to the man and scrutinised him closely. Then I permitted a short period of silence to descend on proceedings. Silence is often underestimated.
“So,” I said. “You wish to talk about Poland. Poland. Fine. What exactly do you know about the history of Poland?”
“Capital: Warsaw. Invaded 1939, divided with the Russians …”
“That,” I interrupted him “is merely what the books say. Any old halfwit could root that out. Answer the question!”
“But I …”
“The question! Do you not understand German, man? What! Do you! Know! About! The history! Of Poland!”
“I …”
“What do you know about Polish history? Do you know the contexts? And what do you know about the Polish racial mix? What do you know about Germany’s so-called Poland policy after 1919? And seeing as you mention returning fire, do you have any idea where?”
I paused briefly to allow him to regain his breath. One must choose the apposite moment to crush one’s political opponent. Not when he has nothing to say. But when he is attempting to say something,
“I …”
“If you heard my speech, then surely you must know how it continues.”
“The …”
“I’m sorry?”
“But, I mean we’re not …”
“Let me help you: ‘Henceforth …’ – now do you know how it goes?”
“…”
“‘Henceforth bomb will be met with bomb.’ Write it down, maybe someday you will be interrogated again about great quotations in history. But perhaps you are better in the field. You have 1.4 million men at your disposal and thirty days in which to conquer an entire country. Thirty days and no more, for in the West the English and French are feverishly preparing for war. Where do you begin? How many army groups do you create? How many divisions does the enemy have? Where do you expect to meet the greatest resistance? And what do you do to prevent the Roumanians becoming involved?”
“The Roumanians?”
“Oh excuse me, General, I’m most terribly sorry,
sir
. You are, of course, perfectly right. Who gives a fig about the Roumanians? Naturally, Herr General here will always march to Warsaw, to Cracow. He does not look left, he does not look right, and why should he, by Jove? The Polack is a pushover, the weather is fine, the troops exceptional … but whoops! What is that? All of a sudden the shoulder blades of our troops are shot through with tiny holes, and out flows the noble blood of German heroes. And why? Because out of nowhere millions of Roumanian bullets have peppered the backs of hundreds of thousands of our infantrymen. But how can this be? How did this happen? Did our young general here maybe, possibly, perchance forget the military alliance between Poland and Roumania? Were you ever in the Wehrmacht, man? With the best will in the world I cannot picture you in the field. You could not find the way to Poland for any army on earth; you cannot even find your own uniform! I, on the other hand, can tell you at any hour, any minute, where my uniform is.” I thrust my hand into my breast pocket and slapped the receipt on the table. “At the cleaner’s!”
A curious noise came from the older man, Sensenbrink, and two jets of coffee shot from his nostrils onto my shirt, the newspaper vendor’s and his own. The younger man sat there in bewilderment while Sensenbrink began to cough.
“That,” he wheezed, bent double under the table, “that was unfair.”
He felt in his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and painstakingly liberated his respiratory passages. “I thought,” hegasped, “I thought at first it was going to be some sort of military skit, a bit like that Instructor Schmidt character. But the remark about the cleaner’s, that just killed me.”
“What did I tell you?” the newspaper seller said in jubilation. “Didn’t I say the guy’s a genius? And he is.”
I was unsure how to interpret the coffee fountain and the comments that followed. Although I was not keen on either of these broadcasting types,
“So,” I said. “You wish to talk about Poland. Poland. Fine. What exactly do you know about the history of Poland?”
“Capital: Warsaw. Invaded 1939, divided with the Russians …”
“That,” I interrupted him “is merely what the books say. Any old halfwit could root that out. Answer the question!”
“But I …”
“The question! Do you not understand German, man? What! Do you! Know! About! The history! Of Poland!”
“I …”
“What do you know about Polish history? Do you know the contexts? And what do you know about the Polish racial mix? What do you know about Germany’s so-called Poland policy after 1919? And seeing as you mention returning fire, do you have any idea where?”
I paused briefly to allow him to regain his breath. One must choose the apposite moment to crush one’s political opponent. Not when he has nothing to say. But when he is attempting to say something,
“I …”
“If you heard my speech, then surely you must know how it continues.”
“The …”
“I’m sorry?”
“But, I mean we’re not …”
“Let me help you: ‘Henceforth …’ – now do you know how it goes?”
“…”
“‘Henceforth bomb will be met with bomb.’ Write it down, maybe someday you will be interrogated again about great quotations in history. But perhaps you are better in the field. You have 1.4 million men at your disposal and thirty days in which to conquer an entire country. Thirty days and no more, for in the West the English and French are feverishly preparing for war. Where do you begin? How many army groups do you create? How many divisions does the enemy have? Where do you expect to meet the greatest resistance? And what do you do to prevent the Roumanians becoming involved?”
“The Roumanians?”
“Oh excuse me, General, I’m most terribly sorry,
sir
. You are, of course, perfectly right. Who gives a fig about the Roumanians? Naturally, Herr General here will always march to Warsaw, to Cracow. He does not look left, he does not look right, and why should he, by Jove? The Polack is a pushover, the weather is fine, the troops exceptional … but whoops! What is that? All of a sudden the shoulder blades of our troops are shot through with tiny holes, and out flows the noble blood of German heroes. And why? Because out of nowhere millions of Roumanian bullets have peppered the backs of hundreds of thousands of our infantrymen. But how can this be? How did this happen? Did our young general here maybe, possibly, perchance forget the military alliance between Poland and Roumania? Were you ever in the Wehrmacht, man? With the best will in the world I cannot picture you in the field. You could not find the way to Poland for any army on earth; you cannot even find your own uniform! I, on the other hand, can tell you at any hour, any minute, where my uniform is.” I thrust my hand into my breast pocket and slapped the receipt on the table. “At the cleaner’s!”
A curious noise came from the older man, Sensenbrink, and two jets of coffee shot from his nostrils onto my shirt, the newspaper vendor’s and his own. The younger man sat there in bewilderment while Sensenbrink began to cough.
“That,” he wheezed, bent double under the table, “that was unfair.”
He felt in his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and painstakingly liberated his respiratory passages. “I thought,” hegasped, “I thought at first it was going to be some sort of military skit, a bit like that Instructor Schmidt character. But the remark about the cleaner’s, that just killed me.”
“What did I tell you?” the newspaper seller said in jubilation. “Didn’t I say the guy’s a genius? And he is.”
I was unsure how to interpret the coffee fountain and the comments that followed. Although I was not keen on either of these broadcasting types,
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