The Young Lions Part 16

She laughed. "In Berlin, Sergeant."

"I ..." He began. He was going to tell her that his plan was to stay a week and then go home to Austria for the second week of his leave. "I," he said, "I'm staying two weeks."

"Good," she said dreamily. "But not good enough." She ran her hand lightly over his belly. "Perhaps I will talk to certain friends of mine in the War Office. Perhaps it would be a good idea to have you stationed in Berlin. What do you think of that?"

"I think," said Christian slowly, "it's a marvelous idea."

"And now," she said, "we have another drink. If it weren't for the war," her voice came softly over the sound of the liquor pouring into the gla.s.s, "if it weren't for the war, I'd never have discovered vodka." She laughed and poured a drink for him.

"Tonight," she said, "after twelve. All right?"

"Yes."

"You haven't got another girl in Berlin?"

"No, I haven't got another girl any place."

"Poor Sergeant. Poor lying Sergeant. I have a Lieutenant in Leipzig, a Colonel in Libya, a Captain in Abbeville, another Captain in Prague, a Major in Athens, a Brigadier General in the Ukraine. That is not taking into account my husband, the Lieutenant, in Rennes. He has some queer tastes, my husband."

"Yes."

"I, too, have some queer tastes. We'll go into that later. You ... you're all right. You're energetic. You're simple, but you're energetic. You're responsive. Promising and responsive. After midnight."

"Yes."

"The war. A girl's gentlemen friends get scattered around in a war. You're the first Sergeant I've known since the war, though. Aren't you proud?"

"Ridiculous."

The woman giggled. "I'm going out with a full Colonel tonight and he is giving me a sable coat he brought back from Russia. Can you imagine what his face would be like if I told him I was coming home to a little Sergeant?"

"Don't tell him."

"I'll hint. That's all. Just a little hint. After the coat's on my back. Tiny little dirty hint. I think I'll have you made a Lieutenant. Man with your ability." She giggled again, "You laugh. I can do it. Simplest thing in the world. Let's drink to Lieutenant Diestl."

They drank to Lieutenant Diestl.

"What're you going to do this afternoon?" the woman asked.

"Nothing much," said Christian. "Walk around, wait for midnight."

"Waste of time. Buy me a little present." She got out of bed and went over to the table where she had dropped the lace. She draped the lace over her head. "A. little pin," she said, holding the lace together under her throat, "a little brooch for here would be very nice, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"Marvelous shop," the woman said; "on Tauentzienstra.s.se corner Kurfrstendamm. They have a little garnet pin that might be very useful. You might go there."

"I'll go there."

"Good." The woman smiled at him and came slowly in her sliding naked walk over to the bed. She dropped down on one knee and kissed his throat. "It was very nice of the Lieutenant," she said whispering into the crease of Christian's throat, "very nice to send that lace. I must write him and tell him it was delivered safely."

Christian went to the shop on Tauentzienstra.s.se and bought a small garnet brooch. He held it in his hand, thinking of how it would look at Mrs. Hardenburg's throat. He grinned as he realized he didn't know her first name. The brooch cost 240 marks, but he could cut down on his other expenses. He found a small rooming house near the station that was very cheap and he put his bag there. It was dirty and full of soldiers. But he wouldn't be spending much time there, anyway.

He sent a telegram to his mother, telling her that it was impossible to get home on his leave, and asking if she could lend him two hundred marks. It was the first time since he was sixteen that he had asked her for money, but he knew his family was doing very well this year, and they could spare it.

Christian went back to the boarding house and tried to sleep, but he kept thinking of the morning and sleep would not come. He shaved and changed his clothes and went out. It was five-thirty in the afternoon, still light, and Christian walked slowly down Friedrichstra.s.se, smiling as he listened to the bustling s.n.a.t.c.hes of German spoken on all sides. He shook his head gently when he was approached by wh.o.r.es on the corners. The wh.o.r.es, he noticed, were spectacularly well-dressed, real fur-pieces and smartly designed coats. The conquest of France, he thought, has had a beneficial effect on one profession, at least.

As he walked pleasantly among the crowds, Christian had a stronger feeling than ever before that the war was going to be won. The city, which at other times had appeared so drab and weary, now seemed gay, energetic and invulnerable. The streets of London this afternoon, he thought, and the streets of Moscow, are probably very different from this. Every soldier, he thought, should be sent back on leave to Berlin. It would have a tonic effect on the entire Army. Of course, and he grinned inwardly as he thought it, it would be advisable for every soldier to be supplied with a Mrs. Hardenburg when he got off the train, and a half-bottle of vodka. A new problem for the quartermaster.

He bought a newspaper and went into a cafe and ordered a beer.

He read the newspaper. It was like listening to a bra.s.s band. There were triumphant stories about thousands of Russians being taken, stories of companies that had defeated battalions in the North, stories of armored elements that lived off the land and the foe, and made week-long sorties, without communications of any kind with the main body of the Army, slas.h.i.+ng and disrupting the enemy's crumbling rear. There was a careful a.n.a.lysis by a retired Major General who cautioned against over-optimism. Russia would not capitulate, he said, in less than three months, and the wild talk of imminent collapse was harmful to morale at home and at the front. There was an editorial that warned Turkey and the United States in the same paragraph, and a confident a.s.sertion that, despite the frantic activities of the Jews, the people of America would refuse to be drawn into a war that they saw very clearly was none of their business. There was a story from Russia about how German soldiers had been tortured and burned by Soviet troops. Christian hurried through it, reading only the first line in each paragraph. He was on leave now, and he did not want to think about things like that for the next two weeks.

He sipped at his beer, a little disappointed because it seemed watery, but enjoying himself, with his body weary and satisfied, his eyes occasionally leaving the paper to look across the room at the chatting, bright couples. There was a Luftwaffe pilot in the cafe, with a pretty girl, and two good ribbons on his chest. Christian had a fleeting moment of regret, thinking, how much dearer this place and this holiday must seem to a man who had come down from the embattled skies than to himself, who had merely come from the police barracks, the double bed of Corinne's corporal, from the sharp tongue of Lieutenant Hardenburg. I must go and talk to Colonel Meister in the War Office, he thought, without conviction, about the possibilities of being transferred to a unit in Russia. Perhaps later in the week, when things are more settled ...

Christian turned the page of the newspaper to the section devoted to music. There were four concerts scheduled for that night and he saw, with a nostalgic twinge of amus.e.m.e.nt, that the Mozart clarinet quintet was being played. I'll go, he thought, it's a perfect way to wait for midnight.

The attendant downstairs in the foyer of the Hardenburg building had a message for him. "The lady said to let you in. She hasn't returned yet."

They went up in the elevator together, both of them with grave, composed faces. The attendant said, "Good night, Sergeant," matter-of-factly, after he had opened the apartment door with a pa.s.skey.

Christian went in slowly. One light had been left burning and the blinds were drawn. The room had been arranged since he had left it, and looked quite handsome in an angular, modern way. Looking at Hardenburg, Christian thought, you'd never think he'd live in a place like this. Somehow you'd imagine high, dark old furniture, stiff chairs, plush and polished walnut.

Christian lay down on the sofa. He was tired. The music had bored him. The hall had been top warm, and crowded. After the first few moments of pleasure he had had to struggle to keep from dozing. Mozart had seemed tame and without flavor and as he half-closed his eyes in the warm hall, visions of Mrs. Hardenburg, long and naked, had kept swimming between him and the music. He stretched luxuriously on the couch, and fell asleep.

He was awakened by the sound of voices. He opened his eyes and looked up, squinting in the light. Mrs. Hardenburg and another woman were standing over him, looking down at him, smiling.

"Lo, the weary Sergeant," Mrs. Hardenburg was saying. She bent down and kissed him. She had on a heavy fur coat, and her breath smelled strongly of liquor. The pupils of her eyes were dark and large in controlled drunkenness. She put her head next to his. "I've brought a friend, darling. Sergeant Diestl, Eloise."

Eloise smiled at him. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning, too, in a vague, swimming way. She sat down suddenly in a big chair, without taking her coat off.

"Eloise lives too far away to go home tonight," Mrs. Hardenburg said. "She's going to stay with us. You'll love Eloise and she'll love you. She knows all about you." She stood up and held her arms out, the soft wide sleeves of her coat falling back from her wrists. "How do you like it, Sergeant?" she asked. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Christian sat up. "Beautiful," he said. He felt confused. He couldn't help staring at Eloise stretched out in the chair. Eloise was blonde, too, but soft and fat blonde.

"h.e.l.lo, Sergeant," Eloise said. "Pretty Sergeant."

Christian rubbed his hand over his eyes. I'd better get out of here, he thought, this is no place for me.

"You don't know the trouble I had," Mrs. Hardenburg giggled, "keeping that Colonel out of here."

"Next trip back from Russia," Eloise said, "I get a fur coat, too."

"What time is it?" Christian asked.

"Two, three," Mrs. Hardenburg said.

"Four," said Eloise, looking at her watch. 'Time to go to bed."

"I think," said Christian warily, "I'd better leave ..."

"Sergeant ..." Mrs. Hardenburg looked at him reproachfully and threw her arms around him, the fur silky against his neck. "You can't do this to us. And after what we went through with the Colonel. He's going to make you a Lieutenant."

"Major," said Eloise. "I thought he was going to make him a Major."

"Lieutenant," Mrs. Hardenburg said with dignity. "And have you attached to the General Staff here. All arranged."

"He's crazy about Gretchen," Eloise said. "Do anything for her."

Gretchen, Christian thought, that's her name.

"What we need," Gretchen said, "is one drink. Darling, we're on brandy. You know where the closet is." Suddenly she seemed completely sober. Her speech was cool and careful. She brushed the hair back from her eyes and stood very tall in the magnificent coat and a long white evening dress in the center of the room. Christian couldn't help staring at her hungrily.

"There ..." Gretchen smiled briefly and touched his lips casually with her fingertips, "that's the way to look at a woman. The closet, darling."

Well, one drink, Christian thought. He walked into the other room to the closet with the brandy in it.

A blaze of light on his closed eyelids woke him. He opened his eyes. The sun was streaming in through the large window. He turned his head slowly. He was alone in the disheveled bed. The smell of perfume made him swallow dryly. He was thirsty and his head began to ache. The night came back to him in sodden globs of memory. The coat, the two girls, the Colonel who was going to make him a Lieutenant, the jumble of twisting, perfumed bodies ... He closed his eyes painfully. He had heard stories of women like that, and he remembered the rumors about depraved Berlin after the last war, but it was different when it happened to yourself ...

The door from the bathroom opened and Gretchen came in. She was fully dressed, in a black suit, and her hair was bound by a black ribbon, girlishly. Her eyes were clear and s.h.i.+ning. She looked fresh and brand-new in the bright morning sunlight. She smiled at Christian and came over to him and sat on the bed.

"Good morning," she said. Her voice was pleasant and reserved.

"h.e.l.lo." Christian managed to smile. Gretchen's s.h.i.+ning neatness made him feel shabby and ill. "Where's the other lady?"

"Eloise?" Gretchen absently stroked his hand. "Oh, she had to go to work. She likes you."

She likes me, Christian thought grimly, and she likes you and she likes any other man or woman or beast of the field she can lay her hands on. "What're you doing all dressed?" Christian asked.

"I've got to go to work, too," Gretchen said. "You didn't think I was an idle woman, did you?" she asked, grinning. "In the middle of a war?"

"What do you work at?"

"In the Ministry of Propaganda." Gretchen's face became very serious, with a devoted, earnest expression Christian hadn't seen there before. "The Women's Division."

Christian blinked. "What do you do for them?"

"Oh," said Gretchen. "I write speeches, talk on the radio. Right now, we're conducting a campaign. A lot of girls, you'd be surprised how many, sleep with the foreigners."

"What foreigners?" Christian asked puzzledly.

"The ones we import to work. In the factories. On the farms. I'm not supposed to talk about it, especially to soldiers ..."

"That's all right," Christian said, grinning. "I have no illusions."

"But rumors get around, and it's very bad for the morale of the men at the front." She spoke like a bright little schoolgirl reciting her lessons for the day. "We get long secret reports from Rosenberg on it. It's very important."

"What do you tell them?" By now Christian was really interested in this new facet of Gretchen's character.

"Oh, the ordinary thing." Gretchen shrugged. "There's nothing much new you can say any more. The purity of the German bloodstock. The theory of racial characteristics. The position of the Poles and Hungarians and Russians in European history. The worst thing is trying to handle the French. The girls have a weakness for the French."

"What do you do about them?"

"Venereal disease. We quote statistics showing the incidence of syphilis in Paris, and stuff like that"

"Does it work?"

"Not much." Gretchen smiled.

"What are you going to do today?"

"I have a radio interview today," she said, "with a woman who just had her tenth baby. We've got a Major General to give her the bonus over the air." Gretchen looked at her watch. "I've got to go now." She stood up.

"Will I see you tonight?" Christian asked.

"Sorry, darling." She was in front of a mirror giving final, subtle touches to her hair. "I'm busy tonight."

"Break it." Christian hated it, but there was a bare note of pleading in his voice.

"Sorry, darling. It's an old friend. A Colonel just back from Africa. It would break his heart."

"Later. After you're through with him ..."

"Sorry," Gretchen said briskly. "It's going to be terribly late. It's a big party."

"Tomorrow, then?"

Gretchen looked consideringly over at him, then smiled. "You're awfully anxious, aren't you?"

"Yes," Christian said.

"Have a good time last night?" She went back to pus.h.i.+ng at her hair as she stared in the mirror.

"Yes."

"You're a nice man. That's a nice little pin you got me." She came over and leaned down and kissed him lightly. "Not a bad little pin at all. There's a pretty little pair of earrings that go with it in the same shop ..."

"I'll have them for you," Christian said coldly, despising himself for the bribe. "Tomorrow night."

Gretchen touched his lips with her fingertips in her characteristic gesture. "Very nice man indeed." Christian wanted to put up his arms and pull her down to him, but he knew better than to try. "Should I bring Eloise?" Gretchen asked, smiling.

Christian closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the violent and drunken happenings of the night before. It was sickly and perverse and in ordinary times he would be ashamed of himself for it, but, now ..."Yes," he said slowly. "Why not?"

Gretchen giggled. "Now I have to run." She started for the door. She stopped there. "You need a shave," she said. "There's a razor in the medicine cabinet and some American shaving soap." She smiled. "The Lieutenant's. I know you won't mind using it." She waved at him and went through the door, on her way to the Major General and the woman who had successfully delivered herself of her tenth child.

The next week pa.s.sed in a riotous haze for Christian. The city around him, the millions going to and fro, the clang of trolley car and bus, the placards outside the newspaper offices, the Generals and politicians in their gleaming uniforms who sped by him in the long armored cars in the street the s.h.i.+fting hordes of soldiers on leave and on duty, the bulletins on the radio of miles gained and men killed in Russia-all seemed to him shadowy and remote. Only the apartment on Tiergarten Stra.s.se, only the wild pale body of Lieutenant Hardenburg's wife seemed substantial and real. He bought her the earrings, sent home for more money and-bought her a gold chain bracelet, and a sweater from a soldier who had carried it back from Amsterdam.

She had gotten into the habit of calling him demandingly at any hour of the day or night at the boarding house where he was living, and he forsook the avenues and the theatres and merely lay on his bed, waiting for the phone to ring downstairs in the grimy hall, waiting to rush through the streets to her.