silence. Finally he lost patience, stood up, and hit Heide over the head with a wooden ladle.
With a gurgle he rolled over. The last thing he managed to say before he slipped into unconsciousness was: ‘Thanks, pal, it was lovely to get a regular thrashing.’
There was a lull. For a short while we sat drinking in silence. Then, quite of himself, the old prisoner returned to his story. He hiccuped a little.
‘It was in a dirty little village that my journey to China was interrupted.’ He raised his cup. ‘Your health!’ Half of what he drank splashed over at the corners of his mouth. ‘My name is Gerhard Stief – presently, since we are with the colors, ex-Lieutenant of the infantry, Gerhard Stief.’ He chuckled and screwed up one eye as if he’d told us an unbelievably funny joke.
We grinned. We slapped our thighs and roared with laughter. Tiny pretended to fall off his chair and to go into convulsions of laughter. He threw up and turned around in his vomit. Brandt poured a pail of water over him. Not for Tiny’s sake, but because of the stink.
The old Jew continued, undisturbed: ‘I was in the 76th Infantry Regiment, Altona. They wanted me to enter the Guards at Potsdam. I snapped my fingers at the Guards. Grenadiers of the Guards with white insignia! No, thank you, I preferred the men of the Altona 76th. I went home every evening to eat meat balls. I love meat balls and potato pancakes.’
Porta, who was cleaning his ear with the point of his bayonet, glanced at the Jew.
‘As soon as we’ve rested a little, I’ll make a stack of pancakes for you,’ he promised.
‘I’ll help you,’ Tiny said and pulled his nose.
Heide turned around on the floor and muttered, ‘Down with Adolf. Long live the Jews!’
Porta spat at him.
‘I was demobilized in 1919,’ Stief continued. ‘Then I studied again. In Göttingen. A glorious time,’ he added and drank a bit more.
‘Yes, it’s nice in Göttingen,’ the Old Man nodded. ‘I was apprenticed there to master joiner Radajsak in Bergstrasse. Do you know Bergstrasse, zebr—?’ He checked himself, blinked self-consciously, and corrected it to ‘Gerhard.’ He laughed. ‘Do you, Gerhard? You don’t mind my calling you Gerhard? Do you, Herr Lieutenant?’
We laughed. Gerhard laughed. The Old Man slapped his thighs and laughed very loudly. He filled his old pipe. This pipe had a lid. He had made it himself.
‘Do you know Bergstrasse?’ the Old Man went on. ‘There’s a fine tavern on the corner. “Holzauge” it’s called.’
‘I know that one. There was a girl there named Bertha,’ Gerhard cried in a voice which was breaking with enthusiasm at the thought of the girl named Bertha.
‘Was she fat?’ Porta asked with interest. He licked his lips at the thought of ‘a girl you can feel.’
‘Nah,’ Gerhard said. ‘She was slim as an eel.’
‘Ugh, what a yellow piece,’ Porta said. ‘Those narrow boards are nothing for me. I love to drown in rolls of fat. You want something you can put your hands on, boys. To feel the meat with your fists, there’s nothing to top it!’
‘What happened in the transit town where you were caught?’ Brandt asked. He spat at the snoring Heide, who protested aloud in his sleep. He must have been dreaming he’d become a duck, for he was making quacking sounds.
‘I was called to the counter where the NKVD people were sitting. A nice little man took me to his office, where he told me with a smile I was detained as an espionage suspect.
‘“But everything will be all right,” he said laughing, as if it were a huge joke.
‘He meant of course that whether I was shot or buried alive in Kolyma I would in either case be all right; and, granted, that is also a way of being all right. Why all that bother with long drawn-out lawsuits? A printed form that can be filled out by one man is considerably simpler, you know. I saw quite a bit of the Soviet Union, unbelievably much I saw, but through barbed wire.
With a gurgle he rolled over. The last thing he managed to say before he slipped into unconsciousness was: ‘Thanks, pal, it was lovely to get a regular thrashing.’
There was a lull. For a short while we sat drinking in silence. Then, quite of himself, the old prisoner returned to his story. He hiccuped a little.
‘It was in a dirty little village that my journey to China was interrupted.’ He raised his cup. ‘Your health!’ Half of what he drank splashed over at the corners of his mouth. ‘My name is Gerhard Stief – presently, since we are with the colors, ex-Lieutenant of the infantry, Gerhard Stief.’ He chuckled and screwed up one eye as if he’d told us an unbelievably funny joke.
We grinned. We slapped our thighs and roared with laughter. Tiny pretended to fall off his chair and to go into convulsions of laughter. He threw up and turned around in his vomit. Brandt poured a pail of water over him. Not for Tiny’s sake, but because of the stink.
The old Jew continued, undisturbed: ‘I was in the 76th Infantry Regiment, Altona. They wanted me to enter the Guards at Potsdam. I snapped my fingers at the Guards. Grenadiers of the Guards with white insignia! No, thank you, I preferred the men of the Altona 76th. I went home every evening to eat meat balls. I love meat balls and potato pancakes.’
Porta, who was cleaning his ear with the point of his bayonet, glanced at the Jew.
‘As soon as we’ve rested a little, I’ll make a stack of pancakes for you,’ he promised.
‘I’ll help you,’ Tiny said and pulled his nose.
Heide turned around on the floor and muttered, ‘Down with Adolf. Long live the Jews!’
Porta spat at him.
‘I was demobilized in 1919,’ Stief continued. ‘Then I studied again. In Göttingen. A glorious time,’ he added and drank a bit more.
‘Yes, it’s nice in Göttingen,’ the Old Man nodded. ‘I was apprenticed there to master joiner Radajsak in Bergstrasse. Do you know Bergstrasse, zebr—?’ He checked himself, blinked self-consciously, and corrected it to ‘Gerhard.’ He laughed. ‘Do you, Gerhard? You don’t mind my calling you Gerhard? Do you, Herr Lieutenant?’
We laughed. Gerhard laughed. The Old Man slapped his thighs and laughed very loudly. He filled his old pipe. This pipe had a lid. He had made it himself.
‘Do you know Bergstrasse?’ the Old Man went on. ‘There’s a fine tavern on the corner. “Holzauge” it’s called.’
‘I know that one. There was a girl there named Bertha,’ Gerhard cried in a voice which was breaking with enthusiasm at the thought of the girl named Bertha.
‘Was she fat?’ Porta asked with interest. He licked his lips at the thought of ‘a girl you can feel.’
‘Nah,’ Gerhard said. ‘She was slim as an eel.’
‘Ugh, what a yellow piece,’ Porta said. ‘Those narrow boards are nothing for me. I love to drown in rolls of fat. You want something you can put your hands on, boys. To feel the meat with your fists, there’s nothing to top it!’
‘What happened in the transit town where you were caught?’ Brandt asked. He spat at the snoring Heide, who protested aloud in his sleep. He must have been dreaming he’d become a duck, for he was making quacking sounds.
‘I was called to the counter where the NKVD people were sitting. A nice little man took me to his office, where he told me with a smile I was detained as an espionage suspect.
‘“But everything will be all right,” he said laughing, as if it were a huge joke.
‘He meant of course that whether I was shot or buried alive in Kolyma I would in either case be all right; and, granted, that is also a way of being all right. Why all that bother with long drawn-out lawsuits? A printed form that can be filled out by one man is considerably simpler, you know. I saw quite a bit of the Soviet Union, unbelievably much I saw, but through barbed wire.
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