45.

Frau Schneider could smell that something was up, and there she was, puffing on a cigarette, bent down like Groucho Marx, winding her way among the students taking their ten-minute breaks away from German. She was listening for gossip.

Herr Porzig was our next instructor. Ach, ja. Herr Porzig. Giant glasses that looked like goggles, his right arm gone somewhere above the elbow. A vigorous man who strode into the classroom like the tank commander he’d been in the Second World War. He strode in and shoved a couple of the desks out of the way with his good left hand. He was a powerful man.

“Jetzt beginnen wir,” he said.

“Jawohl, Mein Herr!” Renner said and saluted.

Herr Porzig grabbed Renner by the front of his shirt.

“Und Sie, mein Freund,” Herr Porzig said, putting his face with its big glasses right in front of Neil Renner, “wenn Sie leben wollen, dann müssen Sie aufpassen.”

And you, my friend, if you will live, then you must pay attention.

One day, I asked Herr Porzig about the dictionaries. The army had issued us Langenscheidt’s dictionaries with their yellow plastic covers.

“Die beste Wörterbücher sind von Cassels herausgegaben,” Herr Porzig told us, folding his arms across his chest. He scowled and nodded his head. How could anyone possibly disagree? The best dictionaries are published by Cassels.

“Then why,” I asked in English, “doesn’t the army buy us the best if they want us to fight for them?” I don’t think I really cared. I just wanted to annoy him.

“Warum?” Herr Porzig asked, his neck getting long and longer as his head came up. Why? “Warum, Sie fragen. Warum?”

The neck and the head came higher and higher as if he were back in the turret. He turned back and forth, searching out the enemy.

“Warum ist Krieg? The war is why.”

His big glasses were like goggles, like those a tank commander wore.

“In war you give everything. You must sacrifice. It takes all you have to fight the Communists. It takes blood and bones. Blut und Bienen. Der Krieg kommt niemals zu Ende kommt. The war, ja, the war never ends. Niemals kommt er zu einem Ende.”

The stub of his arm went up and down. It waved back and forth like a warning of the blood and bones we would lose. He started shoving desks against the walls. Blam. Blam.

“The Communists took over everything. Die sogenannte Volksrepublik Deutschland. The so-called People’s Republic of Germany. They took my house, my land. Scheisse. Shit. You give up blood and bones to win. Blut und Knochen. Jawohl, mein Herr. Jawohl. You must sacrifice.”

Blam a desk went this way. Blam a desk went that way. Blam. Blam. Blam.