When it’s all over and done with and when “this” seems to be the choice between “this” or “that,” there may not be a man there to write it down and record it the way it was, and that makes it all the more tragic, you see.
The Interrogation — 1
Each morning Steiner is asked two questions. They are pushed beneath the slotted door with his first meal in a neatly printed envelope. He feels obligated to answer each question, as it would require little more than a word or two and would be no trouble whatsoever to take care of the task preemptory to beginning his breakfast, such as it is. The questions concern objective information and, despite their simplicity, unhappily, they do not relate to him at present or to anything in his past. He would be quite happy to oblige, but they might as well be asking him the weather in the Sudetenland a year from now. This evidently angers them.
Because of grey white always has so much more
Interrogation — 2
From a medium distance one might think Belinski handsome, but his eyes, as one closes the gap, are set too close together and his chin angles into his neck much too quickly. This causes him to breathe through the mouth. He has developed the habit of muttering to himself. It’s as if his brain were incapable of thinking inside itself. He reflects that punishment, to be effective, must occur soon after the offense. Yet torture often yields nothing more than a bastard version of the truth. The task then becomes sorting out the few strands of veracity within the fabric of any lie. It would take a brilliant mind to do that and Belinski is certainly not that; however, one must commend him for being aware of his limitations. He suspects that torture would only further cement this German’s elaborate hoax. A decent beating, just for appearance sake, wouldn’t ruffle any feathers. Therefore Steiner will remain a violinist, at least for the present.
They come each hour to thank him very much for making the best of things until they decide about the sun for just because it’s April is no excuse for May in these trying times.
Holes Again — Some Speculation
The basic difference between the German mind and the Polish may by typified by the way the two nations viewed fornication in 1939. For the Germans such an act is a highly effective and thoroughly proven method for producing more Germans. In fact their scientists did research into various aspects of the act as it might affect the resultant offspring. Unfortunately the statistical evidence is incomplete with respect to any correlation as concerns the following factors:
— position used
— temperature of the room or immediate area
— time of day or night
— food consumed before, during or after the occasion
— location of the respective genital organs
— occupation of the participants
— ability to quote Goethe or Schiller from memory
This is not to say that any of the above factors are to be ruled out, but it does mean that they are not to be given as much weight as they once were.
For a Pole fornication is an act the upper class may dabble in when time can be found for such a thing; something the middle class, God willing, may do between confessions, and, lastly, something by which the lower echelons sustain themselves because it would appear there is little reason for the poor Poles’ existence once they have spent themselves in bed than to rearrange the bedclothes and proceed again as best they can. This probably accounts for the fact that time passes by much more quickly for Poland than Germany.
It Is a Very Pleasant Day So Far. The Sky Is Filled with Bundled Cloudlings Which Edge Down to Extra-Hear Steiner Being Questioned
— Are you married?
— Yes, to Frau Bremmer. I am her second husband.
— Her address?
— She is on a concert tour. England at present, I believe.
— What were you doing on our border?
— I was on an outing with a friend; I wandered.
— Who was this friend?
— A young woman. We became separated before the shooting. I would appreciate your discretion in any report you might make.
There Is No Telling in What Situation a Man Can Find Himself These Days
Steiner is sitting in a chair. Belinski stands before him, the light from the swinging bulb gently pushing both shadows up the wall. Steiner remains firm. He is a violinist. Nothing can sway him from this point. Belinski has found a violinist two kilometers inside the Polish border. A violinist who claims he was about to ask four Germans if they had seen his mistress wander by. Steiner smiles faintly. A concert master’s position awaits him in Gorlitz. Up to now the easy life — fame, modest fortune, success, marriage to the famous Frau Bremmer — now this! An impulsive outing, a needless flirtation with a concert hall usheress from Dresden who, as naked as Eve, suddenly sprints into the bushes clutching her skirts to her uncovered breasts. Other garments are tossed aside to mark a trail of seduction. An ageing violinist stumbles after her who, having tasted of the young grape, now wishes the wine. Then shots interrupt the romp. Men break past him before toppling in death. A dog bares its teeth and an out of breath violinist surrenders to both his passion and a Polish patrol.
No one can predict what a nose will think of its face
What of Belinski?
Belinski is vacillating. Surely he has felt sexual urges before and, at times, they are well worth crossing a border. They are also worth being shot at but never the trouble of being hit. Steiner is either a fool or a German infiltrator. If he is a fool then only the fear of god need be used. If he is a spy then he must be killed as an object lesson to all those looking on from the west. That is the conundrum. Free of the present situation, a fool will soon expose himself. All Belinski need do is release Steiner to prove this. But Germans are wise enough to disguise such matters so it would do no good to release him as nothing would be proven. It does no good to imprison him; what lesson could that serve? Belinski is at a loss. He looks again at poor Steiner for an answer, but he has now assumed a position of some comfort. His head is bowed to shade the glare, arms folded across his chest and his legs are crossed in an almost feminine fashion. He does not expect nor fear any more retribution because he is an artist. He has seen women weep at the very music he creates. A man who, in certain respects, is above other men, an Ubermench — gifted, respected, loved.
The Author Interrupts the Narrative to Insert Some Extraneous Material Relating to Holes in Various Countries and the Role, if any, Ascribed to Each
Ireland
The soil in this area is extremely rocky and coarse. One cannot sink a spade into the ground without hearing a sharp clank, the reverberation of which sends the entire body spinning. In accordance with this, there are few holes and the people generally live above ground. This accounts for the high rate of pubs and step dancing with torsos as rigid as a papal bull.
Russia
These holes, taking precedence from their literature are modeled, after a fashion, from the French. (It has been said, sarcastically, that Russian holes are really French holes dug by Russian parvenus.) They are not as deep as those in Germany and much narrower, yet several individuals are placed in the same hole without regard to sex or station in life. (This is certainly not the case in Great Britain.) Those in the holes are given little to sustain their lives and next to nothing in the way of comfort. It is considered honor enough to be in the bosom of Mother Russia. Occasional musical programs are planned and performed some distance from the aperture. Curiously, this has a soothing effect upon those involved especially where a balalaika is used and therefore the uproar and populous revolutions are not nearly as strident as those of their French counterparts.