 Words at War A regional broadcasting company in cooperation with the Council of Books and Wartime presents another program in the widely discussed series, Words at War, dramatizing the most representative books to come out of this great world conflict. Tonight's book was written by Oscar Ray, who tells the exciting story of an Alsatian soldier who escaped from the German army through the device of pretending to be sick. And then, but listen to the story, it's called Borrowed Night. Someher in Europe, a tired, weary-faced man, writes a letter to a friend. My dear Flick, I don't know if you will ever get this letter, but because I promise to let you know how I made out if I possibly could, I must write it now. No one could have foreseen all that has happened to me. I would never have dreamed those German doctors could be so infernally clever. You remember when the Germans forced us Alsatians into their army? They considered us stupid, stupidly. I'm not brilliant, but I was one Alsatian that wouldn't stay in their army. I'd get out, some way I'd get out, I had to get out, and then I had it. There was a way. It was dangerous, but I would try it, malingering it. Yes, that was it. I would be a malingerer. It was my life, and I was going to pit it against the vaunted German medicals. It was safety in Strasbourg, or death on the Russian front from a German firing squad. My disease, traumatic neurosis. I had but to learn by heart the symptoms. One, excessive perspiration at night. Two, dizziness. Three, an incurable distortion of the truth. Insane lying. I don't planned. Lack of food would induce dizziness. I wouldn't eat. I would dip my shirt in water and then put it on for the night perspiration. And the lying, I would remember to lie. Now I was ready. I just couldn't get caught. There was no halfway job about this business. If the doctors weren't convinced, I'd be branded as a malingerer. And that, my friend Flech, would mean death. I managed to get into the hospital. It was a horrible place. Cold, and cheerless, and smelling of yonder form. They put me in a small ward full of miserable looking wretches. From every caught up pair of eyes stared at me accusingly. I stared back. A short, fat man sidled over to me. His name was Wagner. He acted peculiarly, but they all did. From their conversation I gathered that everyone suspected everyone else of malingering. The occupant of the bed next to mine was named Bents. A young fellow, a flyer. He got up and walked to the foot of my bed and examined the chart that hung there. My name is Bents. I see you got traumatic neurosis. We were discussing that disease only this morning. How did you get it? I'm not sure I fell off a truck. Maybe that was it. Hmm, traumatic neurosis. He has traumatic neurosis. What's wrong with that? Oh, nothing, nothing. One volt you will soon find out whether he has or not. What are you in for, Bents? Not much, an infection on my thigh. But it won't heal. I'm better off than the others. Take Wagner there. Which is he? The little fat one who whispered something to you. The one writing the letter. Wagner is the smartest one here. But when he has his attacks, he's as crazy as a bedbug. So I'm crazy as a bedbug, huh? Oh, traumatic neurosis. King of all diseases. You're safe. But if they find him suspicious... I've got a nervous ailment, too, so I know something about them. It'll be sent home. I hope the doctors feel the same way. What are you telling to newcomer? That is Karl Mummel. He has the bed on the other side of mine. He thinks he has a bad heart. Hasn't he? Who knows? You knew one. You've come to the hospital for treatment like the rest of us. They will try and determine whether your illness is genuine or provoked by external means. Ah, get up. I am only trying to set a newcomer straight. Take the case of Schmidt in the back next to Wagner's. He has jawned this. There is no mystery about it. If a tricky fellow took something to provoke the abnormal functioning of the liver... Mummel, Mummel, you come here. Don't get excited, Schmidt. I didn't accuse you. I demand you examine the bites of my eyes. If you find their nut yellow, I will bite off my own head. Mines! Dear Schmidt, you may find that biting off one's head is the easiest way out. It was Dr. von Moltke, the head of the hospital, because he made his rounds and patients watched him carefully, like birds watching a snake. Suddenly he stopped in front of Benzer's bed. Dr. Ross, why isn't this man been operated on as I ordered? He refuses to allow an operation, Dr. von Moltke. He insists on going home to Berlin to have his family doctor do the operation. His father is high in the foreign office, sir. I don't care where his father is or what he is. His son is a coward. He's doing something to keep those sores from healing. I protest that, sir, and I will ask you to remember that I am a German airman. What? My own son fell in Poland. He too might have sought refuge in a hospital. To escape the dangers of war. But he died. He gave his life. Get out of bed, thence. I want to thoroughly search. Nothing was found. The nervous tension was mounting. This doctor was no man's fool. What would I tell him? My own story was slipping out of focus in my mind. And then von Moltke's voice struck again. Well, Mame? Heil Hitler. I respectfully report a commandant. I am suffering from heart trouble. I should say I inherited it from my mother, a nervous, slight woman. I know. You told me that before. I am an official, an assistant curator of the Hitler Youth in Augsburg, and even though I knew my heart was weak, I volunteered. I know all this. All right, get out of bed. Me, I inquire, sir, why? You will find out. Well, what are you waiting for? But I don't understand, sir. You must be forgetting that I have been performing services as a good party member even here in the hospital. I know, I know. What are you waiting for? Get out of bed. I will, sir. But with the greatest respect it is necessary that I inform you that you have no right to suspect me, sir, not as a party member and certainly not as a trusted party official. But, my friend, I do not suspect you. I'm only asking you to get out of bed. What are you waiting for? Get out. Yes, sir. And now, a youth fewer. You'll be kind enough to walk into the examination room. Your case is particularly interesting to me. I shall personally examine you. I presume you have no objection. Certainly not, sir. Wait in my office. I shall be in shortly. Yes, sir. Take his bed apart and search it thoroughly for Hona. All right, a doctor. See that his bed is turned inside out. Yes, sir. Take the covers from the foot of the bed. Yes, I'm doing it. There. The pillow's for Hona. Don't forget the pillow. Yes, I'm taking it. There. Slit the pillow covering. Slit the... That's it. There. That's it. There. Pile the straw on the floor. I have found it. Here it is, sir. Hmm. A bottle of medicine, huh? Let me see it. Shall I take it to the lab, sir? And have it analyzed? It won't be necessary, Dr. Ross. A couple of drops on the back of my hand. A slight taste. And, mistakenly, caffeine. Here, doctor, what is your opinion? Yes, sir. Caffeine. Possibly just a trace of benzoic acid. I shall question the man myself before we send him to the prosecutor's office. Caffeine extract. Just the thing to induce palpitation of the heart. Who's next? Next he turned toward me. The tone of his voice alone tore at my heart. I felt as if the walls were closing in on me. I couldn't fool this man. I couldn't. And then, reprieve. And, sir, you have no right to question the sanity of a soldier of the German Reich. I'm as sane as you are. I shall personally write a letter to the Fuhrer, complaining of your treatment of his soldiers. Hmm. What a bad malvarnum. Yes. Dr. von Moltke, I'm sorry if I have offended you, doctor. That's quite all right, malvarnum. Dizziness was perished. He left the word without saying another word. Well, Conrad, what did you think of my act? Act? You mean, von Moltke, that was an act? What did you think of it? Well, it saved me at any rate. Ah, not for long, Conrad. You don't know von Moltke. He'll be back tomorrow. But me, I'm going to keep on with that poisoned food idea. Ah, I think it's brilliant. I refuse to eat. But you'll starve. Oh, no. Your food. Eat mine. Of course. I know a little about traumatic neuroses. One of the symptoms is excessive dizziness. In order to induce that, you must refrain from food, although you shouldn't let them know that. So, brilliant. Mama! But mama, we thought you'd be executed by this time. For heaven's sake, you have got to help me, comrades. They are moving me out of here. If you can't get some drug from me by tomorrow morning, I'm lost. I don't know how you can do it. But if you have even a spark of human sympathy in your heart, you'll get it. Where the devil do you think we can get caffeine for you? It's not caffeine I need. Caffeine was all right up to now. But now I've got to have digitality. I've got 1,500 marks here in my wallet. No matter how much it costs me. Use it. I can get more money, but... But I'll be quartered in the next building. In solitary. I'll be grateful. And I'm not asking you to risk anything. I wouldn't do myself. Take it easy, mama. Have you ever saved the life of a comrade? No? Well, maybe this is your chance. Mommel, you haven't got a chance. It is your life against ours. All right, Mommel. Are you ready? All ready. Well? Our wheels in, kindle. Am I... a common... boy? How can we get him the digitalis? Digitalis? Silly Conrad. Divide the money among us. We can use it much more intelligently than he can. You never can tell when it will help one of us out of a jam. That sounds pretty heartless, doesn't it? Did you expect differently from men who were living from one minute to the next by their wits? Mommel was just out of luck. And as Wagner said... It may be your turn next, Conrad. It was. Hmm... Name? Anton Conrad. Traumatic neurosis. Yes, sir. Sound like an ousation. I am an ousation. Well, listen, you stupid ouslender. Don't think you can fool me with your talk of traumatic neurosis. Get this man out of here, Dr. Ross. Get him out and have it portioned. Shut my shirt! I beg your pardon, sir. Well, what is it? I feel it's my duty, sir. To give you a message. A rather painful duty. But I was there when your son was killed. My son? You saw my son? Yes, I saw him. I'm sure it's all there in the record, in black and white. I had talked with him the same as we're talking now. He was shot in the lung. I gave him a chance of saving him. I eased him to the ground. I called for help. He behaved like a hero, sir. Where was this? Outside of Kif, sir. This man is either mad or a scoundrel. He should be whipped, cut up in pieces, shot down of a Warsaw behind the enemy lines. You dirty swine to play such a rotten joke on a father. But don't worry. You'll pay for this. A doctor lying like this is one manifestation of traumatic neurosis. I don't care, I tell you, I don't care. Conrad, you shall pay for this. But he was in no hurry to make me pay. While I waited my turn, he went on relentlessly. Corporal Bintz, reported the operating room at once. Maya, you're to be caught, Marshal. Lehman, we found the drug where you hid it. Report to my office. One after another, Von Moltke trapped them. Malingerers caught in their deceit. Poor Moomer, perfectly normal without his digitalis, was shot. Meyer was shot. Lehman was shot. Benz, whose sores would not heal, was put in a full-length plaster cast so that he could not move to irritate them. The sores healed in a short time and they took Benz out and shot him. It was my turn. Bring it here for Hona. Yes, her daughter. Now, my friend Conrad, here's your supper. Eat it. I don't feel like eating now, doctor. I'll eat it later. Oh, now, my friend, we've been watching you. That's what you've been saying all week. Could you haven't been eating? That's why you're dizzy. Now you'll eat. Eat them. No. Eat them by force. All right. Come on, come on. In, in with it. More. That's it. Down, down with it. So. Do you want to go down for Hona? Yes, her doctor. No, I don't think so. The soup is all I wanted him to eat. Soup is very nourishing. Very nourishing. Good night, friend Conrad. Good night. Good night. Can I eat the rest of your meal? Go ahead, Wagner. Go ahead. Why didn't you protest against the forced feeding? It's too bad he made you drink the soup. It looked rather appetizing. Your conversation must be very interesting, Wagner. Conrad has just fallen off to sleep. Huh? Ah. Wake up, Conrad. You can sleep as long as you want tomorrow. Wake up. Get along with him. Can't get up. He's unconscious. We better call Hona. Hona! Get him going on in here. Conrad is unconscious. There is nothing to matter with him. Just leave him alone. Let him sleep. He's just sleeping. It's one of the characteristics of his illness. He sleeps almost like a coma. I can see through this entire situation clearly. Being under suspicion, they were going to try and catch me somehow. Unnatural perspiration is one of the symptoms of my disease. If during the night they examine me and I am dry, I will be shot. Get up, Conrad. Get up. I'm trying to get up, Wagner. Trying. Can you hear me? He's trying to say something. What is it? He's incoherent. Take my nightgown off and keep it wet all night. I must perspire. I must perspire or simulate perspiration. Don't you understand? Take my nightgown off, dip them in the drinking bowl and put them back on me. I can't. I can't see what you're saying, Conrad. Speak a little louder. You must understand. Bed, nightgown, must be wet to simulate perspiration. I've been dumped. I can't help myself. It's terrible. Of course he'll have to say something, but he's lost his voice. Do you hear me? Take a deep breath and then try to talk. They gave me sleeping potion. Please help me. Wet my bedgown. I must perspire. They consider me suspicious. Please, please, please, please, please. Wake up. You hear me, Conrad? But he's awake, Doctor. Sorry to awaken you at two in the morning, Franca. I do hope you've been sleeping well. Look at all those covers. Throw them back. But why? I want to see if you were swimming last night. Swimming? Will you take your covers off? Thank you. Examine his bed clothes. Yes, sir. What a soaking witch. Thank God they heard me. He couldn't have perspired that much. You swine. You're not ill. You're a malingerer. A malingerer you hear? But I'll get you. I'll get you. What? Doctor Fran, we'll get you. Another malingerer. Here, my friend Wagner. Read this. What is it? Read it. It just came, Wagner. Sir, now you know, am I friend? This is outrageous, Doctor von Malzke. You read the official order yourself, Wagner. Issued over the furious signature. There's no room in the German Reich for the insane. Disorder that every military commander execute insane soldiers. And the day after tomorrow, Wagner. The day after tomorrow as well as each Friday hereafter will be execution day for insane patients here. Of course, if you should happen to regain your sanity that Friday, fine. Then we'll just send you back to the Russian front. If not, lessen the rest of you. Tomorrow I have a surprise in store for all of you too. You think you're all committing the perfect crime that you fool us? Well, I'll show you it can't be done. Tomorrow. Morning came. Breakfast was served. A few could touch it. All waited for brooding heaviness hung over us. When suddenly... Brothers! There are at least a thousand of us here in this hospital. One of us should pay a visit to Doctor von Malzke's room and finish him off. I don't, Wagner. Shut up. I know what I'm doing. Suppose a sudden fire should break out. Wagner, you are crazy. Let him speak. Your spy is all around you, Wagner, for the love of... A single match could set this place off. Wagner! Don't worry, Conrad. You think I'm mad? I'm not mad. We'll take care of you tomorrow. Now, my dear patients, may I present Professor Brandus. He's a specialist in the therapeutic values of hypnotism. Thank you, Doctor von Malzke. I am here to help weed out the malingress and expose the fakers. I never fail. You have one minute in which to confess. I will then proceed with my examinations. A hypnotist. He walked among us. And we watched him. Our eyes intent as we waited our turn. Not knowing what to expect. He stopped in front of a soldier with a bandage over his eyes. Time is up. This patient over here with a bandage over his eyes, Doctor von Malzke. As opposed to a little comb, ma'am. May I have these bandages removed? Of course. There. Just let the eyes continue to water, Doctor von Malzke. We'll make no difference. Now there's nothing to fear, my boy. You are drowsy, tired. You need sleep. Your eyelids are getting heavy. So heavy you can keep your eyes open. That's right, my boy. They are closed now. So nice. So soothing. Don't worry. Nothing will happen to you. Just sleep, my boy. Sleep, sleep. Together. Friend. We're travelling on a train on the way to a hospital in Berlin. We have left the front. But I am worried. We have managed all right so far. No one suspects us. We have fooled them all. We've fooled the doctors too. But what if the inflammation should disappear? They will examine us in the hinterland too. I haven't got a drop of the stuff left. How are you fix? Don't worry. Can you give me some? Don't worry. You must help me, my dear comrade. Where can I find the stuff? Anywhere. Anywhere? Even us, because we only address you and search you thoroughly. Oh, tell me. Yes. Oh, one is missing. I give you my word of honor. I won't mention it to anyone. Oh, please help me. In the potato soup. In the sauerkraut. Potato soup, sauerkraut? They make sour eyes. Should I rub soup in my eyes? No, no. The caraway seeds in the soup are the sauerkraut. Oh, should I rub caraway seeds in my eyes? Yes, and leave them in all night. So, that's it. Awaken them. You have just confessed that you're a malinger, my boy. That means you will be shot in the morning. Suddenly, the professor veered towards me. With intense interest and complete concentration, he began to read my chart. Was I going to be next? I didn't believe in the charlatan. Yet, even though I tried not to be afraid, coach ever ran down my back. He wasn't going to put me to sleep, not me. He sat down on my bed. I'd tell him I saw him once in a French music hall before the war. Anyway, I didn't believe he could hypnotize anyone who knew who he was. He would try it on me, and I wouldn't let him put me to sleep. He'd have to knock me out first. Stopping directly in front of me. He sat down on my bed. In the edge of my bed. Tell me, young man, where did you get your trauma? Would you? I had felt his hand under my cheek. Long, smooth, sinewy fingers slid to my throat and beyond. He struggled against the disgusting relationship his eyes forced on me. His fingers were so long, they seemed to crawl back over my neck and into my brain. Desperately, I shot my head. Don't be afraid. You are so tired. I am your friend. Fire! It all happened so suddenly, I didn't have time to think. I think to be in another world. I came back to Earth sharply with the sound of a gunshot. The body of one monkey grotesquely sprawled on the floor of the ward. Shot through the head. I didn't have to look far for the murderer. Wagner was standing over him with a shotgun in his hand. I got it, I'll never know. The most important thing now is to get out of there before we all went up and spoke. Several hundred of us escaped from the hospital that night. And I don't know how many have been recaptured. They didn't get me. I was determined they would never get me again. I got across Germany and into France. And soon, when I have regained my strength, I shall enlist in the army of France. And then I shall return to Germany to seek out more of the von Möwkes. To seek out all those whose philosophy of life desecrates everything humanity stands for. They shall not escape us. Tonight Words at War has brought you dramatic excerpts from the book Borrowed Night by Oscar Ray. The radio script was prepared by Norman Winter and featured Louis Van Rooten in the role of Conrad. Others in the cast were Peter Cappell, Guy Rhett, Fred Hitt, EA, Crumb Schmidt, Herbert Bergoth, Sid Cassell, Theo Getz, William Malton, and Helen Coulay. The music was by William Meader and the entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Leeder. Next week we'll present Verdict on India by Beverly Nichols. Words at War is brought to you in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime by the national broadcasting company and the independent stations affiliated with the NBC network. This is the national broadcasting company.