THE MAN: It wouldn’t be any use.
THE WIFE: Karl, you’re not to give up now. You should be strong, like the Führer keeps on …
THE MAN: I’m not going to be brought before the law and have my own flesh and blood standing in the witness box and giving evidence against me.
THE WIFE: There’s no need to take it like that.
THE MAN: It was a great mistake our seeing so much of the Klimbtsches.
THE WIFE: But nothing whatever has happened to him.
THE MAN: Yes, but there’s talk of an inquiry.
THE WIFE: What would it be like if everybody got in such a panic as soon as there was talk of an inquiry?
THE MAN: Do you think our block warden has anything against us?
THE WIFE: You mean, supposing they asked him? He got a box of cigars for his birthday the other day and his Christmas box was ample.
THE MAN: The Gauffs gave him fifteen marks.
THE WIFE: Yes, but they were still taking the socialist paper in 1932, and as late as May 1933 they were hanging out the old nationalist flag.
The phone rings.
THE MAN: That’s the phone.
THE WIFE: Shall I answer it?
THE MAN: I don’t know.
THE WIFE: Who could be ringing us?
THE MAN: Wait a moment. If it rings again, answer it.
They wait. It doesn’t ring again.
THE MAN: We can’t go on living like this!
THE WIFE: Karl!
THE MAN: A Judas, that’s what you’ve borne me. Sitting at the table listening, gulping down the soup we’ve given him and noting down whatever his father says, the little spy.
THE WIFE: That’s a dreadful thing to say.
Pause.
THE WIFE: Do you think we ought to make any kind of preparations?
THE MAN: Do you think he’ll bring them straight back with him?
THE WIFE: Could he really?
THE MAN: Perhaps I’d better put on my Iron Cross.
THE WIFE: Of course you must, Karl.
He gets it and puts it on with shaking hands.
THE WIFE: But they’ve nothing against you at school, have they?
THE MAN: How’s one to tell? I’m prepared to teach whatever they want taught; but what’s that? If only I could tell … How am I to know what they want Bismarck to have been like? When they’re taking so long to publish the new text books. Couldn’t you give the maid another ten marks? She’s another who’s always listening.
THE WIFE nodding: And what about the picture of Hitler; shouldn’t we hang it above your desk? It’d look better.
THE MAN: Yes, do that.
The wife starts taking down the picture.
THE MAN: Suppose the boy goes and says we deliberately rehung it, though, it might look as if we had a bad conscience.
The wife puts the picture back on its old hook.
THE MAN: Wasn’t that the door?
THE WIFE: I didn’t hear anything.
THE MAN: It was.
THE WIFE: Karl!
She embraces him.
THE MAN: Keep a grip on yourself. Pack some things for me.
The door of the flat opens. Man and wife stand rigidly side by side in the corner of the room. The door opens and enter the boy, a paper bag in his hand. Pause.
THE BOY: What’s the matter with you people?
THE WIFE: Where have you been?
The boy shows her the bag, which contains chocolate.
THE WIFE: Did you simply go out to buy chocolate?
THE BOY: Whatever else? Obvious, isn’t it?
He crosses the room munching, and goes out. His parents look enquiringly after him.
THE MAN: Do you suppose he’s telling the truth?
The wife shrugs her shoulders.
11
The black shoes
These widows and orphans you’re seeing
Have heard Him guaranteeing
A great time by and by.
Meanwhile they must make sacrifices
As the shops all put up their prices.
That great time is pie in the sky.
Bitterfeld, 1935. Kitchen in a working-class flat. The mother is peeling potatoes. Her thirteen-year-old daughter is doing homework.
THE DAUGHTER: Mum, am I getting my two pfennigs?
THE MOTHER: For the Hitler Youth?
THE DAUGHTER: Yes.
THE MOTHER: I haven’t any money left.
THE DAUGHTER: But if I don’t bring my two pfennigs a week I won’t be going to the country this summer. And our teacher said Hitler wants town and country to get to know each other. Town people are supposed to get closer to the farmers. But I’ll have to bring along my two pfennigs.
THE MOTHER: I’ll try to find some way of letting you have them.
THE DAUGHTER: Oh lovely, Mum. I’ll give a hand with the ’taters. It’s lovely in the country, isn’t it? Proper meals there. Our gym teacher was saying I’ve got a potato belly.
THE MOTHER: You’ve nothing of the kind.
THE DAUGHTER: Not right now. Last year I had. A bit.
THE MOTHER: I might be able to get us some offal.
THE DAUGHTER: I get my roll at school; that’s more than you do. Bertha was saying when she went to the country last year they had bread and goose dripping. Meat too sometimes. Lovely, isn’t it?
THE MOTHER: Of course.
THE DAUGHTER: And all that fresh air.
THE MOTHER: Didn’t she have to do some work too?
THE DAUGHTER: Of course. But lots to eat. Only the farmer was a nuisance, she said.
THE MOTHER: What’d he do?
THE DAUGHTER: Oh, nothing. Just kept pestering her.
THE MOTHER: Aha.
THE DAUGHTER: Bertha’s bigger than me, though. A year older.
THE MOTHER: Get on with your homework.
Pause, then:
THE DAUGHTER: But I won’t have to wear those old black shoes from the welfare, will I?
THE MOTHER: You won’t be needing them. You’ve got your other pair, haven’t you?
THE DAUGHTER: Just that those have got a hole.
THE MOTHER: Oh dear, when it’s so wet.
THE DAUGHTER: I’ll put some paper in, that’ll do it.
THE MOTHER: No, it won’t. If they’ve gone they’ll have to be resoled.
THE DAUGHTER: That’s so expensive.
THE MOTHER: What’ve you got against the welfare pair?
THE DAUGHTER: I can’t stand them.
THE MOTHER: Because they look so clumsy?
THE DAUGHTER: So you think so too.
THE MOTHER: Of course they’re older.
THE DAUGHTER: Have I got to wear them?
THE MOTHER: If you can’t stand them you needn’t wear them.
THE DAUGHTER: I’m not being vain, am I?
THE MOTHER: No. Just growing up.
Pause, then:
THE DAUGHTER: Then can I have my two pfennigs, Mum? I do so want to go.
THE MOTHER slowly: I haven’t the money for that.
12
Labour service
By sweeping away class barriers
The poor are made fetchers and carriers
In Hitler’s Labour Corps.
The rich serve a year alongside them
To show that no conflicts divide them.
Some pay would please them more.
The Lüneburger Heide, 1935. A Labour Service column at work. A young worker and a student are digging together.
THE STUDENT: What did they put that stocky little fellow from Column 3 in clink for?
THE YOUNG WORKER grinning: The group leader was saying we’ll learn what it’s like to work and he said, under his breath like, he’d as soon learn what it’s like to get a pay packet. They weren’t pleased.
THE STUDENT: Why say something like that?
THE YOUNG WORKER: Because he already knows what it’s like to work, I should think. He was down the pits at fourteen.
THE STUDENT: Look out, Tubby’s coming.
THE YOUNG WORKER: If he looks our way I can’t just dig out half a spit.
THE STUDENT: But I can’t shovel away more than I’m doing.
THE YOUNG WORKER: If he cops me there’ll be trouble.
THE STUDENT: No more cigarettes from me, then.
THE YOUNG WORKER: He’ll cop me sure enough.
THE STUDENT: And you want to go on leave, don’t you? Think I’m going to pay you if you can’t take a little risk like that?
THE YOUNG WORKER: You’ve already had your money’s worth and more.
THE STUDENT: But I’m not going to pay you.
THE GROUP LEADER comes and watches them: Well, Herr Doktor, now you can see what working is really like, can’t you?
THE STUDENT: Yes, Herr Group Leader.
The young worker digs half a spit of earth. The student pretends to be shovelling like mad.
THE GROUP LEADER: You owe it all to the Führer.
THE STUDENT: Yes, Herr Group Leader.
THE GROUP LEADER: Shoulder to shoulder and no class barriers; that’s his way. The Führer wants no distinctions made in his labour camps. Never mind who your dad is. Carry on! He goes.
THE STUDENT: I don’t call that half a spit.
THE YOUNG WORKER: Well, I do.
THE STUDENT: No cigarettes for today. Better remember there are an awful lot of people want cigarettes just as much as you.
THE YOUNG WORKER slowly: Yes, there are an awful lot of people like me. That’s something we often forget.
13
Workers’ playtime
Then the media, a travelling circus
Come to interview the workers
With microphone in hand
But the workers can’t be trusted
So the interview is adjusted
To fit what Goebbels has planned.
Leipzig 1934. Foreman’s office in a factory. A radio announcer bearing a microphone is chatting to three workers; a middle-aged worker, an old worker and a woman worker. In the background are a gentleman from the office and a stocky figure in SA uniform.
THE ANNOUNCER: Here we are with flywheels and driving belts in full swing all around us, surrounded by our comrades working as busily as ants, joyously doing their bit to provide our beloved fatherland with everything it requires. This morning we are visiting the Fuchs spinning mills. And in spite of the hard toil and the tensing of every muscle here we see nothing but joyous and contented faces on all sides. But let us get our comrades to speak for themselves. To the old worker: I understand you’ve been working here for twenty-one years, Mr …
THE OLD WORKER: Sedelmaier.
THE ANNOUNCER: Mr Sedelmaier. Tell me, Mr Sedelmaier, how is it that we see nothing but these happy, joyous faces on every side?
THE OLD WORKER after a moment’s thought: There’s a lot of jokes told.
THE ANNOUNCER: Really? Right, so a cheerful jest or two makes work seem child’s play, what? The deadly menace of pessimism is unknown under National Socialism, you mean. Different in the old days, wasn’t it?
THE OLD WORKER: Aye.
THE ANNOUNCER: That rotten old Weimar republic didn’t give the workers much to laugh about you mean. What are we working for, they used to ask.
THE OLD WORKER: Aye, that’s what some of them say.
THE ANNOUNCER: I didn’t quite get that. Oh, I see, you’re referring to the inevitable grouses, but they’re dying out now they see that kind of thing’s a waste of time because everything’s booming in the Third Reich now there’s a strong hand on the helm once again. That’s what you feel too – to the woman worker – isn’t it, Miss …
THE WOMAN WORKER: Schmidt.
THE ANNOUNCER: Miss Schmidt. And which of these steel mammoths enjoys your services?
THE WOMAN WORKER reciting: And then we also work at decorating our place of work which gives us great pleasure. Our portrait of the Führer was purchased thanks to voluntary contributions and we are very proud of him. Also of the geranium plants which provide a magical touch of colour in the greyness of our working environment, by suggestion of Miss Kinze.
THE ANNOUNCER: So you decorate your place of work with flowers, the sweet offspring of the fields. And I imagine there’ve been a good few other changes in this factory since Germany’s destiny took its new turning?
GENTLEMAN FROM THE OFFICE prompting: Wash rooms.
THE WOMAN WORKER: The wash rooms were the personal idea of Mr Baüschle our managing director for which we would like to express our heartfelt thanks. Anybody who wants to wash can do so in these fine washrooms so long as there isn’t too much of a crowd fighting for the basins.
THE ANNOUNCER: Everybody wants to be first, what? So there’s always a jolly throng?
THE WOMAN WORKER: Only six taps for 552 of us. So there are lots of quarrels. It’s disgraceful how some of them behave.
THE ANNOUNCER: But it’s all sorted out perfectly happily.
And now we are going to hear a few words from Mr – if you’d be so good as to tell me your name?
THE WORKER: Mahn.
THE ANNOUNCER: Mr Mahn. Right, Mr Mahn, would you tell us what moral effect the great increase in the workforce here has had on your fellow workers?
THE WORKER: How do you mean?
THE ANNOUNCER: Well, are all of you happy to see the wheels turning and plenty of work for everybody?
THE WORKER: You bet.
THE ANNOUNCER: And everybody once more able to take his wage packet home at the end of the week, that’s not to be sneezed at either.
THE WORKER: No.
THE ANNOUNCER: Things weren’t always like that. Under that rotten old republic many a comrade had to plod his weary way to the public welfare and live on charity.
THE WORKER: 18 marks 50. No deductions.
THE ANNOUNCER with a forced laugh: Ha. Ha. A capital joke! Not much to deduct, was there?
THE WORKER: No. Nowadays they deduct more.
The gentleman from the office moves forward uneasily, as does the stocky man in SA uniform.
THE ANNOUNCER: So there we are, everybody’s once again got bread and work under National Socialism. You’re absolutely right, Mr – what did you say your name was? Not a single wheel is idle, not a single shaft needs to rust up in Adolf Hitler’s Germany. He roughly pushes the worker away from the microphone. In joyful cooperation the intellectual worker and the manual worker are tackling the reconstruction of our beloved German Fatherland. Heil Hitler!
14
The box
The coffins the SA carry
Are sealed up tight, to bury
Their victims’ raw remains.
Here’s one who wouldn’t give in
He fought for better living
That we might lose our chains.
Essen 1934. Working-class flat. A woman with two children. A young worker and his wife, who are calling on them. The woman is weeping. Steps can be heard on the staircase. The door is open.
THE WOMAN: He simply said they were paying starvation wages, that’s all. And it’s true. What’s more, our elder girl’s got lung trouble and we can’t afford milk. They couldn’t possibly have harmed him, could they?
The SA men bring in a big box and put it on the floor.
SA MAN: Don’t make a song and dance about it. Anybody can catch pneumonia. Here are the papers, all present and correct. And don’t you go doing anything silly, now.
The SA men leave.
A CHILD: Mum, is Dad in there?
THE WORKER who has gone over to the box: That’s zinc it’s made of.
THE CHILD: Please can we open it?
THE WORKER in a rage: You bet we can. Where’s your toolbox?
THE YOUNG WOMAN: Don’t you open it, Hans. It’ll only make them come for you.
THE WORKER: I want to see what they did to him. They’re frightened of people seeing that. That’s why they used zinc. Leave me alone!
THE YOUNG WOMAN: I’m not leaving you alone. Didn
’t you hear them?
THE WORKER: Don’t you think we ought to just have a look at him?
THE WOMAN taking her children by the hand and going up to the zinc box: There’s still my brother, they might come for him, Hans. And they might come for you too. The box can stay shut. We don’t need to see him. He won’t be forgotten.
15
Release
Questioned in torture cellars
These men were no tale-tellers.
They held out all through the night.
Let’s hope they didn’t go under
But their wives and friends must wonder
What took place at first light.
Berlin, 1936. Working-class kitchen. Sunday morning. Man and wife. Sound of military music in the distance.
THE MAN: He’ll be here any minute.
THE WIFE: None of you know anything against him, after all.
THE MAN: All we know is that they let him out of the concentration camp.
THE WIFE: So why don’t you trust him?
THE MAN: There’ve been too many cases. They put so much pressure on them in there.
THE WIFE: How’s he to convince you?
THE MAN: We’ll find out where he stands all right.
THE WIFE: Might take time.
THE MAN: Yes.
THE WIFE: And he might be a first-rate comrade.
THE MAN: He might.
THE WIFE: It must be dreadful for him when he sees everybody mistrusting him.
THE MAN: He knows it’s necessary.
THE WIFE: All the same.
THE MAN: I can hear something. Don’t go away while we’re talking.
There is a ring. The man opens the door, the released man enters.
THE MAN: Hullo, Max.
The released man silently shakes hands with the man and his wife.
THE WIFE: Would you like a cup of coffee with us? We’re just going to have some.
THE RELEASED MAN: If it’s not too much trouble.
Pause.
THE RELEASED MAN: You got a new cupboard.
Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 4 Page 22