After the soup kettle had been cleared away and the boys had returned to the mess hall, the Sergeant announced that Lt. Schmitt was feeling ill. Indeed, the door to the office was closed. There would be no instruction, but a reading from a book by Baldur von Schirach.
Cpl. Peters obliged. When the snores at the back of the room became too audible, someone cuffed the culprits on the elbow. And da capo. Finally the Serge, facing the room astride a chair, called an early halt to the performance and announced an extended leisure hour before lights out.
“Bully, let’s turn on Gisela Schlüter,” mumbled Eddie, and the Berliners laughed.
“Who’s Gisela Schlüter?” asked Henning.
“She’s the public voice of the discontented,” said Motz. “She gets to bitch on radio, on our behalf. A stand-in, and a very funny woman.”
“And then what happens?” said Hansi.
“Glad you asked,” said Eddie. “A carefully selected sage, prototype of the village explainer, gets the microphone all to himself and puts it in proper perspective: like why there’s no butter, just margarine, why they SHOULDN’T put senders’ locations on army mail, and why they MUSTN’T warn people ahead of time when their gas will be turned off.”
Eddie caught the Sergeant’s eye and shrugged.
“The show’s cancelled,” said Gus. “Vox populi let off enough steam or maybe it submitted too many questions for future shows. Like, ‘is it true that the phosphorous black-out badges everyone wears after dark are toxic?’”
“Did they?”
“No, but I hear that they ARE. The badges.”
“Or how about, ‘is it true that 200 000 people died in a single Hamburg air raid on July 28, 1943, and what are you going to do about it?’”
“Alright, break it up,” called the Sergeant. “That’s enough.”
The Corporals returned from a ‘smoke-and-quatsch’ session behind the galley and proceeded to organize a sing-song.
“You missed all the excitement,” Rainer whispered to Anna at the back, “there was an investigation. All sorts of uniforms crawled around here, looking for clues. Evil thieves broke into the HY hall somewhere in the neighbourhood, through a skylight yet, and no one can figure out why they did it. Apparently, they can’t find anything missing. After they searched the barracks of the DPs over by the railroad, they came and gave the Lieutenant a hard time. Word’s out discipline’s too lax around here. Serge will do the rounds of all the barracks in future, peek in all the little beds. Kiss us good night.”
“Oh, great,” said Anna. “Whoever did that prank, it wasn’t one of us. I just can’t imagine it. Makes no sense.”