The Passenger

by Ulrich Alexander Boschwitz

  “I see. And what did you promise my fiancée?”

  Silbermann nodded. “You’re right,” he said uneasily. “I’ll have to manage on my own.” He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”

  “I can see it coming,” Franz answered, now sounding angry. “You’re going to run smack into the arms of the first border guard. Why did I ever let myself be talked into this! Now I’m really in for it!”

  He got out of the car.

  “What are you doing?” Silbermann asked hopefully.

  “I’m not starting something and then leaving it half-done now am I?” Franz said, disgruntled. “Come on.”

  “Do you really want to…?”

  “No! I don’t want to! But what choice do I have?”

  “And you can leave the car here like that?”

  “I took the key. All on account of these stupid thousand marks. It’s not like both of us don’t have paying jobs, too—bloody hell.”

  “I’ll give you another thousand marks,” said Silbermann, happy. “No, I’ll even give you…”

  “Just get your suitcase,” Franz growled, and set off.

  He seemed to know the way well, but he was in such a hurry that he ran more than walked. Silbermann tripped over roots, banged into rocks, and bumped into tree trunks. He was panting from exertion. His suitcase felt like it was made of lead.

  After ten minutes of rushing like that without a break—Franz looked back from time to time to make sure Silbermann was following—Silbermann was exhausted and said: “I can’t keep up. I need to rest a moment.”

  Franz stopped. “That’s more or less what I imagined,” he whispered. “Do you know what’s going to happen if I get home and discover that the boss asked for the car while I was away? He sometimes goes out at night and he’s also a real swine. He’d hand me over to the police straightaway simply for taking his car for a joyride. Of course it’s just like you to peter out now, too. Hand me the suitcase.”

  He went on ahead.

  “What’s your guess as to the time?” Silbermann whispered after a while.

  “Two o’clock, I think. Early enough to get caught.”

  Now Franz was feeling the weight of the suitcase. He set it down and cursed quietly.

  “I’d like to know how it is that I wound up being your pack mule? Incredible! If someone had told me I’d be risking my neck for a bourgeois…”

  “You’re a decent person,” Silbermann said quietly, pleased to be able to take off his hat and wipe his brow.

  “There are no decent people,” Franz replied. “Not according to the materialist concept of history. But what would you know about that?”

  “Not much,” Silbermann admitted.

  “You see,” said Franz, more graciously. “But I’m sure even you realize that one person’s saint is another person’s devil. And the devil for the working class is … But let’s go. If I start thinking about it, I’ll end up ditching you right here!”

  Silbermann laughed.

  “Psst!” said Franz, angry. They had reached the clearing.

  “Is it much farther?” asked Silbermann.

  “Ten minutes, but now be still!”

  Franz listened in the darkness. Then he moved quietly ahead, making sure his footsteps made no noise.

  Silbermann tiptoed behind him. Franz’s company had given him so much courage that he almost forgot the danger he was in.

  At last they came to the forest path.

  “I’d take you farther, to Lambert’s—that’s a friend of mine who runs an inn, but I have to beat it back to the car. Just keep going straight ahead until you come to the field I told you about, and then march directly across. Be sure to make as little noise as possible. After that you’ll come to a little forest. Cross through that, and then you’ll be in the village. The fourth house is Lambert’s inn. Go inside but of course leave your suitcase in the woods. I’m assuming you’re not dumb enough to walk into the village carrying a suitcase? So, tell Lambert that Franz sends his greetings, and he’ll help you. He’ll definitely want to make some money, but he’ll take you farther. His stepson has a car. You speak French, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Silbermann.

  “Of course—exactly like the lot of you! So, then, good-bye.”

  “Wait, I still want to give you the money.”

  “I’ll take money for risking my boss’s car, but not for risking my neck!”

  “But…”

  Franz had already turned around, and for a few minutes Silbermann watched his haggard, bony figure as it disappeared into the darkness. Then he picked up his suitcase. “I’m lucky after all,” he mumbled.

  A light rain began to fall. The drops splashed against Silbermann’s face. He hurried ahead as fast as the suitcase allowed. He still felt some of the security that being close to Franz had provided.

  It’s going to work out, he hoped. If only I’d left this crazy suitcase at home. He thought about leaving it in the woods, but opening it and unpacking the money seemed too dangerous. I’ve lugged it this far, so I’ll go on lugging it some more, he thought, when he had to set it down again. Otherwise the whole slog would have been for nothing.

  He felt so exhausted that he had to rest for a moment.

  I wonder if Franz is going to get into trouble, he asked himself. I don’t even know his last name. I’ll never be able to thank him. But what a stroke of luck. Actually I have that fat police spy to thank for meeting him.

  Belgium, he then thought. I’m now in Belgium. And it doesn’t look any different. I ought to be mad with joy but instead I’m afraid. And it’s the same fear I had five minutes ago when I was still in Germany. If only I …

  He thought he heard a noise and strained to listen. Weren’t those twigs snapping somewhere? He jumped up, lifted his suitcase, and looked around, wide-eyed.

  “No,” he whispered, “no, no, no! It’s over. I quit! I’m staying right here! I’m staying here even if they…”

  But there was no noise—he’d been mistaken. The rain dripped down on him and calmed him somewhat. He picked up his suitcase and set off again. The blister on his index finger had burst from carrying the suitcase, and the pain refused to let up. He switched the suitcase to the other hand.

  What if I get caught now, he thought. And sent back to Germany! But that simply can’t happen!

  To make as little noise as possible he went exceedingly slowly, testing the ground with his feet to avoid any missteps.

  At least I’m in Belgium, he then thought. I managed after all!

  The forest began to clear and through the darkness he could make out something lighter colored. The road, he thought. He started to walk more quickly, without paying attention to the noise made by the snapping twigs. When he was out of the woods he looked around. He felt an almost celebratory sensation.

  My shadow existence is over, he thought. Now I’ll become a human again!

  After he had carefully scanned the area and failed to see anything suspicious, he crossed the road. Before him was an open field.

  Keep going straight ahead, he remembered. He jumped over a small ditch and felt the soft, damp tilled earth beneath his feet. If only I hadn’t taken this damn suitcase with me, he again wished.

  All of a sudden he heard sounds coming from the forest. Twigs crackled, first one flashlight switched on, then a second, and two figures emerged from the darkness about twenty meters from the place he had just passed, and headed in his direction.

  At the first suspicious sound Silbermann had instantly thrown himself down and was now dragging his suitcase behind him, which thudded on the ground. His heart was pounding, and he opened his mouth wide to breathe. He pushed his face as close to the ground as his increasingly urgent need for air allowed.

  Only the blurred outlines of the men were visible. They were standing in the middle of the road, pointing their flashlights this way and that. They conferred in whispers and seemed to disagree as to which direction he had taken, and then they separ
ated. One stayed in place while the other walked over to the ditch, where he shined his light up and down before setting off in the opposite direction from Silbermann.

  Meanwhile the man who had stayed put lit a cigarette and started walking very deliberately right toward Silbermann. He seemed utterly sure of himself—almost as though he were mocking both his colleague, who had doggedly continued in the wrong direction and was now fifty paces away, as well as the man who thought he could remain hidden.

  This can’t be. Silbermann prayed that it not be true. This simply cannot be! He can’t have seen me, no!

  At the same time he knew that the man who was now only ten paces away could surely hear his fitful breathing. Silbermann pressed his hand against his mouth.

  “Eh bien,” a calm voice now said. “Voulez-vous rester là?”

  The man shone the light in Silbermann’s face.

  “Je l’ai trouvé,” the guard now called out to his companion, who came hurrying over.

  Silbermann had a hard time getting up. “Je suis…” he began.

  “Vous avez traversé la frontière,” the guard interrupted him and once again shone the light in Silbermann’s face. “Il faut retourner!”

  “Je suis un refugié,” Silbermann continued, his voice hoarse. “Je suis juif.”

  “Tiens, tiens,” the guard replied. “Mais quand-même. Vous n’avez pas le droit de passer la frontière. Il faut venir avec un visa. Alors, venez!”

  In the meantime the other guard had arrived. “You have to go back to Germany.”

  “But I’m a refugee—I’m Jewish. They wanted to arrest me. They’ll lock me up in a concentration camp.”

  “We’re not allowed to let you through. Come with us!” The man grabbed him by the arm and started leading him back to the forest.

  The guard who had discovered him carried Silbermann’s suitcase and left the talking to his colleague.

  When they reached the road Silbermann stopped. “I protest!” he said. “I’m staying here! You don’t have the right, you’re not allowed to do this! I’m in a free country!”

  “You crossed the border illegally.”

  “I had no choice—I was persecuted.”

  “But everybody can’t just come to Belgium!”

  “I have papers. I have money. Wait, let me show you…”

  “Come on!” the guard shoved him ahead.

  But Silbermann resisted. “You have to understand,” he said. “I can no longer go back. I only intended to stay one day in Belgium. My son lives in Paris. I want to go to Paris to join him!”

  “Explain that to the Belgian consul in Germany! We have orders…”

  “But I’m not going back! I demand to be taken to the guardhouse! It’s not my fault I had to cross the border illegally. I’m being persecuted.”

  “It’s not Belgium’s fault. We’re sorry…”

  They had crossed the road. Silbermann stopped again.

  “I can’t go back!” he said. “It’s impossible!” He turned to the guard who was carrying his suitcase.

  “Mais oui, mon ami, that’s completely possible,” the man calmly replied.

  Silbermann suddenly tore himself away from them. “Do what you want,” he cried.“I’m staying … je reste … je reste!”

  “If you don’t go back voluntarily we’ll have to put you on a train in Herbesthal. The next station is in Germany, and there the German authorities will…”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Mais oui!”

  For a moment all three were silent. Then the two guards grabbed him vigorously by the arms and shoved him ahead.

  “You know the way!” said the man who had discovered him. “Just don’t come back!”

  “Or else we’ll have to put you on that train to Germany!” the other added.

  They had reached the edge of the forest, but Silbermann was mistaken if he thought the guards would then leave him alone. They continued to escort him. Once again he stopped.

  “I’m not going,” he declared with desperate energy. “I won’t stay longer than one day. I promise you I’ll travel on immediately. I have everything. Money, papers. I’m not a poor man. You have to understand, they’ll arrest me. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to kill myself. Belgium is my last hope. Gentlemen, I beg you, I’ve never broken the law in my life!”

  “You have to go back. There’s no point in talking. You have to go back!”

  “Écoutez,” Silbermann began again, turning to the first guard. “I’ll give you five thousand marks! That’s a fortune…”

  “You must be crazy. Allez.” the man answered calmly.

  “Listen, it’s a good opportunity for you, and for me it would mean my life. I’ll give you ten thousand—five for each!”

  His shoulder felt a shove.

  “Shut your mouth,” said a rough voice, though Silbermann thought he detected a slight hesitation.

  “Fifteen thousand,” he raised his offer. “And I assure you I’ll never say a word about it—that’s in my own interest. Be reasonable, and be human! There are two of you, I’ll give each of you the money right away. Think about it, seven thousand five hundred marks…”

  “We’re in Belgium here,” the guard said, and Silbermann wasn’t sure whether he was referring to a higher value placed on morals or a lower value of Germany currency.

  “Ten thousand apiece…” Silbermann raised the offer. “That’s enough to retire on and buy a house if you want.” Since he was now discussing the business aspect of the negotiation, his voice was noticeably calmer and more self-assured.

  The guards said nothing. If only they don’t distrust each other … Silbermann was afraid. They can’t see each other’s face, and therein lies the danger.

  “We can arrange it very quickly,” he said. “I leave Belgium, and you can look out for each other, because you’re both…”

  “Be quiet,” said the second guard curtly. Perhaps he wanted to make clear to his colleague that he was no less principled than the one who had first refused.

  A misunderstanding between these two is going to be the end of me, thought Silbermann, despairing. He tried again: “Gentlemen, you are…”

  But now the guard on his right shook his arm. “Will you finally shut up!” he snarled.

  “If you keep on like that we’ll hand you over to the German guards,” added the one to his left.

  “But we have to trust each other!” Silbermann implored, thinking that he understood things very clearly. “Ten thousand for each, right away. I’m guessing that’s about fifty thousand francs…”

  If they could only see each other’s face, he thought. Then they would surely come to an agreement.

  “That’s enough,” said the guard on his right. “One more word and we’re taking you to Herbesthal.”

  Silbermann was silent. They had reached the forest path and stopped.

  “Eh bien, Monsieur,” the guard with the suitcase said very crossly as he put it down. “You’re back in your fatherland. Don’t come back under any circumstances! That would be very dangerous for you!”

  “Gentlemen,” Silbermann begged them once more. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I assure you. But think about it…”

  “If you show up here again…” the guard growled.

  Silbermann turned around, cut through the forest, and tripped over a root as he stumbled back into the German Reich.

  SEVEN

  Silbermann stopped his ears with his thumbs. Utility poles look exactly alike, utility poles look exactly alike, when one is in flight. Utility poles look exactly alike … I’m starting to lose my wits, he feared. The monotonous singsong of the rails was more than agonizing.

  How am I supposed to get any sleep? he wondered, and reached with his left hand to move his briefcase, which he had wedged between his back and the cushion, so that its lock kept digging into his spine. After his failed attempt to cross the border, Silbermann had stowed all the money in his briefcase and left his suitcase on the country
road. He was in no shape to haul it around any longer.

  That night he had hiked for another hour and a half before flagging down a large truck, which took him to Mönchengladbach. The two disgruntled drivers reminded him of Franz, and their occasional wry remarks, and their overall grumpy-but-positive outlook had done him good and lifted his spirits a little.

  Now he was once again sitting in a train on his way back to Berlin. His unsuccessful venture had depressed him so much that he no longer wanted to try crossing into Belgium. He lacked the strength of purpose such an undertaking would require.

  Having the whole compartment to himself, he opened the window and leaned out to get some fresh air. The sharp wind did him good. Then a bit of dust flew into his right eye and it took him nearly five minutes to get it out. By the time he closed the window the compartment had become cold. He ate a piece of chocolate and made another attempt to fall asleep. But the rattling of the wheels and the gentle swaying and rocking of the train brought him to the brink of despair.

  He paced up and down the compartment several times, making a point of reading all the policies and regulations. Then he sat back in his seat, but immediately got up again and stepped into the corridor with the idea of walking through the train. He observed the people coming in the other direction with indifference, except when he encountered a man he thought looked Jewish, and involuntarily wrinkled his forehead. As he made his way down the aisle in a third-class car he ran into another person with similarly suspect features.

  There are too many Jews on the train, Silbermann thought. And that puts every one of us in danger. As it is I have all of you to thank for this: if you didn’t exist I could live in peace. But because you do, I’m forced to share your misfortune! I’m no different from anybody else, but maybe you truly are different and I don’t belong in your group. I’m not one of you. Indeed, if it weren’t for you, they wouldn’t be persecuting me. I could remain a normal citizen. But because you exist, I will be annihilated along with you. And yet we really have nothing to do with one another!

  He considered such thoughts undignified but couldn’t help thinking them. If people are constantly saying: You’re a good man, but your family is completely worthless. Or: You’re nothing at all like your cousins, they really are a nasty lot—then it’s easy to get infected with the general opinion.