In 1926: living at the edge of time - Monoskop

GRAMOPHONES
As a "small fragment of a great battle," Ernst Junger's war memoir Feuer
und Blut (Fire and Blood) describes a German assault on trenches held
by British soldiers. After a day of savage fighting, the narrator and some
of his companions make a surprising discovery while they are exploring
dugouts in recently conquered territory: "By the edge of the hollow we
discover yet a second shelter built into the bank. It lies at ground level
and even has windows. Before we enter it we call out a few times,
holding grenades in our fists and threatening to throw them in the
window. Nothing stirs; it appears to be abandoned. If the messengers
were above, this is certainly where the officers live. Everything is comfortably
furnished-even luxurious, in a way-and compared to our
own standards seems almost unbelievable ... But what is that, standing
in the corner? A gramophone of all things. H. quickly sets it in motion,
and a merry tune fills the air. No, such jokes go too far. We don't belong
here, and are taking a grave risk-an Englishman could look in the
window at any moment. I knock the machine onto the ground. A
scratching sound, and it falls silent" (Junger, 172ff.). The atmosphere of
relaxed sociability evoked by this gramophone forms a grotesque contrast
with the landscape of death surrounding the British dugout. But are
the soldiers really taking a "risk" in playing that "merry tune"? Is the
narrator right in fearing that the sounds may attract the enemy? Regardless
of any questions about military appropriateness, his reaction points
to a promise-and a threat-inherent in the gramophone itself: the
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