by Hans Fallada
‘Allow me …’
‘Heinz, I’m going now.’
‘No, you allow me,’ broke in Erich. ‘Naturally I presuppose that the prosperous man really does know how the poor feel, that he himself has been poor, that is.’
‘And you think you know that?’
‘Please don’t forget, Bubi, that my father’s a simple cabby.’
‘Oh, you’ve got wise to that, have you? You see its use now, eh? What a swine you are, Erich! I can see you running around telling the workers your father is a cabman. Hadn’t I better give you Father’s address so the workers can convince themselves you’re not lying? Otherwise you hardly need his address. I now already know that you won’t be seeing Father in the next hundred years, unless, that is, you still need his War Loans.’
‘The two angry brothers, Henri and Erich! Now it’s your turn, Erich.’
‘Bubi, please! Dear Heinz.’
‘You’re showing off a good deal, my boy, but I don’t mind. Yes, my son. I admit it – I’m an out-and-out egoist. I learned my lesson in the war, in the trenches.’
‘Three days.’
‘Three weeks. Longer at any rate than you. And I say that a man who doesn’t think of himself is a fool, and deserves nothing better than a bullet through his head.’
‘You make me sick.’
‘You’ll change in time, my boy, and start thinking of yourself. I was an idealist myself once.’
‘When you took the money from Father’s desk, I suppose?’
‘Get out, will you? Get out of my house!’
Crimson with fury, they faced each other.
Irma pulled Bubi’s sleeve. ‘Please, Heinz, do come now.’
But Tinette sprang from her couch, ran to the brothers and, standing between them, put an arm round each unwilling neck. Both made some attempt to release themselves, but with no great vigour.
‘You silly boys! You’re not out of the Bible – your names aren’t Cain and Abel, are they? Make it up on the spot! I never heard such nonsense; no one quarrels about things like that. Men quarrel over a woman, and then they can even kill one another – but Henri doesn’t want to take your Tinette from you, Erich. He’s got a girlfriend of his own … Where is she, by the way? She’s run off at the wrong moment, just when you ought to kiss her, Henri. That’s just all ideas, rubbish! Erich, you’re nothing but a gigantic egoist, and Henri, you are a sinister idealist. What more is there? Nothing.’ And she looked, laughingly, at them both.
I must go, thought Heinz. Irma’s sure to be waiting outside. I can’t behave like this. But here was Tinette’s arm round his neck and even though everything she said was insincere – or could it be genuine? – her arm was round his neck!
‘And now we’ll drink a loving cup together and all go to bed. You’ll sleep in the spare room, of course, Henri, and tomorrow morning we’ll all have breakfast together. I’ll get up terribly early because of you, Henri. Your little friend’s very silly to have run away, but don’t you worry, I’ll make a woman out of her yet. Do bring her as often as you like, and you yourself must come even more often. We’ll always be pleased, won’t we, Erich? And we’ll see that he becomes a wonderful idealist and you become the great egoist, Erich.’
‘If you’d only give us our drinks!’ growled Erich. ‘I’m already such an egoist that even in your arms I have to think of that.’
§ XV
The man, the old man, the iron man had woken in the night.
Was it the grey that had woken him?
He sat up in bed, listening to the sounds of the house – the inhabitants of this crowded human hive slept through many different sounds. He didn’t want to hear these sounds. He’d just been sleeping himself. Now he wanted to avoid the sleep of others … Hadn’t the grey woken him?
Hadn’t it been the halter rattling? Hadn’t a hoof been pawing the stable floor, to attract the master’s attention? Hackendahl listened. Directly beneath him stood the grey in what had formerly been a joiner’s workshop, five stone steps above the small courtyard; the bench was there still, leaning on end against the wall, and whenever the grey flicked away the flies her tail would brush over it. But there were no flies in November, surely.
For a moment, Iron Gustav considered what had been agreed about his taking over the carpentry bench. Did it belong to him now, or the inheritors of Strunk, the dead master cabinetmaker? The courtyard children of this house in Wexstrasse, number so-and-so, these starving, snivelling little children used to sing a rude song about him.
But Hackendahl didn’t want to think about cabinetmaker Strunk. He wanted to think about his grey. The one which had woken him up. Already four weeks before they moved in, Strunk had hanged himself in this very flat, using the gas pipe on the little landing. He’d bent it over with a bootjack – you could see it was the same one. The same gas lamp, the same flat, the same workshop, the same tenement block, the same boss, the same going-bust, the same drinking, the same gas pipe …
Yes, I spend too much time on the drink. When I still had money, I didn’t go often, but now … !
Oh, it’s horrible how thoughts run into each other. The night’s there for sleeping, like mother does, not for thinking. If only the wretched grey hadn’t woken him. But now: one, two, three – and now you’ve got me!
The whole disaster began with the grey, with that race. Everything went wrong from that moment. And this wretched animal that lost him his best clients, was still there, rattling its chain, stamping its hoof, as if asking for something – but there was nothing it could ask for!
Who indeed could?
Otto? … Otto was dead. He left a widow with two children. He got his way, despite his father. No demands could come from him – rather the opposite!
Hadn’t the grey always got her feed, more of it and better, too, than she deserved? Then shut up! Give me a bit of peace, you damned brute.
And Eva? She’d been a good girl once, a pretty girl. But she couldn’t keep away from the men. Hadn’t he warned her? Didn’t I sit in her den myself and try and persuade her, without being nasty to the men? Away with you, girl! You can’t be any man’s daughter if you’re every father’s favourite. It’s not my fault! Off with you!
Erich? Erich was a smart lieutenant in corduroy velvet breeches that cost a hundred and fifty marks, but he hadn’t time to write to his parents. Well, nothing to be done there. Full stop.
And Sophie – Staff Sister and very busy. ‘In the field hospital we have a wounded man without parents or relations. You would be doing a real service if you sent this lonely soldier a parcel, together with a few kind words …’
Oh, you cold bitch! It’s never dawned on you that there are lonely parents without any kind words from their children. Well, Mother’s sure to have sent that parcel and the kind words as well – and that’s all you wanted, isn’t it? Go in peace! Notice to quit follows.
And Heinz – Bubi? Old Hackendahl had given up pretending that it was the grey that had awakened him. Oh no! The poor beast was only too glad to get some rest. No, he had woken because it was three in the morning and his dear son hadn’t yet come home. He had to admit that he’d recently thought more highly of Bubi. Bubi wasn’t clever like Erich, but wasn’t a failure like Otto. If someone talks about maths in the afternoon and is to be back at six – that is, lies, and lies to his own father – then a son like that isn’t a son at all. No, that put a finish to him too. Decency is decency, lies are lies – and iron is iron too.
Old Hackendahl sat for a bit longer in the dark. He thought neither of the grey, nor of Strunk. He made sure that all was right as rain. Yes, it all came out in the wash. They’d all got what they wanted – and this was the end! Today they put rubbish through his letter box – the Rote Fahne instead of the Berlin Lokal-Anzeiger. If you take the Lokal-Anzeiger, you don’t want to see the Rote Fahne. You don’t want chalk instead of cheese. For a while you let yourself be cheated – not that you didn’t know about it – but once you made up your mind it m
ust stop, it stopped. A man was a man – there was no need to be a father as well.
Suddenly he turned on the light and Frau Hackendahl started up. ‘What is it, Father?’
‘I’ll tell you, Mother. I was thinkin’ about the grey …’
‘Is Heinz home? I didn’t hear him come in.’
‘No, he isn’t. Tomorrow I’ll take the grey to the butcher’s. With horse meat the price it is I ought to get something for her, she looks a sight in front of the cab, and I don’t want to see any more of her, what with one thing and another.’
‘And when you sell her you can ask them to give you five pounds from the best part of the leg; they can manage that quite easily. A bit of meat for a change would do you and Heinz both good.’
‘You needn’t tell me what would do Heinz good. Not that I care much now, anyway. I’ll see about buying a bay or a chestnut – no more grey horses – I’ve been sick of ’em for a long time.’
‘That’s a good idea, Father. Driving will be a pleasure again.’
‘A pleasure? Well, p’r’aps. One’s not jus’ simply a father, one’s human also.’
‘What d’you mean by that, Father?’
‘Oh, never mind, we’ll talk about it later … And then I’ve thought of something else, Mother. I’ll go to Bayer, you know, the perfume shop chap who took the first mortgage on this house, an’ I’ll say to him: take the whole blasted lot as it stands. I don’t want nothin’ and you don’t want nothin’. Then that’ll be done with.’
‘I don’t know, Father. That leaves us with nothing at all.’
‘And what do we get out of the house now? Only worry about gettin’ in the rents and payin’ the interest. No, I want to live without worry for a time.’
‘Well, you do as you think best, Father. I never interfere with your money matters, you know that … And we still have our War Loans.’
‘No, Mother, that’s jus’ what I want to say to Bayer as well – he c’n have what’s left of the War Loans after I’ve bought my horse, in return for letting us both – the horse as well, that’s understood – live here rent-free for life … then I’ll be rid of that worry, too.’
‘But we shan’t have anything left except the little you earn with the cab.’
‘Yes, we won’t have anything left, an’ that’s what I want.’
Very perturbed, the old woman sat up in bed, glanced at her husband and said: ‘Well, you must do as you like, Father. But you realize that Heinz hasn’t yet taken his examination and there’s a long time to go after that. It can’t be done on the few coppers the cab brings in. And Erich will be coming home soon, without a job, and we can’t say what will happen about Sophie either.’
‘No, we can’t, Mother, you’re right there. We can’t say what’s happening to our children.’
There was a long silence, on her part anxious, on his almost defiant. Then he began to speak again. ‘Mother, have you seen that rubbish newspaper they’ve stuck through the door?’
‘Is that why you’re so angry, Father?’
‘I’m not angry, Mother. Have you read that our Kaiser, who we swore allegiance to, has scarpered to Holland? Just imagine, his soldiers fought four years for him and his people starved for as long, and now – when things go wrong – off he goes! Wilhelm the Runaway – that’s what they call him. Pullman Wilhelm!’
‘So, Father? So? Do you want to leave everything – your children, your money – like Wilhelm?’
‘No, Mother. Quieten down! I’m not going to do a bunk yet!’ His big hand reached over into the other bed and comfortingly held hers. ‘I’m an iron man, you know that. I’ll stay with my cab. But, Mother, I don’t want to hurt you, but I think it’s our children who’ve done a bunk from us. To think of parents only when you want somethin’ – no, that’s not good enough. I’m tired of it.’
‘But, Father, it’s always been like that. When the young birds are fledged they leave the nest and don’t worry about their parents. You can’t expect anything different, can you, Father?’
‘You can’t compare human beings with animals, you know that. I was taught that a child should love, respect an’ admire its parents. I dunno, Mother, I s’pose it’s my fault, but not one of my children loves me.’
‘Don’t say that, Father. Heinz …’
‘There you are, Mother! Only one of your five occurs to you and he won’t grow up any different … No, it’s nothing to do with parents or children, and not the soldiers either. They did their duty – and their chief of staff just scarpered. It’s the times we’re living in. And if it is that, there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ve just got to look after ourselves, that’s all. I’d like to have a bit of fun again, have a proper horse in front an’ go through the Tiergarten now and again with a good fare and see the crocuses comin’ up, yeller ’n’ blue ’n’ white. And not keep on having to think: today you’ve got to give Erich a talking-to. And Heinz ain’t come home at the right time either.’
‘Oh, is it because Heinz isn’t home?’
‘How can it be, Mother? I’ve explained it all once. First it’s one thing, then another, an’ now it’s too much. No good crying over spilt milk. Tell me, where d’you keep the odds and ends?’
‘The odds and ends? What d’you mean, Father?’
‘Why, the children’s, of course.’
‘The children’s? Oh, they’re in the linen press, at the bottom. But, Father …’
She fell silent and, with anxiety in her eyes, watched the old man get out of bed and go to the press, which he started to empty of everything that had accumulated from the children – their school reports, copybooks, textbooks; a cap of Erich’s; the earliest baby shoes belonging to the first child, Sophie; a half-used paintbox, some photographs of classes at school. Not until her husband opened the stove door and began to cram in all the paper and other things did she speak and say softly: ‘Oh, Father.’
He looked at her from under his bushy brows with his big round eyes and said, ‘Don’t you fret, Mother – that’s how things are.’ And he set fire to the heap of paper, made sure that it had caught and then closed the stove.
Getting back into bed, he took her hand. ‘I’d like you,’ he said, ‘to call me Gustav again. As names go, it’s a decent sort of name and in future I want to live as Gustav. I’ve made a proper mess of being Father.’
‘Oh, Father.’
‘Gustav!’
‘I meant Gustav …’
‘And I don’t mind telling you, what with going to the pub and my risky life – driving or not driving, just as it takes me, Mother that must stop. For a start, because we can’t afford it, because we’re now poor folk again. And anyway, it’s no fun any more either. No, we two oldies on our own, we want to live a bit of the sweet life, like we did when we started out. Even better, because now we know there’ll be no more children to walk all over us.’
‘Oh, Father, why did you take it so badly that Heinz didn’t come home tonight?’
‘For a start, I’m not “Father” but Gustav. But I’ll have to tell you that a thousand times during the coming weeks. And I’ll do it. I’m like iron in such things. And what do you mean by “taking it so badly”? If the grey doesn’t pull any more, then off she goes to the knacker man, and when a child no longer wants to be a child, he’ll have to stay away. I’m like iron about that too.’
‘Oh, Father …’
‘It’s Gustav now.’
FIVE
Tinette
§ I
At any other time Heinz would have been astonished at his father’s saying nothing whatever about his absence all night or his irregular mode of life, but stranger and more important happenings than this were nowadays ignored by Heinz Hackendahl, living in an enchanted world of his own. There was still fighting going on in Berlin (although the Independent Socialists and the governing Social Democrats had united and even formed a government with ministers and state secretaries), and looting in the city and the suburbs; iron shutters out
side the shops offered little protection against the latest method of house-breaking with hand grenades.
Heinz saw it all on his various routes into town. And he heard and read about the dispute with regard to the calling of a National Assembly – the Workers’ Councils were mostly against it while the Soldiers’ Councils on the whole were in favour. And suddenly all the old parties were there – the Democrats, the National Liberals, the Centre and the Conservatives – telling all their supporters to back the new government, which then lifted the state of siege, ended press censorship, amnestied all political crimes, promised freedom of religion and opinion and introduced the eight-hour day. It went on to commit itself to fighting the housing shortage and even to support the unemployed, and promised the protection of property and person, and guaranteed sufficient food for the people.
Murder, theft and want were widespread and the food queues lengthened day by day – Heinz could not be unaware of all this but he was bewitched and the things that would have interested him passionately a week ago were hardly noticed now. So that when his father asked: ‘When are you takin’ your exam?’ he barely looked up.
‘I don’t know, Father – probably at Easter.’ The truth was that he had quite simply stopped going to school.
‘Then do something about it – find out. I’m prepared to support you till Easter – after that, no.’
A little more attentive now, Heinz looked at his father. ‘Then it’s all off with the university?’
The old man flushed. When he spoke it was not at all domineeringly. ‘I bought the black horse with the last of my money. You seen him?’ Heinz nodded.
‘Fine little pony,’ said the old man with more warmth, ‘cheers me up. An’ with what I still had left I’ve rid your mother and me of rent for the rest of our lives an’ got rid of the house too – all gone!’