Iron Gustav

by Hans Fallada

  ‘No, no,’ she exclaimed, herself terrified by her wish. ‘Of course not. Not at that price!’

  § XVIII

  As on any other evening, Iron Gustav had stood in his yard settling up with the returning day cabs and dispatching those for the night. Perhaps he had been more taciturn than usual, but nobody paid much attention to that in the general excitement. For the drivers were very excited this evening.

  Some said: ‘There’ll be war,’ and others: ‘Nonsense. The Kaiser has left Kiel – he’d return to Berlin immediately in case of war.’

  ‘But the Kiel Regatta has been cancelled.’

  ‘Because the Kaiser is in mourning, not because of war. The Archduke was related to him.’

  ‘The Lokalanzeiger says …’

  ‘You with your silly Scandal Advertiser! Vorwärts says we have 110 Social Democrats in the Reichstag and they’re in agreement with the proletariat of the world not to go to war.’

  ‘Silence!’ ordered Hackendahl.

  ‘We won’t vote a penny for a capitalist war …’

  ‘Quiet!’ commanded Hackendahl again. ‘I won’t have such nonsense in my yard.’

  But the men continued to whisper behind his back, which did not bother him for once though it would have annoyed him at other times. Even the day’s takings, unusually large – again because there was much afoot in Berlin – did not please him. People were restless; they couldn’t remain indoors but hurried into the streets, driving from the Reichstag to the Schloss, from the Schloss to the War Ministry, from the War Ministry to the newspaper offices, wanting to hear and see whatever there was. But the Schloss lay in darkness – the yacht with the Kaiser on board was sailing towards Nordkap – and only when the guard was mounted, to the sound of drum and fife, were people able to cheer.

  Old Hackendahl wouldn’t have any of this kind of gossip in his yard. He went on cashing up. The day’s takings were plentiful, but one thing annoyed him, and something else displeased him, and war talk interested the old soldier not one bit! He was thinking: my Erich has gone just when I was going to fetch him out of the cellar and tell him he could attend school and that everything was all right.

  Silence reigned in the yard. The day drivers had gone home and the night drivers had gone to work. Hackendahl looked up at his house. Outside it was still a little dark, but in their bedroom the light was already on. Mother must already be going to bed. He could go to bed too, but he turned round and went into the stable.

  Rabause was handing out the second feed and looked at his chief warily, clearing his throat as if to speak but not doing so. A little further away Otto was rubbing a horse down with a handful of straw; the cabby, so as to catch a train and earn a good tip, had driven it too hard. Hackendahl looked on. ‘The belly, Otto, don’t forget the belly,’ he called out.

  Otto glanced dejectedly at his father and then did as he was told. The vigorous rubbing tickled the animal and it snorted, beginning to dance about.

  ‘Harder!’ called the father. ‘It’s a horse, not a girl.’ He spoke in the old sergeant-major manner, and almost automatically. Once again Otto lifted a red, swollen eye, where his father had lashed out at him on learning that he had freed Erich, thus giving him no time to repeat the sentence Tutti had taught him.

  Hackendahl looked at his son almost with hatred. Had it not been for this fool’s precipitate action he would have liberated Erich himself, and everything would have been all right. As it was, the one occasion on which the fool thought of acting on his own initiative had been sufficient to spoil everything.

  The father looked at his oldest son with scorn and hate. ‘Lift up the leg!’ he shouted. ‘Can’t you see that you’re hurting the poor beast?’

  Otto lifted up the leg, placed it over his knee and went on rubbing. ‘You’re on stable duty tonight,’ added Hackendahl. ‘I don’t want to have you sleeping in my house.’

  Otto did not interrupt his work.

  ‘You’re to do stable duty,’ shouted Hackendahl. ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ said the son in the loud, clear voice he had been trained to use.

  He wondered if he should say anything more, to make clear how much he despised him. But he decided not to. The lad was far too soft and obedient, always said ‘Yes, Father’, and was without resistance. He didn’t even raise his arm when being hit in the face – a milksop you can do anything you like with. He won’t change.

  Hackendahl turned round and left the stable. When he passed old Rabause, still carrying his feeding bucket, he told him kindly, ‘When you’ve finished feeding you can go home and sleep. You’ve got today off, Rabause.’

  Rabause looked at him sideways. This time he dared to open his mouth. ‘I slept during the day, sir,’ he croaked. ‘I don’t need sleep during the night – but Otto does.’

  Hackendahl flashed his eyes angrily at this rebel. He didn’t want his son defended. He should defend himself if he’s unjustly treated. But he isn’t unjustly treated.

  ‘By the way, I helped to break open the locks on the cellar doors, sir,’ said Rabause. ‘I agreed that it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘Did you indeed?’ asked Hackendahl slowly. ‘So … and now, you old lush, you think I’ll hit you in the face, like I did Otto? You’d like that, wouldn’t you – so that you can feel big and insulted, eh? But I’m not going to do you that favour. You’re just a creep, just like your dear Otto. Both just creeps. You make me sick!’

  He looked at the old man, almost shaking with anger. ‘I want you out of the stable by ten. Do your sleeping at home. Understand?’ he shouted. ‘That one … that one’ – and he pointed backwards – ‘he’s got to wake up.’

  And with a bang the stable door closed behind him.

  § XIX

  Night came and the roar of the town died down, but there was no peace in Hackendahl’s mind. It seemed that it was not even his own initiative that had made Otto free Erich. That bastard, that drunken sot Rabause showed him how and he simply followed him, just as he’s been following his whole life long. And someone like that stayed at home while the intelligent and beloved son ran away and was even now wandering about deprived of any means of support and exposed to all the perils of a large city. What would become of him? Would he end up as a Hamburg cabin boy, a Foreign Legionary, a suicide in the Landwehr Canal? At the best he saw his favourite son on a bench in the Tiergarten, constantly moved on by policemen, since one was not allowed to sleep in the open. The prodigal son and the swine – his situation was poignantly described in the New Testament but not a word was said about the father’s feelings during his absence.

  Hackendahl turned round, went quickly upstairs, crossed the landing and went into the bedroom. ‘Where’s Erich?’

  His wife started. ‘What’s the matter with you, Father? You frightened me.’

  ‘Where’s Erich? That’s what I want to know.’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t even say goodbye to me before he went …’ She stopped, fearing she had given herself away, but he took no notice.

  ‘That’s not true,’ he said gruffly. ‘You do know where he is.’

  ‘I don’t. I’m worrying about him too. Otto looked for him but he’d gone by then.’

  ‘That’s not true. Erich wouldn’t run away like that. Did you give him any money?’

  ‘Not a penny,’ she moaned. ‘I have no money, you know that quite well, Father.’

  By now he was convinced she was lying. They had hidden Erich somewhere. He knew Erich – Erich wouldn’t run away without money. ‘I’ll find out. You wait!’ he threatened and marched off.

  It was dark in the girls’ bedroom. Eva had gone to bed. In the last of the daylight she had been playing with her jewels, trying on the rings, pinning the brooches on her nightdress. Oh, they were so beautiful! When she had come home at noon and learned that the hiding place in the lamp had been looted (she had regarded it as an utter secret, and now they all knew about it), she could have burst with fury and
had even thought of going to the police and charging her brother.

  But now she had these jewels and dared have nothing whatever to do with the police. Trembling, she had read in the newspaper a description of the theft. The authorities were of course convinced that the young man and the girl were accomplices, working together very cleverly. And the shopping bag had been found …

  No, anything for peace and quiet! Only that morning she had desired her share of the beautiful things of life and now she possessed a good deal already. She heard her father’s footsteps in the corridor, his voice scolding and her mother’s whining. She hid her jewellery quickly in a little bag, which hung from a thin but strong string between her breasts. She then turned to the wall and pretended to sleep.

  Hackendahl was standing in the doorway, listening – it was an old habit of his to listen like this to his children in bed; he knew every sound and could tell at once if they were shamming sleep …

  ‘Eva,’ he called, ‘you’re not asleep! Where’s Erich?’

  ‘I don’t know, Father.’

  ‘You do. Tell me at once where he is.’ Then, almost pleading: ‘Be sensible, Evchen. I’m not going to do anything to him. I just want to know where he is.’

  ‘I don’t know, Father, I was shopping when it all happened. You can be sure I’d tell you if I knew. I wouldn’t have let Erich out.’

  Yes, his daughter held the same opinion as he did – Erich ought not to have left home. But, oddly enough, the way she expressed this did not please him. ‘I don’t want to know what you think about it. Keep a sharp lookout and let me know at once if Erich calls or sends a message.’

  ‘Certainly, Father.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘Of course, Father.’

  ‘Good!’

  Hackendahl had turned to go when it dawned on him that the second bed was empty. ‘Is Sophie on night duty again?’

  ‘Sophie? Didn’t Mother tell you that Sophie has gone too?’

  ‘Gone? What d’you mean?’

  ‘Gone to her nuns. This afternoon she’s moved into the hospital for good, bag and baggage. We’re not pious enough for her, so it seems. We’re always quarrelling, she says.’

  ‘Indeed!’ was her father’s sole comment. ‘Well, goodnight, Evchen.’

  For a long while he stood in the passage. Blow upon blow, worse and worse; two of the children lost in one day! And Sophie hadn’t said goodbye either. What had he done that they should treat him like this? Certainly he had been strict, but a father had to be strict. Perhaps he hadn’t been strict enough. Now he saw how spineless they were, how they took to their heels when things became difficult. They should have been soldiers! Gritted their teeth, without batting an eyelid, and hung on.

  He stood there a long time, resentful and accusing, his thoughts flitting to and fro. Nevertheless he did not soften or give way. His children had dealt him heavy blows, but he did not complain of the blows, only that a man’s children should become his enemies. He did not give way. He continued his evening round and went into the boys’ bedroom with a firm step. Of the three beds two were unoccupied.

  ‘Good evening, Father,’ said Heinz.

  ‘Good evening, Bubi. Aren’t you asleep yet? It’s been bedtime for a long while now.’

  ‘I’ll be going to sleep, Father. You’re still up and about and you rise three hours earlier than I do.’

  ‘An old man needs very little sleep, Bubi.’

  ‘You’re not old, Father!’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’

  Hackendahl crossed the dark room and sat on the boy’s bed. ‘Have you any idea, Bubi, where Erich is?’ he asked, as if he were a friend and not his father.

  ‘Not the slightest, Father. You’re not worrying?’

  ‘Well – the others don’t seem to know where he is either.’

  ‘Don’t they? I’ll keep my ears open then. Perhaps one of his pals at school may know something.’

  ‘Will you do that, Bubi?’

  ‘Certainly, Father.’

  ‘And you could go to the headmaster. I’d promised him I’d send Erich to school again tomorrow. That can’t happen now. You must explain …’

  ‘Oh, Father!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’d rather not go to the beak tomorrow …’

  ‘Why ever not? Anyway, you shouldn’t call him that.’

  ‘Oh, he might be angry with me. Me and a classmate had a bit of a fight today. The teacher put us on report and said he’d tell the beak – the head.’

  ‘So why were you fighting?’

  ‘Oh, only because he had a silly look on his face, asking for it.’

  ‘And did he get it?’

  ‘And how, Father. In spades! He ended up gasping for air and shouting pax.’

  ‘What’s pax mean?’

  ‘It means peace. It’s what you shout when you’re at the end of your tether.’

  ‘So, Bubi, it will be quite all right to go to the head and tell him what I asked. As a matter of fact, he and I saw your fight from the window.’

  ‘OK then. I was just scared that to get bad marks for behaviour would be miserable.’

  For a moment there was silence. Hackendahl had been restored to tranquillity. ‘Well, all right, don’t forget. Sleep well.’

  ‘Sleep well too, Father, and don’t worry about Erich. He’s cleverer than you and me put together. Erich will always come out on top.’

  ‘Goodnight, Bubi.’

  ‘Goodnight, Father.’

  TWO

  War Breaks Out

  § I

  31 JULY 1914.

  Since early morning the crowds now occupying much of the Lustgarten had been gathering before the Schloss, on which flew the yellow Imperial standard, symbol of the presence of the all-highest War Lord. Unceasingly the people came and went, an ebb and flow of thousands who waited for an hour or two before departing to daily tasks half-heartedly dispatched, for everybody was oppressed by the question: would there be war?

  Three days had passed since the allied State of Austria had declared war on the Serbs. What would happen now? Would the world intervene? What importance, after all, had a war in the Balkans, a vast empire against a small nation? Yet it was said that Russia was mobilizing, that the French were bestirring themselves and – what would England do?

  The weather was oppressive, and grew closer; the crowds buzzed and could not keep still. The Kaiser was said to have spoken that morning from the Schloss – but Germany was still at peace with the world. There was a ferment in the people; a month of uncertainty had come and gone in obscure negotiations, threats and assurances of peace – nerves were on edge with suspense. Any decision seemed better than this terrible uncertainty.

  Vendors of sausages, newspapers and ice cream pushed through the crowd, but they sold nothing, for the people were in no mood to eat nor were they interested in news which must have long since been overtaken by events. They wanted a decision. Incoherent and excited, everyone had something special to relate. And then, in the middle of their talk, they would fall silent, forgetting everything else as they stared up at the balcony where the Kaiser was said to have made his speech this morning. They were trying to see through the windows but the glass was dazzling in the sunshine, and nothing was visible but pale yellow curtains.

  What was going on inside? What decision affecting everyone waiting there, every man, woman and child, was being taken in that palace twilight? Forty years of peace in the land; people could not imagine what war meant … Yet they felt that a word from the silent building could change their whole lives, change everything. And they were waiting for that word. They dreaded it and yet dreaded still more lest it should not be forthcoming, and the many weeks of suspense should prove to have been endured in vain.

  Suddenly the crowd became as still as if it were holding its breath … Nothing had happened – nothing yet – but the clocks in the steeples were
striking from far and near, quickly, slowly, deep-toned, high. It was five o’clock.

  Nothing had happened yet; the crowd was waiting breathlessly …

  Then the great gate opened, opened slowly, very slowly, and out came … a policeman, a Berlin policeman in blue uniform and spiked helmet.

  They stared …

  Climbing up on a balustrade, he made a signal for silence.

  They were already silent …

  The policeman removed his helmet, held it before his chest. Breathlessly they followed every movement, though he was no more than an ordinary policeman, the kind to be seen any day in any of the Berlin streets … And yet he made an indelible impression. They were to see monstrous and terrible things during the coming years, but they would never forget that Berlin policeman who had taken off his helmet and was holding it in front of him.

  The man on the balustrade opened his mouth; every eye was fixed on those lips. What would come forth? Life or Death, War or Peace?

  The policeman spoke. ‘By order of His Majesty the Kaiser I announce that a state of mobilization has been proclaimed.’

  Closing his mouth, he gazed over the countless heads; with the jerky movements of a puppet, he put on his helmet.

  For a moment the crowd was silent; then a voice here and there started to sing, and hundreds – thousands – of voices joined in:

  Now praise we all our God

  With hearts and hands and voices …

  In jerks, like a puppet, the policeman took off his helmet again.

  § II

  Along Unter den Linden motor cars tore along with officers standing up in them waving flags. Through their cupped hands they were shouting: ‘Called up! Called up!’

  People were laughing and cheering and throwing flowers; girls had pulled off their large straw hats to swing them round by the ribbons, and were shouting, enraptured: ‘War! War!’

  It was the officers’ hour – for forty long years there had been nothing but parades and drills, till men had become heartily sick of life; people had hardly turned to look back at them, they had become so ordinary. Now everyone was cheering them, with shining eyes; they were going to fight and perhaps die for the freedom and peace of everyone.