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Volume CXXXIII, Number 5 |
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Beyond the Pines: The Missionary Position
LUDWIG VAN RANG
STAFF WRITER
This week, we are back from the future (The Campus Revisited, last week)
to the author's past, in the early sixties, when neither the World Trade
Center nor the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge nor the English Channel Tunnel
existed yet.
To recap: six months after obtaining my Green Card, I was drafted, and
underwent Basic Training at Fort Ord, California. Later, I was stationed
with the 8th US Infantry Division at Bad Kreuznach, Germany, a well-known
spa with luxurious Kurhaus that, during the First World War, served as
the Kaiser's western headquarters.
As previously mentioned, I was assigned as interpreter and
maneuver damage clerk to the Civil Affairs and Public Information Office
of division headquarters.
This was located under the roof of the headquarters building at Rose Barracks,
named after a WW II Army General. It was originally built for the Kaiser's
Army, but, more recently, had been used by Hitler's Wehrmacht.
Our Sergeant Major, of Polish extraction, was called Wroblesky
but nicknamed Wobbles, because his knees visibly buckled when called on
the carpet by Major Bligh, the PIO Officer, whose bark was worse than
his bite.
The truncated CA section (in wartime a proper staff section) consisted
of the CA Officer, Colonel Wilson, his deputy Lieutenant Stankevicius,
and me, a lowly Specialist Fourth Class.
Wilson was a genial Southerner close to retirement. He and
Bligh sat at desks next to one another in a small room with a door always
open, just inside the entrance of the PIO Section.
Wobbles at a desk across the hall directly facing them,
Stankevicius and I were out of harm's way in an alcove beneath the rafters.
Our chief task was processing maneuver damage claims. These
were filed by farmers across whose fields US army tanks had rummaged during
maneuvers. The damage caused was, of course, greatly exaggerated to extract
maximum compensation, with payments on the generous side to maintain good
relations.
I would generally do the typing and help the Lieutenant
prepare Disposition Forms to other General Staff sections. Actually a
Signal Corps Officer, with more technical than writing aptitude, Stankevicius
was glad to delegate the odious task of drafting DF's to me, someone with
a BA in English and experience in writing business letters. On occasion
our roles were reversed, and he ended up typing my drafts.
Of Lithuanian birth, blue-eyed and with blond crew cut,
he had a visage reminiscent of those of my Bowdoin buddies. "Stinky"
was married to a black-haired German beauty named Rosemarie. One time
Stinky invited me to his home to meet his wife. Married officers and NCO's
lived in a special housing area close to the PX, or "on the economy,"
which was a private accommodation.
With the two of us working in such close proximity and being
close in age, a certain intimacy developed between us. However, I had
to call him "Sir," and salute when encountering him outside
the office, something I hated doing.
He, in turn, would call me by my last name. Not long married and apparently
still a novice as far as marital relations were concerned, Stinky one
day asked if I knew of any other position for intercourse than the so-called
"missionary."
What a question to ask me of all people, with next to no heterosexual
experience thus far, apart from a brief affair with someone much older,
thank God not to be the only woman in my life.
In fact, there were a couple of young ones, German civilians,
working in the PIO Section, whose main job was translating press cuttings
from German papers, one of whom was to become my girlfriend.
A brunette with freckled face and upturned nose, Helga had
just returned from spending a year with distant relatives in Argentina,
informally engaged to a rancher's son, but not sure if she really wanted
to marry yet.
After being taken out a few times, Helga invited me to her
home to meet her mother, a war widow. The family, including a younger
brother and grandmother, lived in a small but cozy flat under the roof
of a timbered house in the narrow main street of Bad Kreuznach.
Pretty soon I began spending almost every other evening
at Helga's, arriving just in time for the Tagesschau, the main TV news
at eight.
So much a part of the family, Granny, off to bed early,
would give me a toothless grin when saying goodnight, apparently under
the impression Helga and I were as good as engaged.
After a while, her brother would disappear too, but the
mother would always stay up with us. Usually I would stay the whole evening,
watching TV with them and drinking wine, and not leave till after eleven,
with a 20-minute walk back to the barracks before the midnight curfew.
Helga would take me downstairs to let me out and lock the
front door behind me. Kissing her goodnight would take at least five minutes,
sometimes longer. Afterwards I felt like I was literally walking on air.
I don't think Helga and I were really in love though. She
was looking for someone to marry, and I for a girl to sleep with. Maybe
she thought if I was interested enough I might decide to stay in Germany.
When I started thinking seriously about marrying, I took Helga home to
introduce her to my family.
My mother liked her very much. But so did one of my brothers, more experienced
with girls. Tune in again next time.