s certainly not stupid.

  ‘So now Anni has two husbands, and it’s all going well. And that’s how it’s going to remain; it’s no one else’s business apart from us three. A few weeks ago she wrote to say that they – Anni and our boy, Friedrich – have nothing to eat. So we saved up and bought what we could in the mess, and then I stole some stuff from the kitchen while peeling potatoes. Then I absconded, taking leave of my own accord. Maybe Franz will come too, then the whole family will be together.’

  •

  Schlump ate his bread and joined in the conversation. They came from all possible fronts, one from Finland, another from Italy, and the artilleryman from Flanders, who now took his turn to speak.

  ‘I left with the territorial army in 1914, and today it’s the tenth of November 1917. To date I’ve yet to be given any leave. In our battery we’ve got nothing but peasants, and they need time off for the harvest every year. They have to go muck-spreading, and they come back with sides of bacon for the staff sergeant.’ He paused, and then said bitterly, ‘As if we didn’t have women at home ourselves!’

  He stuffed his pipe and lit it.

  ‘I took leave of my own accord, too. My wife also wrote to tell me that she’s got nothing to eat. The two little ones never get enough.’ He spoke slowly and paused to think after every sentence.

  ‘Then there are the two big ones. They’re the real reason I absconded. The boy’s sixteen years old. I’m a trained brewer, and I’ve earned good money all my life. But the boy earns more than I ever got. And he’s never had any education. Straight from school to the factory, turning shells. He swaggers around the house as if he owns the place, never listening to a word my wife says. Recently he’s been lighting his cigarettes with one-mark notes, my wife told me in her letter. When she gave him a clip round the ear, he fought back. And now he doesn’t come home at all. At night he hangs around in bars or sleeps with war widows. She’s ruining the boy, my wife is. It’s time I came home and showed him the back of my hand, to let him know that we’re in the middle of a war. Then there’s Marianne; she was thirteen when I last saw her. She was a pretty, bright girl; I adored her. And now? Now she’s got a Polish Jew around her neck, who was released from the camp where they keep civilian prisoners. He’s acting as interpreter for Russians and Poles at the court, and on the side he’s dealing in food, clothes and anything he can get his fists on. He’s given my Marianne a few scraps of silk to put on, and now the creature wants to go away with the fellow and not come back home again, just like the big one.’ After a long pause, he continued, ‘I’m going home for four weeks to put my house in order. The little ones are going to be frightened; they don’t know me any more. Then I’ll return to my battery. They can do what they want with me.’

  Schlump was tired and wrapped himself in his blanket. Resting his head on his kitbag, he listened to the service corps soldier’s tale as he dozed off.

  ‘Last autumn we were in the Ukraine. After a very long railway journey we were unloaded off the train and had a fortnight’s continuous trek with our ponies, heading east on bad roads. At night we’d sleep in our wagons and tie the ponies together. Finally a few villages came into view. You won’t believe the surprise we got; it was just like back home in Hesse. The houses were neat and tidy, with gardens at the front. And when we went up and talked to the people, they all answered in German. They were so friendly and delighted that we were there!

  ‘We were divided up between the farms and then enjoyed a proper rest. All the peasants’ horses had been taken away during mobilisation, so we were to help them out with their labour. My host was called Linsenmayer, and on his beautiful farm he only had a daughter called Marie. The three of us took care of the harvest. That Marie is some worker! I stayed by her side the whole time. Whenever she was cutting, or handing up sheaves – what a sight that was! And her eyes! I kept thinking of our horse, Liese, who also had such beautiful brown eyes, and looked so slender and elegant when she galloped. We tried to outdo each other in our work, and then we’d sit down together in the evening and drink wine from the same jug.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you can guess the rest. One day it just happened, though neither of us knew how. We spent almost six months in the village. Towards the end there was no hiding it any more; one glance at Marie and you could see. She felt ashamed and wouldn’t leave the house. Her mother ranted and raved, and kept giving me black looks. It was really miserable; the poor girl cried her eyes out, but there was nothing anyone could do.

  ‘In the spring we got our marching orders. You can’t begin to imagine the scene when we left. Marie hung around my neck and wouldn’t let me go. She sobbed her heart out. Then she stood at the fence and watched me leave – with those eyes!

  ‘We returned to the railway and were loaded on to the train. The journey took an eternity. Back to Galicia, through Poland, then up all the way to Finland. I never heard from her again. But I couldn’t forget her. At night I’d be jolted awake, I’d see her eyes before me and I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.

  ‘In October I had some leave. Even at home she wouldn’t let go of me; I had her eyes before me all the time.

  ‘Secretly I took out all my savings from the Sparkasse. And when my leave was up I packed my civilian clothes and said my goodbyes. I wrote to tell them everything from the next station.

  ‘She must have given b
irth by then. I got out at Leipzig. A railwayman told me that trains sometimes pass through there on their way to Galicia. I’m not going back to my group. I’ll start by going to Romania or Galicia. I’ll buy a horse and change into my civilian clothes. Then I’ll ride off and look for my Marie. And I’ll find her if it takes me ten years.’

  Schlump was asleep. The others looked for their blankets and arranged their kitbags as pillows. The last one blew out the candle, and soon all of them were snoring together in the signalman’s hut by the railway tracks.

  •

  When Schlump awoke the following morning, everyone had gone apart from the service corps soldier, who was still sitting in the corner, chewing away. Schlump unwrapped his blanket, rolled it up, and packed it away in his kitbag.

  He stepped outside the hut. At that moment, a man in a railway uniform with officer’s insignia was crossing the tracks. Schlump got a dreadful shock. Now you’re for it, he thought. The man with the epaulettes called out, ‘Where are you off to?’ Schlump opted for what was always the best course in the army: he played dumb and looked at the officer with wide eyes. ‘Aren’t you the man who was going to Maubeuge? You were on your way through with the recruits last night.’

  Schlump had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He played even dumber, and asked in very unmilitary fashion, ‘How do you know that?’ In spite of the epaulettes, he didn’t take the railwayman for an officer.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ the man said in his Saxon accent. ‘I won’t do anything. I can see your regiment number from the badge on your shoulder. But how do you plan to get there?’

  Schlump told him that travelling with the recruits had been too boring. ‘I wanted to get to France quicker. So now I’m heading for the main train station.’ The other man warned him that the controls were so strict that he’d never even make it on to the train. There was a train leaving for Halle at ten o’clock; if possible, he should take that one. At midnight there was a direct connection to Liège. Then they discussed the war and the terrible hunger at home. The railwayman said that they had been going to strike last week, because they were having to work double time but weren’t receiving enough pay, far less than the munitions workers. But it had gone wrong. The morning the strike was supposed to begin they’d been handed their army call-up papers. They were given their uniforms, placed under martial law, and now received even less money than before, especially the workers who just got their soldier’s pay. As an official, he was in a better position, but there was ill feeling amongst the workers. And if the war weren’t over soon, they’d have to bring it to a close whether they liked it or not.

  Schlump’s ears pricked up. If someone like him is saying things like that . . . he thought. Then Schlump asked the man the way and they said goodbye.

  He trudged with his kitbag through the desolate suburbs, through the inner city, and arrived at the main station. He carefully avoided the patrols marching up and down in large numbers by the barriers. Then he chose the platform with the densest crowd and joined the queue. Soon there was a long line of people behind him, pushing forward. Schlump shoved along with the rest of them, and whenever the man in front, a civilian, looked round, he turned back to the man behind him with an equally indignant expression on his face. Eventually the girl in the conductor’s uniform became worried, and when Schlump got to the front of the queue she just let him through. He was laboriously trying to uncrumple his huge railway pass, which he’d scrunched up into a ball. Then he ran for the fast train, stowed his kitbag away, and slipped into a discreet corner somewhere. It wasn’t long before the train left and Schlump appeared again.

  They were just leaving Schkeuditz when the door opened and the military control came in. ‘Railway tickets, leave passes!’ Schlump took his transport pass from his pocket and handed it over with a look of innocence. The sergeant – behind him were two soldiers with rifles – slowly unfurled the document and read it. Then he turned it over and over again, finally saying, ‘This isn’t a legitimate ticket! Where is your leave pass?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Schlump said. ‘I wasn’t given one.’

  The sergeant kept hold of his pass. ‘Report in Halle!’ Then he left the carriage. The two elderly women sitting opposite Schlump stared at him reproachfully. He pulled a cheeky face and looked out of the window.

  He alighted with his kitbag in Halle. The sergeant was already by the steps, holding a fistful of white and red pieces of paper, and surrounded by a throng of soldiers. From the steps, Schlump edged his way towards the sergeant. He could see his document flapping right at the bottom. It was hanging down further than the others because it was the largest. With his left hand Schlump held on to the railing, and with his right made a swift grab, snatching his pass from the sergeant’s grasp. He raced down the steps and heard voices calling behind him, but he’d already turned the corner and was dashing up the steps on the other side. In front of him he saw a sign that read Station Command. He went in – it was the last place they’d think of looking for him. Fortunately a mass of soldiers was inside, for he hadn’t known what he was going to say. He saw a number of kitbags piled in one corner. He asked a clerk whether he could leave his kitbag there. The clerk nodded, gave him a red piece of paper, and Schlump left. With this red slip he could get past the barrier, and now he was free to do what he liked in Halle.

  •

  Schlump strolled around the angular streets of Halle. The icy wind blew stinging coal dust into his eyes, and he started to freeze. He was tormented by hunger too, so went into a café. The girl brought him coffee and a piece of cake that consisted of white foam with a paper-thin wafer on top. The coffee tasted bitter, and in the sugar bowl was nothing but a minuscule tablet of saccharin. His stomach was deeply insulted to receive such fare, and expressed its pronounced dissatisfaction. It was persecuting poor Schlump even more now; he had to look around for a remedy.

  At the neighbouring table were some girls who’d caught the young soldier’s attention. They were darting him friendly glances, and soon gave him the opportunity to strike up a conversation. Schlump sat at their table for a while, letting them feed him with the chocolate that they conjured from their bags. The girls worked at the chocolate factory and today was their day off. They stayed sitting there till the evening and then made a move. The dark-haired one next to Schlump with the pretty teeth and short nose invited him back to her place. Schlump could hardly refuse an invitation like that, and gladly followed her home. She had the sweetest little nest, a warm stove and a wonderful bed. She fed her soldier everything his heart desired. In astonishment he asked her where she’d got all these lovely things from. For in front of him was a plate on which plump yolks sat deliciously amongst the egg whites, gently bedded on roast ham. In addition to this, her dainty fingers served him cocoa, which had been boiled in milk, rather than having been insultingly paired with water. ‘Money doesn’t buy you anything,’ the sweet girl said, ‘but if you’ve got something to offer in exchange – such as chocolate – then you can have what you like.’ After this festive supper she turned out the light and lit a small lamp by the stove, which cast a faint glow on to the low bed. Two days they stayed together in this paradise. Then it was time for Schlump to think about moving on. The friendly girl with her thick dark hair took him to the station late in the evening. She’d bought him an expensive bunch of flowers and cried bitterly when he took his leave of her.

  At midnight, Schlump picked up his kitbag and climbed on to the fast train to Brussels. Two soldiers were sleeping in the compartment. Schlump unfastened his blanket, wrapped himself up, and soon he too was sleeping to the continual beating rhythm of the wheels.

  The train was just pulling in to Liège when he awoke. It was midday and he hadn’t been disturbed by any controls. He got out and went into the waiting room, which was stuffed full of soldiers in field-grey uniforms. They wouldn’t be going on to Charleroi until the evening. He handed in his kitbag for safe keeping, to prevent it getting sto
len, but they demanded he hand in his belt, too, which would stop him from going into town. He sat at a table; next to him were some strapping Pomeranians cutting huge hunks from a gigantic piece of bacon. They were holding pieces of bread thickly spread with butter and topped with generous slices of cheese. They ate and ate – enormous amounts – and seemed untroubled by the envious looks of others making hungry and bitter comments. After a few hours they got up, still chewing with their muscular jaws as they left.

  In their place beside Schlump sat a posh type with a high collar and lively mouth. He soon engaged Schlump in conversation, telling him that in civilian life he was a merchant, and that now he was being stationed at the Dutch border as a purchaser for the mess. There were a lot of opportunities, he added with a wink. Schlump was keen to know what sort of opportunities these were. He claimed to be a merchant too, and said that he was heading for rear echelon headquarters in Maubeuge. ‘Goodness me!’ the other man said. ‘We’re a perfect match. I mean, Maubeuge is not that small a place; there must be opportunities for deals there. Here in Belgium we’re basically the government, and you can buy absolutely everything. I bring in soap from Holland. Maubeuge is part of the rear; things there are almost as bad as in Germany. I’m sure we can work together.’ And in great detail he explained to Schlump how the profiteering worked. He could take advantage of the fact that he came to Liège every week by bringing a couple of quintals of soap as cargo. Schlump would then pick it up, or have it picked up, in return for cash, obviously. The best solution would be to have a railwayman collect the cargo. That way they could save on the freight from the Dutch border to Liège. The railwayman would get ten marks per crate. Schlump, of course, would have to find a mess that would buy the goods off him.

  Schlump was amazed at the peculiar war that was going on here, but he concealed his surprise, said yes to everything, and made a raft of promises. Then his jaunty companion said, ‘My God, there’s nothing happening here, you can’t even get a drink. Come into town with me, I know where to go.’