by Hans Fallada
‘Perhaps. Are you safe?’
‘I’m all right,’ said bald-head proudly. ‘I’ve never done anyone down. You can trust me with what you like, and I don’t pinch any of it either. Done a stretch before?’
‘Yes,’ said Kufalt. ‘Five years.’
‘And now?’
‘Seven.’
‘Some stretch!’
‘Pah. Seven years is nothing, I can do ‘em on my head.’
‘You’ve got a nerve.’
‘What are you on about! What’s the work inspector like? Is it easy to get a cushy job?’
‘Depends,’ said the orderly, turning on the tap. Water gushed into the bath. ‘Like it hot?’
‘Middling. Now let’s see. Help me to undress. I can’t use my arm much yet.’
‘Who knocked you about like that?’
‘My pal. He tried to throw me out of a third-floor cell window.’
‘Ouch!’
‘But I bit him in the hand, and he didn’t half yell, I can tell you! What’s the old man like?’
‘Not so bad. He doesn’t have much to say. Did you pull off anything worthwhile?’
‘A hundred and fifty thousand,’ said Kufalt solemnly.
‘What!! Go on!’
‘Didn’t you read in the paper about the jewel robbery at Wossidlo’s in Hamburg?’
‘Sure. What about it?’
‘That was my job.’
‘You don’t say!’ The orderly stared at him in admiration. ‘Did you manage to put any aside?’
Kufalt smiled significantly. ‘Ah, that’s what we don’t talk about. Perhaps I’ll give you a surprise one day. Now then, just see if there’s anyone around, will you?’
‘All clear,’ reported the orderly obediently.
‘Right. Then unwind the bandage from my arm. So. Slowly, so it doesn’t drop into the water. There’s the first packet of tobacco. Right. Shove it under the bath. There’s some plug in the tin box. Here’s another packet. And here’s the third. And there’s cigarette papers too, and matches. Thank the Lord I can shift my arm again; it had gone dead.’
And he swung his arm energetically.
The orderly was dumbfounded. ‘Well, I’m damned! Isn’t there anything wrong with your arm, then?’
‘Course there isn’t. The infirmary orderly fixed that up, for a packet of tobacco. Listen here, mate. If you keep your mouth shut and don’t split, there’s half a packet for you.’
‘A whole packet,’ demanded the orderly firmly.
‘Nothing doing,’ said Kufalt as he hopped into the bath. ‘I’ve only got three.’
‘Well, there’s more where they came from.’
‘I don’t know, I’ll have to look around a bit first and see who’ll do my bits of business for me. When does the doctor come?’
‘The doctor? Tomorrow.’
‘Damn. I’ll have to take my bandage off. Are the cells here searched much?’
‘No. You’d better stick your baccy in your mattress, they never look there. You can smoke after lock-up. The nightwatch won’t split.’
‘That’s good. All right, I’ll give you a packet. I can always get more. But you’ll have to give me a nice new outfit at the store.’
‘I will. We’ll fix that up right away.’
With a sigh of satisfaction Kufalt stretched himself in the bath. ‘It really is good to be inside again, you can lead a regular life again.’
‘That’s so,’ said the orderly. ‘But seven years—well, don’t forget me.’
‘When you’ve done five years, seven don’t seem much more. And perhaps there’ll be an amnesty. The main thing is not to run out of tobacco, and to get a soft job. But I’m not worrying, I’ll look after myself all right.’
V
The first exciting day, with all its comings and its goings, interviews and distribution of clothes and outfits, was over; it was after lock-up, and Kufalt was sitting alone on his bed in cell 207.
The prison was filled with the old familiar evening noises: a bed swung down onto the floor, a prisoner fell to whistling absentmindedly in his cell and his neighbour burst into shouts of protest, two prisoners on the storey below were talking out of their windows, a bucket lid clattered, a watchdog howled in the yard.
Kufalt was at ease; Kufalt was at peace. He had got an excellent cell and his outfit was first-rate, the brushes almost as good as new. Behind the bucket he had found some tinder, flint and striker, so he would not need his matches, and he already had something to swap. He had got a clean suit of clothes and good shoes, and his under-clothes were also good; the coarse shirt did scratch him a little, but he would soon get used to that.
He had had a talk with the work inspector, who seemed to be a decent sort; as soon as Kufalt was reported well, he was to be put into the aluminium workshop and set to file down castings, a job he knew nothing about, but he quite looked forward to it. It would be a change, at any rate; there was no net-making in this prison.
Darkness fell quickly; he sat quietly on his bed, his tobacco tucked away in his mattress. He was waiting until the nightwatchmen had padded past in their list slippers. When they had gone he could enjoy a cigarette in peace. A man had to mind his eye to begin with until he knew what risks he could take.
Tomorrow he would polish his bucket lid, which was not at all as it should be. He could certainly get some polish in exchange for a couple of matches, and a spotless cell would earn him favour with the chief warder. Next, he would clean his windows, but there was no hurry; there was all the time in the world before him.
He must get himself reported fit for work as soon as possible, as life in his cell would otherwise be very dull. Library books would not be given out for two days; in the meantime he must manage with the Bible and hymn book. He must make up to the book orderly so as to be sure of getting good, thick volumes. For the present he would only be given one book, which would have to last him the entire week; but he was counting on being put into category two after six months, when two books a week are allowed.
As an old convict he had resolved to get on good terms with everybody; it was not difficult, and he had learnt his lesson. He had even asked to be taken to see the chaplain; this time he would not be such a fool, he would take care to keep in the chaplain’s good graces. His quarrels had never done him any good, and a man must know how to learn from his own follies.
He wished he could hear the watchmen shuffling past his door—he longed for a cigarette.
But he was better off in here than outside. Outside, he had just smoked away without thinking, but here—since he had climbed out of the Black Maria a good eight hours ago, he had not smoked at all. That had never happened outside. And there never seemed time outside to read a book in peace and quiet. He would take care to get a book of travels. Hedin’s books were always nice, fat volumes and sometimes there was an illustration with a woman’s bare breast or legs. Oh yes, it would be fine.
‘Click,’ and his cell was suddenly lit up.
He jumped to his feet and stood to attention. The slide over the peephole had dropped, but the little gaping aperture confused his vision and he could not see the eye outside.
‘You lie down, my lad—want a nurse to tuck you up?’
‘And wouldn’t that be nice, Chief Warder.’ Kufalt grinned at the iron door, and pretended to undress at once.
‘Well, goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Chief Warder. And thanks very much.’
‘Click,’ and the cell was again in darkness.
Kufalt leaned against the door and listened.
He heard the steps depart, then he heard them on the other side; the staircase creaked, and all was clear.
He picked up the cigarette he had already rolled, and a match—he would use a match this time, it was easier—pushed the table under the window, put the stool on top of it, and clambered up cautiously in the darkness.
Then he hooked one arm round the ventilator, lit the cigarette and puffed out of the window.
How good it tasted—he flooded his lungs with smoke; a cigarette in prison was glorious, it was the best cigarette in the world.
‘Hello, new boy,’ whispered a voice.
‘Yes?’ he answered.
‘Are you smoking?’
‘Can’t you smell it?’
‘Bring me a bit of baccy tomorrow at recreation. I’m your neighbour on the left.’
‘I’ll see about it.’
‘No, you’ve got to. I’ll tell you a bit about the cops on our landing. Then you can get a cushy job quick.’
‘Why haven’t you got one?’
‘Oh, I’m going out in five days.’
‘Good for you. How long have you been in?’
‘A pretty good stretch—a year and a half.’
‘Call that a stretch! I’m doing seven.’
‘Well, I never . . . What are you in for?’
‘I did the jewel robbery at Wossidlo’s on the Jungfernstieg. You must have heard of it.’
‘You bet I have! Seven years is cheap for that. Have you got any doings left?’
‘Quite a nice little packet.’
‘Look here, mate . . . ’ began the other man.
‘Well?’
‘If I got a letter out for you, and you wanted any money slipped into the prison, you can trust me. I won’t split. I won’t tell the cops where the goods are . . . ’
‘I’ll think it over.’
‘I’ve only got five days left.’
‘I’ll let you know. What are you in for?’
‘Embezzlement . . . ’
‘Well, I’m not likely to let you get your hands on my money . . . ’
‘I wouldn’t steal from a pal; what do you take me for? I’d skin a greasy old grafter any time. But a pal—and in for seven years! Now you give me a letter, eh? Has your girl got the stuff?’
‘Perhaps . . . ’
‘Listen, mate,’ said the other man eagerly; ‘I can buy you anything you want. I can slip it into prison all right, don’t you worry. And you needn’t bring me any baccy tomorrow, I’ve got plenty. I only said that because I thought you were green. I can give you lots of baccy, and cigarette papers too. And I’ve got a nice bit of toilet soap that you might as well have . . . ’
‘Well, goodnight,’ said Kufalt. ‘I’m going to turn in. I’ll think about that letter.’
‘You do as I say, and mind you don’t get mixed up with any of the orderlies, they’ll double-cross you. Psst, are you still there?’
‘Yes, but I’m going now.’
‘How much was it?’
‘Oh, about fifteen thousand. But I’ve spent two or three . . . ’
‘You don’t say! And has your girl got all that! I’d do ten years for that. Twelve years . . . ’
‘G’night.’
‘G’night. I won’t forget your baccy.’
Kufalt slid softly down from his throne, cleared everything away and got into bed.
The man was a fool, but he might be useful, the sort of fool who let himself be stung. What a shock he would get if Kufalt gave him a letter and told him to go to that uppity little typist at Jauch’s typing agency and ask her for a thousand marks, or better still, to Liese. She would put him through it properly.
Kufalt had drawn the blanket well up over his shoulders, it was pleasantly quiet in prison, and he was going to have a sound night’s sleep.
How good it was to be back home again. No more worries. Almost like home in the old days, with his father and his mother.
Almost?
It was better. Here a man could live in peace. The voices of the world were stilled. No making up your mind, no need for effort.
Life proceeded duly and in order. He was utterly at home.
And Willi Kufalt fell quietly asleep, with a peaceful smile on his lips.