Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst
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Название: Officer Factory
Автор: Hans Hellmut Kirst
Издательство: Автор
Жанр: Контркультура
isbn: 9783942932097
isbn:
The Major took one look at his wife and felt sure that he was right. Her qualities were unmistakably more of a spiritual nature. But then he began to have slight doubts. Not everyone, he told himself, was made like himself, with his sense of duty, his moral irreproachability. He had known how to sublimate his instincts in action. But even among his own officers there might easily be people who were inclined to go astray. He had even read of a singular addiction in some young people for older women, and there was nothing he would put beyond Krafft.
“He looked at me as if he wanted to undress me!” insisted his wife with a great show of indignation.
The Major shook his head sadly. “You must be mistaken, Felicitas,” he went so far as to say.
“I don't make mistakes about that sort of thing,” she insisted. “And if all that isn't enough for you, then I won't keep the rest from you: the man tried to molest me in an unbecoming manner under the table.”
“Inconceivable!” said the Major. “An unfortunate accident, perhaps.”
“It can't all be accident!” cried Frau Felicitas bitterly. Then she walked over to the door, opened it, and called: “Barbara!”
Barbara, the girl who was both niece and maid, appeared at once. A shabby apron was tied round her, for her day's duties were by no means over. She blinked and looked past the Major at Felicitas. She waited.
“Barbara,” said Felicitas imperiously, “what was the matter when you were helping the officers into their overcoats just now? You let out a shriek and then giggled like an idiot. Why?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,” said Barbara, blushing.
“Aha!“ cried Frau Felicitas. “Lieutenant Krafft was standing just beside you. Did this man pinch you by any chance? And if he did, where?”
“It was nothing,” Barbara insisted. “Really nothing.” She looked down.
“That’ll do,” said Felicitas Frey. “You can go back to your work now.”
Barbara left with visible relief. The Major watched her go, thoughtfully. She did indeed have a remarkably fine figure. And Krafft had noticed the fact on the very first evening, the depraved fellow.
“Well?” asked Felicitas insistently. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it? It may be too late by to-morrow.”
Major Frey nodded gloomily. Then with an air of determination he picked up the telephone and had he put through to the barracks. When after a slight delay the switchboard at the training school answered, he gave his name and rank. Then, clearing his throat, he asked to be put through to the General.
“Modersohn,” said a clear, quiet voice almost at once.
“I’m terribly sorry to trouble you at such a late hour, General . . .”
“Don’t waste time explaining,” said the General. “Get to the point.”
“General, on mature reflection I have decided to request you most earnestly to countermand your appointment of Lieutenant Krafft to be section officer of my Number Six Company.”
“Request refused,” said the General, and hung up.
“What always fascinates me,” said Captain Ratshelm, “is the elegance and sophistication one finds in Major Frey's house.”
“And what fascinates me,” said Feders, “is the colossal narrow-mindedness that prevails there.”
They were walking up the hill towards the barracks, a picture of harmony, it might have been thought. In the center walked Captain Ratshelm, to his right Captain Feders, to his left Lieutenant Krafft—men engaged in the training of officers, striding easily along, in amiable conversation.
It was a bright, clear night and the snow crunched beneath their feet. Everything around them seemed mildly enchanted—the sharp outlines of the trees, the houses like dolls' houses, a sky full of twinkling stars. A typical German winter's night, thought Ratshelm. Then he turned to Feders again and said cordially: “You’ve got it all wrong, Feders my dear fellow. Our Major and his worthy wife are cherishing eternal values. They are upholding all those things that it is so essential to preserve—home, dignity, social intercourse.”
“Nonsensical sham, nauseating twaddle, an eye on the main chance!“ declared Feders. “These people are living in a mad world of their own, and of course they're not the only ones.”
“Excuse me, Feders,” said Captain Ratshelm indulgently but in a mild tone of rebuke, “you’re talking about your own Major, you know.”
“I’m talking about a state of mind that I call narrow-mindedness,” said Feders stubbornly. “It’s a widespread defect, like short sight. No one with it sees further than his own limited horizon.”
“My dear Feders,” said Ratshelm, trying to calm him down, “we should strive to live our lives in a spirit of loyalty, humility and unselfishness.”
“Tripe ! “ cried Feders abruptly. “What we should do is keep our eyes and ears open and see this world as it really is, with all the muck that's in it, and all the blood. What matters is to be able to see beyond the horizon. Over there behind Hill Two Hundred and One lies Berlin, and a few thousand human beings die there almost every night, torn to shreds, suffocated, burning and bleeding to death. A few hundred miles further on is the eastern front. While we're busy kissing hands and grinning inanely, thousands of men are dying there, crushed by tanks and burned by flame-throwers—and here we are entertaining ourselves with polished social conventions.”
“You’re a bitter man, Captain Feders,” said Ratshelm. “I can understand why.”
“If you're going to harp on my marriage, then I'll really go to town on you.”
“I shall take care not to do that, Feders,” Ratshelm hastened to reassure him. “I merely wanted to try and explain my point of view. But sometimes, you know, you really are a difficult person to get along with.”
“Only sometimes, unfortunately,” said Feders. “Most of the time I am paralyzed by weakness, fatigue and disgust. Above all I am quite unlike our friend Krafft here, who seems able to walk in his sleep. Or do you have a melancholy streak in you?”
“A streak of something or other,” said the Lieutenant, “but I'm afraid it doesn't run very deep. Do you remember that girl Barbara—how she laughed!”
“So she did!” said Feders, suddenly recovering his spirits. “I’d almost forgotten about it. The little thing squealed like some kitchen slut who's had her bottom pinched.”
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