Keine Streiche erlaubt

With a slight tip of his hat, the Nazi soldier pulls open the door and salutes the Oberstleutnant.  The high-ranking officer moves slowly, bringing silence to the barracks. His thin lips are pressed tightly together and his dark eyes slide about looking for evidence.

He carefully steps across the rank of soldiers as they stand at attention, quietly breathing.  He moves in close, as though his breath could deliquesce the resolve of the guilty soldier.  The only sound in the barracks are the muted thudding of the Oberstleutnant's footsteps against the dry floorboards.

At the end of the line of soldiers stands Isaac.  He is tapping a nervous toe inside his too-large boots. Like the rest of the soldiers, he knows who committed the crime, but that's not the source of his unease. He is nose-to-nose with the Oberstleutnant.

"Name?"

"Abelard Hoffman," replies the Feldwebel holding the door.

"Was wissen Sie darüber?"

Isaac's toe is frenetic and he can feel the dampness on his brow starting to coalesce.  A small bead snakes its way down the left side of his face. Isaac concentrates hard to keep it on his face, but the droplet releases its grip.  Issac's eyes descend with the drop, as it lands with a soundless splash.

As he looks down he notices the Oberstleutnant's boots opposite his own.  They are ebony, uncreased and well-shined; the boots of a model soldier.  They would be perfect except for a single piece of toilet paper stuck to the heel.  At the sight of this, Isaac lets out a quiet chuckle.

With the silence punctuated, every head in the room turns toward Isaac. The other privates look at him as though he had swallowed a live grenade.  The Oberstleutnant says nothing. His eyes widen slightly and he gently tilts his head.

But Isaac does not stop laughing. He can't stop.  The quiet chuckle has rolled into a less-quiet titter, emerging like the steady drip from a leaky faucet.

The other soldiers watch with a combination of horror and amusement.  A few are pressing their tongues between their teeth, trying to avoid Issac's plight. Across the room, a snort escapes into the air.  Like an eagle, the Oberstleutnant spins his head to the offending soldier. The snorting solder is giggling, and like a virus, his neighbours are beginning to vibrate with burgeoning laughter. The Oberstleutnant turns away from Isaac and watches the two walls of soldiers, crumbling into hysterics.  His lips are unsealed and his eyes are incredulous at the tumult of cachinnation in the barracks.

The sound of his footsteps are not heard he walks to the door. The Feldwebel at the door is looking at the ceiling and working hard to suppress a grin.

"Schweigen!"

The room quiets to a few giggles and stifled guffaws.  The Oberstleutnant's throws open the barracks' door to reveal his personal jeep, parked outside, covered with toilet paper, straw, rocks and feces.

"Ich brauche dieses saubere bis heute abend."

The soldiers straighten up.  "Jawohl Oberstleutnant!"

The Oberstleutnant leaves the entire barracks exhausted from laughter.  Isaac stands at the back of the room, his mouth still curled into a smile. As he closes his eyes and exhales, tears stream down his face.

On the proper treatment of debris

The stern-faced and mustachioed headmaster stood before the boys, eyeing them with an air of suspicion and distaste. His bald head and angular features induced panic and trepidation in the first year class, sitting nervously in their uniforms, waiting for him to speak.

"There are not a lot of regulations here at Eton", he began, "but it is expected that you, Master Billingsworth, Master Traylor, Master Jones, Master Cromwell, Master Olivieri, Master Fanshawe, Master McClelland, Master Overinghamshire, Master White, Master Douffard, Master Olifant, Master Niles, Master Wodehouse, Master Richards, Master Wesley and Master Franklin," he paused very briefly to breathe, "will treat each other with a modicum of respect, refrain from bloody violence, et cetera, et cetera.

"But," he intoned gravely, his eyes narrowing, "there are very strict rules on the proper treatment of debris."

As the headmaster crisply pronounced the last word in his dictum, the boys in the classroom looked at in each other with some confusion and of course, fear. The headmaster launched into his oratory:

"On the proper treatment of debris.

"Number one. Debris shall never intentionally nor unintentionally be left, dropped, placed or created on the premises of this campus, nor any of its affiliated colleges.

"Number two. The presence of debris is to be avoided at all costs. Students will take all and any available measures to remove or destroy any debris they find or discover except where the destruction of such debris could result in the death or dismemberment of any student.

"Number three. Debris is a scourge upon our society and shall be treated as such. Any student found to be actively creating or disseminating debris upon our fair campus shall be expelled without recourse to appeal.

"Number four. Should a student come to know of another student or staff member who is actively creating or disseminating debris on our fair campus, it is his duty to immediately report these actions to the Campus Debris Authority. Failure to do so is considered a breach of the rules described herein, and said student will face expulsion."

The boys in the class continued to listen to the headmaster with disbelief.

"Number five. Those found with debris on their person or amongst their personal effects and belongs will be placed on suspension immediately and escorted off the premise of this campus, until all traces of that student's debris have been found and destroyed.

"Number six. Debris is not a laughing matter. Jokes about debris will not be tolerated.

"Number seven. If debris shall be discovered on campus it must be reported to the Campus Debris Authority immediately. Students are to remain with the debris until authorities arrive. One may also pick it up and throw it in the rubbish bin.

"Number eight. In those cases where debris is thrown, lobbed, tossed, flung, hurled, at another student, that student which touched the debris last before it reached the ground will be found to be the right owner of that debris and will be responsible for its removal. This is also known as the "touched it last" rule.

"Number nine. All students will be familiar with rules pertaining to The Proper Treatment of Debris and may be asked to recite them by any professor or staff member on this campus at any time. Failure to repeat these rules, precisely as written, will result in immediate suspension."

The class was silent for a few moments as the boys realised the headmaster was finished speaking. Not one of the boys could believe what he had just heard. The classroom was silent; the hard, aged headmaster stood like a tweed-wearing dictator behind the podium at front.

Suddenly, but slowly, Olivieri raised his arm.

The headmaster turned his crotchety head. His eyes were narrow slits. "Yes, boy?"

"Pardon me, headmaster," he stammered, "but isn't the 's' at the end silent, sir?"

And though the other boys tried to contain themselves, the classroom exploded with snickers and laughter.