The Passenger

by Ulrich Alexander Boschwitz

  Distraught, he looked around the café. What actually separates me from you, he thought. We’re so alike it’s downright frightening.

  He finished eating, paid, and left the café.

  Will-o’-the-wisp eyes … he tried thinking about the woman. Her eyes really were so … But suddenly he was no longer interested in her. He pictured old Lustiger, his tired gait, his enthusiastic eating, and thought he could hear him say, “And for that I get to live to sixty?”

  Once again Silbermann found himself in front of the train station.

  I wanted to look up the address, he remembered. But he was already in line at the ticket counter, with people in front and behind him. Where to? he asked himself.

  “One ticket to Munich second class, please.”

  He left the counter, ticket in hand, and smiled.

  At least I’ll get to know Germany, he thought.

  NINE

  Silbermann made his way through the cars, stopping for a moment to listen to two soldiers playing accordion in a third-class compartment.

  This train should be in Dresden a little before noon, he thought. If I hurry I can make the connection to Leipzig. But why hurry? What’s there for me to do in Leipzig? Ride back to Berlin, then on to Hamburg, and from Hamburg … So why rack my brain about that now? Maybe I’ll change trains en route. The more often I switch, the safer I’ll be. I should have bought a pass for the whole network. As it is I’ve practically become a permanent fixture of the German Reichsbahn.

  There was a man on board whose bearing and general demeanor reminded Silbermann of the fat police spy in the train from Dortmund to Aachen. Silbermann had already run into him three times, and when he saw the man once more heading his way, he opened the door to the compartment with the soldiers and took a seat.

  “Keeping spirits up I see, eh?” he said in a lively voice.

  The two soldiers smiled awkwardly and paused their playing. The man Silbermann wanted to avoid stopped in the corridor, so that Silbermann could see his back through the compartment window.

  “That’s right,” Silbermann exclaimed excitedly. “Life in the army. There’s still something wonderful about it.”

  He glanced at the man’s back.

  “When I was a soldier—you were probably just born—I saw all sorts of things. I was there at Verdun. You have no idea what that was like. Drumfire, that’s something else I tell you!” He laughed.

  The two soldiers looked at him, embarrassed. They didn’t know what to make of him or how they should respond.

  Silbermann kept his eye on the man’s back.

  “Of course in those days you were still infants,” he said fiercely. “Infants, and now it’s your generation that’s in control. Let me tell you something”—he continued his rather disjointed speech—“you may very well have a chance to experience a war someday … and you have every right to. Just make sure you enjoy yourselves now because afterward it’s too late. Ha ha … In our company there were four of us friends, two are still alive … Becker and myself … But it was an experience all right … the war was an experience … it’s definitely an experience … as long as you don’t drop dead. You’ll see … You’ll see. It will either make real men out of you … or else corpses. An experience, no doubt about it … I was at Cambrai, too, fighting the tanks. A tank like that’s a lot more sturdy … than a hallway mirror for instance … You’ll see for yourselves! I’d like to join you … I’d like to go along once more, just to see how you take things … ha ha … Because it’s not as simple as you think, ramming a bayonet into another man’s stomach … especially when the other guy has one, too. There are two types of bullets, you see … the ones you shoot and the ones that come back … like I was saying … maybe you’ll experience that … the returns … but I won’t. But why did you stop playing? Go on and play … we always had music in my company, always! Becker had a harmonica … He could play that thing to where you completely forgot there was a war on … so keep playing, men, go on and play!”

  The train slowed down, and the man’s back was no longer to be seen.

  “I have to get off,” Silbermann said. “A pity … there was so much I could have told you … I was there … also in Russia. The 1914 advance. Trenches. Foxholes … Twice wounded, badly … well, but I have to change here … I have to change quite often … Ha.”

  He dashed out of the compartment, ran down the corridor, and jumped off the train before it came to a stop. Clinging tightly to his briefcase, he hurried across the platform.

  “The train to Leipzig?” he asked a porter as he ran. The porter pointed the way.

  Nice fellows, Silbermann thought back to the soldiers. What was I saying, anyway? It doesn’t matter. I’m sure they didn’t understand a word. I’m thinking of going to Leipzig, but I could just as well go back to Berlin. Why Leipzig of all places! Especially considering I never found the Saxons all that agreeable.

  He stopped another porter. “The train to Berlin?” he asked.

  “It leaves in twenty minutes.”

  Silbermann thanked him almost exuberantly, ran down the stairs, hurried to the ticket counter, and purchased a ticket to Berlin. Then he stepped out of the station for a bit of fresh air. Dresden, he thought. I’ve been here so many times. Isn’t this where Solm & Co. have their headquarters? Good clients. I could drop in and say hello. Better not, though. And they’re not very good when it comes to paying on time, either. Always insisting on bills of exchange. Just thinking about what happened to Fanter & Son makes me dizzy. Sixteen thousand marks they lost in one blow. What could they have been thinking? Such a solid old firm and then all of a sudden …

  He went back inside the station. Out of habit he approached the ticket counter. Then he remembered that he’d already bought a ticket. He pulled it out of his pocket along with a jumble of banknotes. The Reichsbahn really ought to give me a discount, he thought. All of a sudden he felt ill, and the station hall began spinning around him. He saw trains arriving and departing, heard horns honking, bells ringing, wheels rattling, words close by and far away, loud and quiet …

  He fell to the floor.

  A woman screamed. Officials came running and people pressed close to see what had happened. One man bent over him, opened Silbermann’s coat, jacket, vest, and shirt and placed his ear to Silbermann’s chest.

  “His heart’s fine,” he said calmly. “It’s just a passing weak spell.”

  Then some medics arrived and picked him up and took him to an ambulance.

  When Silbermann came to, he was puzzled to find himself in a hospital room. He sat up, looked around, stroked his forehead, felt a dull pain, and wondered where he might be.

  I was traveling, he remembered. I had been in Munich … no, I went back to Berlin … then I was in Dresden … then … no, I must still be in Dresden.

  As if reassured by that supposition, he let himself slide back into the pillows. Apart from the fact that my head hurts, I’m fine, he was somewhat pleased to note. Then he gave a start.

  “Where’s my briefcase?” he asked loudly.

  He noticed a call bell hanging by his bed. He pressed the button two, three times. An older nurse came in.

  “Nurse, where is my briefcase?” Silbermann asked immediately, as he sat up in the bed.

  “Calm down,” she answered, holding her palms out.

  “I want to know where my briefcase is!” Silbermann demanded.

  “I’m sure they have it in safekeeping.”

  “Nurse, I want to point out that there are approximately thirty-five thousand marks in that briefcase!”

  “You don’t mean it!” she said, surprised.

  “Yes I do,” he bellowed, excitedly. “Thirty-five thousand marks. And don’t think for a minute I’m going to let that—”

  “Don’t make such a racket!”

  “I demand to speak with the director immediately!”

  “What director? Do you mean the doctor?”

  “I don’t care who it is. I w
ant my briefcase back! Besides, I’m healthy and what’s more…” He stuck his legs out of the bed. “I’m not staying here,” he declared.

  The nurse clapped her hands together. “Now, now,” she said reproachfully.

  “I demand my briefcase!” Silbermann repeated sharply.

  “If you have a briefcase here, I’m sure you’ll get it back.”

  “And my suit,” he added. “I want to leave. But before I do perhaps you could have them make something for me to eat. I simply forgot to eat, that’s all. I can pay, too!”

  “Please lie back down in your bed,” the nurse requested in a commanding tone of voice.

  He obeyed.

  “Nevertheless I would like to speak to the doctor right away,” he said. “I’m completely healthy. And I don’t have any more time. I have meetings, important meetings! Please have him see me at once!”

  “You’re in a hospital, not a hotel! And please stop shouting. Show some consideration for the other patients.”

  “No one shows me any consideration,” Silbermann countered, already noticeably quieter.

  “If you had a briefcase when you were admitted,” the nurse continued, “then you’ll get it back. You’re acting as though you’ve fallen into a robbers’ den. No one’s holding you here against your will.”

  “Please have them make something for me to eat,” Silbermann repeated, “and I’d like a bottle of red wine, too. I always cure myself with red wine.” His voice was now completely calm.

  “You’ll probably have to stay here another few days, though,” the nurse said.

  “Have to?” he asked, once again more agitated. “Have to? They can’t force me. After all, I’m not that helpless! In any case I want my briefcase back at once!”

  The nurse put her hands on her hips. “Now you listen to me,” she retorted angrily. “Some people saved your life, or at least they came to your aid. They didn’t bring you here to rob you but to help you, and you’re acting as though…”

  Silbermann jumped out of the bed. “I don’t want any help!” he called out and glared at her. “I don’t want anything at all! All I want is to leave! I refuse your—help!” He hurled the word at her as though it were an insult.

  She left the room and he lay back down in bed.

  Calm down! he commanded to himself. I absolutely have to act more calmly. He felt his pulse and touched his forehead. I don’t have a fever, he established. I simply should have eaten something. I’ve been eating too little and far too irregularly. And on top of that there’s all the commotion of the past few days.

  He pulled the covers up to his chin.

  Actually it’s nice just lying here, he thought. I really should stay a couple of days. Once again he examined the room. Nice and clean, he determined. I really ought to stay. No! No! It’s a prison. Or the prelude to prison! They nurse you here so they can thrash you there!

  The nurse came back. She was carrying a large sheet of paper and a pencil. Silbermann looked at her mistrustfully.

  “Your briefcase is here, of course, along with your money,” she said. “Here’s the list of all your personal belongings. Please look it over and let me know right away if there’s anything missing.”

  Silbermann took the list and studied it without much interest, since he knew his essential possessions had been found.

  “Incidentally, the doctor is also of the opinion that you can be discharged,” the nurse added.

  “That’s good,” said Silbermann, relieved. “Many thanks.”

  The nurse started for the door, then turned around and asked, “Are you Jewish?”

  Silbermann started. “And what about it?” he asked back.

  “Oh nothing. Calm down. Nobody’s going to do anything to you here. If you like you can easily stay another few days. But perhaps it’s better…”

  “I want to leave,” Silbermann said quickly. “I’m sure you mean very well, but I want to go. Besides, I’m completely recovered. It was just a minor passing weakness.”

  She had already left the room.

  What’s going to happen now? Silbermann wondered. Will they really let me go? Will they give me back my money? Or perhaps…? There are so many possibilities. After all, they’re not going to let a Jew with money slip away. He got out of his bed, walked to the door in his bare feet, opened it, and peered out into the corridor. Now I’ve fallen into the trap, he thought. Now they have me! And above all they have my money! Everything’s part of the same system, even this hospital. The state in all of its totality is turned against me—against me!

  He saw an orderly round the corner and quickly scurried back to his bed.

  Maybe if I stayed here I’d have some peace, he thought. But how can I be at peace when I don’t know what’s in store for me? And the longer I stay, the greater the danger! That money is a temptation …

  He poured a glass of water from the carafe on the nightstand and gulped it down. I’m hungry, he thought. Why aren’t they bringing me anything to eat? What do they intend to do with me, anyway?

  Another orderly came and draped Silbermann’s clothes on a chair.

  Why didn’t he bring my briefcase? Silbermann brooded. He felt his pockets but they were empty.

  “Where’s my passport? Where is my money?” he said to the nurse when she came in, bringing his meal on a tray.

  “They’ll give it to you later,” she reassured him. “You’re among honest people here. What on earth are you thinking?”

  “Is this a state hospital?” he asked, mistrustful.

  “No, we’re a municipal one.”

  “Nevertheless!” he said and began to eat. In the middle of his meal he suddenly paused. I’m practically begging them to rob me, he thought fearfully. Besides, I’m making myself look suspicious. Who knows what they think of me. He quickly wolfed down the rest of his food. I can’t let that happen again. Passing out in enemy territory …

  Half an hour later he left the hospital. They’d returned all his belongings and he was so astonished—practically moved—that he gave the nurse a hundred marks. She was reluctant to accept it until he indicated that he’d be seriously offended if she did not.

  No sooner had he taken a few steps than he regretted having left, because he still felt weak and woozy. He first went to a post office where he sent his wife and his sister each an insured letter containing two thousand marks. Afterward he felt relieved, not only because in his mind he’d taken care of an obligation, but also because he’d lowered the risk associated with his briefcase and thereby lessened his responsibility for any potential future loss.

  He wondered whether he should head back to Berlin or stay in Dresden awhile longer, and ultimately decided on the latter. After wandering aimlessly through the city he boarded the funicular train and rode up to the Weisser Hirsch resort. On the way he recalled Ursula Angelhof’s advice:… enjoy myself enormously … start living as though each day were my last. Even if he had serious doubts about his ability to follow through on an idea so foreign to him, perhaps his constant movement would seem a little less grindingly senseless if he tried to get to know the places at least a little bit—the places through which he was being blown by an evil wind.

  I’ve been in Dresden a dozen times, he recalled, but I’ve never been up to the Weisser Hirsch. And they say it has such a wonderful view.

  As the funicular climbed the hill his thoughts alternated between his wife and his acquaintance from the express train. I absolutely have to see her again, he thought, and felt an intense yearning for her. For her sympathy, her carefree attitude, her silly advice, her playful manner. She certainly isn’t someone who just sighs and lets things happen. Thank God. And suddenly he had a new plan, namely to find her under all circumstances.

  When he got to the Weisser Hirsch he tried to behave like an ordinary tourist. He looked down at Dresden, which was spread out in the half-dark with only a few lights discernible, and tried very hard to admire what he could see.

  What a pity that Elfried
e isn’t here, he thought. She loves beautiful vistas, and I’m sure she would have enjoyed the short ride on the funicular. Silbermann sighed. She really is the only person who means something to me.

  He entered the restaurant, sat down at a table, and asked for some postcards. “I’ll have a bottle of Mosel,” he then reassured the waiter, who had probably feared Silbermann would content himself with the postcards.

  I’m still alive, Silbermann thought, and tried to smile.

  He took his pen out of his pocket and wondered what to write his wife. Shall I tell her that I’m sitting in the Weisser Hirsch with a bottle of Mosel wine and am struggling very hard to talk myself into a decent mood? If her brother sees the card he’ll say, “You see! Evidently he’s doing pretty well!” And perhaps she’ll feel reassured by that.

  But I don’t want to reassure anyone!

  In a fit, he tore up the postcards. “It won’t work,” he muttered. “I can’t pretend to be someone out for a day trip!” He summoned the waiter, paid, and left.

  He took the funicular back down to Dresden. Once in town he rushed onto a streetcar and headed for the station where he hoped to catch the express to Berlin.

  When all’s said and done I still feel most comfortable in a train compartment, he thought, when he boarded the train a minute before it departed. He chose a seat in a second-class compartment, where there were two gentlemen and an older lady. Silbermann immediately began reading the novel he had purchased at the kiosk. After half an hour he felt tired and leaned back and closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep and didn’t wake up until they had arrived in Berlin.

  The two gentlemen were already gone, and the elderly lady was tugging his arm. “Thank you,” Silbermann said, still very sleepy. It took effort to stand up. The lady left the compartment, and Silbermann clumsily put on his coat and hat and started to follow her out when he suddenly sensed he was missing something. He thought for a moment and then remembered his briefcase. He hurried back to his compartment, but it wasn’t there. He quickly stood on a seat to examine the luggage rack, but all he could find were newspapers. Then he rushed out of the compartment.