‘Don’t you want to go along?’ Schnurrbart asked in surprise.
Steiner shook his head. He looked around. As Schnurrbart went to the door, Steiner beckoned to Maag. ‘You stay here,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll see what’s the matter with the woman.’ He went up to the wounded woman. As he bent over her, he met her frightened eyes. She tried to roll back against the wall. Steiner held her firmly. ‘Take it easy,’ he said quietly. ‘What do you think I want to do?’
Carefully, he lifted the bandage. The wound was a big one and looked bad. From nipple to waist there was a dark-brown rent in the flesh almost an inch wide. When Steiner removed the bandage, it began bleeding heavily. Thoughtfully, he looked down at her. Then he ordered Maag to bring hot water. The other women had not changed their position. They still stood close together against the wall, fearfully watching each of his movements. As he stared down at the woman’s bleeding breast, he became aware of the absurdity of his behaviour. He looked at her face; she had closed her eyes again. Above her right eyebrow was a small scar. His gaze moved down along the fine nose to the full mouth and lingered finally on the uninjured half of her breast. It quivered from the beating of her heart, and for seconds he felt tempted to close both hands around that soft flesh. With each heartbeat the blood ran down along her narrow hips. An ugly stain on the woollen blanket was steadily spreading. When she opened her eyes again, he stooped down and asked: ‘Are you in pain?’ When she nodded, he knew she understood. ‘The pain will be all over soon,’ he said. Her face fell. She moved her lips without uttering a sound.
Maag returned and placed a bowl of hot water on the floor. ‘That ought to do,’ he said.
Steiner nodded. While he was busy cleaning the wound, Maag stood so that he could look on, but from a sense of shame he made sure the other women in the room could not see his face. Since the wound ran as far down as the waist, Steiner unbuttoned the woman’s trousers and pushed them down a little. Maag suddenly began shaking. His voice sounded husky as he asked: ‘Want help with this?’ Without waiting for an answer, he put his hands on the woman’s waist, loosening the clothes and as if without intention reaching his fingers down under the trousers. ‘Stop that,’ Steiner said sharply. For a second Maag could not decide how Steiner meant this. But he removed his fingers. His excitement was so intense that he could feel it with an almost voluptuous pain in every part of his body. Feverishly, he wondered how he could persuade Steiner to leave the room for a few minutes. He could think of no pretext. But he made up his mind to seize the first opportunity that offered. Before we kill the women, I’ll have one of them, he thought. This was the chance of a lifetime. There was no risk of making himself ridiculous here, and if it went off all right he would be rid for ever of that damnable fear that he was impotent. How could he work it? It was now or never.
Steiner had meanwhile finished cleaning the wound. He took a first-aid kit from his pocket and began laying a medication compress on the wound. Just as he finished, he heard hasty footsteps outside and Krüger, Schnurrbart and Hollerbach came noisily into the room. Steiner glanced once more at the wounded woman. She had tilted her head to one side and was keeping her eyes closed. It looked as though she had lost consciousness again. That would be best for her, he thought. He turned to the men and asked: ‘How is everything?’
‘Fine,’ Schnurrbart said, grinning. ‘Thirteen women and the billygoat too. They’re right outside.’
Steiner nodded. ‘Did you have any trouble with them?’
'Not a bit. They were sitting on the floor, scared to death.’
‘You should have given us the lowdown,’ Krüger said, his eyes studying the women. His face was twitching and he kept pulling at his nose. ‘We felt like we were sitting on hot coals.’
‘With your thick hide I imagine you didn’t even singe your arse.’ Steiner suddenly remembered something. ‘Where’s Kern?’
The men exchanged meaningful glances. ‘Hasn’t turned up yet,’ Krüger said after a momentary pause. ‘We saw him running across the bridge like the devil was after him. Made us think they’d cooked your goose in here. What’s the matter with her?’ With his chin he indicated the wounded woman. Steiner shrugged indifferently. ‘She was hit. Must have been a ricochet.’
‘Serves her right,’ Krüger commented. ‘What business have women putting on uniforms. We ought to paddle their arses so they can’t sit for a month.’
‘They aren’t going to need to sit,’ Steiner said.
Krüger frowned. ‘Schnurrbart said something about that,’ he murmured. ‘I tell you, you can count me out.’
‘I don’t need you,’ Steiner replied coolly.
‘Are you going to kill them yourself?’
Steiner did not answer. This was the question he had been turning over in his mind for the past few minutes. The longer he thought about it, the rottener he felt. Finally he pushed it away, postponing the problem until later. If there were no other way, he would do it himself. Russians were Russians, no matter what they had between their legs. He ordered Hollerbach to search the wagons for food. When they found it, one man was to make coffee or tea; the guards on the road were to withdraw to the bridge; two men would remain in the house to guard the prisoners. For a moment he stared at the floor, considering. Then he said: ‘That will be all for now. Krüger, I need you again.’
As the men filed out, Steiner turned to the women again. Their initial fear was gradually diminishing. They were still standing close together against the wall, but they were talking in whispers now and throwing curious glances at the men. As Steiner took a step toward them, they were all attention. In as rough a voice as he could muster he said: ‘Ask them where they come from, where they were going and whether there are any more of them on the way here. Tell them if they lie to us we’ll throw them into the creek.’
‘Lots of work for nothing if they can swim,’ Krüger said. He beckoned to one of the women who wore an officer’s insigniaa on her collar. Her face expressed fear and defiance. When Krüger raised his gun, she slowly came forward. He asked her a number of questions which she answered promptly, and boldly.
Krüger turned to Steiner. ‘They belong to the 34th Women’s Mortar Battalion and are on the way from Maikop to Krymskaya. They are -’
‘What about Krymskaya?’ Steiner interrupted.
Krüger again spoke to the Russian woman. She listened attentively. Then she turned to the other prisoners and exchanged a few words with them. When she turned to Krüger again, she spoke slowly, dramatizing her words with frequent shrugs.
‘Krymskaya is supposed to have been taken by the Russians last night,’ Krüger said. ‘But she isn’t sure. Her group had to wait in Maikop for new mortars yesterday, while the battalion went down the road to Krymskaya yesterday morning.’
‘How did they come to be here?’ Steiner asked.
‘A civilian told them about the short-cut through the woods. They arrived here last night and were intending to go on to Krymskaya.’
Steiner thought that over. The Russian woman’s story might well be true, although you had to be cautious. If Krymskaya had already been occupied by the Russians, that was a hard blow. In addition to all their other troubles they would now have to detour around the city. Although he had reckoned with that possibility, he felt his earlier discouragement returning.
He heard a low cough from the doorway. Turning, he saw Schnurrbart standing there, looking weary and grim. When their eyes met, Schnurrbart said: ‘So it’s that.’
‘What’s that?’ Steiner asked.
Schnurrbart shrugged. ‘Krymskaya.’
Steiner growled impatiently: ‘One more reason for making sure the women don’t get to the city before us. Where is the other batch of women?’
‘Outside. I was waiting until you were through in here. Should I bring them in now?’
Steiner nodded. ‘Yes, don’t forget the sentries. Are the other
fellows back?’
‘All here,’ Schnurrbart said.
‘What about the man?’ Schnurrbart asked. ‘Should we—right away--’
‘Is he young?’
‘No, he’s an old fellow like the others.’
‘You can bring him in here for the present,’ Steiner said. ‘We’ll take care of them all together.’ He looked at Krüger, who was staring blackly at the wall. ‘Don’t think I’m looking forward to it,’ he said. ‘It makes me feel sicker than your stupid mugs, and that’s saying a lot.’
They went outside, where the prisoners were lined up against the wall of the house, guarded by Zoll and Anselm. Steiner paused on the lowest step and looked at the women’s frightened faces. On the left end of the line stood the wagon driver, his head hunched between his shoulders, peering at him from a pair of cunning eyes. His ugly, pockmarked face was typically Asiatic. Squat in build, he looked quite powerful still in spite of his age. When he saw Steiner’s eyes upon him, he took a step forward, raised his hand pleadingly and said: ‘Captain-’ Steiner pointed the tommy-gun at his chest. The man reeled back, frightened, while the women screeched and ducked low against the wall.
‘Take them in,’ Steiner said. ‘Where are the sentries?’ Schnurrbart pointed to the bridge. ‘On the edge of the woods. I picked the place myself. They can see the road in both directions from there.’
‘Who have you got?’
‘Dietz and Pasternack.’
Steiner moved away from the steps and stood watching as Zoll and Anselm drove the prisoners into the house. When the door closed behind them, he turned to the other men. For the first time he noticed that they were all holding large chunks of Russian bread in their hands and hungrily chewing. The sight reminded him that he had not eaten for twenty-four hours. From the open window of the kitchen Dorn’s head appeared for a second. In spite of his bad temper Steiner could not help grinning. It would be Dorn, he thought; Schnurrbart might have picked a better man for cookhouse duty. Kern, for instance. Suddenly he realized that Kern was still missing. He would have to discipline that idiot. Kern must be off in the woods somewhere, the piss scared out of him. Slinging the tommy-gun over his shoulder, Steiner sauntered around the house toward the wagons. On the way he remembered that he had forgotten to ask about the horses. He stopped and called to Krüger. There was no answer. Impatiently, he went back the way he had come. The East Prussian was standing with the others, gesticulating and speaking with great force. They always know better, Steiner thought with rising anger. He strode up to them and addressed himself to Krüger: ‘Get hold of the man and bring the horses here. Take Anselm with you. What’s the idea of standing around here making speeches? By God, we’ve got more important things to do.’
Krüger threw him a rebellious look. ‘We’re discussing something a lot more important than the goddamned horses.’
For a second Steiner seemed on the point of smashing his fist into Krüger’s face. But he controlled himself. His voice tense, he said: ‘What’s said around here is important only if it comes from me.’
‘Says your conceit,’ Krüger growled.
‘I’d sooner be conceited than as stupid as you. Get moving, and have those horses here in ten minutes.’
Sullenly, the two went into the house to fetch the old Russian. Steiner turned to Schnurrbart: ‘Come along with me.’ They went around the house and ran into Hollerbach. He was standing on one of the wagons, busying himself with some boxes. When he heard them coming, he called: ‘Where the devil are you? Do you think I’m going to sweat my arse off on this stuff alone?’
Steiner went up to the wagon and looked in. Half hidden under boxes of ammunition lay two heavy mortars. Curiously, Steiner examined the calibre. ‘The damn thing’s murder,’ Schnurrbart observed. They watched as Hollerbach tugged at a canvas cover in the back of the wagon and brought out a tommy-gun. He handed it to Steiner who examined it with interest. ‘It looks brand new,’ Schnurrbart commented.
‘Any more of these things in there?’ Steiner asked.
‘Let’s see,’ Hollerbach said. He stooped and pulled the rest of the canvas cover aside. ‘Sure, half the wagon is crammed with ammunition, and then some. What’ll we do with it?’
Steiner turned the tommy-gun over between his hands. He seemed to be struggling to make up his mind. Finally he said: ‘I’ll tell you, we’ll take these guns along. Every man take one and as much ammunition as he can carry. The rest we’ll toss into the creek. The best way, I guess, would be to push the wagons up on the bridge and turn them over into the water.’
‘Not bad.’ Schnurrbart yawned. He rested his arms on the edge of the wagon rack and blinked at the sun. ‘But what are we going to do with our own guns?’ he asked. ‘We don’t want to be lugging them too, on top of everything else.’
‘Of course not. We’ll toss them into the water too.’
‘I don’t know,’ Hollerbach said with a worried frown. ‘I grant you theirs are better than ours. But what a stink there’ll be about it when we get back. Meyer will throw a fit.’
‘He can throw two for all I care,’ Steiner replied. ‘The kind of fix we’re in justifies unusual measures. Why do you want to hang on to your stinking carbines? By the time you’ve reloaded them the Russian tommy-guns can fill you full of holes. Besides, we’ve only three boxes of ammunition left.’
Schnurrbart nodded his agreement. ‘As far as I’m concerned, orders are orders.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve been waiting for years for a chance to toss my rifle into a brook.’
‘How do we stand on rations?’ Steiner asked Hollerbach. ‘Found anything decent?’
Hollerbach nodded. ‘And how. Several dozen loaves of bread and a few boxes of canned stuff.’
Schnurrbart cursed. ‘And I like an idiot ate dry bread. I’ll bet there’s canned meat in there somewhere, huh?’
‘There sure is,’ Hollerbach said. He put on a solemn, secretive expression. ‘Guess where the stuff comes from?’
‘How should I know?’ Schnurrbart grumbled, angry with himself for not having examined the contents of the wagons earlier. ‘It can come from Siberia for all I care.’
Hollerbach chuckled and held up a can. ‘Made in U. S. A.’
Schnurrbart spat on the ground. ‘Shit. What the devil are we staying here in Russia for? Just promoting international good feeling, I suppose. What a laugh: the plutocrats sending corned beef to the Communists.’
‘They can get together all right if it’s us they’re against,’ Hollerbach sighed. He sat down on the wagon shaft and let his feet dangle.
Steiner laughed harshly. ‘Don’t let it bother you,’ he said. ‘One of these days they’ll be paid back for their corned beef, and more.’
They gave the matter some thought. Finally Hollerbach shook his head and with an air of profundity said: ‘It’s only the Jews.’
Schnurrbart clapped his hands to his ears. ‘Cut it out; it doesn’t sound any better on an empty stomach.’
‘That’s the only time I can stand politics without being sick,’ Steiner said. He placed the tommy-gun on the wagon. ‘Let’s cut the cackle and get to work.’
‘Yes, let’s go.’ Hollerbach jumped up and energetically rolled up his sleeves.
‘What do we do first?’ Schnurrbart asked.
‘Let’s take out the tommy-guns and the ammunition, then the food. Everything else we can dump into the water.’
They started unloading.
Dietz and Pasternack were lying on the ground near the edge of the woods, on the other side of the bridge. They talked in whispers, without relaxing their close watch. Pasternack was saying vehemently: ‘It’s out of the question, I tell you. Once I get back home I want to take things easy.’
He wants to take things easy, Dietz thought. A fat chance a man has to do that. He drew a blade of grass between his teeth and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘It isn’t any of it so simple,’ he said. ‘Now look-’ He paused reflec
tively, considering how to explain why it was not so simple. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘back home I work as a bricklayer. I wanted to go to college, but there wasn’t enough money.’
‘What did you want to study?’
‘Medicine. I wanted to be a doctor. I’ve been crazy about medicine as long as I can remember.’
Pasternack hummed thoughtfully. ‘Since you couldn’t make it, why didn’t you go in for something else. Salesman or something.’ He glanced at Dietz’s thin, frail body. ‘I should think bricklaying would be too tough for you.’
‘It is,’ Dietz said gloomily. He remembered how done in he had always been when he came home from work; sometimes he would throw himself down on his bed and weep from sheer exhaustion. There wasn’t anything else, though, he went on. ‘When I finished school, my old man was unemployed. I haunted the employment bureau, but it wasn’t any use. One time I tried for an office job, but they didn’t want me. Even though my marks in school had always been high.’
Pasternack nodded sympathetically, and Dietz looked grateful. ‘It was tough,’ Dietz went on. ‘There just didn’t seem to be anything for me. Then one day my father heard about a construction job and I went over and got it. It was supposed to be just a starter, till something better came along, but once I was in it I was stuck.’
‘That’s the way it always is,’ Pasternack said. ‘Same thing happened to me. When my old man had his accident, I went to work in the mine, and there I stayed until I was conscripted.’
They fell silent, looking out over the reeds. Dietz absently watched a small beetle crawling along the ground. When it had made off he said: ‘You know, when I remember what it was like on that job, I don’t know that I’m so crazy about getting home. When I think of our foreman—I tell you he was a hundred times worse than any of these birds in the army. Here you can lie down and take a snooze once in a while, but there you didn’t dare take time out for a smoke. He once threw a brick at me—hit me square in the small of the back. It could have killed me.’ His eyes filled with tears of resentment at the memory. He swallowed hard.
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