‘You were wounded, I’m told,’ the Hauptmann said.
‘Yes, at Kharkov,’ Heinrich replied, not wanting to go into any great detail as he was trying to forget the experience of nearly losing his left arm. Suddenly he felt Odette’s hand on his upper thigh. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore it.
‘Have you family?’ the Major asked from across the table. He was uncharacteristically indulging in small-talk which didn’t suit his demeanour.
‘I have a wife and two daughters in Offenbach,’ Heinrich informed. He said no more about them either, as he missed his children and didn’t want to appear over sentimental.
All this time the conversation had been in German and the women had sat silent. But Heinrich knew they understood more than they let on as he watched their faces. Marian, though, was too preoccupied with fussing over the Oberst, the dinner and the dinner table. Collette listened but said nothing. Heinrich thought it was only because she was in such a foul mood with the Major. But Odette understood every world that was being said and had turned her head to actually look at Heinrich when he mentioned his wife and children. She was playing a very dangerous game. And as her hand moved closer towards his groin, he did no more than put his hand under the table to squeeze Odette’s fingers so tight she gave out a little squeal. But, to Heinrich’s dismay, she seemed to enjoy it: nevertheless, she didn’t put her hand anywhere near his groin for the rest of the evening.
Compared to the women around the table the copper-haired woman Heinrich had met at his billet that morning, appeared as fresh as a walk through a forest at dawn. The damp early morning, or the dewy spider’s webs caressing his face as he walked through the trees. He could brush away the webs, wipe the dew from his skin, but he couldn’t erase the feeling that the copper-haired woman could perhaps stop his yesterdays blurring into today: perhaps there was hope for tomorrow after-all.
Marian left the room to return with a box of good cigars and a bottle of Cognac. She placed them on the table in front of the Oberst.
‘Well, what do you think of your new posting?’ the Major asked Heinrich.
Heinrich held no tolerance for the Major, mainly because he constantly wore his spurs which jangled like coins in a trouser pocket. Also his stiff-backed, upper-class bearing exuded contempt for the lower-classes. The likes of the Major were still well-rooted in the Empire, the two-class system that had been shattered by Germany’s defeat in the First World War. He epitomised everything Heinrich loathed. Even though Heinrich knew he could not compete with these men in the class stakes – his father was a watch and clock repairer who had lived over his shop for as long as Heinrich could remember. And even though National Socialism had given people a way out, Heinrich had shunned it. He snubbed the ugliness of Nazism. Instead he took on the grey mantle of the Wehrmacht and although he took orders, he could not be servile to anyone. Some would say he was the sort of man who would be instrumental in forming a new, better Germany. He was clever enough, and a man didn’t get through the Russian Offensive without watching out for snipers: covering his back.
‘Brandy, Oberleutnant?’ the Oberst asked, before Heinrich had the chance to reply to the Major’s question. Then he poured out brandies into the glasses Marian had brought in.
‘Thank you,’ Heinrich replied as a brandy was placed in front of him.
‘I think you are a man of deeds, and very few words,’ the Oberst said as he sipped his brandy.
Heinrich picked up his glass.
‘Your apparent shyness is not to be underestimated,’ the Major interjected, looking closely at Heinrich.
Heinrich frowned as the Major’s gaze became fixed on the Iron Cross. ‘Its second class,’ Heinrich informed. ‘Awarded to me by the Fuhrer himself.’
‘I am well aware of what class it is, and who gave it to you, I have access to your file,’ the Major retorted.
‘Then you will also know I was commissioned by a Prussian General Field Marshal,’ Heinrich reminded.
This irked the Major. His colour came up. Heinrich was sure that if they were alone having this conversation the Major would be bursting a blood vessel by shouting and yelling at him.
‘My commission came by way of the back door, so to speak. I received it for services to the Fatherland and for heroism in the field,’ Heinrich added smugly. He liked to watch certain officers squirm, especially the privileged ones.
‘I must confess I am envious of your combat record. Several times I have requested transfer to the Front but Berlin do not appear to even read the requests I put forward.’ The Major was becoming really rattled.
The Oberst looked across at the Major. ‘It is sad to say, for all of us here, the Oberleutnant has been mentioned more times in despatches than the three of us put together. It must have been a proud moment for you and your family when you received the Fatherland’s grateful thanks?’
Heinrich just nodded.
‘What was your civilian role? The Hauptmann asked, trying to relieve the tensions that had managed to hang about the air like mortar shell smoke.
‘I was an architect. A good one, if I may say so, but finding a job was difficult. I believe I was luckier than most. When the war exploded about my ears it put paid to that career for the time being. I am now content doing my bit for the Fatherland.’ Heinrich had come to say what they wanted to hear.
‘In my opinion, Oberleutnant, you would rather have a slide-rule and pencil in your hand, than a Schmeisser and stick grenade,’ the Major retorted.
‘Well, of course I would. You would rather be riding that horse of yours through a Bavarian forest than through the streets of St Helier, wouldn’t you?’ Heinrich replied.
Heinrich thought the Major might jump out of his seat, slap him around the face with his black leather gloves then invite him to a dual at dawn at that last remark. But he began to admire the man for his self-control, then chastise himself for being too objectionable.
‘Cigars, anyone?’ Marian asked, trying to burst the tense atmosphere.
The box was passed around the table and Heinrich took one. Without waiting for the clipper to come around he bit off the end and had lit it before the others had time to take of the wrapping. As he took deep draws on the tobacco he tried to relax and savour the pleasure of upsetting the Major more than he had intended.
‘Odette,’ Marian suddenly shouted. ‘Clear the table, please.’
Odette couldn’t leave the table without trying her luck one last time. She put her hand on Heinrich’s inner thigh and moved it slowly towards his crotch. Heinrich sat very still as he stretched out his left hand to reach for his glass of brandy. The glass and contents suddenly landed in Odette’s lap.
She stood up screaming. ‘Look what you’ve done, you clumsy lout.’
Lout? Lout? Heinrich hadn’t heard that English word before. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said in English. ‘How very clumsy of me. May I?’ he said as he picked up his napkin and began to wipe down her dress.
‘Leave me alone,’ Odette yelled.
Heinrich caught sight of the Oberst grinning. ‘Sometimes, my left arm spasms. I have to exercise it every so often,’ Heinrich explained. The Major was now on his feet and he followed Odette into the kitchen where her mother was. Heinrich sat down again. ‘Tell me,’ he asked Collette. ‘What does the English word lout mean?’
Collette smiled. It was the first smile he had seen on her face all evening. ‘It means someone who is vulgar, a ruffian,’ she replied.
Heinrich drew thoughtfully on his cigar and nodded. ‘I think she could possibly be right,’ he mused.
‘More brandy, Oberleutnant?’ the Oberst asked, still grinning.
‘No, thank you, Sir, if you don’t mind I will take my leave. I have to be up early in the morning.’ And as he rested his cigar in the ashtray the Major came back into the dining room.
‘How is Miss Fitzgerald? Not ruined her dress, I hope?’ Heinrich asked. The Major just glared at him and sat down beside Collette.
‘Th
e Oberleutnant is about to leave,’ the Oberst said to the Major. ‘I Trust you will give him all the assistance he needs to help him settle into his new post?’
‘Of course, Sir,’ the Major replied.
‘And I trust you will show respect for the Major’s rank when in the company of those of lower rank,’ the Oberst said looking at Heinrich.
‘Naturally, Sir,’ Heinrich replied.
‘And I trust you have had an enjoyable evening?’ the Oberst added.
‘It’s been most enlightening,’ Heinrich smiled as he stood up. ‘Good evening,’ he said and he walked to the dresser to pick up his cap to put it on his head: salute - the Wehrmacht salute - then he turned to walk out. As he left the building, having had too much to drink, which left his legs feeling as though they were wading through deep mud after a Russian thaw, he began to think he was the only sane person in the world and everyone else around him had gone stark, staring mad.
Chapter Six
Heinrich walked into the communal kitchen the following morning and looked around. The table was spotlessly clean, but he complained anyway.
‘This place gets more like a pig-sty every day,’ he grumbled.
‘Sir,’ they all stood up.
‘What is that?’ he asked looking at yesterday’s stale bread.
‘Breakfast, Sir,’ Busch replied.
‘I’ve seen better food in a pig-swill bucket. Coffee?’ he asked.
‘Sir,’ the boy shouted as he poured out a mug of steaming hot, fresh coffee.
‘If you men like living in a pig-sty then I suggest you remove yourself to one,’ Heinrich said, his face taking on the pained look of a man with severe toothache as the cook put his breakfast in front of him. ‘I’m not eating that shit again,’ he moaned. ‘I suffered all day yesterday. What else is there?’
‘Nothing, Sir,’ the cook replied.
‘A good supplier you turned out to be.’
Margaret had heard Heinrich’s objectionable tone from the hallway, but she knocked on the kitchen door and walked in anyway, wanting to know what all the fuss was about. As he turned his head towards her Heinrich smiled weakly.
‘Good morning, Oberleutnant,’ she said, a faint smirk distorting her lips.
‘Good morning,’ Heinrich replied, feigning cheerfulness.
‘I couldn’t help but hear you,’ Margaret said.
Heinrich closed his eyes as he looked away. If she had come to complain then he would have something to say to her this morning.
‘Today’s, laundry day. If I don’t get it in by ten then it will have to wait until next week,’ Margaret explained.
Heinrich felt exasperated. ‘I will inform my men,’ he said coldly.
Without anything else to say, Margaret walked from the kitchen, closing the door behind her leaving Heinrich with a feeling of utter uselessness. He suddenly felt impotent, inadequate. How was it, that one middle-aged woman could throw him into confused turmoil? He had to remind himself, he was the invader, she, the enemy. But he could not deal with this enemy like he had done the others. He couldn’t despatch her with a quick burst of machine gun fire. This battle of words and wits he found more difficult to cope with than any hand-to-hand combat.
‘Did you enjoy your dinner party, Sir,’ the cook asked amused.
Heinrich observed the look on his face. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘And did you meet the Fraulein Fitzgerald?’
‘The Swan Princess,’ Heinrich mused.
‘The Swan Princess?’ echoed the boy.
‘Haven’t you had a musical education?’ the cook teased.
‘Yes,’ the boy indignantly replied.
‘Odette is the name of the princess in The Dying Swan,’ someone informed.
The boy frowned.
‘You know, the ballet?’
‘I know,’ the boy smiled. ‘Tch…’
‘Don’t even say that man’s name,’ Busch continued to tease.
‘What? Tchaikovsky?’
‘Aaghh,’ Busch groaned and they all began to laugh. ‘You’ve done it now.’
‘What is this fascination with Miss Fitzgerald?’ Heinrich asked when the noise had died down.
‘She’s considered an easy lay: the island bike everyone has ridden,’ Busch replied, his further attempt at humour whipping up loud guffaws.’
Fresh bread and butter suddenly appeared in front of Heinrich, along with a pot of jam. Slowly and quietly he ate his breakfast, and when he’d finished, and was about to leave the kitchen, he asked for fresh coffee in his room.
The map Heinrich studied had been given to him by the Major. It was a map of the island which had been sectioned off in four sectors: north, south, east and west. Heinrich was attached to battle headquarters in the south sector. As he tried to accustom himself with the geography of the island a knock came at his door. The young boy walked in to stand with a tray in his hands.
‘Put it over there,’ Heinrich said pointing, without looking at the boy. The boy put the tray down, but still stood waiting. ‘That will be all,’ Heinrich said, now looking at him.
‘I’d like to talk with you, Sir,’ the boy stammered.
Heinrich put down the map. ‘What about?’
‘It’s personal, Sir.’
‘Is that lot down there bothering you?’ Heinrich asked, now looking closely at the boy whose physique had not reached the proportions of remotely being considered a man. His limbs still looked gangly. His manner awkward: unsure.
‘No, Sir, I can handle them.’
Heinrich looked at his watch. ‘Well, Steiner, I haven’t got all day.’
‘It’s a medical problem, Sir.’
‘Then see a doctor.’
Tears began to fill the boy’s grey eyes as Heinrich looked at him. ‘Sit down,’ he said offering him a cigarette. ‘What is it?’
The boy began to cry as he brushed his blond hair from his eyes. Heinrich had seen older, more experienced men cry, and the sight of someone crying, male, female, child, always tore at his insides. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
‘Seventeen, Sir,’ came the boy’s reply.
Heinrich remembered himself at that age and came to the conclusion the boy was too young to be in uniform. ‘Unless you tell me what it is that’s bothering you, I won’t be able to help,’ he said.
‘I went with a woman, Sir.’
‘We all do that at some time or other,’ Heinrich smiled.
‘I’d never been with a woman before.’
‘You were saving yourself for your girlfriend, is that it?’ Heinrich asked, wishing the boy would get to the point, and quickly, as he had duties to perform.
‘It was Fraulein Fitzgerald. A few weeks ago.’
‘Why are you telling me?’ Heinrich asked irritated. ‘You were not her first, and you will certainly not be her last.’
‘I don’t want to be sent to the Russian Front, Sir,’ the boy suddenly cried. ‘I’ve heard of the terrible conditions out there. I don’t want to go.’
‘Have you been given orders?’ Heinrich asked, wondering what the hierarchy were thinking about sending someone so young and inexperienced into a hell he would definitely not come out of.
‘No, Sir.’ He paused. ‘I’ve got something wrong with me. I think I’ve got syphilis.’
‘And what makes you think you’ve got syphilis?’ Heinrich asked amazed.
‘My dick is swollen and sore, Sir. I’ve got blood and green pus oozing out of it, and I get this terrible pain in my groin when I take a piss. It’s like pissing glass.’
‘Sounds like gonorrhoea to me,’ Heinrich said.
‘Will I die, Sir?’ the boy cried. ‘They’ll send me away, won’t they, Sir.’
Heinrich momentarily wondered if the boy was more frightened of having a venereal disease, or being sent off to the Russian Front. ‘What have the men been telling you?’ he asked.
‘They said if I saw a medical officer he would immediately inform my commanding officer who would sen
d me to the Front.’
Heinrich didn’t know how to deal with this. He didn’t want the boy’s death on his conscience, but he knew the hierarchy sent men off to the Front rather than give them medical treatment, which was often in short supply. They considered a bullet to be the more effective cure, rather than prescribing sulphonamide tablets. And the boy had been too upset to even smoke the cigarette Heinrich had given him, so Heinrich took it from the boy’s hand to put it out.
‘Listen to me. How many women have you been with?’ Heinrich asked.
‘Only one. Odette Fitzgerald.’
Heinrich looked questioningly at the boy for a while.
‘That the God-honest truth, Sir,’ Steiner remarked seeing the look of disbelief on Heinrich’s face.
‘What are your duties today?’ Heinrich asked.
‘I’m driving for Military Command, Sir.’
‘Have you any free time?’
‘Yes, Sir. Noon until fourteen hundred hours. They take long lunches, so I have to hang around.’
‘Come and pick me up here, at noon. Don’t forget.’
‘I won’t, Sir.
‘Dismissed.’
Promptly at noon the boy picked Heinrich up in a staff car and they drove towards the Fitzgerald house in silence. As they stood at the front door Heinrich curtly told the boy to keep quiet and let him do all the talking. Marian answered the door. Even though it was just after mid-day she was still dressed in a pale pink, silk dressing gown, her face painted, and the bosoms still fighting to free themselves from the restriction of her undergarments. She smiled at Heinrich, and even though the colour of her hair seemed less garish in natural light, and the sallowness of her skin, less pronounced, he still found her unattractive and grotesque.
Forbidden Liaison: They lived and loved for the here and now Page 4