Chapter 4 solicitor jacques

At night, he and the food delivery man came to replace Gonicek who was lying behind the command post.In those few days, the night was dark and dark, and fear hung like a thunderstorm over the dark and strange land.From the front listening post, I listened for the silent Russians ahead in the darkness, and at the same time listened for the voice of the meal delivery man behind. Gerhard, who had brought him, also brought me a lunchbox and cigarettes. "Do you want any more bread?" asked Gerhard, "or can I keep it for you until tomorrow morning?" His voice made it clear that he was anxious to get back.

"No," I said, "take it all and eat it all at once." He handed me bread, tinned meat wrapped in greased paper, a roll of fruit candy, and cream on a small piece of cardboard. During this time the newcomer stood aside, trembling all over, without saying a word. "And he," said Gerhard. "He's here to replace Gonitzek. The lieutenant sent him to you to keep the watch." I just said "yes" and usually sent recruits to the toughest posts.Gerhard quietly groped backwards. "Come down!" I whispered, "don't be so loud, goddammit!" He foolishly clattered his belt, shovel, and gas mask, and awkwardly slid into the hole, nearly knocking over my lunch box. "Stupid," I just mutter, and make room for him.I know--heard rather than saw--that now he was unloading his armor belt as prescribed, putting the shovel aside, putting the gas mask beside the shovel, resting the rifle on the front parapet, the gun He pointed his mouth at the enemy, and then put on his armed belt again.

The bean soup was cold, and it was good to see in the dark the many worms that would surely cook out of the beans.There wasn't much meat in the soup, it was fried and crunchy, and I ate it with gusto, and then I ate the canned meat in the paper bag and stuffed the bread into the empty lunch box.He stood beside me silently, facing the enemy all the time, I could only see a faint silhouette in the dark, when he turned to one side, it could be seen from his thin face that he was still very young Young, the steel helmet is almost like a turtle shell.There was a very definite expression on the faces of these young men, reminiscent of the kind of soldier's games children play in suburban fields.They always seemed to say "My red brother Venetto," their lips trembling with fear, their hearts stiff with bravery.These poor young men...

"Sit down," I said in that tone that I had learned the hard way but could not be heard at a distance of one meter. "Here," I said again, tugging at the hem of his overcoat, almost forcing him to sit on the seat dug out of the dirt wall. "Anyway, you can't keep standing..." "But at the post..." His voice was thin and hoarse like a sentimental tenor. "Easy, brother!" I reprimanded him. "At the post," he murmured, "it's not allowed to sit down." "Nothing is allowed, and no war is allowed." Although I can only see his outline, I know that he is sitting like a student in class, with his hands on his lap, sitting upright, ready to jump up at any time.I curled up in a ball, covered my head with my overcoat, and lit my pipe.

"Do you want to smoke too?" "No." I was amazed at how well he whispered. "Come on," I said, "have a drink, then." "No," he said again, but I took his head and brought the mouth of the bottle to his mouth.Like a teenage girl drinking for the first time, he tolerated a few sips, then made a violent gesture of disgust, and I removed the bottle. "Isn't it good to drink?" "No," he stammered, "I'm choked." "Then you can drink it yourself." He took the bottle from me and took a swig. "Thank you," he mumbled.I also started to drink.

"Are you feeling better?" "Yes...much better..." "You're not so scared, are you?" He was ashamed to say that he was afraid, but they all felt that way. "I'm afraid, too," I said, "I'm always afraid, so I drink for courage..." I felt him turn sharply towards me, and I bent down to get a closer look at his face.All I saw was a pair of shining eyes that frightened me and a dark, blurred face, but I smelled him.It was the smell of the quarterhouse, sweat, the smell of the quarterhouse and leftover soup, and a little bit of burnt liquor.Everything was silent, and they seemed to have divided the meals behind our backs.He turned to face the enemy again.

"Is this your first time out?" I felt that he was embarrassed again, but then he said, "Yes." "How long have you been in the army?" "Eight weeks." "Where are you from?" "St. Arward." "Where?" "St. Arward. Lorraine, you know..." "Have you been on the road for a long time?" "Fourteen days." We fell silent, and I tried to peer through the impenetrable darkness before us.Ah, if only it were daytime, I thought, at least I can see something, at least I can see a hazy light, at least I can see a mist, at least I can see something, a faint light... But when the day comes, I Looking forward to the dark again.It would have been fine if it had been daylight, or if the fog had come on suddenly.The sky is always the same..."

There was no movement ahead.There was a slight hum of an engine in the distance.The Russians also had dinner.Then we heard the voice of a yelling Russian suddenly silenced, as if his mouth was covered.nothing happened... "Do you know what we're going to do?" I asked him.Hey, how beautiful it is that I'm not single now.How nice it is to be able to hear a person's breath and feel his faint scent.I know that this person doesn't want to kill a person in the next second. "Yes," he said, "listening post." I was amazed again, how well he whispered, and almost caught up with me.It seemed he had no trouble, and I always had trouble, and I would rather yell, yell, and let the night burst like black foam, this kind of whispering was too much work for me.

"Okay," I said. "Listening posts. That means we're going to notice when the Russians are attacking. Then we'll fire the red flares, take a few shots from the rifles, and run, run back, understand? But if it's only a few Individuals, a reconnaissance team, we just shut up and let them pass, and report back to the second lieutenant, have you been to his bunker?" "Been," he said, his voice trembling. "Okay. If the scouts come at either of us, we've got to kill them, wipe them out, understand? We can't see a scout and run away. Understand? Yes?"

"Yes," he said, his voice still trembling, and then I heard a horrible sound: his teeth chattering. "Here you are," I said, handing him the bottle. I will drink again... "In case...in case..." He was tongue-tied, "in case we don't see them coming..." "Then we're done. But don't worry, we'll see them or hear them. If there's anything suspicious we can fire flare rockets, and we'll see everything." He fell silent again, terribly, He never speaks up. "But they won't come," I said naggingly, "not at night, at most in the morning, two minutes before dawn..."

"Two minutes before dawn?" he cut me off. "They set off two minutes before dawn, and it's dawn here..." "It will be too late then." "At that time, you have to quickly set off the red flare, and then run... Don't be afraid, then we can run as fast as rabbits. We will hear the sound beforehand. What is your name?" I want to talk to him, every time You have to stick your hand out of the warm pocket and poke him around the waist, put it back, and wait for the hand to warm... It's annoying. "I," he said, "my name is Jacques..." "Is it English?" "No," he said, "it's Jacob's...Jacque...K...not Jack, Jacques, just Jacques." "Jacques," I continued, "what did you do?" "Me? I ended up being a solicitor." "what?" "A solicitor." "What are you pulling?" He turned to me abruptly, and I could feel his surprise. "What am I pulling... What am I pulling... Well, I'm just soliciting..." "What?" I asked, "pull what?" He was silent for a moment, looked forward again, then turned his head to me again in the darkness. "Yes," he said, "...what am I pulling," he sighed, "I stand in front of the station, at least in the end I always... When I thought it was appropriate, most of them were soldiers, that is, when someone came, I would ask him softly: 'Sir, do you want happiness?' I asked like this..." His voice trembled again, probably this Once not because of fear, but because of the thrill of looking back. I was so nervous that I forgot to take a sip. "Well," I asked hoarsely, "what if he wants to be happy?" "Then," he said with difficulty, seemingly lost in memory again, "then I'll take him to the girl who happens to be free." "Into a brothel, isn't it...?" "No," he said matter-of-factly, "I'm not working for a whorehouse. I've got a couple of underdogs, you know, one-offs, and they hire me together. Three unlicensed, Kurt, Lily, Gottley Ze..." "What?" I interrupted him... "Yes, her name is Gottlieb. Funny, isn't it? She always tells me that her father wanted a son named Gottlieb, so he named her Gottlieb." Liz. Ridiculous, isn't it?" He actually smiled. Both of us had forgotten why we were squatting in this filthy bunker.Now that I don't have to squeeze him like toothpaste, he starts nagging almost automatically. "Gottlitzer is the loveliest," he went on, "she is always generous and sad, but she is also the prettiest..." "So," I interrupted him, "you're the foreman, aren't you?" "No," he said in a slightly instructive tone, "no, hey," he sighed again, "the foremen are lords and tyrants who make a lot of money and sleep with girls . . . " "And you?" "No, I'm just soliciting. I have to fish, they fry the fish, and I only get some fish bones..." "Fishbone?" "That's right." He smiled again, "It's just a tip, you understand? After my father was killed in battle and my mother ran away, I lived on it. I have lung disease and can't work. No, the guys I helped solicit The girls don't have a foreman, thank goodness! Otherwise, I'd be getting beat up all the time. No, they're all on their own, working in secret, you know, no licenses or anything, they can't go out on the street like everybody else . . . that would be too dangerous, so I solicit for them." He sighed again. "Can you give me the bottle again?" he asked as I reached down to pick it up. "What's your name?" "Hubert," I said, and handed him the bottle. "That's great," he said, but I couldn't answer because the bottle was still hanging around my neck.Now that the bottle is empty, I gently roll it over the side. "Hubert," said he, now in a trembling voice, "look!" and he drew me forward, on my stomach against the parapet. "Look!" If you look closely, you can see something far away that looks like the horizon, a dark line, above the black line, the color is slightly lighter, and there is something wriggling in the light black , as if the shrubs are rustling, this may also be people walking quietly, countless people moving over silently... "White signal!" he whispered in a fading voice. "Boy," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder, "Jacques, it's nothing: it's our fears at work, it's hell, it's war, it's all playing the harp, making us dizzy... ...that...that's not true." "But I saw it, it must be...really...they are coming...they are coming..." I heard his teeth chattering again. "Yes," I said, "don't yell. That's true. Those are sunflower stalks, and you'll laugh when you see them tomorrow morning, and you'll laugh when you see them at full light, and they're sunflowers." The stalks, maybe a kilometer away, look like the end of the world, don't I? I'm familiar with them... dry, gray, dirty, partly battered sunflower stalks, the flower discs were eaten by the Russians because we were afraid , feeling as if they were moving." "Hey... put the white signal... put the white signal... I can see it!" "I recognize them, Jacques." "Quickly put the white signal. One bullet..." "Oh, Jacques," I replied in a low voice, "if they really are coming, we'll hear it. Will you listen?" We listened with bated breath.The land became so still that nothing could be heard but that terrible whisper. "No," he whispered, his face pale as death, from his voice, "no, I hear them...they're coming...they're prowling...they're crawling on the ground... ...there was some slight tinkling...they came quietly, and it was too late when they got close..." "Jacques," I said, "I can't put a white signal. I only have two bullets, understand? Tomorrow morning, early in the morning, the dive bombers will come, and I need a bullet to let them know where we are, don't Blow us up to minced meat. The other one won't be used until the situation is really critical. You'll be laughing tomorrow morning..." "Tomorrow morning," he said coldly, "tomorrow morning I shall die." Now I turned to him suddenly, so surprised was I.His tone was very certain, decisive. "Jacques," I said, "you're crazy." He said nothing, and we leaned back again.I really want to see his face.The face of a real solicitor is right in front of you.In the past, I always only heard them whispering, in the corners of all European cities and in front of railway stations, every time I always left with a sudden violent fear in my heart. "Jacques..." I was about to say. "Put the white signal on," he just whispered, like a madman. "Jacques," I said, "if I put the white signal now, you'll scold me later. We've got four hours, you know? There's going to be a situation, I know that. It's the twenty-first, and they're There's a drink, and now they're having dinner, they've got their drinks, see, half an hour later they'll be yelling, singing and firing guns, maybe something will happen, when the dive-bombers come tomorrow morning, you Will break out in a sweat, they bomb very close, I have to put the white signal, or we will be bombed to pieces. If I put the white signal now, you will scold me later, because there is no situation now, Believe me, better tell me something more. Where did you end up... soliciting?" He sighed. "Cologne," he said. "In front of the terminus, is it?" "No," he went on drowsily, "not always. Sometimes at South Station. Yes, it's easier there, because the girls live nearer there. Lily lives near the Opera House, Curt and Gort Lies lives next to Barbarossa Square. You know," his voice is muffled now, like he's falling asleep, "sometimes I catch one in front of the terminus and run off on the way. People get annoyed, sometimes they get scared on the way, or for some other reason, I don't know, and run away from me without saying a word. The main station is also too far away, so I often end up in front of South Station Wait, because a lot of the soldiers get off there, and they think that's Cologne—I mean the terminus. It's only a short walk from the south station, and no one's going to get away easily. Go," he turned to me again. Bend down, "At first I always went to Gottliser, she lived in a building with a coffee shop, and then the building burned down. Gottliser, you know, she is the cutest. She gives me the most, but I It's not because of this that I went to her first, really not, you have to believe me, it's really not. Ah, you don't believe it, but I really didn't go to her because she gave the most, do you believe it?" His tone So urgent now that I have to nod yes. "But Gottlitser is often not free, is it ridiculous, isn't it? She is often not free. She has a lot of regular customers, and sometimes she can't wait, and she goes to the street by herself. Whenever Gottlitzer is not free, I It was sad, so I went to Lily's first. Lily's not bad, but she likes to drink, and drinking women are scary, elusive, sometimes rough, sometimes nice, but Lily is better than Kurt Some. Kurt is cold and heartless, I tell you. She just gives ten percent and it's done. Ten percent! I used to run for half an hour on cold nights, stand in front of the station for hours, or ask for a drink Bad beer, squatting in the tavern, risking being caught by the police, and only getting ten percent! It sucks, I tell you! So it's always Kurt's turn last. The next day, when She gave me the money when I sent the first customer. Sometimes it was only fifty pfennigs, and once it was even a ten-finny piece, see, ten pfennigs!" "Ten pfennigs?" I asked in surprise. "Yes," he said, "she's only got a mark, too. That's all the money the fellow has!" "Is it a soldier?" "No, a commoner, an old man. She scolded me for it. Oh, not Gottlitzer. She always gives me a lot. Always at least two marks. Even if she gets nothing. Besides..." "Jacques," I asked, "sometimes she gets nothing?" "Yes, she sometimes got nothing. On the contrary, I believe, she gave the soldiers cigarettes, bread and butter, or something for it." "Just for this?" "Yes. That's it. She's generous. A very sad girl, I tell you. She's kind of concerned about me, too. How's my living, do I have a cigarette, wait, you know. She's beautiful , is really the most beautiful." I wanted to ask her what she looked like, but then a Russian yelled like crazy.It was as if a howl went up to the sky, gathering all the other voices, when the first shot also rang out.I was just in time to catch Jacques by the hem of his overcoat, and he almost jumped out and ran into the Russian.Anyone who runs like this will all fall into the hands of the Russians.I pulled the trembling man back next to me. "Take it easy, it's nothing. They're just a little bit drunk, so they're yelling and shooting random shots over the fortifications. You gotta bend over, it's the stray bullets that hurt sometimes..." Now we hear a sissy voice.Although we couldn't understand what they were saying, we knew they must be yelling some very nasty things.Their shrill laughter tore the night to pieces. "Calm down," I said to the fidgeting, sighing young man, "it won't take long, a few minutes, and the political commissar will slap them if they find out. It will be stopped soon, exactly like us..." However, the shouting and random gunfire continued, and it happened that someone behind us was also firing at this time.I grabbed the young man who was trying to push me away and run away.I heard the shouting ahead, then the roaring...the shouting...the gunshots, and the horrible voice of the drunk woman again.Afterwards, everything was silent, terribly quiet... "Look," I said. "Now...now they're coming..." "No...listen carefully!" We listened carefully again, but there was only a chilling silence, and nothing could be heard. "Calm down," I continued, because I wanted to at least hear my own voice. "Did you see the flames from the muzzle? It's at least two hundred meters away from here. If they come, you will hear them. You will definitely hear them. Let me tell you." Now he seemed indifferent to everything.He squatted beside me in a daze without saying a word. "What does she look like, Gottlitzer?" I asked. He answered me reluctantly. "Beautiful," he said curtly, "with black hair, big bright eyes, not tall, very short, you know." He suddenly became talkative again: "... kind of crazy. That's right, she A name every day. Inge, Simone, Catalene, it goes on and on, almost every day...or Susie Marie. She's a bit of a madman, and she doesn't take a penny." I grabbed his arm hard. "Jacques," I said, "now I'm going to play the white signal. I believe I heard something." His breathing stopped. "Yes," he whispered, "play the white signal, I hear them, or I'm going crazy... . . . I took his arm, grabbed the loaded flare gun, held it high above my head and pressed the trigger; there was a whistling sound, as if the end of the world was coming, and the light spread like a soft silver-white liquid , like the glittering Christmas rain, I had no time to look at his face at this time, because I heard nothing just now, not a sound at all.White signal, just to get a look at his face, the face of a real solicitor.I didn't have time to look anymore, because the place where the howling, the scream of a drunken woman used to be, is now densely packed and dark, full of silent figures, who quickly sprawled on the ground in the bright light , and then rushed forward suddenly, shouting "Ula" in his mouth.I didn't have time to put the red signal, and around us, the god of war was raging, and the earth burst open, burying us... I had to drag Jacques out of the hole.When I had managed to pull him up, I let out a cry of terror, and bent over him, so that I might at least have a look at his face when I was dying, and he only whispered softly: "You Do you want to be happy, sir..." At this moment, a rough hand suddenly and roughly pushed me away from him. But all my eyes saw was blood, blacker than night, and the face of a crazy whore who took nothing from her customers and posted... Translated by senior students Xiao Maosao's proofreading from "Ms. and All Beings", Lijiang Publishing House, first edition in 1991 ------------ ① German writer Karl Mayer (1842-1912) wrote the protagonist of the Indian adventure novel "Veneto". —— Annotation