"So, comb your hair straight; what do you look like! And put on the new shoes and a fresh apron. Aunt Luise will see at once if you're not clean. Hurry up, they can be here now!"
Manuela ran into her room. She dipped the hairbrush lightly into water and began to work on her head with it. Aunt Luise Ehrenhardt was not popular with the children. "She means well," Mum used to say, but when she kissed you, Berti thought, she did it in such a way that you could feel her teeth and were afraid she would bite you. "She's never had children herself, so she doesn't understand it very well," Mum said apologetically. But the uncle, that was something else. Uncle Ehrenhardt was sweet and funny. An icy grey little gentleman with a somewhat high voice, that he often had to muffle to have a calming effect on Aunt Luise who was always so upset about everything. Then she called uncle by his last name, "Ehrenhardt, believe me, it was like that." And General Ehrenhardt, who bore the title of Excellency and had many medals, even one on neck, always said yes. It cost him nothing; it was a lifelong habit. At the same time, he smiled a little. Only sometimes he did not smile, and then he said quite cheerfully and definitively, hoping that from now on, he would never have to say it again. "You're always right." He then hit his newspaper forcefully on the table, and his bony little hands-with the signet and coat of arms ring-shook a little. But Aunt Luise was calm completely. She had a high hairdo from which a hair had never come loose. As if made of lacquer, two rolls that were nailed with iron hairpins. Her face was rosy, somewhat rounded, and an obstinate little nose made it very difficult for her to look as dignified as she wanted. She wasn't really tall, but she seemed tall. It was because of her posture. And the posture of the old general to seem small; although he was not so small.
And so there they were once again, Uncle Ehrenhardt and Aunt Luise, and of course they had neglected to bring anything for the children.
"Oh dear, now we've forgotten something!" said the uncle at lunch. "But Luise, actually, it's always your business!"
Berti and Lela didn't dare look at each other, but stared quietly down at their plates, with the corners of their mouths twitching, as befits proper children. Of course, buying presents was Aunt Luise's business. But what came out of it was well known. Usually, uncle and aunt were present on Christmas Eve, where Lela's birthday was celebrated at the same time. Aunt Irene, mother's other sister, who herself had many children and little time, sent every year two little parcels of coloured paper with golden ribbons and a fir branch on each and two little cards that read, "For Manuela for her birthday" and "For Manuela for Christmas." Aunt Luise, however, always brought only one small gift and said, "Well, this is for both, my child, for birthday and Christmas . . ."
This time they had come in the hot summer, and it was decided that Dad should order a wagon from the regiment to take them all together with the children, to the battlefields. Lela and Berti exchanged desperate glances. They already knew the battlefields inside out, but what good was it if there were visitors, they inevitably went out there. Soon after, they sat patiently on the narrow back seat, Uncle and Aunt Ehrenhardt in front of them, Dad in front next to the soldier who held the reins. It was a light hunting carriage, and it rattled terribly through the streets. Mutti had stayed at home; pretending to have a headache, she esxaped this picnic. Aunt Ehrenhardt looked around the way a stranger who is visiting a town looks around.
"I think it still looks quite French here, not at all like in a German town."
"Well, baby, it wasn't that long ago, twenty-five years, what is that! You can't ask for more than that. That will come with time," Uncle Ehrenhardt said.
"But one shouldn't tolerate something like that, all those French inscriptions, too hideous! It's called Metzger, not Charcutier. (butcher) If I had anything to say here, then all these signs would have to go, and there would be louder German ones!"
The aunt got very excited when she thought about what she would do if she had something to say.
Now they drove through a suburb that already had something village-like. In blue jackets and wooden clogs, the men stood smoking pipes in front of the low houses. Shyly, the horses ran past them at a rapid pace.
Meinhardis was in civilian clothes, but the soldier on the box didn't seem to feel very comfortable. He sat bolt upright and did not look left or right.
If one smokes a pipe, one must spit a lot, Lela thought, until she suddenly realised that the spitting of all these men was intentional. An old man raised his fist behind the passing carriage, spat and shouted angrily, fanatically, drowning out everything, "A bas les Prussiens." (Down with the Prussians.) Berti had looked ahead, and all others turned their backs on the old man. The man had only been able to look into Lela's frightened eyes, and there he had anchored himself: wild, forceful and threatening. Lela was frightened to death. She held on tightly to the small iron bar by her seat. Just don't fall out, she thought. They'll tear me apart. Just go on, further and away!
"I think Manuela looks rather pale," Aunt Luise said. "Are you all right, my child?"
"Nonsense!" Meinhardis had heard the question from the box. "She always stands out like this. That's what she got from me. A pale complexion for such a little girl, that's very interesting."
"I prefer red cheeks on children," said Aunt Ehrenhardt dictatorially.
Manuela felt depressed. Yes, she would have preferred red cheeks and blonde hair like Eva. It was no wonder that Eva didn't like her. Today was Sunday, and yesterday she had not seen Eva at all. But tomorrow, tomorrow she would finally show her that she didn't like her either. She was now finally determined not to care about her at all. She would just forget to say hello to her and Berti could see who tells her greetings.
There the carriage stopped. "Le cheval blanc" (The White Horse) - a fat, galloping white horse on a black sign hung over the door. They climbed down from the carriage. The horses were to rest here and they would return for lunch. Courageously, the little party set off on the dusty, sunlit path. Aunt Luise opened her parasol. The two gentlemen stopped to orientate themselves. With his arm stretched out wide, Meinhardis pointed at the hillside opposite. The Crown Prince's army had stood there at that time. Ehrenhardt knew. He had also "gone through everything." The storm and the evening after the victory.
"Well, something really cool happened to me that evening, you know . . ."
When Dad started to tell this story, Berti and Lela walked away quietly. They only listened to Dad's war stories when Mother's stern gaze forced them to. They knew what was coming. But Aunt Luise was all ears.
"Oh, tell me! It's so interesting here, in a sacred place."
"Well, it's not really that special. We hussars lay there all day in reserve and were already very angry that we couldn't even get to it. The battle had been going on since early morning. And we sat there in a barn and had nothing to do but smoke our pipes. It was almost dark when suddenly the signal came and "Mount up!" In a second we were up on the horses, well, and I soon put my pipe in my breast pocket. Anyway, off we went in stretched gallop on the enemy. Well, that was a nice scuffle. The damned Turkos, you know," he looked at Ehrenhardt, who nodded with understanding, "they were always slashing at wrists with their crooked sabres. But I had wrapped silk handkerchiefs around both of them, which my mother had sent me for this purpose. Well, what can I tell you, it was tough. It was a hideous massacre, but my lads were great, roared like lions, and we fought our way through.
Suddenly there was no enemy left. The lads were blown away! Well, we'd had enough too. We made camp on a farm nearby, and as I sat down I felt a terrible pain in my chest. I'm very frightened and say to the others, Gentlemen, I am wounded. They rip open my husar tunic, and out comes a huge cloud, and my shirt and I are just fried. Well, this is what had happened: I had the pipe burning in my pocket, and when I was riding, the smouldering tobacco had fallen out and roasted me. My chest looked like a beefsteak. Well, they all laughed!"
Aunt Luise squealed with delight, and Uncle Ehrenhardt patted Meinhardis on the shoulder. "You're quite a lad, my dear brother-in-law."
"And now I'll show you where it was, and how the battle went. So here, on the side stood the artillery . . .", and Meinhardis pointed to the east.
Lela and Berti had strolled off together. They were standing in front of a fenced grave. In the middle of a bare, uncultivated field. The grave had an iron grid all around and a cross and two trees of life on right and left. The cross and the whole grave were covered with wreaths of beads. Beads of all colours, and a wreath held a photograph in the middle on an enamel shield. A man with a toggle beard and a black frock coat.
"Oh, come on, Lela, this is a French grave," Berti said and pulled her away. They were already being called for, "Berti, Lela, come!"
A vast plain opened before them. Here and there stood a monument in the middle of a field or a barren meadow. Their next destination was a riffleman memorial that had just been set up. From afar, it looked like an inkwell, Lela thought. A huge stone base on steps. Snow-white, it shone in the sun. Broad, portly. Tapering towards the top, it bore the powerful, larger-than-life figure of a soldier in the riffleman uniform. The figure seemed to stride forward and held its arm out, pointing to a hill. The whole figure seemed to be made of pure gold. The sunrays broke it into a thousand splinters. It blinded so much that one had to close your eyes, so that one could only see through one's eyelashes, only then it was bearable.
When Lela and Berti came, the adults were busy reading the names of the fallen and the dates. They had known most of them. "Ah, Lassow, a nice lad, what a pity for him! He could make such good jokes. And Grüne—who, you remember, was the one with the girl who followed him, the pretty one, blonde, yes, yes."
Then they went on. The land was barely cultivated. It was full of weeds: thistles and nettles, shepherd's purses and dandelions, pale little poppies grew in abundance. A lot of stones and dust. Not a tree, not a bush-wasteland. As if the land, weighed down by memory and monuments, could not remember its true purpose, so it lay there in sweltering heat and drought. Farther over, a furiously heroic-looking eagle spread its giant bronze wings over the dead land. There an angel shown a dying soldier the way to heaven; still falling, he clung to a cannon, that also wavering breaking. Few graves made dark spots in the rest of the monotony. Dusty, dragging their feet, silent and tired, the gang headed back towards the inn "Le cheval blanc." (The White Horse)