some hag from over in Spandau came running with a baby and had the impertinence to tell me straight to my innocent, handsome face that I was its father. I told her in a civil and well-bred manner that there must be some regrettable mistake and that she could go and -- in the garden.
"Darn me if the mare did not take me to court--and I had to go and stand before some bellowing creature who sat raving behind a tall desk and spouted away that I was father to that bawdy strumpet's residual product.
"I told him quietly and calmly what was a fact, that anyone must be able to see that it was an utter physical impossibility for such a handsome young man as I to sire a baby that looked like that, and I pointed to the product which the hag had brought with her.
"There was a lot of noise about a blood test and a squint-eyed individual who asserted that he was a doctor arranged that side of it, and happy I was, for now I believed that it would all be cleared up, but it just shows that you should never trust doctors, for, devil take me, if they did not say afterward that I must be held to be the child's father."
"But Porta, they can't do that! If your Soldier's Book shows that you have not been in Berlin they can't..."
"They can do anything. Just as I am in full swing taking tender farewell of my dear old folk and it's all rosy and gnashing of teeth, then a rickety old sow comes walking in and informs me that she is going to farrow.
"'Very interesting,' says I, 'and good luck with it--the Fuhrer will be most happy. My regards to your husband and tell him from me that he must take the dustbin down every day till this is all over.'
"It was not a thing that concerned me, of course, but then one has one's manners after all. So, I chatted a bit with the mare about the great happiness that was coming to her, and so that she too should know it was Christmas we went into the other room and ate a sweet together.
"I, idiot that I was, never thought of anything, till the mare whispered into my shell-like ear: 'You're the father, me dear; aren't you glad?'
"'Glad?' I bellowed. 'You must be stark raving!'
"And so she was dismissed without my blessing. One's just dogged by misfortune. I don't know how it is with others, but it only needs a woman to sit on my lap and there it is."
"You ought to try buttoning up your fly," said The Old Un. "Tell me honestly, Porta, weren't you in Berlin at all ten months ago?"
"You can see for yourself, in my Soldier's Book," said Porta.
"Yes, yes, but what's in a Soldier Book is one thing, and what isn't is another."
" Et tu, Brute ," said Porta, hurt. "I was in Berlin ten months ago--but hell, it was only for half a day."
"That doesn't matter if you were on the thigh path," said The Old Un.
----
Just let me get my hands on the throat of the poet who wrote that the Mediterranean was blue and lovely and smiling.
----
Destination: North Africa
With legs dangling over the edges of their cattle cars, the 18th Battalion rolled through Romania, Hungary and Austria, and from there we cheered our way down through Italy. Five times we got Porta to the door to look at a macaroni field. He was never properly convinced that macaroni is not a plant.
We were quartered in Naples, equipped with brand-new tanks and put into tropical uniforms. Porta refused to exchange his old black felt beret for a helmet, and there was such an altercation between him and the depot Feldwebel that the noise of it could be heard on Vesuvius. The result was a compromise: Porta accepted the helmet, but the Feldwebel did not get his beret.
Just before we were to be loaded an epidemic broke out in the battalion and in a few days we lost so many that we had to remain where we were a bit longer, till replacements arrived from Germany.
When we eventually embarked there were five battalions of us, five thousand men divided between two ships, former passenger steamers. We roared hurrah as our boat slid out of the harbor. We hung over the
"Darn me if the mare did not take me to court--and I had to go and stand before some bellowing creature who sat raving behind a tall desk and spouted away that I was father to that bawdy strumpet's residual product.
"I told him quietly and calmly what was a fact, that anyone must be able to see that it was an utter physical impossibility for such a handsome young man as I to sire a baby that looked like that, and I pointed to the product which the hag had brought with her.
"There was a lot of noise about a blood test and a squint-eyed individual who asserted that he was a doctor arranged that side of it, and happy I was, for now I believed that it would all be cleared up, but it just shows that you should never trust doctors, for, devil take me, if they did not say afterward that I must be held to be the child's father."
"But Porta, they can't do that! If your Soldier's Book shows that you have not been in Berlin they can't..."
"They can do anything. Just as I am in full swing taking tender farewell of my dear old folk and it's all rosy and gnashing of teeth, then a rickety old sow comes walking in and informs me that she is going to farrow.
"'Very interesting,' says I, 'and good luck with it--the Fuhrer will be most happy. My regards to your husband and tell him from me that he must take the dustbin down every day till this is all over.'
"It was not a thing that concerned me, of course, but then one has one's manners after all. So, I chatted a bit with the mare about the great happiness that was coming to her, and so that she too should know it was Christmas we went into the other room and ate a sweet together.
"I, idiot that I was, never thought of anything, till the mare whispered into my shell-like ear: 'You're the father, me dear; aren't you glad?'
"'Glad?' I bellowed. 'You must be stark raving!'
"And so she was dismissed without my blessing. One's just dogged by misfortune. I don't know how it is with others, but it only needs a woman to sit on my lap and there it is."
"You ought to try buttoning up your fly," said The Old Un. "Tell me honestly, Porta, weren't you in Berlin at all ten months ago?"
"You can see for yourself, in my Soldier's Book," said Porta.
"Yes, yes, but what's in a Soldier Book is one thing, and what isn't is another."
" Et tu, Brute ," said Porta, hurt. "I was in Berlin ten months ago--but hell, it was only for half a day."
"That doesn't matter if you were on the thigh path," said The Old Un.
----
Just let me get my hands on the throat of the poet who wrote that the Mediterranean was blue and lovely and smiling.
----
Destination: North Africa
With legs dangling over the edges of their cattle cars, the 18th Battalion rolled through Romania, Hungary and Austria, and from there we cheered our way down through Italy. Five times we got Porta to the door to look at a macaroni field. He was never properly convinced that macaroni is not a plant.
We were quartered in Naples, equipped with brand-new tanks and put into tropical uniforms. Porta refused to exchange his old black felt beret for a helmet, and there was such an altercation between him and the depot Feldwebel that the noise of it could be heard on Vesuvius. The result was a compromise: Porta accepted the helmet, but the Feldwebel did not get his beret.
Just before we were to be loaded an epidemic broke out in the battalion and in a few days we lost so many that we had to remain where we were a bit longer, till replacements arrived from Germany.
When we eventually embarked there were five battalions of us, five thousand men divided between two ships, former passenger steamers. We roared hurrah as our boat slid out of the harbor. We hung over the
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