by Hans Fallada
‘Looked at from one point of view,’ whispered another, obviously referring to Erich’s friend the lawyer, ‘it’s a bit odd for a member of the Reichstag to be found, on a day of mourning …’
‘Of course! After all, we’re private individuals …’
‘Friends in need,’ smiled the lawyer. ‘All the same I should find it embarrassing to have to show my identity card to those uniformed gentlemen. Despite all the trouble we have taken, the police are still deeply reactionary … I could easily pop up in tomorrow’s local newspaper.’
‘I could kick myself,’ said Erich. ‘I’ve been a fool. I can’t understand myself.’
‘There are only three of them,’ mused the lawyer. ‘One to guard the door, another the lavatory, and one to examine cards and take the names. That can’t be done quickly. Our turn will be at the end, so we have a chance.’
Erich thought about all that he’d said, but could no longer remember. Had he had a business disagreement with Bronte in front of the whole bar? Did I … ? he wanted to ask the lawyer. But he wasn’t taking any notice of him.
‘One could but try,’ he murmured. ‘Listen, Erich, can you perhaps remember if there is anything in your coat or on your hat – letters, tailor’s label – which would clearly identify you?’
‘No, I don’t think there is.’
‘In that case we could try to get away, by sacrificing coats and hats.’
‘There’s nothing in mine but the tailor’s label. I could drop him a hint tomorrow morning …’
‘All right, let’s try it. Now look at the bar, and tell me exactly what the police are doing.’
‘Bronte is talking to the man at the entrance, and the one by the cloakroom’s got hold of a drunk.’
‘Splendid – splendid,’ said the lawyer’s soft, even voice. A key grated in its lock. ‘Our table is right next to the door leading into the street. At ten o’clock the landlord simply turned the key and I’ve just unlocked it again. Please describe the position now. Pretend you’re chatting.’
‘There’ll be a shutter in front of the door,’ declared Erich. ‘Everybody’s occupied with their own troubles, they’re paying no attention to us.’
‘That’s one of the possible snags,’ admitted the lawyer, to all appearances sitting at ease while actually fiddling with something at the door behind Erich’s back. A draught blew against their feet. ‘The second possibility is that they’ve posted a man at the door. The third is we may be stopped in the street because we’re without hats and coats on a cold night. The fourth is that Bronte or one of the others will give us away. But no, that’s not likely; all they’ll get is a fine and nobody wants to be on bad terms with a Reichstag member.’
‘The first obstacle,’ burst out Erich, ‘doesn’t exist. There’s no shutter before the door. As for the second, I don’t think we need worry much there – a man on guard would have seen the light once the door was ajar.’
‘He could be facing the street! Well, let’s try our luck. Remember the cellar stairs, six or seven steps. And if we get separated, Erich, don’t worry about me. Everybody for himself and the devil take the hindmost.’
They sat waiting for a favourable moment. Once Erich reached out for his glass but his friend put his hand over it, saying: ‘Better not.’ Then a little later he added: ‘Now, Erich, I think! You go first.’ And, quite unflurried, he opened the door.
Erich sprang into the darkness and up the cellar steps. The street was full of people; one or two faces turned towards him, but he saw no policeman. Slowly the lawyer followed and took his arm. ‘They won’t be after us for a bit,’ he said. ‘I locked the door on the outside. And now we must quickly get a taxi. Our unseasonable attire is creating a sensation.’
§ VI
When they sat in the taxi, they both broke into roars of laughter. They felt like schoolboys who had just taken their teachers for a complete ride.
‘No, no!’ shouted the lawyer eventually. ‘When we’re back in control, I must have a serious word with Severing over the measures his police are taking. To forget where police are supposed to go on the street! Now I understand why our hostile brothers, the Communists, are always cursing the police!’
Eric laughed, for a different reason. ‘And to think,’ said Erich gleefully, ‘that I didn’t pay for the champagne! They forgot all about the bill in the excitement. Twenty or thirty bottles, too. God knows how many. And the coffee.’ He could not get over it, so pleased he was at the unexpected bilking.
‘Drinking coffee reminds me,’ said the lawyer. ‘I think we should go to my place and have a drink and a chat in comfort. I have anyway got more to discuss with you.’
‘Nothing will come of that, Herr Doctor,’ said Erich. ‘I’m not in the mood for either coffee or a discussion. I want to go out, and quick! Nothing will stop me.’
‘But I really don’t want to repeat …’ began the lawyer.
‘Oh, don’t talk a lot of nonsense,’ interrupted Erich. ‘You’ll see how much fun we will still have’ – and he began to laugh again. Having survived the two recent lots of danger so happily, he was overcome by a noisy, self-righteous euphoria. He was sure he was born under a lucky star, which would apply to all situations.
Meanwhile, the lawyer had conferred with the chauffeur and said, ‘All right, Erich, if you absolutely must …’
‘Of course I must,’ shouted Erich. ‘No sleep for me tonight! Definitely not now!’
‘All right,’ conceded the lawyer. ‘The chauffeur reckons there are plenty of bars still open in the old West End. The bar owners there have particularly good relations with the police, you understand,’ and he pretended to pay out money. Then he sighed, cheered up and resigned himself: ‘We’ve got the right conditions here, my boy – just the right conditions …’
‘In fact,’ said Erich, laughing, ‘such conditions suit you very well, Herr Doctor. In fact, you have a horror of making sacrifices, and find your present life quite pleasant!’
‘You’re not far off the mark,’ admitted the lawyer with a contented sigh. ‘Now, come up to my place, Erich, and we’ll see if we can find something suitable.’
Together they went into the lawyer’s flat, and Erich tried on coats and hats amidst much unwarranted laughter.
But not only coats were tried on for size – schnapps as well. And it must have been the schnapps that caused Erich to be somewhat unusually dressed as he descended the steps again with the lawyer. He wore a short but far too big fur-lined leather coat belonging to his friend, with a stiff black hat, which – because it was also much too big – he set right at the back of his head.
They then drove through the night streets, from the bright inner city out to the darker districts. It was already after twelve. The streets had emptied. The bars were dark. Only occasionally did the sound of music reach them – the beat of jazz. Behind closed shutters, Berlin danced and drank itself towards the abyss, nearer and nearer the ultimate hangover …
‘Let’s hope the chauffeur knows a good bar,’ murmured Erich.
‘If he doesn’t, I do,’ answered the lawyer. And once again they were silent, smoked, and neither of them could wait to see the faces of new girls across a table, or to have new drinks poured for them.
The taxi stopped outside a bar whose landlord must have had very good relations with the police, because all its windows were brightly lit, music sounded across the street, and when Erich put his hand on the door handle it was not locked.
‘This one’s fine,’ he cried happily.
Bowler on the back of his head and coat wide open, he made his entry. Carefully, his head a little withdrawn (for who knew whom one might find in such a place?), the lawyer followed as quietly as he could.
The bar was quite full, very smoky and stank of drink. Confetti was strewn and coloured paper chains hung everywhere. It covered the carpet and made a rustling noise when trodden on.
‘Nice, isn’t it?’ Erich, pausing, asked the lawyer.
A gi
rl danced in the narrow space between the tables. She had a nice hairstyle and was very well made-up – and was completely naked. She danced to the sound of a violin – played with schmaltzy sentimentality by a gypsy violinist – with much lascivious bowing and scraping, and a falsely melancholic smile.
‘Lovely body, hasn’t she?’ asked Erich. ‘Still really young …’
He put his hand on the lawyer’s shoulder and leaned against him, staring, just like the others, staring at what he’d seen a hundred times, that can be bought on every street corner – something thrown away in hopeless, rank indifference and disgust. As he did this, he thought: my God, four years ago, when I made little what’s-her-name dance naked for me in Dahlem, I sent all the staff out of the house because I had no idea what I was doing! And now it happens in a public bar, and everyone accepts it as natural. We’ve come a long way. But it’s not my business: I’m not a member of the Reichstag.
He looked at the lawyer.
But he didn’t take any notice of Erich. He was doing business with the flower seller, buying for an enormous sum a whole basket of sweet violets and throwing the blooms at the naked dancing girl. She felt flattered and smiled, but also looked worried because the lawyer wasn’t a very accurate thrower, and the dance the girl had painfully learned from her handler and impresario was interrupted when violets hit her in the face.
‘Let me have a go,’ said Erich and put his hand in the basket. ‘I can throw better.’
‘They’re my violets!’ the lawyer shouted, unusually angry. ‘Get your paws out!’
Eventually, at the insistence of Erich and a good deal of money as a present, the pretty young girl was brought to the gentlemen’s table. In private she was wrapped in a kimono (the strict landlord only allowed her to go naked when on duty).
This beauty, however, proved to be something of a disappointment. She too openly showed her lack of interest in her two chivalrous escorts, in favour of her lust for cash.
‘Why do you idiots think I dance naked for you? For your sake? You make me laugh! I’ve got five little brothers and sisters at home.’
‘And your mother’s sick, and your poor but dishonourable father died on the field of honour …’ mocked Erich, furious. ‘We know all that stuff! Can’t you tell us a different story, sweetie?’
‘But it’s all true. You think it can’t be true, because the tarts have told it before. But it is true.’
‘And don’t forget the lieutenant who seduced you and wanted to marry you, but who was killed in action before the wedding.’
‘Leave it alone, Erich,’ said the lawyer, now angry himself. ‘Don’t be so aggressive. You’re drinking too fast again.’
The girl looked quickly from one to the other with sharp eyes.
‘I don’t like to be cheated and taken for a ride!’ shouted Erich. ‘And when I even hear anything about five hungry brothers and sisters …’
‘But there are hungry children,’ said the lawyer, calming things down. ‘Quite a number, in fact. I know because I’ve had to read statistics about it recently.’
‘Fatty,’ said the girl to the lawyer and snuggled up to him. ‘Tell me honestly – am I a very bad dancer?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because I want to. All the men never tell the truth because I’m naked. And Krukow, there, who learned me the dance …’
‘Taught me, taught me, sweetie!’
‘That’s what I said, stupid! He said I dance like a tipsy cow.’
‘Well, my child,’ pronounced the lawyer, ‘if you really want to know: you have a pretty figure and are young and naked. If you wore a dress, no man would turn a head to watch you dance.’
‘Well, there you are,’ cried the girl, very satisfied. ‘That’s what I always thought! There are people here who want to persuade me to become a dancer, and say that I should learn to be one, at their expense, as friends, of course. But I always thought: don’t be a fool – they just want you to learn to go on the game, and nothing more. No, I’d rather jump around in my birthday suit, and as soon as I can earn decent money, simply work in a shop. I once worked for a butcher. Then I can marry a decent man, and give up this sort of life.’
‘God damn …’ began Erich, but thankfully never got as far as expressing what he felt about what he was getting for his money.
The bar was very keen on its naked ladies. The men, already the worse for wear from much drinking, wanted a bit of spice to liven them up. And the ladies didn’t deny it them, because men with a bit of life in them are better spenders than sleepyheads. It all went quickly. The dancers had no more difficulty with their costumes, and the violinist had enough schmaltz.
‘Isn’t it strange?’ said Erich half grudgingly. ‘Although I know what a boring bit of fluff she is, as soon as she jumps around naked in front of everyone in the full glare of the lights, I find her really quite nice.’
‘It’s always been the same,’ said the lawyer, yawning. ‘What others find pretty, we find pretty too. And what others want, we want too. By the way, Erich, the whole evening I’ve wanted to ask if the name Eugen Bast signifies anything to you.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Erich uncertainly. ‘But of course I do business with so many people …’ A little anxiety crept into his voice. ‘Is it someone I’m connected with who’s got into a mess?’
‘He’s in a mess all right. And he’d like me to act in his defence. And he’s connected with you.’
‘Well, hurry up and tell me,’ said Erich irritably. ‘Eugen Bast? Not the faintest idea! Or was he the man from Italy with the silk? No, he was called Becker. By the way, I’m counting on you taking up my defence if anything should go wrong.’
‘Erich, Erich! And you’ve always sworn that your deals are above board. When I made your acquaintance in 1914 I expected you to become something better than a speculator, you know.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ cried Erich, furious. ‘You thought I would be taken in by your idiotic social democracy. Idiotic! Today you’re as much of a Social Democrat as … as …’
‘Let’s say – as Kaiser Wilhelm,’ said the lawyer. ‘He also always had such a hopeless and unrequited love for the Social Democrats. Well, don’t let’s talk about it. We’ve both, alas, turned out different from what we thought. Everything seems easy when you’re in opposition, but as soon as you’re—’
‘I want to know who Eugen Bast is.’
‘Eugen Bast is a young man who has been in prison three or four times; at present he’s on remand charged with robbery, housebreaking, blackmail, living on immoral earnings and a few other trifles.’
‘Out of the question,’ said Erich, relieved. ‘I’ve certainly had nothing to do with the man. I earn my money less stupidly.’
‘What’s more, Eugen Bast is blind – which seems to be the only extenuating circumstance, otherwise he’s a thorough rascal.’
‘Blind! And the man mentioned me?’
‘He was shot and blinded – by your sister.’
‘Eva! I always knew she would still make difficulties for us all.’
‘Eva, that’s right. Eva Hackendahl. She’s his mistress. She seems to have shot him in a fit of jealousy.’
‘Damn and blast,’ growled Erich furiously. ‘I won’t let myself be dragged into it. What do I care about Eva? I haven’t seen her for years. I refuse to give evidence. I must say,’ he said bitterly, ‘you’ve got some fine clients.’
‘Well, we all do our best, my dear Erich,’ smiled the lawyer. ‘Incidentally, you’ve only just asked me to conduct your defence.’
‘Do me a favour, Herr Doctor. Decline this fellow’s defence.’
The other shook his head. ‘That would be unwise, Erich. The man has money, or his friends have, which amounts to the same thing, and he’d simply go to another lawyer. It’s better to keep it in our own hands.’
‘I want nothing to do with it.’
‘You’ll certainly be drawn in if it goes to another lawyer. This Bast
has made your sister tell him all sorts of things. He knows, for instance, that you earn a good deal and he maintains you stole some money once. Excuse me, Erich, control yourself. I’m only repeating what Herr Bast has concocted. If stealing runs in the family, as he claims, then it’s clear he didn’t incite your sister to steal, isn’t it? She might have led him astray.’
‘I’ll go abroad,’ said Erich. ‘I can live abroad for a time quite well. If you’ll give me a hint now and then I can speculate in London on the fall of the mark … No, in Brussels! That’s the place. I know Brussels. Brussels is the very spot for me. I’ll give you a share of course.’
‘Very kind, Erich. But how much a German parliamentarian can speculate on the reduction of the mark has to be taken into account … All the same, this Bast case requires thought. If it’s played up in the courts, as Herr Bast seems to wish out of professional vanity, then it would be grist to the mills of our beloved press. All the penal reformers and do-gooders in the world will blubber over the poor, blind man and bring discredit on the name of Hackendahl.’
‘Eva was quite a harmless sort of girl.’
‘According to Herr Bast she goaded him into all his crimes by her insatiable thirst for pleasure, her immoderate love of dissipation …’ The lawyer surveyed the heaving, chaotic, drunken bar.
‘And there are other examples of hedonism in this family,’ he said.
‘Oh, stop these insults!’ cried Erich, furious.
‘You’re right, Erich. What is certain, however, is that your sister admits all this. She did instigate him, she says. She did demand money from him. And she did shoot him for no reason whatsoever.’
‘She admits all that?’ said Erich, dumbfounded. ‘Is she mad? That means—’
The lawyer nodded. ‘Six to eight years’ penal servitude.’
‘And has she turned out like that?’ Erich could not imagine Eva as a confirmed criminal – Eva as vamp. ‘No, that can’t be true.’