by Joseph Roth
After Jadlowker had satisfied his hunger other thoughts and feelings began to preoccupy him. Suddenly and without knowing why he thought of the fine carp and pike which he used to sell at the fish-market on Thursdays. He was occupied by the thought that, in order to kill them, he had grasped them by the tail and dashed them against a kerbstone and this made him remember that one destroys men by doing the reverse. One takes a stone – which can also be a sugar-loaf – and dashes it against a man’s head. Strange thoughts come to one when one is shut up in an attic. One remembers, for example, that one has enemies in the world and that the greatest of them all is Inspector Eibenschütz, the source of all ill and Euphemia’s lover into the bargain. Sameschkin is her lover, too, but that’s another story. Sameschkin has old tribal rights, and besides, he is not an official. And further, he has not sent Jadlowker to jail. If there were no Eibenschütz one could live in peace. Sameschkin will go away in the spring. Sergeant Slama has been transferred. Who will recognize Jadlowker with a fair beard? A lot of strangers come to this district! And one’s name isn’t really Jadlowker at all. One has already changed one’s name once before! One has already grasped fish by the tail and struck them against the kerbstone. It’s done the other way round with men. One takes a sugar-loaf and strikes them on the head from behind. But where? But when? Eibenschütz is not there at night, in Odessa harbour.
If Eibenschütz did not exist, one could live in peace. But he does exist. He must not be allowed to exist any longer, he must not be allowed to exist any longer, thinks Jadlowker. He must not be allowed to exist any longer! He thinks of it all the time. The crows sometimes settle near the skylight. Jadlowker throws them some crumbs. He sits and freezes and waits for the spring, for freedom and for revenge.
38
One day something strange happened: head forester Stepaniuk found a hanged man in the border forest. He was cold, blue and rigid when he was cut down. The district medical officer, Dr Kiniower, said that he had already been dead for several days, that he had hanged himself about a week earlier. Nobody knew who he was and the gendarme Piotrak notified the examining magistrate. The latter came from Zlotogrod. He had the corpse taken to the mortuary there. The inhabitants of the entire district were summoned, a dozen at a time, on specific days, to identify the dead man. There would have been no need to summon them. They poured in from all over, out of curiosity alone. Even Sameschkin, although he was not summoned because he did not belong to the district, went along out of curiosity. But he alone recognized the dead man: it was the horse-minder Michael Klajka. He had been locked up two years before. He had been one of the convicts chosen to deal with the removal of the corpses of the cholera patients. And the fact that he had died in hospital, of the cholera, and been buried on a certain day, had been recorded in the books and given the official stamp.
Well? Had he risen from the dead in order to hang himself in the border forest? An investigation was instituted. Some convicts, who were brought from the prison, also recognized their fellow prisoner, Michael Klajka. It only took a week before two of the district clerks were arrested and confessed that they had been bribed and had made out false death certificates. They also confessed that it was Kapturak who had bribed them.
Another week went by. The outcome of the investigation was conveyed to gendarmerie sergeant Piotrak and to Inspector Eibenschütz, and they were given the task of continuing to meet Kapturak in the border tavern as before. So they continued to meet him and they played tarock. He felt quite safe. He knew nothing of the arrest of the two district clerks, and the money the relatives of the ‘dead’ convicts had paid him had long been safely on the other side of the border, with the money-changer Piczemk.
A few day later, quite early in the morning, shortly after he had taken Jadlowker his breakfast up the ladder, he heard a familiar ringing of bells, the bells of a sleigh. The sleigh stopped, the ringing trembled on a while longer, there was no doubt that the sleigh had stopped in front of his gate. He had a sense of foreboding, what was a sleigh doing in front of his house so early in the morning? He opened the shutters. In the sleigh sat the gendarme Piotrak and Inspector Eibenschütz. He had no time left to remove the ladder. He reflected rapidly that it would be better to run outside at once and welcome the terrifying guests. So he ran outside, calling as he ran, ‘What a surprise! What a surprise!’
The two of them climbed down and Eibenschütz said: ‘We wanted to pay you a short visit. It’s still too early, Litwak is still closed. We’ll only stay a quarter of an hour, if we may, just long enough to drink a schnapps and some tea. You’ve got that, eh?’ Kapturak no longer had any doubt that they had come because they suspected him of harbouring someone, or at least of hiding something suspicious. He said: ‘I’ll go and fetch the schnapps,’ and he left the room and quickly scrambled up the ladder. ‘They’re here,’ he called through the skylight. Going down he no longer skipped onto the individual rungs but slid down both struts of the ladder using his hands and thighs. He ran into the kitchen to fetch the schnapps. He re-entered the room cheerfully with the bottle and three glasses.
‘Do you have a cellar?’ asked the gendarme Piotrak.
‘Yes,’ said Kapturak, ‘but I haven’t fetched the schnapps from the cellar. It’s too cold in the cellar.’
‘Where did you fetch it from then?’ asked Piotrak.
‘From the attic,’ said Kapturak and smiled. It was as if he had made a joke and was apologizing at the same time for having made it.
The red-haired gendarme actually took it for a joke and laughed. Kapturak slapped his thigh and doubled up. He joined in the laughter, out of humility rather than conceit. The gendarme and the Inspector emptied their glasses and got up. ‘Thanks for the hospitality,’ they said as with one voice. They climbed back on the sleigh; Kapturak accompanied them. He noted that they glided off in the direction of Pozloty.
When they had disappeared from sight he took the ladder out of the yard and put it back in the hall. He had decided to send Jadlowker away, he had a presentiment of evil. Nimbly he climbed up, opened the trap-door and went in. He saw Jadlowker walking restlessly up and down, between the washing-lines hung with bats. ‘Sit down!’ said Kapturak, ‘we must talk!’ Jadlowker knew at once what was up. ‘So I must go,’ he said, ‘but where?’ ‘Where? That’s just what we’ve got to think about!’ replied Kapturak. ‘It looks as if you’re not going to be counted among the dead any more, hence this unexpected visit to my house. I’m sorry, but I have to send you away. You must admit that I’ve treated you like my own child, even though I’m your mortgagee. And I haven’t taken a penny from you!’ ‘Where shall I go?’ asked Jadlowker. He was sitting on the chair in his fur coat, freezing. Through the small round skylight, which looked like a ship’s porthole, the frost stormed in, a grey wolf, a raging, hungry grey wolf. It was dark, even though the sun was shining outside. But the relentless, ice-blue sky sent only a meagre light through the round skylight into the attic. Up above there prevailed a kind of frosty blue half-darkness. Both men looked pale.
Where? Where? That was the question. ‘I set all the others free,’ said Kapturak, ‘and let them run where they wished. It was probably a mistake. I should probably have kept them together. But as for you – I don’t know what’s best. I think it’s best for you to go back to Szwaby, to go home. Who’s to recognize you there? Euphemia won’t betray you and Sameschkin is a blockhead, he won’t recognize you. That still leaves Eibenschütz! Of course, Eibenschütz!’ ‘What’s to be done with him, then?’ asked Jadlowker. He got up. He could not possibly remain seated where Eibenschütz was concerned.
Kapturak, who had been standing still throughout, began to walk to and fro. It looked as if he wanted to get warm but in reality he was not freezing at all, he was actually feeling hot from too much reflection. For a long time he had been harbouring the thought that the world would be a better place if Eibenschütz were not there.
‘Eibenschütz must go,’ he said – and remained standing.
<
br /> ‘How so?’ asked Jadlowker.
‘Sugar-loaf!’ said Kapturak – that was all. He remained standing for a while. Then he said: ‘We’re going to drive over, tonight. Sugar-loaf!’ he repeated. ‘I’ll fetch you, Jadlowker!’
Before he left the attic Kapturak made a sign with both hands. It looked as if he were holding a sugar-loaf in his hands and was beating someone over the head with it.
Leibusch Jadlowker nodded.
39
In the evening they rode out to Szwaby on the sleigh, Kapturak and Jadlowker. Jadlowker wrapped himself in a sheepskin coat with a high collar so that no one would recognize him.
It was already pitch-dark when they arrived and drove in through the wide, open gate of the border tavern. Jadlowker knocked on the back gate, the high-arched gate, painted red, which gave onto the road. Kapturak went straight into the inn.
There were only a few guests that day, being a Tuesday. It took a long time before Onufrij heard the knocking and went out to open the back gate.
‘It’s me,’ said Jadlowker, ‘let me in quickly. Is the gendarme there?’
‘Come in, sir,’ said Onufrij, who had no idea that Leibusch Jadlowker belonged to the dead. ‘Have you escaped from prison?’
‘Yes, get a move on!’ said Jadlowker, and then, as they neared the lamp, ‘Will I be recognized?’
‘Only by your voice, sir!’ said Onufrij.
‘Where’s Euphemia?’ asked Jadlowker.
‘Still in the shop!’ whispered Onufrij. ‘And Sameschkin’s standing outside the shop with his chestnuts.’
‘Good,’ said Jadlowker. ‘Go inside!’
The dog, Pavel by name, welcomed Jadlowker, joyfully sniffing up at him with raised muzzle and wagging tail. ‘Don’t bark! Don’t yell!’ Jadlowker whispered to him. The dog jumped up at him, quietly and silently, and licked his hands.
Jadlowker first looked in through the windows which gave on to the yard. The inn was almost empty. He had not forgotten, on the way, to climb out of the sleigh when he and Kapturak were driving by the frozen Struminka, and to dig out of the snow one of the large angular stones which were to be found there in abundance. This stone he now tied in his handkerchief.
He stepped back from the window and lay in wait by the gate. He was filled with a monstrous, irresistible lust to kill. He no longer thought of the real purpose of the murder but only of the murder itself. He gave no thought at all to his own safety but only to the killing. A great wave of voluptuousness, of hate and lust to kill, went through his heart. Everything was without pity in this night and in this world. The stars that stood in the sky that night were strange, cold and made of silver, a frosty, almost spiteful silver. From time to time Jadlowker looked up. That day he hated the sky and the stars. And in prison he had yearned for them so!
Why did he, Jadlowker, hate the sky today? Did he believe that God sat up there, behind the stars? Perhaps he believed it but he would not admit it. Over and over again, over and over again, a voice within him said: God is there. God can see you. God knows what you intend to do. But another voice within him answered: God is not there, the sky is empty, and the stars are cold and remote and terrible, and you can do what you will.
And so Jadlowker waited for the familiar ringing of the sleigh that belonged to the hated Eibenschütz. Round his wrist, his right wrist, he had tied the corners of the handkerchief in which the stone had been wrapped. He waited. Eibenschütz would come.
40
Indeed, Eibenschütz did arrive half an hour later, unfortunately accompanied by the gendarme Piotrak. Jadlowker, who had thought that the Inspector would come alone, realized at once that he could achieve nothing. At first he hid in the shadow of the barn which bordered the yard opposite the gate, and waited. When he saw that the Inspector let the gendarme go ahead and was unharnessing the grey himself, his heart trembled with rapturous, murderous hope. And soon after, the Inspector approached the stable in order to tie the grey to the big iron ring that was fastened to the stable door.
While Eibenschütz was tying up the grey, Jadlowker rushed out of the stable. Eibenschütz was about to utter a cry, but he fell down at once and the cry died in his throat. Jadlowker struck the forehead of his enemy, the Inspector, with the handkerchief in which the angular stone was wrapped. Eibenschütz fell to the ground with a mighty and terrifying crash. He was a heavy man; Jadlowker had not expected him to be heavy. The grey had not yet been properly tied up, the knot came loose, and the nag began to wander through the yard with reins trailing. First, Jadlowker bent over Inspector Eibenschütz. He was cold and dead, gave no gasp. Then Jadlowker got hold of the horse and tied it fast to the iron ring of the stable door. Then he crept into the barn.
Two hours passed before Sergeant Piotrak came outside to look for Eibenschütz. He found the Inspector in front of the barn, seemingly lifeless, so the gendarme called the groom Onufrij and the two of them dragged the heavy corpse to the sleigh. Onufrij fetched ropes, they secured the motionless man firmly. He lay right across the tiny sleigh. The grey was harnessed, the gendarme took the reins and drove to Zlotogrod, straight to the hospital.
To be sure, Sergeant Piotrak believed that he was driving a dead man, that the Inspector, whom he had come across by the stable and the barn, had suddenly had a stroke. But this was not so. True, the Inspector was beginning to die, but he was still alive. How could he, poor Eibenschütz, know that he had been hit on the head with a stone? How could he know that he had been tied to the sleigh with ropes? While he was being taken for dead he was experiencing something quite different:
He was no longer an Inspector of Weights and Measures, he was himself a trader. He had nothing but false weights, a thousand, ten thousand, false weights. He was standing there behind a shop counter, the ten thousand false weights in front of him. The counter could not hold them all. And at any moment the Inspector might come.
Suddenly there was a ring – the door had a bell – and in came the Great Inspector, the greatest of all Inspectors – so it seemed to Eibenschütz. The Great Inspector looked a little like the Jew Mendel Singer, and also a little like Sameschkin. Eibenschütz said: ‘But I know you!’ But the Great Inspector replied: ‘It’s all the same to me. Duty is duty! Now we shall test your weights!’
Good, you can test the weights now, Inspector Eibenschütz said to himself. They are false, but what can I do about it? I am a tradesman, like all the other tradesmen in Zlotogrod. I sell with false weights.
Behind the Great Inspector stood a gendarme with plumed helmet and bayonet and him Eibenschütz did not know at all. But he was afraid of him, his bayonet glittered so. The Great Inspector began to check the weights. Finally he said – and Eibenschütz was extremely surprised: ‘All your weights are false, and yet they are all correct. So we shall not report you! We believe that all your weights are correct. I am the Great Inspector.’
At that moment the gendarme arrived at the Zlotogrod hospital. The Inspector was unloaded, and when the duty doctor arrived he paused for a moment and then said to the gendarme Piotrak: ‘The man is dead! Why have you bothered to bring him here?’
41
So died the Inspector of Weights and Measures, Anselm Eibenschütz; and, as they say, no one cared two hoots about it.
Sergeant Piotrak succeeded in establishing that Jadlowker had killed the Inspector. Kapturak, after he had been arrested, and after a stringent cross-examination, spoke of a grudge Jadlowker had towards Eibenschütz.
By chance, two more so-called cholera victims were caught, namely the pickpocket Kaniuk and the horse-thief Kiewen. Kapturak and Jadlowker had already been held in the Zloczow remand prison for eight days when the great annual event of the Zlotogrod District suddenly occurred. That is, the ice over the Struminka broke and spring began.
The chestnut-roaster Sameschkin packed his things: first the sacks, then the oven, then the rest of his wares, with the chestnuts in a special leather sack.
Before his departure he said to Euphemia:
‘It’s a desolate spot, this border. Will you come away with me for ever?’
Euphemia, however, thought of all kinds of possibilities in the tavern, and more besides. ‘Until next year,’ she said. But Sameschkin no longer believed her. He was not as stupid as he might appear to people. He had his suspicions and he silently resolved never to return to that venomous neighbourhood again.
It was a magnificent spring day when he drove off. The oven stood on his cart. The loose sacks were tied round his shoulders. The larks trilled high in the heavens and the frogs croaked just as merrily in the marshes. And so the good Sameschkin went on his way, minding his own business. What did all this actually have to do with him?
I shall never come here again, he said to himself. And he had the feeling that the larks and the frogs concurred.
THE BEGINNING
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