Hohenegg, as soon as he saw me, wanted at all cost to feel my scars; I graciously permitted him, under the surprised eye of the maître d’hôtel, who had come to proffer the wine list. “Good work,” Hohenegg said, “good work. If you had had that before Kislovodsk, I would have cited you in my seminar. All in all, I did well to insist.”—“What do you mean?”—“The surgeon in Gumrak didn’t want to operate on you, which is understandable. He had pulled a sheet over your face and had told the nurses to put you out in the snow, as they did then, to get it over with. I happened to be walking by, I noticed this sheet moving at mouth level, and of course I thought that was curious, a dead man breathing like an ox under his shroud. I turned down the sheet: imagine my surprise. So I told myself that ordering someone else to take care of you was the least I could do. The surgeon didn’t want to; we had a few words, but I was his hierarchical superior, and he had to give in. He kept complaining that it was a waste of time. I was in something of a hurry, I let him get on with it; I imagine he made do with a hemostasis. But I’m happy it was of some use.” I remained motionless, riveted to his words; at the same time I felt immensely remote from all that, as if it concerned another man, whom I scarcely knew. The maître d’hôtel brought the wine. Hohenegg interrupted him before he could pour: “Just a minute, please. Could you bring us two Cognac glasses?”—“Of course, Herr Oberst.” With a smile, Hohenegg took a bottle of Hennessy out of his briefcase and placed it on the table: “There. A promise is a promise.” The maître d’hôtel returned with the glasses, uncorked the bottle, and poured us each a measure. Hohenegg took his glass and got up; I did the same. Suddenly he looked serious and I noticed that he had aged perceptibly from what I remembered of him: his yellow, soft skin drooped under his eyes and on his round cheeks; his whole body, still fat, seemed to have shrunk somehow on his frame. “I suggest,” he said, “that we drink to all our comrades in misfortune who didn’t have as much luck as we did. And especially to those who are still alive, somewhere.” We toasted, and sat back down. Hohenegg remained silent for a little bit, playing with his knife, then resumed his cheerful air. I told him how I had gotten out, or at least what Thomas had told me, and asked him for his story. “With me it’s simpler. I had finished my work, turned in my report to General Renoldi, who was already packing his bags for Siberia and couldn’t have cared less about anything else, and I realized they had forgotten me. Fortunately, I knew an obliging young man at the AOK; thanks to him, I was able to send a signal to the OKHG with a copy for my faculty, stating simply that I was ready to submit my report. Then they remembered me and the next day I received orders to leave the
