Rigadoon (18 page)

"Guten tag!"

That's me . . . then I say . . . "Big fire!"

"Ach ja! . . . sicher! . . . es must!"

He thinks it's fine . . . that it had to be! . . .

He asks me: "Wo gehen sie? where are you going?"

"Hanover! . . ."

He ought to know where Hanover is . . . he shows me! that way! just follow the tracks . . . guess there isn't any road . . . or it's too far . . . okay for the tracks! . . .

"Sie sind Franzosen?"

We're Franzosen all right! we're workers, I explain, factory workers, our factory is
kaput!
bombed out, burned down . . . so we're looking for another! . . . that hasn't been bombed! . . . that makes sense!

"Sicher Hanover!
sure to be one in Hanover!"

I ask him if he's seen any French people . . . not sure! . . . he's seen some foreigners, up there, he points east . . . they were fighting! . . . fighting among themselves . . . during the shelling . . . before the station went up in flames . . . lots of dead in the field! . . . and wounded! . . . maybe Restif, I thought, and his men . . . by the way, I never saw Restif again . . . neither in Germany nor Denmark . . . nor later here . . . I asked all over . . . Marion knew him a lot better than I did . . . but Marion, you know, is dead . . . good old Marion! . . . so sensitive, so affectionate . . . he sure helped us to stick it out in Sigmaringen . . . warned us about all the traps! . . . three . . . four a week . . . and the fun he had with Bébert, getting him to look like old man Descaves° . . . his bristling moustaches, my muffler, the drop at the end of his nose . . . the way we laughed! nobody left to laugh with! . . . Restif had no wit, he was a prestidigitator, a good one, but that's all . . . our job there was getting to Hanover! . . . heavenly chroniclers, don't let me lose the thread! . . . our gunner wasn't talking any more, too busy picking up cartridge cases, they were all over the place, even bullets . . . policing up, in short . . . all the same, he wants me to understand!

"Du verstehst? Kupfer! . . . Krieg!"

Kupfer! copper! war! . . . copper!

Certainly! he was right!

"Sicher! . . . sicher!"

War is copper! . . . it's bread too! and sardines and sausage! . . . he stops poking in the puddles . . . he asks if we have anything to eat . . . we've got half a loaf of bread . . . for us and Bébert. . . I show him . . .

"Ich habe Chokolade!"

He's pulling our leg . . . no, he's really got some! . . . genuine . . . with hazelnuts . . .

"Englisch flieger! . . . Kaput!"

An explanation for everything . . . he picks up better things than bullets and cartridge cases . . . he breaks his chocolate bar into three pieces . . . one for Lili, one for me, one for him . . . what about Bébert? . . . another musette bag! . . . he looks . . . no! . . . nothing! only some wads of bread pulp . . . that must be from the English flier too . . . Lili holds some in the palm of her hand . . . Bébert accepts it . . . now we're all set, I think, we can hit the tracks. . . I ask him . . .

"Kein Zug?
no train?"

"Ach nein! nicht mehr!"

Let's go then! . . . not fast though . . . I've only got one cane left . . . they're not bombing very hard, but even so . . . in the northwest . . . direction of Hanover . . . whatever he says . . . and not far . . . you can see the flames . . . I hand him my best German . . .

"Guten tag! schöne danken!
many thanks!"

We shake hands. . .

"Gute Reise! . . . beide!
. . . pleasant journey, both of you!
höre mich!
listen to me!"

And he sings . . . for us . . .

"Nach Winter kommst doch ein Mai!
after the winter the month of May!"

"They didn't send up any flares . . . you know, blue ones! and green ones!"

"No! . . . they didn't want anybody to get away!"

Ah, that explains it . . . let's go now! no time to waste . . . tie by tie . . . humble travelers, modest tourists, humbler and humbler, modester and modester . . . we'd end up on all fours . . . Bébert wanted to be carried . . . he wanted something better than old bread pulp, even if it was English and came from an airplane . . .

"Bébert, you'll see in Hanover!"

Lili says tome:

"Hanover's north . . . do you still want to go this way?"

"I don't want to, kid . . . it's not my idea . . . they haven't asked us . . ."

God's truth . . . it was none of my doing . . .

"He said the trains had stopped running . . ."

"He ought to know!"

Referring to the cartridge-case collector . . . we weren't going fast . . . even so, from tie to tie . . . we'd gone maybe a mile and a half . . . it wasn't light yet, but there was kind of a glow . . . pink . . . in the clouds . . . we could see the country . . . the farms . . . not a soul! . . . man or beast . . . we'd finished our chocolate . . .

From tie to tie . . . up ahead . . . a few hundred yards . . . there's somebody sitting on the track . . . and somebody else a little further on . . . we come up . . . I go
hey!
. . . I touch his shoulder, I press . . . oh, not hard . . . whoops, he tips overl . . . flat on his back! . . . with his legs in the air . . . plunk! . . . on the roadbed! . . . I go over to the other one . . . I hardly touch him . . . same caper . . . he capsizes! . . . I look at their faces . . . a man . . . a woman . . . about forty, forty-five . . . dead at least six hours . . . death certificates, I've told you, I'm experienced . . . I ought to take a look at the bodies . . . they must have been riddled . . . sitting here like this? . . . from the air, by a plane? . . . or by a patrol? . . . from which direction? . . . hell, it's none of our business! . . . come on! . . . let's go! . . . crumbled walls over there . . . used to be factories, I guess . . . say, voices . . . over there! . . . several in fact . . . I don't see a thing . . . they're hidden behind a wall . . . a discussion . . . in what language? . . . German? . . . yes! and French . . . we'd better listen before we show ourselves . . . they're talking about Hanover . . . about passing through . . . from one station right near here to the other one, a long way . . . I don't think we know these people, they're workers from somewhere else . . . not from Dresden or Ulm . . . Poland, I think . . . they weren't in Oddort . . . that's for sure! . . . okay then! . . . we're practically on top of them, but they don't notice us . . . they want to go to Hamburg . . . fine! so do we! . . . I gather from their mumbo-jumbo that trains are still running . . . from Hanover . . . the other station . . . to Hamburg . . . good! but not regularly . . . I wouldn't think so . . . the rough part is getting through Hanover . . . they know all about it! the suburbs, the city . . . all burned, so they say . . . that'll make it easier! let's go! I think there's about fifty of them starting out, mothers, children, old men, old women . . . we're in with them . . . a parade . . . they're not sad, I'd even say cheerful . . . okay! off we go . . . we haven't attracted any attention, me, Lili, and the cat . . . we're part of the crowd . . . they knew what they were talking about . . . I can see there aren't many houses standing . . . more? or less than in Berlin? the same, I'd say, but hotter, more flames, whirls of flame, higher . . . dancing . . . green . . . pink . . . between the walls . . . I'd never seen flames like that . . . they must be using a different kind of incendiary gook . . . the funny part of it was that on top of every caved-in building, every rubble heap, these green and pink flames were dancing around . . . and around . . . and shooting up at the sky! . . . those streets of green . . . pink . . . and red rubble . . . you can't deny it . . . looked a lot more cheerful . . . a carnival of flames . . . than in their normal condition . . . gloomy sourpuss bricks . . . it took chaos to liven them up . . . an earthquake . . . a conflagration with the Apocalypse coming out of it! the "fortresses" must have been here . . . and not just once . . . two times! . . . three times! . . . complete destruction was their idea . . . it had taken them more than a month, hundreds of them passing over, dropping tons and tons day and night . . . there really wasn't a thing standing . . . nothing but fires and scraps of wall . . . all the ex-buildings were still full of soot and flames . . . and little explosions . . . I've told you enough about smells . . . always about the same . . . Berlin, Oddort, and here . . . charred beams, roasted meat . . . the whole crowd of us were walking arm in arm in the middle of the street . . . headed for that station . . . they seemed to know where it was . . . the day was breaking . . . lucky there were no houses left . . . I mean nothing left to clobber . . . the swirls of flame were like pink and violet ghosts . . . on top of every house . . . thousands of houses! . . . it was getting lighter . . . I've told you: not a single inhabitable house! . . . wrong again! over there! . . . no! people standing stiff against the walls! . . . there! now we can really see them . . . a man! . . . we stop, we go over, we touch him . . . he's a soldier! . . . and another one . . . a whole string! . . . leaning against the wall . . . stiff! . . . killed right there! by the blast! . . . we'd seen it in Berlin . . . instant mummies! . . . they've got their hand grenades on them, in their belts . . . they're still dangerous! if they're armed . . .
bam!
. . . if they collapse on those grenades!
Vorsicht!
careful! . . . we take our hands away . . . the other side of the street, another patch of wall . . . more of them . . . more frozen soldiers . . . one thing's sure, they didn't have time to let out a peep . . . caught right there . . . bomb blast! . . . I'd forgotten one detail, now that I get a good look at them, they're all in "chameleon" camouflage! . . . stone dead! . . . we'd better steer clear of them and move on . . . but that station? . . . I wish we were there . . . hey, here it is! it isn't standing stiff by the roadside! . . . it's gone! . . . a whole bombload! . . . it's flown away! the whole station! no wreckage . . . nothing left but the platforms . . . three or four . . . must have been a big station . . . Hanover-South . . . our friends seem to know . . . but this isn't the end . . . now we've got to get through the city and find Hanover-North, on the other side . . . oh, I've forgotten the main thing! . . . the crowd! not just on the platforms, on the tracks, sitting, lying down . . . they're talking . . . I hear English . . . English? . . . I see them . . . some women and a man, English civilians . . . what are they doing here? . . . parachutists? . . . I go over and get acquainted . . . no! . . . they're landowners . . . three women and a man, the man's paralyzed . . . in wartime you keep running into cripples! they're looking for the British Army, they think they'll find it between Hanover and Bremen . . . they had a radio there at home, in Brunswick it seems, their estate . . . enormous . . . enormous . . . a horse farm . . . riding horses and work horses . . . and naturally they'd raised feed, plus alfalfa and colza . . . and the Nazis left them alone? . . . I ask them . . . certainly! they'd only asked them to give courses in English, especially conversation . . . oh, they'd had fine pupils, conscientious . . . this paralytic, I could see, was in worse shape than von Leiden Junior . . . maybe you remember him . . . in Zornhof . . . but he wasn't delirious or vicious, not at all! . . . a courteous, reasonable cripple . . . how had they brought him this far? . . . from Brunswick to Hanover? . . . by "shuttles" . . . taken them two weeks . . . like us from Rostock . . . this "shuttle" traffic went on for almost two years . . . about ten raids on Hamburg before they surrendered . . . now it was time to get moving . . . these Britishers, especially with their cripple, couldn't see themselves hiking through Hanover and its red and yellow streets . . . furnaces all the way . . . I've told you they weren't the only ones, the platforms and tracks were full of people wanting to get through Hanover and go north . . . people really from all over the place . . . somebody hears me talking to Lili . . . an old Italian . . . old? well, about my age now . . . he tells us, he's only got one thing on his mind, to get back to "da boss!" , . . he's just come back from Italy, he'd gone to see his family, his four children . . . and he's late! . . . a week late! . . . chickenshit at the border . . . where is this boss? . . . a brickyard in Brandenburg . . . a long way! . . . first he's got to go north to Hamburg . . . and then south! he's looking for a shuttle! I didn't want to discourage him . . . he'd worked in France, Toulouse and Narbonne . . . always in brickyards! now, under the circumstances, it was Brandenburg . . . the only drawback, he was late . . . it wasn't his fault . . . the Italian border . . . he shows me his papers, he had them all! all the stamps and visas and photographs . . . so what was the trouble? too many papers! this pocket, that pocket . . . and more in his musette bag! . . . it took an hour just to collect them, to put them in order . . . that's war, spending all your time getting things stamped!

He acted it out for me! the stamping! this one,
wham!
. . . that one,
plunk!
. . . all day long! but what about us? . . . who were we? where'd we come from? . . .

"Down south . . . way south!"

And where were we going?

"Up north! . . . past Hamburg!"

"Boss?"

Yes! yes! . . . of course! . . . we had a boss too, up there! . . . and we were late too . . . just like him! . . . that went over . . . he understood . . . he wasn't interested in the war . . . as far as he was concerned, the war was someplace else . . . his boss . . . that's what mattered! . . . and being late! . . . a week! good reason to be furious! he grumbles, he listens to himself, a week they'd made him waste at the Italian border! . . . ah, but Lili? he looks at her . . . he thinks she's looking peaked . . . a little tired, I tell him . . . yes, she's pale! I agree . . . it's the cold . . . of course . . . all these people on the platform around us, they know how to talk, but none of them thinks of making a fire . . . God knows there's plenty of that . . . a hundred yards away, all the streets on the right and left, all Hanover, I think . . . tail ends of houses burning . . . you had to see it . . . every single house . . . in the middle . . . in between the ex-walls a flame . . . yellow . . . violet . . . spinning . . . whirling . . . and flying away! . . . up to the sky! . . . dancing . . . disappearing . . . starting up again . . . the soul of the house . . . a farandole of colors from the first rubble heaps as far as you could see . . . the whole city . . . red . . . blue . . . and violet . . . and smoke . . . this bricklayer's idea was to make a fire for us right there . . . a little fire. . .