Арнольд Цвейг - Outside Verdun

Bertin blushed and confirmed that he would of course come. ‘I was expecting a booze-up from what Süßmann said but I prefer it this way.’

‘Huh,’ said the priest, adding that such chances didn’t come along very often and that he’d like to join them if they didn’t mind.

Kroysing raised his eyebrows and contemplated the priest’s long, fine tunic, wide-cut riding trousers and almost elegant lace-up shoes: ‘Won’t it damage your robes?’ The priest emphatically denied that it would, and Kroysing said: ‘You’ll meet a lot of Christian men, Lutherans in fact, but such distinctions evaporate out there. Machine guns welcome Jews and atheists just as warmly as Catholics and Protestants. The position we’ll be visiting was relieved yesterday. The lads here in the fort are being sent somewhere worse, I believe, further to the west. Do you want to postpone our business, Father? I don’t mind, though I’d prefer it if you said your piece now.’

Glad of an excuse, Bertin got up. ‘If we won’t be getting any sleep tonight, I think it’s best if I ask Süßmann for a bed now and lie down for an hour. A man needs his rest.’

‘Not an easy life for an educated man,’ the priest mused, when the door had closed behind Bertin. ‘I’m constantly surprised by how well our Jews adapt to military life.’

‘Why wouldn’t they?’ asked Kroysing. ‘They do what everyone else does and often a lot better. They want to prove themselves to us. And, anyway, I know of no more war-like book than the Old Testament with all its fire and brimstone.’

The priest skilfully parried the mildly antagonistic subtext he discerned in this remark with a general observation: trench warfare had dispelled many prejudices, not just those against Jews. Had there not at one time been doubts about the value of soldiers from industrial areas? And now? And now, agreed Kroysing, townsmen, especially from the cities, were the backbone of the defence. They were less afraid of machines than country lads. The latter had perhaps provided the best human material in the first year of the war, but the trench war required more adaptable men of nimbler intelligence.

‘And on the topic of country areas, Lieutenant,’ interjected Father Lochner abruptly, ‘what’s gone wrong between you and Captain Niggl?’

Kroysing leant back. ‘Surely he must have told you, when he asked you to mediate,’ he growled.

‘We had a chat,’ the priest replied, kneading one of his hands with the other. ‘He gave the impression of being a man deep in struggle. He said you two disagreed about your poor brother, that you thought the captain had maltreated or abused him.’

‘Is that all he told you?’ Kroysing asked, his expression unchanging.

‘Yes. Or at least, I took no more from what he said. Those Bavarians are all from farming stock. They speak in such a way that you can read a great deal or very little into what they say, depending on how familiar you are with their customs.’

Kroysing lit a cigarette and threw the match into the squashed shell case: ‘Let’s suppose he was fibbing. How does that square with the respect he has for you as a clergyman and the eternal punishment he may be lining up for himself?’

Father Lochner gave a frank laugh. ‘I was a curate for two years at Kochl at the foot of the mountains. I didn’t get to know the people there very well. That would’ve taken a lifetime. But I did learn a few things. No one lied to me in holy confession, especially as they only had to speak in generalities, but they thought it was extremely clever to lie to me day-to-day whilst still availing themselves of my spiritual office.’

‘Excellent,’ said Kroysing. ‘So, you’re not biased, as I feared.’

‘Oh no,’ said Father Lochner expansively, lapsing into Rhenish. ‘That’d be nuts – mad, I mean. Man is a frail creature. Catholics simply have the advantage over you of knowing about original sin and being able to compensate for their fragility through our sacraments and the Church.’

Kroysing listened to the gentleman’s clever chatter with a grim delight that he concealed. Had Niggl really represented their dispute to the priest in such a harmless way? It was possible. Field chaplains got bored, and the cleverer they were, the more bored they got surrounded by the ossified commanders and clowns at headquarters behind the lines. Father Lochner might very well have ventured over to Douaumont on a motorbike for a bit of a change, without asking for a compelling reason. Perhaps sorting out a quarrel between two officers was an interesting opportunity for a former theology student. Well, he might find things surprisingly intense at Douaumont.

‘What do you think about the story of King David and his field captain Uriah, Father Lochner? Excuse me asking so directly.’

The priest started. ‘It was murder,’ he said. ‘Shameless, premeditated murder over a woman. A mortal sin, and the House of David had to atone for it. Even the grandson from that union lost the majority of his realm, despite David’s remorse and the deeds of Solomon.’

‘I see,’ said Kroysing casually. ‘So what temporal and eternal punishments will be visited upon the Niggl dynasty? For I’m pursuing the captain for that same sin. The only difference is that the woman is not called Bathsheba but “The Third Company’s Reputation”.’

Father Lochner sat stiffly on his chair. ‘You must make yourself very clear, Lieutenant, if you want to make accusations of that kind.’

Kroysing was glad to have sickened the other man’s happiness. ‘Wanna do and can do,’ he said in Berlin dialect, opening a drawer and taking out two pieces of paper. He gave the larger piece of paper to the field chaplain and asked him to read it.

Father Lochner slowly pulled on his horn-rimmed spectacles. Then he read Christoph Kroysing’s last letter. His lips moved as he read, and his eyes scanned each word conscientiously, which Kroysing noted appreciatively.

‘You don’t seem troubled by the state of the paper and the writing, Chaplain. The letter was a little stuck together when we received it. You can see the traces in the corner.’

‘Blood?’ asked Father Lochner with a shudder. ‘Terrible,’ he said. ‘But Lieutenant, not wishing to upset you, have you any proof? Captain Niggl – does seem very pleasant. Although one is used to things not being as they seem…’ He let his voice float off.

‘My dear man,’ laughed his companion, ‘surely you don’t still attach any importance to appearances? Haven’t you noticed that power doesn’t agree with a lot of men in the two years you’ve been at this? That your average man needs an average amount of pressure to function normally? Being a member of the officer class places such average men in too rarefied an atmosphere, and the likes of Niggl and his cronies get carried away. Then a travelling wine salesman – or, let’s say, a retired civil servant with a bit of wit – starts to act like King David, except that he cowers behind a stranger’s back when he feels the avenger’s fist on the scruff of his neck.’ And he raised his right hand, curling his fingers into a claw.

‘Tell me what happened,’ said Father Lochner in a haunted voice.

MEANWHILE, TWO TIRED soldiers, Süßmann and Bertin, were lying on iron bunks, one on top of the other, in a former guardroom that accommodated 15 men – Kroysing’s sappers in charge of routine work in and around the depot. They were smoking a cigar and talking. Bertin, on the lower bunk, felt quite excited about the forthcoming excursion.

‘Do clergymen give you the willies like they do me?’ he asked. ‘All of them, I mean – even ours.’

‘Seldom clap eyes on them,’ muttered Süßmann.