X
Not long after, as winter drew on, Pointner became bedridden. His heart began to feel the strain of the poison that circled in his veins. Yet he was very happy at that time. He lay quietly and without pain in bed and read until far into the night. True, he was soon at an end with the love and murder stories in the library, but, to make up, a thick volume containing the complete fairy tales of the brothers Grimm, that Benjamin had taken out one day, became his inseparable companion. Over and over again he read with a blissful smile the stories of Fitcher’s bird, of Jorinda and Joringel, of Rapunzel, of the Blue Light, and the old man made young again, although he knew them now by heart; and Benjamin marvelled over him, while Kollin sadly shook his head. Sometimes he laughed silently to himself and laid the book for a while in his lap, but not for a moment letting it out of his hands; or he beckoned Benjamin to him and laying his finger on the title of the story handed him the book without a word. Lying quietly on his side he watched his expression closely, and when then lay back again, waved his head to and fro and shook with laughter.
Benjamin smiled his whole face lit up; then he sat up and croaked:
“Als hinaus
Nach des Herrn Korbes seimem Haus.”
or
“Sind wir nicht Knaben glatt und fein,
Was wollen wir länger Schuster sein?”1
Often when the other two had gone for a walk, Harry Flint sat for hours together by his bed and took care of him. He cleaned his tube, put him a clean bib under his chin, gave him a drink, and pulled his bed clothes straight; or else he just sat still and communicated something of his own vitality by his mere presence. It got so far that Pointner did not even persist in refusing the cakes of white flour from Great Britain. Harry soaked them in milk and gave them to him in a spoon.
It happened thus. One morning there had been an unexpected inspection of the drawers of the bedside cupboards, and in each one the Sister found a broken packet of beautiful English short-bread. She took a piece of it and exclaimed how good it was. But the whistlers went very red, and Harry Flint went reddest of all and hastily left the room: for he had gone by night to each one’s bed, to-day to Benjamin’s, to-morrow to Kollin’s, and last to Pointner’s, and given a packet to each of them in turn. Thereupon the whistlers could hold out no longer, and also each thought he was the only one who secretly beneath his bed clothes nibbled at the honour of the Fatherland. From that morning they assisted Harry without any disguise to demolish the white bread and the admirable wurst. It benefited Harry too, for he could now confess it openly when the bacon was bad or the butter rancid, and was no longer under the necessity of making himself ill.
One day, when the two were alone together, Pointner took his English cap out of its hiding place and put it on Harry’s head. Harry stood motionless with head erect and beamed with delight. It was his dearest wish to possess this cap. Among the various buildings of the hospital, which in peace time was a State clinic, there were some devoted to patients from the civil population. They wore the same patient’s uniform as the soldiers but for the military caps, and this distinction was so punctiliously preserved that a soldier-patient was seldom seen without his cap. When occasion demanded they had them on their heads even in bed. Harry, too, was a soldier, but he was no longer in possession of an English cap, and as he could not wear a German one, he was compelled to go about bareheaded, or else in that little boy’s cap of linen, and to let himself be taken for a civilian patient. He suffered the more because nearly all the civilians of his age and height were at that time in the skin clinic, which was called the Ritterburg and given as wide a berth as possible.
Even the soldiers who had to have temporary quarters there, were left during that time to themselves. Moreover it was there that the so-called Ritter-fräulein—women of ill-fame from the town—were subjected to compulsory cure. They were not permitted to leave the floor assigned to them except on rare occasions; though it was said that they swung their cavaliers up to their rooms at night by means of ropes of twisted sheets. However the rest might enjoy these tales and find in them an inexhaustible topic of conversation, not one of them would have anything to do with the building or its occupants, let alone being mistaken for one of them.
The trouble was that Pointner could not bring himself to part with his trophy. But he allowed Harry to wear it now and then when no one was about. There was nothing then that Harry more eagerly desired than to be taken by surprise with the cap on his head. But no sooner was a step heard outside, than Pointner whipped it away and hid it under the clothes. He promised him, however, that he would leave him the cap at his death. He gave Harry his hand on it, and Harry grasped it in token of acceptance and stood to attention with a solemn and ceremonial air. It was soon to come true.
1 “We are going to the house of Herr Korbes”
“Now we are boys so fine to see,
Why should we longer cobblers be?”
These are lines from two of Grimm’s fairytales, Herr Korbes (Mr Korbes) and Die Wichtelmänner (The Elves) respectively.