A young lad, an NCO and sapper with a tattered Iron Cross ribbon in his buttonhole, strolled towards him with his hands in his pockets and gave him a questioning look. Above a childish nose, the lad’s eyes twinkled in his long face like the piercing eyes of an animal. Yes, little Sergeant Süßmann resembled nothing more than a small knowing monkey that appears every couple of days, has a look around, then disappears again. His puttees had been put on carelessly, and he wasn’t wearing a belt. With a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he squatted down beside Bertin.
‘It wasn’t easy to find you,’ he said.
‘Well, you have,’ said Bertin. ‘I can’t screw it any tighter.’
It was good that he’d learnt how to use all sorts of tools in his father’s joinery workshop. As a result, he was considered not to be inept. Sergeant Süßmann gave it a try. The fishplate sat right across the two sleepers.
‘All right,’ he said in English. ‘But I didn’t come for that. I’m to take you to the lieutenant.’
‘Which one?’ asked Bertin.
‘Mine, of course; Lieutenant Kroysing. It really wasn’t easy to find you. You didn’t give him your name.’
Bertin stood up. ‘Are you one of his men?’
‘But of course.’
They moved to the next section of track, taking the fishplates and nuts out of a sack. ‘It doesn’t do your hands much good,’ Bertin said, looking at his fingers, ‘but it’s better than being stuck in an orderly room.’ He knelt on the ground; Süßmann screwed down the other fishplate as if he weren’t his ‘superior’. Autumnal leaves drifted above their heads on a gust of wind. ‘And what does he think about his brother now – in case you happen to know?’
‘He’s consumed with regret,’ replied Süßmann. ‘Apparently, he’s quite certain of a few things otherwise his brother’s company and battalion staff wouldn’t be at Douaumont now.’
Bertin looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Captain Niggl?’
‘Now inhabits Douaumont. Coincidence. Douaumont is a large garrison. In my father’s house there are many mansions. Now the lieutenant wants to know if you’d like to be there when that letter is read.’
‘But what about my company?’ Bertin asked uncertainly.
Sergeant Süßmann spat out his cigarette end. ‘Lieutenant Kroysing is a big noise in these parts, and the further towards the front you go, the bigger a noise he becomes. Even the Panjes of this world know that. The only question is whether you have the guts. Douaumont and its approach routes are considered calm now, but our definition of calm is different from yours.’
‘How do you know?’ countered Bertin. ‘Before I used to be keen to distinguish myself. But now after 15 months in the Prussian Army—’ They both laughed. The ‘old guard’ with their caps pulled low and their easy stride preferred to throw themselves in the mud once too often than once too seldom. ‘If need be, I’m sure I can manage in your area. But how do I get there?’
‘We’ll ask for you,’ Süßmann replied simply, explaining what they had planned for Bertin. All the field railways in the area – and there were quite a few – were run by the sapper depot. Some of the workforce was billeted in dugouts, some in Nissen huts. They’d had nothing to laugh about throughout August, but things had calmed down now and as a result they were on holiday. A railway hut in Wild Boar gorge, which was east of Bezonvaux and not far from the Ornes heavy artillery batteries (‘And it’s always safe as houses where they are’), needed a temporary telephonist. They’d asked Bertin’s company to supply one, and the man they’d sent – a deaf carpenter, who was scared to death of the switchboard with its measly eight plugs – had been sent back. Bertin bent over laughing. So he had; it was Karsch the carpenter. And it wasn’t as if there weren’t plenty of intelligent men in the company.
‘But you won’t get me,’ Bertin said. ‘They don’t transfer Jews. That’s against the laws of nature.’
‘That’s no laughing matter,’ Sergeant Süßmann rebuked him. ‘Every Jew should defend the equal rights of all Jews at every turn.’
‘Defend them to Jansch and his gang,’ said Bertin, frowning. ‘There are 10 Jews in the company, and none of us is in the orderly room. Major Jansch is what’s called a nationalist editor.’
‘That won’t do him any good,’ said Süßmann contemptuously. ‘Kroysing will ask for you. You and no one else. A fortnight in a little hut in the middle of the wood. On duty for eight hours, your own master for 16.’
‘Done,’ said Bertin.
‘Take 15,’ shouted Sergeant Böhne. ASC men appeared from all sides with canteens, drinking cups and swinging haversacks (only the gas masks in their little tin canisters were never taken off; gas shells were used a lot). Bertin walked over to his tunic, which was hanging from a shell splinter sticking out of a beech tree at the height of a man. Süßmann stuck by him. As they walked, Bertin asked him if the hut came under fire much. Süßmann shook his head. The hut itself never got shot at; that was why it had been put in that out-of-the-way spot. However, 60 paces to the left and 100m to the right you came into range of the French. They’d made the most of that, but since the Bavarians had captured the Fumin and Le Chapitre woods and the Alpine Corps had attacked Thiaumont, the French batteries had slipped back. From his haversack, Bertin took some of his bread ration, a knife and a tin of artificial honey, a yellowish spread made from sugar. He offered some to Süßmann, who shook his head.
‘I prefer a hot breakfast,’ he said, lighting another cigarette. ‘No butter?’ he asked. ‘No lard substitute?’ (Lard substitute was the name of a tasty conserve made from the fat and flesh of pigs’ stomachs.)
‘Not for us,’ said Bertin.
‘With us you’ll get everything. Compared to what you’re used to, Douaumont is luxury.’
‘How far is it?’ Bertin asked.
‘If “they” don’t shoot, three-quarters of an hour. If they start shooting, you’ll have to lie down until they stop. And never forget your gas mask.’
‘We’ve got used to eating some strange things, we Jews,’ said Bertin, chewing away.
Süßmann smoked. ‘Even before, I ate everything.’
‘So did I,’ said Bertin. ‘But that didn’t include lard substitute.’
‘Pretty soon we’ll be licking our fingers after eating it,’ said Süßmann. ‘Things are going to get serious this winter.’
‘How old are you, Sergeant Süßmann, if I may ask?’
‘Forced my way into the sappers as a volunteer at 16 and a half. Work it out.’
Bertin propped his open knife against his knee and stopped chewing. ‘Good grief. I took you for 25.’
Süßmann grinned. ‘I’ve seen a lot. I’ll tell you about it later. So, you’ll be asked for and you’ll set off early tomorrow morning. Ring us about 6am. We have a direct connection to you, if it hasn’t been shot to pieces. Kroysing will be pleased. He seems to think highly of you because you believed his brother straight away.’
Bertin shook his head. ‘It wasn’t hard to believe him. Only a brother could be so blind.’
‘I’ll split then,’ said Süßmann in Berlinerisch, straightening his tunic.
Bertin was taken aback by his authentic Berlin dialect. ‘Blimey. Sent you here from the Spree, did they?’
Süßman saluted. ‘Yes, sir! Berlin W., Regentenstraße, Counsellor Süßmann. Tomorrow afternoon, then.’ He nodded and strolled off, disappearing between the tree trunks. Bertin looked after him in amazement, then lay down on the warm trampled earth of the woodland floor, chewed his sweetened black bread, looked up into the blue sky and drew contentedly on a company cigar. And as he let the gold-tinged heavens seep into him with something like joy, he considered that up until now nothing had been imposed on him that he couldn’t handle. He was still kidding himself; the war had not yet punched him in the face the way it had poor little Kroysing. You had to take your hat off to the older brother, who’d managed to manoeuvre those skilful gentlemen into his patch by their own methods. Life was a roller-coaster. The war had brought him ever closer to himself. Next stop Wild Boar gorge, then. After that Douaumont. That was fine by him. A writer shouldn’t dodge fate’s trawler nets. His eyes closed. He saw silver fish, their stupid mouths hanging open, swimming in the blue sea, all in the same direction. His hand holding the cigar fell to the ground. Nothing could happen to him. Nothing could happen to the fish either. He fell asleep.