"Beg to report, sir, he's without matches," replied Schweik.
"Splendid, he's without matches and can't give anyone a light. Well, that's one thing, and now for the next item on the programme. Do your feet stink, Schweik?"
"Beg to report, sir, they don't stink."
"So much for that. And now the third point. Do you drink brandy?"
"Bag to report, sir, I don't drink brandy, only rum."
"Good. Just have a look at that chap there. I borrowed him for to-day from Lieutenant Feldhuber. He's his batman. And he doesn't drink. He's a tee-tee-tee-totaller and that's why he's been put on a draft. Be-because a man like that's no use to me. He only drinks water and bawls like a bull."
"You're a teetotaller," he said, turning to the soldier. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you bloody fool. For two pins I'd punch you in the jaw."
The chaplain now turned his attention to the men who had escorted Schweik and who, in their endeavour to stand up straight, were wobbling about, vainly trying to prop themselves up with their rifles.
"Y—you're dr-drunk," said the chaplain. "You're drunk while on duty and now you'll be for it. I'll see to that. Schweik, take
* * *
their rifles away ; march them off to the kitchen and mount guard over them until the patrol comes for them. I'll tel-tel-telephone at once to the barracks."
And thus Napoleon's saying: "In war the situation changes from one moment to another," was again amply confirmed. In the morning they had escorted him with fixed bayonets to prevent him from giving them the slip ; then he himself had led them along ; and now, here he was, mounting guard over them.
They first became fully aware of this change in the situation when they were sitting in the kitchen and saw Schweik standing at the door with rifle and bayonet.
"I could do with a drink," sighed the little optimistic man, while the lanky fellow again had a fit of skepticism and said that the whole business was a piece of low treachery. He started loudly accusing Schweik of having landed them in their present plight and reproached him for having promised them that he would be hanged the next day. Now they could see that what he had said about the confession and the hanging was all a hoax.
Schweik made no reply but walked to and fro by the door.
"We haven't half got ourselves in a mess," exclaimed the lanky man.
At last, having heard all their accusations, Schweik remarked :
"Now you can see that the army's no picnic. I'm just doing my duty. I got into this just the same as what you did, but fortune smiled on me, as the saying is."
"I could do with a drink," repeated the optimist desperately.
The lanky man stood up and staggered to the door.
"Let's go home, mate," he said to Schweik. "Don't act the fool."
"You go away," said Schweik. "I've got to guard you. We ain't on speaking terms now."
The chaplain suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"I can't get through to the barracks. So you'd better go home and re-remember you mustn't boo-booze when you're on duty. Quick march !"
In fairness to the chaplain it should be added that he had not telephoned to the barracks, for the simple reason that he had no telephone, and was talking to a lamp stand.
* * *
II.
Schweik had been the chaplain's orderly for three whole days, and during this period he had seen him only once. On the third day an orderly arrived from Lieutenant Helmich telling Schweik to come and fetch the chaplain.
On the way, the orderly told Schweik that the chaplain had had a row with the lieutenant, had smashed a piano, was dead drunk and refused to go home. Lieutenant Helmich, who was also drunk, had thrown the chaplain into the passage, where he was dozing on the ground by the doorway. When Schweik reached the spot, he shook the chaplain, and when the latter opened his eyes and began to mumble, Schweik saluted and said :
"Beg to report, sir, I'm here."
"And what do you want here?"
"Beg to report, sir, I've come to fetch you."
"So you've come to fetch me, have you? And where are we going?"
"Home, sir."
"And what have I got to go home for? Aren't I at home?"
"Beg to report, sir, you're on the floor in somebody else's home."
"And—how—did—I get here?"
"Beg to report, sir, you were paying a call."
"Not—not—not paying a call. You're—you're—wrong there."
Schweik lifted the Chaplain and propped him up against the wall. While Schweik was holding him, the Chaplain floundered from side to side and clung to him, saying : "You're letting me fall." And then, once more, with a fatuous smile, he repeated : "You're letting me fall." At last Schweik managed to squeeze the Chaplain up against the wall, whereupon he began to doze again in his new posture.
Schweik woke him up.
"What d'you want?" asked the Chaplain, making a vain attempt to drag himself along by the wall and to sit up. "Who are you, anyway?"
* * *
"Beg to report, sir," replied Schweik, pushing the Chaplain back against the wall, "I'm your batman, sir."
"I haven't got a batman," said the Chaplain with some effort, making a fresh attempt to tumble on top of Schweik. There was a little tussle which ended in Schweik's complete victory. Schweik took advantage of this to drag the Chaplain down the stairs into the entrance hall where the Chaplain tried to stop Schweik from taking him into the street. "I don't know you," he kept telling Schweik during their tussle. "Do you know Otto Katz? That's me."
"I've been to the Archbishop's," he yelled, catching hold of the door in the entrance hall. "The Vatican takes a great interest in me. Is that clear to you?"
Schweik assented and began to talk to the Chaplain as man to man.
"Let go of that, I tell you," he said, "or I'll give you such a wallop. We're going home; so now stow your gab."
The Chaplain let go of the door and clung to Schweik, who pushed him aside and then carried him out into the street, where he drew him along the pavement in a homeward direction.
"Who's that bloke?" asked one of the onlookers in the street.
"That's my brother," replied Schweik. "He came home on leave and when he saw me, he was so happy that he got tight, because he thought I was dead."
The Chaplain, who caught the last few words, stood up straight and faced the onlookers : "Any of you who are dead must report themselves to headquarters within three days, so that their corpses can be consecrated."
And he lapsed into silence, endeavouring to fall nose-first on to the pavement, while Schweik held him under the arm and drew him along homeward. With his head thrust forward and his feet trailing behind and dangling like those of a cat with a broken back, the Chaplain was muttering to himself : "Dominus vobis-cum—et cum spiritu tuo. Dominus vobiscum."
When they reached a cab rank, Schweik propped the Chaplain in a sitting posture up against a wall and went to negotiate with the cabmen about the fare. One of the cabmen declared that he
* * *
knew the Chaplain very well, that he'd driven him home once and would never do it again.
"He spewed all over my cab," he announced in plain terms, "and then he never paid his fare. I was carting him round for more than two hours before he found out where he lived. And a week later, when I'd been after him about three times, he paid me five crowns for the whole lot."
After long discussions, one of the cabmen agreed to take them.
Schweik went back to the Chaplain who had now fallen asleep. Somebody had removed his bowler hat (for he usually put on civilian clothing when he went for a walk) and taken it away.
Schweik woke him up and with the help of the cabman got him inside the cab. There the Chaplain collapsed in a complete torpor and took Schweik for Colonel Just of the 75th Infantry Regiment. He kept muttering : "Don't be too hard on me, sir. I know I'm a bit of a cad." At one moment, it seemed as if the jolting of the cab against the curb was bringing him to hi
s senses. He sat up straight and began to sing snatches from some unrecognizable song. But then he lapsed once again into a complete torpor and turning to Schweik with a wink he inquired :
"How are you to-day, dear lady?"
Then, after a brief pause :
"Where are you going for your summer holidays?"
Evidently he saw everything double, for he then remarked :
"So you've got a grown-up son," and he pointed to Schweik.
"Sit down," shouted Schweik, when the Chaplain started trying to climb on to the seat, "or I'll teach you how to behave, see if I don't."
The Chaplain thereupon became quiet and his little piglike eyes stared out of the cab in a state of complete bewilderment as to what was happening to him. Then, with a melancholy expression, he propped his head up in his hands and began to sing :
"I seem to be the only one Whom nobody loves at all."
But he immediately broke off and remarked in German : "Excuse me, sir, you don't know what you're talking about. I can sing
* * *
whatever I like." Whereupon he attempted to whistle some tune or other, but the noise which issued from his lips was so loud that the cab came to a standstill. Schweik told the cabman to drive on and the Chaplain then tried to light his cigarette holder.
"It won't burn," he said despondently, when he had used up all his matches. "You keep on blowing at it."
But again he at once lost the thread of continuity and started laughing.
"This is no end of a lark. We're in a tram, aren't we?"
He began to search his pockets.
"I've lost my ticket," he shouted. "Stop the tram. I must find my ticket."
And with a gesture of resignation :
"All right. Let them drive on."
Then he began to babble : "In the vast majority of cases . . . Yes, all right ... In all cases . . . You're wrong . . . Second floor . . . That's only an excuse . . . That's your concern, not mine, dear lady . . . Bill, please . . . I've had a black coffee."
In a semi-dream he began to squabble with an imaginary adversary, who was disputing his rights to a seat by the window in a restaurant. Then he began to take the cab for a train and leaning out, he yelled in Czech and German: "Nymburk, all change." Schweik thereupon pulled him back and the Chaplain forgot about the train and began to imitate various farmyard noises. He kept up the cock crow longest and his clarion call was trumpeted forth in fine style from the cab. For a while he became altogether very active and restless, trying to get out of the cab and hurling terms of abuse at the people past whom they drove. After that he threw his handkerchief out of the cab and shouted to the cabman to stop, because he had lost his luggage. Next he started telling a story : "At Budejovice there was a drummer. He got married. A year later he died." He burst out laughing. "Isn't that screamingly funny?"
All this time Schweik treated the Chaplain with relentless severity. Each time that he made various frolicsome attempts to get out of the cab, to smash the seat and so on, Schweik gave him one or two hard punches in the ribs, which treatment he accepted with remarkable lethargy. Only once did he put up any sort of
* * *
resistance by trying to jump out of the cab. He said that he wouldn't go a step further, because he knew that they were on their way to Podmokly and not to Budejovice, as they ought to be. Within a minute Schweik had settled his attempt at mutiny and forced him to resume his previous posture on the seat, at the same time taking care to stop him from falling asleep. His mildest remark in this connection was : "Keep awake, or you'll be a dead 'un."
All at once the Chaplain was overcome by a fit of melancholy and he began to cry. Tearfully he asked Schweik whether he had a mother.
"I'm all alone in the world, my friends," he shouted from the cab, "take pity on me !"
"Stop that row," said Schweik. "Shut up, or everybody'll say you're boozed."
"I've not drunk a thing, old boy," replied the Chaplain. "I'm as sober as a judge."
But suddenly he stood up and saluted :
"Beg to report, sir, I'm drunk," he said in German. And then he repeated ten times in succession, with a heartfelt accent of despair : "I'm a dirty dog." And turning to Schweik he persistently begged and entreated :
"Trrow me out of the cab. What are taking me with you for?"
He sat down again and muttered : "Rings are forming around the moon. I say, Captain, do you believe in the immortality of the soul? Can a horse get into heaven?"
He started laughing heartily, but after a while he began to mope and gazed apathetically at Schweik, remarking: "I say, excuse me, but I've seen you before somewhere. Weren't you in Vienna? I remember you from the seminary."
For a while he amused himself by reciting Latin verses :
"Aurea prima satas œtas, quœ vindice nullo."
"This won't do," he then said, "throw me out. Why won't you throw me out? I shan't hurt myself.
"I want to fall on my nose," he declared in a resolute tone. Then, beseechingly, he continued :
"I say, old chap, give me a smack in the eye."
"Do you want one or several?" inquired Schweik.
* * *
"Two."
"Well, there you are then."
The Chaplain counted out aloud the smacks as he received them, beaming with delight.
"That does you good," he said, "it helps the digestion. Give me another on the mouth.
"Thanks awfully," he exclaimed, when Schweik had promptly complied with his request. "Now I'm quite satisfied. I say, tear my waistcoat, will you?"
He manifested the most diverse desires. He wanted Schweik to dislocate his foot, to throttle him for a while, to cut his nails, to pull out his front teeth. He exhibited a yearning for martyrdom, demanding that his head should be cut off, put in a bag and thrown into the river.
"Stars round my head would suit me nicely," he said with enthusiasm. "I should need ten of them."
Then he began to talk about horse racing and rapidly passed on to the topic of the ballet, but that did not detain him for long, either.
"Can you dance the czardas?" he asked Schweik. "Can you do the bunny-hug? It's like this . . ."
He wanted to jump on top of Schweik, who accordingly began to use his fists on him and then laid him down on the seat.
"I want something," shouted the Chaplain, "but I don't know what. Do you know what I want?" And he drooped his head in complete resignation.
"What's it matter to me what I want?" he said solemnly, "and it doesn't matter to you, either. I don't know you. How dare you stare at me like that? Can you fence?"
For a moment he became more aggressive and tried to push Schweik off the seat. Afterward, when Schweik had quieted him down by a frank display of his physical superiority, the Chaplain asked :
"Is to-day Monday or Friday?"
He was also anxious to know whether it was December or June and he exhibited a great aptitude for asking the most diverse questions, such as : "Are you married? Do yuu like Gorgonzola
* * *
cheese? Have you got any bugs at home? Are you quite well? Has your dog had the mange?"
He became communicative. He said that he had not yet paid for his riding boots, whip and saddle, that some years ago he had suffered from a certain disease which had been cured with permanganate.
"There was no time to think of anything else," he said with a belch. "You may think it's a nuisance, but, hm, hm, what am I to do? Hm, hm. Tell me that. So you must excuse me.
"Thermos flasks," he continued, forgetting what he had just been talking about, "are receptacles which will keep beverages and food stuffs at their original temperature. Which game do you think is fairer, bridge or poker?
"Oh yes, I've seen you somewhere before," he shouted, trying to embrace Schweik. "We used to go to school together.
"You're a good chap," he said tenderly, stroking his foot. "You've quite grown up since I saw you last. The pleasure of seeing you makes up for all my troubles."
He waxed poetic and began to talk about the return to the sunshine of happy faces and warm hearts.
Then he knelt down and began to pray, laughing the whole time.
When finally they reached their destination, it was very difficult to get him out of the cab.
"We aren't there yet," he shouted. "Help, help ! I'm being kidnapped. I want to drive on."
He had to be wrenched out of the cab like a boiled snail from its shell. At one moment it seemed as if he were going to be pulled apart, because his legs got mixed up with the seat. At last, however, he was dragged through the entrance hall and up the stairs into his rooms, where he was thrown like a sack on to the sofa. He declared that he would not pay for the cab because he had not ordered it, and it took more than a quarter of an hour to explain to him that it was a cab. Even then he continued to argue the point.
"You're trying to do me down," he declared, winking at Schweik and the cabman. "We walked all the way here."
But suddenly in an outburst of generosity, he threw his purse
* * *
to the cabman. "Here, take the lot, ich kann besahłen.3 A kreutzer more or less doesn't matter to me."
To be strictly accurate, he ought to have said that thirty-six kreutzers more or less didn't matter to him, for that was all the purse contained. Fortunately, the cabman submitted it to a close inspection, referring the while to smacks in the eye.
"All right, then, you give me one," replied the Chaplain. "Do you think I couldn't stand it? I could stand five from you."
The cabman discovered a five-crown piece in the Chaplain's waistcoat pocket. He departed, cursing his fate and the Chaplain who had wasted his time and reduced his takings.
The Chaplain got to sleep very slowly, because he kept making fresh schemes. He was anxious to do all kinds of things, to play the piano, to have a dancing lesson, to fry some fish and so on. But at last he fell asleep.
The Good Soldier Svejk Page 11
