They began to feel they were being victimized, for they had expected their section officer to start straight in on the lesson, in which case the Lieutenant would have had to hold the floor and they would have been able to take their time sizing him up. Instead of which, here was this Lieutenant Krafft demanding from them solo performances which could only have one object, namely to bring each one of them in turn under scrutiny. And what, after that, would they know of their new section officer? Nothing. That he wouldn't have gathered anything very much about them either didn't seem to occur to them.
Meanwhile the section senior had risen to his feet and in his hoarse, slightly rasping voice, obviously accustomed to giving orders, announced curtly: “Kramer, Otto, cadet. Born 1920 in Nuremberg. Father, fitter in a photographic works. Regular enlistment. Corporal.”
“Any further interests, Kramer? Particular aptitudes? Hobbies?”
“None,” declared Kramer honestly, and sat down, feeling rather pleased with himself. He was a simple soldier and nothing more, and it seemed to him important to have made that clear. He was sure he'd made a good job of things. He always was, until someone of higher rank pointed out the contrary. But this happened rarely enough.
Krafft's glance switched from the boorish face of Cadet Kramer to that of the man beside him. He saw a youth whose clear-cut winning features had a certain nobility about them, and he said encouragingly: “Right, then, next please.”
Cadet Hochbauer rose to his full imposing height and said: “Cadet Hochbauer, Lieutenant. Christian name: Heinz. Born 1923 in Rosenheim. My father is in charge of the political training school at Pronthausen, holder of the Pour le Write. After matriculating I volunteered for the front. Special interests: history and philosophy.”
Hochbauer said this all very much as a matter of course, without attaching any particular importance to it almost in an offhand way, in fact. But he watched Lieutenant Krafft carefully to see if his words had made any impression, and seemed to detect that they had. The Lieutenant's eyes rested thoughtfully for a while on Cadet Hochbauer.
“Next please,” said Krafft.
“Cadet Weber, Egon, born in 1922. My father was a master baker in Werdau which is where I was born, but my father is no longer alive, he had a heart attack at work in 1933 just after being nominated master tradesman of the district—he's been a Party member from 1927 or '26. I learnt bakery too—we've got a number of different branches—and my hobby is motor racing.”
Figures, names, dates, particulars of places and professions, clues, explanations, statements of fact—all these political, human, military details, formed a confused buzzing sound in the room, which seemed completely to bemuse Krafft. By the sixth place-name he had already forgotten the first. By the ninth surname he could no longer remember the third or fourth. He stared at the desert of faces in front of him—bony, flat, round, long, and podgy. He listened to one voice after another—honest, rough, sharp, gentle, rasping voices—and they all merged into this one indeterminate buzz.
Krafft noted the amount of wood there was in the room, taking in the paneled wall, the beams of the ceiling and the floor-board—wood everywhere, worn, scratched, battered, from yellowish-brown to brownish-black. The smell of pinewood, turpentine and dirty water was all about him.
Krafft realized that this method of his was neither bringing him any closer to his section nor enabling him to gain any particularly penetrating insight into them. The hour crawled by with lamentable results. He looked at his wrist-watch and longed for the time to be up.
The Lieutenant's increasing sense of misgiving automatically transmitted itself to his section. The cadets too longed for the end of this hour that had brought them so much boredom and confusion. Disgruntled looks came over their faces as they began to shift restlessly about in their seats. Some who had already said their piece relapsed into sullen brooding. One even yawned—a long drawn-out yawn that was distinctly audible. But the new section officer seemed not to notice this, which the cadets took as another bad sign.
Only two more of them, thought Lieutenant Krafft, and then it'll be over. And automatically he said: “Right, next please.”
Cadet Rednitz now rose to his feet, smiled pleasantly, and declared: “I must beg the Lieutenant to excuse me, but I'm afraid I'm not in a position to give him the extensive information he requires.”
Krafft gazed at Rednitz with some interest. The cadets stopped wriggling about in their seats and also turned and looked at Rednitz, thereby turning their backs on their section officer—an unusual sign of disrespect, which the Lieutenant appeared not to notice. This made Kramer, the section senior, particularly indignant. He began to fear for the preservation of discipline. Discipline was his responsibility, and provided he had the support of his superior officer it was perfectly possible to maintain it in the requisite manner. But if this Krafft were going to let the cadets turn their backs on him, it would only be a matter of time before they were talking in the ranks or sleeping in class. Lieutenant Krafft on the other hand regarded Cadet Rednitz's behavior as a welcome diversion. His spirits recovered slightly, and he asked in some amusement: “Perhaps, Cadet, you would be so good as to explain just why you can't give me this information?”
“It’s like this,” said Rednitz pleasantly. “Unlike my fellow cadets here I'm afraid I can't produce an official father, and so I can't say what his profession was.”
“Presumably what you mean, Rednitz, is that you are illegitimate?”
“Yes, Lieutenant—exactly.”
“Well,” said Krafft cheerfully, “such things happen from time to time. And it doesn't seem altogether a bad thing—especially when one realizes that official fathers are by no means always the best. I hope, though, that this minor- deficiency won't prevent you from giving me at least a few other particulars.”
Rednitz beamed. He liked the Lieutenant. But there was another reason for his undisguised pleasure. He could see Hochbauer's angry face glowering at him, and this alone made it worth the little extra trouble.
“I was born in 1922,” declared Rednitz, “in Dortmund. My mother was a housemaid to the director of a big firm, though it would be unwise to draw any particular conclusions from that. I went to the primary school, spent a year at technical school, and another year at higher technical school. In 1940 I was called up into the Wehrmacht. Special interests: philosophy and history.”
Lieutenant Krafft smiled. Hochbauer looked black. He regarded Rednitz's statement that his special interests were also history and philosophy as a personal insult. Some of the cadets grinned, but only because their section officer had smiled, thus giving them something to go on.
But Cadet Kramer got to his feet and in his capacity as section senior said: “May I draw the Lieutenant's attention to the fact that time is up?”
Krafft nodded, trying to conceal his relief. He did up his belt, put on his cap, and made for the exit.
“Attention!” roared Kramer.
The cadets jumped to their feet rather less briskly than at the beginning of the period, and came to attention with a certain sluggishness. The Lieutenant saluted the room briefly and went out.
“Impossible,” muttered Cadet Kramer. “If he goes on like this the whole section will go to pieces.”
The
