SCHALEK That can’t be the only reason. Ask her what they feel, and why she gave me a jar of preserves.
INTERPRETER (after speaking to the woman) She says nothing can affect Serbian hospitality.
SCHALEK But why specifically a jar of preserves?
INTERPRETER (after speaking to the woman) She says they wanted to show they were women, and preserves are women’s domain.
SCHALEK (takes the jar of preserves) I don’t want to see these women again, don’t want to witness their frightful disappointment, for worse than any collapsed houses and bombed streets, worse than the rout of their army and the storming of the city — the worst is still to come for the Serbs. (The Serbian women laugh. Schalek, as she leaves:) I shudder as I leave, for it will take a long time to get their laughter out of my mind.
(The Serbian women leave in the opposite direction, their laughter can still be heard.)
(Change of scene.)
Scene 20
Suburban street. A heavily laden handcart, drawn by two feeble, emaciated dogs on war service.
OLD WOMAN (shouts) Scandalous! That should be reported to the authorities!
LIEUTENANT Halt! Show your papers! You’ve just insulted the army!
CROWD (collects) What a ninny! — Clear orf! — What’s up? — Nothing much, just high treason! — Serve her right, standing up for dumb animals when she’s nothing to eat herself!
(Change of scene.)
Scene 21
Suburban apartment. A boy, about 10 years old, half-dressed, his body covered with welts, blood blisters, and bruises, is hanging from a strap. He is in a state of complete neglect, seemingly half-starved. He is howling. A neighbour stands in the doorway, wringing her hands. The father (in uniform) is lying on the sofa.
NEIGHBOUR (to the mother, who is putting a saucepan on the hob) But Frau Liebal, how can you beat the boy like that? If I report it, you’ll get a formal reprimand!
MOTHER Listen, Frau Sikora, he’s such a stubborn brat, you can’t imagine! He wants hot breakfasts!
FATHER Feeling sorry for the little bastard, eh? He’s fit as a fiddle again now, but the other day I gave him such hell with my bayonet, I thought he was done for. And now look, he’s none the worse for it!
NEIGHBOUR But Herr Liebal, Herr Liebal, it’s no laughing matter. Look out, or one of these days you’ll get a reprimand!
(Change of scene.)
Scene 22
Headquarters garrison. A street. Army suppliers, officers, prostitutes, journalists.
Enter a captain from the War Press Bureau and a journalist.
CAPTAIN So, here’s the draft for the brochure Our Glorious Military Commanders—are you listening, my little scribbler, don’t keep ogling the tarts all the time, there’s a war on — so, this is the draft I’ve done, and it’s up to you to improve it if there’s the odd mistake. (He reads it out.) “When the time comes that the raging tides of war have subsided, when the consolations of time have healed the wounds and dried the tears, then we shall look back with unclouded gaze on the glorious days when a rod of iron forged the destiny of the world!” Then a new line, don’t forget—“And above all else there shall rise up the figures of those men who at that time shaped our destiny and that of our Fatherland.” In bold!
(In the background, crossing the stage from right to left, can be seen a corpulent elderly gentleman with side-whiskers and pince-nez, a marshal’s baton in each hand.)
“Full of veneration and love we behold them, who like those heroes in the very front line, in unflagging, ardent struggle, were called upon to guide the fortunes of battle—”
JOURNALIST Just a moment, so the commanders are in the very front line just as much as the heroes who guide the fortunes of battle, how can that be?
CAPTAIN Don’t try any of your tricks on me, otherwise I’ll send you to the front yourself.
JOURNALIST You — me?
CAPTAIN Do you want to commit suicide?! If the brochure turns out well, I’m out of the firing line. Are you listening, little scribbler? “Our ardent appreciation of these heroes and heartfelt gratitude should be paid—”
JOURNALIST To those who guide the fortunes of battle in the very front line? Ah, I see, you mean the commanders again.
CAPTAIN Who do you think you’re kidding? So—“should raise a monument in our hearts, wherein they can live forever as exemplifying the highest fulfilment of duty and self-sacrifice for the good of the Fatherland.” In bold — even bolder!
(In the background, crossing the stage from left to right, can be seen the corpulent elderly gentleman with side-whiskers and pince-nez, a marshal’s baton in each hand.)
Are you listening, little scribbler, and don’t keep ogling the tarts! “The painter Oskar Brüch has given this monument noble and tangible form. With veracity his etching needle has captured their characteristic features, creating a work of historic significance, Our Glorious Military Commanders, destined to convey to posterity not only the names and images of the great figures of our time—” In bold — boldest of all!
(In the background, crossing the stage from right to left, can be seen the corpulent elderly gentleman with side-whiskers and pince-nez, a marshal’s baton in each hand.)
“—but also an adornment for every library and every home—” Now we have to add something about the historic significance of each of those portrayed — my God, ogling again — my dear fellow, you’re in army headquarters here, not in some brothel, got it?
JOURNALIST Hey, wasn’t that the colonel’s girl, Camilla?
CAPTAIN If that’s your cup of tea, I’ll send her to you to check her out, but I need you to check the brochure first—
JOURNALIST Done.
CAPTAIN And then comes something about the cover, extremely distinguished, in the best possible taste, attractively priced, signed by the Imperial and Royal War Ministry. And that’s that! Well, what do you say, scribbler?
JOURNALIST My compliments, captain, your mastery of the language, no professional journalist could have done a more effective job.
CAPTAIN Hah! And, oh yes, on the front of the brochure, so that people get an immediate impression of global destiny and supreme self-sacrifice, we’ll put as an illustration the image of the man who incorporates all that in the most exemplary fashion — our revered Commander in Chief, Archduke Friedrich!
(In the background, crossing the stage from left to right, can be seen the corpulent elderly gentleman with side-whiskers and pince-nez, a marshal’s baton in each hand.)
(Change of scene.)
Scene 23
City centre. A blind soldier, without arms and legs, in a cart pushed by another disabled veteran. They wait, for the narrow footpath is blocked by a hack from the gutter press in conversation with a sales rep.
DISABLED VETERAN Excuse me—
HACK I ask you, what do they think they’re at, last Monday they cut 80 lines on me.
SALES REP From the article criticizing Budischovsky & Co for that faulty shipment?
HACK Yes — it used to be that when something was set and then didn’t appear, you got paid. And if you didn’t get paid, you still let it appear and were sure to be paid next time. Now, a hatchet job simply doesn’t appear, and you don’t get a thing out of it.