“You may wait here, dear sir, or at the Neubachs’ — whichever you wish,” said the older woman, addressing the boy of seventeen like a grownup gentleman.
“How was Ernst killed?”
“Forgive me if I don’t speak of it,” I said, looking down.
But looking down was no help. My eyes fell on my boots: the boots which had trampled the earth on Ernst’s grave. Everything here kept reminding me, except Paula’s smile.
“You must invent something, then,” said the kind-hearted woman, guessing at the horror behind my silence. “You must spare those poor people.”
“You can depend on that, gnadige Frau,” I said. “I’ve already had some practice.”
Frau X changed the subject, which was clearly too painful. She brought out a large bowl of cocoa and milk, and then began talking to Paula, who worked for her as a dressmaker’s assistant.
“I hope, Paula, that you will entertain our friend Sajer here. You should show him Unter den Linden, and the Siegesallee. This young man needs some distraction, and that will be your job today.”
I could have kissed her!
“But Frau X, there’s all that work I should finish, and…”
“Ta, ta, to… You take him on a tour of the capital. There’s nothing more urgent.”
I thanked the kindly woman effusively. Was Paula glad to have a holiday? I didn’t really care. I was too pleased with my circumstances to analyze them.
We set out, promising to be back for lunch. I walked along beside Paula, struck dumb with pleasure. She tried to fall into step with me, miming my military stride to tease me, but I only laughed. We passed a little booth painted red, where a woman was selling fried fish, and I thought of buying some for Paula. She followed me, smiling her delicious smile. The woman behind the counter prepared two helpings of fish on two slices of thick bread spread with some kind of ersatz butter. Then she asked for our ration cards.
“But I don’t have any ration card. I’m here on leave.” I smiled, hoping to gain the woman’s sympathy.
This did no good at all. Paula laughed as though she would burst. I felt ridiculous.
“J’aurai to peau, vermine,” I added in French.
The fish woman naturally didn’t understand me, and went on raking out her ashes. We walked off without our fish.
Our lunch with Paula’s employer crowned my happiness. Despite rationing and shortages, the good-hearted woman had managed to prepare some delicious dishes. She also produced some liqueur, which went straight to my head. I left the table aware of an unusual state of excitement, and began to bellow out a marching song, which my two companions absolutely could not sing with me. Belatedly coming to my senses, I begged their pardon, and then began another song which was just as objectionable.
My hostess seemed amused, but somewhat apprehensive. Paula writhed in her seat, and stared at me as if I were some kind of grotesque Punch. Her employer, weighing my drunkenness against her concern for her china, suggested to Paula that she take me out for some air. Paula obediently dragged me off, plainly displeased by the company of a drunken soldier, who might do something stupid at any moment.
On the staircase, my timidity was suddenly overcome by a ludicrous surge of confidence. I grabbed Paula by the waist and spun her into a dance in time to my stamping boots. She frowned, and pulled herself away so abruptly that I almost lost my balance.
“Stop it, or I won’t come with you,” she said.
This brought me crashing to my senses. The simple fact that she was no longer smiling filled me with anxiety. A fog seemed to have risen between her suddenly hardened eyes and mine, momentarily clouded by a good meal. I felt as if I were back in a foxhole seeing in a dream a glowing fragment from what had been my youth. I felt chilled to the bone. Perhaps by my stupidity I’d lost Paula already.
“Paula!” I cried in desperation.
I stood frozen in my tracks. Paula had already reached the bottom of the stairs, and was standing in the doorway, framed in sunlight.
“All right,” she said. “Come along, but pull yourself together.” Still somewhat numb, I clutched at my imperiled happiness. “What would you like to see?”
“I don’t know, Paula. Whatever you like.”
I felt panic-stricken. Clearly Paula was exasperated by the company of a drunken enlisted man. I would have to become an officer. Paula was trying to make me decide something I knew nothing about. Inside my head, her irritated voice seemed to blend with the remembered voices of sergeants shouting orders, exhorting me to actions which I had no hope of accomplishing. “You there! Jump into that Tatra! Well, have you decided? What would you like to do? Put your foot on the gas! Watch out for that chain! Your uniform is spotted; you have to be more careful. Well, have you decided?”
Yes, Herr Leutnant. Jawohl! Yes, Paula. Of course.
Suddenly, she took hold of my sleeve and dragged me from my lethargy. I looked at her. My eyes must have been full of sadness. She seemed astonished.
“Let’s go to the square, anyway,” she said. “Then we’ll decide something. Come on.”
She pulled me after her. I let her do it, knowing that, if we ran into an officer or one of the military police, my leave would swiftly come to an end in a labor camp. Holding a girl’s arm in the street was strictly forbidden, but when I mentioned this to Paula, she only laughed.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not drunk. I’ll be able to see them coming.”
Finally, as I remained more or less incapable of speech, she took the initiative herself, and showed me a round of sights. I stared at them with unseeing eyes. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was simply doing her duty, that my company was no pleasure for her — and I wanted her to enjoy me as much as I enjoyed her. But that was impossible. There was no reason for her to concede me that happiness. There was no reason, either, for me to be walking along that clean, well-organized street in a state of disarray, and no reason for anyone to be patient with a poor, befuddled soldier, just because he’d spent months wallowing in snow and mud and horror. People at peace with themselves have no idea that anyone unaccustomed to happiness shouts himself breathless in the face of joy. I was the one who had to try to understand, to adapt myself to this mood of tranquility, to avoid shocking anyone, to smile a correct smile, neither too wide nor too tense. At the risk of seeming wild or apathetic, I had to make the effort, to invent, and avoid the impression I often felt I was making in France, after the war, of telling boring war stories. I often felt like killing the people who then accused me of lying. It is so easy to kill — especially when one no longer feels any particular link with existence. I — a poor bastard soldier in the wrong army — I had to learn how to live, because I hadn’t been able to die. Why, Paula, did you make a point of the stain on my jacket? Why was a stain enough to erase your smile? Why? And why do I still like to smile — I, who have see an infinity of horrifying stains? This evening, perhaps, the Neubachs will laugh, Paula, and I will try to laugh too, like you.
Paula left me near the Oder bruke, at five o’clock, with detailed instructions on how to return to the Killeringstrasse. She held my hand as she spoke, and smiled, as if in pity. I smiled as if I were happy.
“I’ll come by the Neubachs’ for a moment this evening,” she said. “Anyway, we’ll see each other tomorrow. Good night.”