at a loss for a fart with which to put a "full stop" at the end of the improbable "surveys" of the radio commentator.
We almost left Porta behind in the little town of Melykut, north-east of Pecs. He came running up at the last moment and had to be pulled into the boxcar. A couple of minutes later, as we rattled past a hovel on the outskirts of the town, we saw three gypsy women standing waving eagerly. Porta waved back and bellowed:
"Good-bye, little girls. If you have a baby and it's a boy call him Joseph after his father. And for the Holy Virgin's sake don't let him be a soldier; far rather a pimp, that's more respectable."
Then Porta settled himself comfortably in a corner of the truck, produced an incredibly greasy pack of cards from his pocket and soon we were deep in a game of the inevitable vingt-et-un. When we had been playing for four hours, the train stopped at the frontier station of Mako, a little southeast of Szeged.
We were told that there was to be a halt of ten hours before we went on into Romania. We jumped down from the car and strolled to have a look round. As usual, Porta went off on his own and, as usual, he came sauntering up to The Old Un and me a little while later, looking most innocent, and whispered:
"Come!"
The town--it was something between a country town and a village--lay dead in the quivering heat of the afternoon. Our clothes stuck to us as we strolled, slow and sweating, down the main street, where ragged peasants lay asleep in the shade of the trees. Suddenly Porta clambered over some fences and through a hedge and we found ourselves in a little street of small houses with little gardens.
"I can scent things," said Porta, and broke into a trot.
The upshot was that The Old Un and I suddenly found ourselves hiding behind a hedge, each clutching a strangled goose, while Porta ran for his life pursued by a dozen bellowing men and women.
We hurried back to the train, stuffed the geese away out of sight and then set off to rescue Porta.
We met him, striding along with a grand escort consisting of a Hungarian lieutenant, two Honved Scouts with fixed bayonets, two of our own military police and a good fifty shouting, gesticulating civilians, Hungarians, Romanians, Slovaks and gypsies.
Porta took it all with the utmost calm. "As you see," he said to us, "the Hungarian Regent Horthy, our Fuhrer's best friend in this country, has given me a guard of honor."
Luckily it was Major Hinka who received this procession when it reach the staff truck. Hinka was young and decent and Porta's particular protector. Calmly he listened to all the accusations of the Hungarian lieutenant; then, when the lieutenant had finished, be began:
"What the hell is this you have been up to now, man? Robbery and attempted murder. Not only have you been stealing geese and so brought the entire population down upon us but, devil take me, if you haven't also been attacking Hungarian soldiers, our brothers-in-arms. And kicked a valuable dog. Smashed the bailiff's false teeth. Been the cause of two miscarriages. What have you to say to that, you bandy-legged ape?"
All this was roared out so that the excited crowd could see that Porta was catching it.
Porta bawled back: "Herr Major, this lot of maundering idiots are such appalling liars that my pious soul is shaken to the quick. By the sacred knobbly mace of St. Elizabeth I swear that I was walking along quietly and peacefully, in innocent enjoyment of the lovely view and the wonderful weather. I was just in the middle of a silent prayer of thanks to God for allowing me to be among the fortunates who have become our great and beloved Fuhrer's soldiers and thereby had an opportunity of getting out to see the wide world beyond our good city of Berlin when, with an abruptness that was exceedingly bad for my delicate nerves, I was torn from my pious and beautiful thoughts by a band of savage devils suddenly rushing out from some bushes, where they had been lying in wait for
We almost left Porta behind in the little town of Melykut, north-east of Pecs. He came running up at the last moment and had to be pulled into the boxcar. A couple of minutes later, as we rattled past a hovel on the outskirts of the town, we saw three gypsy women standing waving eagerly. Porta waved back and bellowed:
"Good-bye, little girls. If you have a baby and it's a boy call him Joseph after his father. And for the Holy Virgin's sake don't let him be a soldier; far rather a pimp, that's more respectable."
Then Porta settled himself comfortably in a corner of the truck, produced an incredibly greasy pack of cards from his pocket and soon we were deep in a game of the inevitable vingt-et-un. When we had been playing for four hours, the train stopped at the frontier station of Mako, a little southeast of Szeged.
We were told that there was to be a halt of ten hours before we went on into Romania. We jumped down from the car and strolled to have a look round. As usual, Porta went off on his own and, as usual, he came sauntering up to The Old Un and me a little while later, looking most innocent, and whispered:
"Come!"
The town--it was something between a country town and a village--lay dead in the quivering heat of the afternoon. Our clothes stuck to us as we strolled, slow and sweating, down the main street, where ragged peasants lay asleep in the shade of the trees. Suddenly Porta clambered over some fences and through a hedge and we found ourselves in a little street of small houses with little gardens.
"I can scent things," said Porta, and broke into a trot.
The upshot was that The Old Un and I suddenly found ourselves hiding behind a hedge, each clutching a strangled goose, while Porta ran for his life pursued by a dozen bellowing men and women.
We hurried back to the train, stuffed the geese away out of sight and then set off to rescue Porta.
We met him, striding along with a grand escort consisting of a Hungarian lieutenant, two Honved Scouts with fixed bayonets, two of our own military police and a good fifty shouting, gesticulating civilians, Hungarians, Romanians, Slovaks and gypsies.
Porta took it all with the utmost calm. "As you see," he said to us, "the Hungarian Regent Horthy, our Fuhrer's best friend in this country, has given me a guard of honor."
Luckily it was Major Hinka who received this procession when it reach the staff truck. Hinka was young and decent and Porta's particular protector. Calmly he listened to all the accusations of the Hungarian lieutenant; then, when the lieutenant had finished, be began:
"What the hell is this you have been up to now, man? Robbery and attempted murder. Not only have you been stealing geese and so brought the entire population down upon us but, devil take me, if you haven't also been attacking Hungarian soldiers, our brothers-in-arms. And kicked a valuable dog. Smashed the bailiff's false teeth. Been the cause of two miscarriages. What have you to say to that, you bandy-legged ape?"
All this was roared out so that the excited crowd could see that Porta was catching it.
Porta bawled back: "Herr Major, this lot of maundering idiots are such appalling liars that my pious soul is shaken to the quick. By the sacred knobbly mace of St. Elizabeth I swear that I was walking along quietly and peacefully, in innocent enjoyment of the lovely view and the wonderful weather. I was just in the middle of a silent prayer of thanks to God for allowing me to be among the fortunates who have become our great and beloved Fuhrer's soldiers and thereby had an opportunity of getting out to see the wide world beyond our good city of Berlin when, with an abruptness that was exceedingly bad for my delicate nerves, I was torn from my pious and beautiful thoughts by a band of savage devils suddenly rushing out from some bushes, where they had been lying in wait for
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