“Do you think that the signalman got there in time?” Emil asked, concerned.
Once more, Karl shivered all over. He felt cold in every part of his body. He began to tremble. He sneezed once or twice, and then he was seized by a fit of sneezing.
“Are you cold?” asked Matilda.
“No, not all the time. Sometimes I feel cold and sometimes I feel warm.”
All at once Karl remembered how once he’d left home in the pouring rain without his jacket. It seemed that he could hear his mother calling after him, “Karl, you’ll catch cold! Karl! You naughty boy!”
He began to feel dizzy, and he grabbed onto a chair so that he wouldn’t fall down.
Matilda felt his forehead.
“The boy is sick,” she cried out, alarmed. “He’s got a fever.”
Hans stood up, blinking his eyes. He helped Matilda undress Karl.
Karl closed his eyes, and he said in a singsong, as if deep in sleep, “Aunt Matilda! I feel sick, Aunt Matilda! I love you. Emil! Emil! Hans! I feel sick.”
Hans stood, his long arms at his sides, next to the bed where Karl now lay, his eyes shut.
chapter fifteen
Karl’s eyes opened and shut perhaps a hundred times. He watched the dawn turn blue through the windows. He saw the day and then the dark of night. He even heard the train’s whistle, but he responded to none of it, as if nothing mattered to him.
Karl didn’t even know how many days had passed like this. He did remember that between opening and closing his eyes, Aunt Matilda stood by him with a spoon, which he had to take into his mouth. Only it wasn’t always Aunt Matilda. Sometimes it was even his mother who nursed him, and other times it was the old Jewish man who sang his little tune as he gave him the bitter spoonful. Very often the old man sang just like a train whistle, and from time to time he stood on his head and shouted that his name was Hans.
But one thing Karl was sure of—someone was missing. He struggled to recall exactly who that someone was, but he just couldn’t remember whom he had lost. He tried so hard to recall the face or at least the name of this missing person that drops of sweat broke out on his forehead.
It couldn’t be that this someone’s name was Karl. No, it certainly wasn’t Karl! But just the other day he was crouching down on the ground next to this person, and they scrubbed the pavement with bleeding hands. But he couldn’t recall how this person looked. At the very least, he wanted to remember his name, but he couldn’t even do that.
Many times he had wanted to ask Aunt Matilda who it was that had dropped out of his memory, but each time that he was about to open his lips, his eyes fell shut.
Then one time Karl woke up in the middle of the night, and he smiled, because he remembered the word “Emil.” He had no idea what this “Emil” was, but the word itself made him feel very happy, and he was glad that he remembered it.
A lamp was burning on the table, and Karl figured out that “Emil” was something else besides the lamp, something else besides the train whistle howling outside, just like someone who had puffed himself up with so much air that he turned red and then let out a wild scream.
Karl’s eyes roamed around the room, looking for something. He wanted to attach the word “Emil” to something, but it didn’t belong to anything—not the table, not the lamp, not the window.
Suddenly he saw a bed across the room, and in that bed there was a face that looked just like “Emil.” Just then, Karl felt that he was getting much better. He repeated the word “Emil” several times and looked at the bed, and even though he didn’t completely understand what the word meant yet, he felt that he was about to figure it out.
Then suddenly he saw that near the bed, on a broken-down chair covered with a blanket, Hans was sleeping. His tousled red head lay there peacefully, his beard wasn’t wild. He wasn’t shouting or waving his hands about, and he wasn’t laughing in that strange way he had.
In Hans’s lap Karl saw an open book. Asleep, Hans looked so pleasant that Karl almost didn’t recognize him.
Karl was sure he wasn’t dreaming any longer but was seeing things as they were, because he had already seen Emil lying in the bed across from him—Emil, the very same person he had been missing all this time. But now it was Hans who was hard to recognize. There was something about him that was familiar, but then there was something that wasn’t.
All at once Karl saw Hans stir and then wake up. He looked about the room, frightened. Karl shut his eyes halfway and noticed that Hans still looked very different. He saw Hans pick up the book and read it very attentively. Hans appeared to be deep in thought, and from time to time he ran his hand through his unkempt hair. Deep in thought, he took out a pencil and wrote something in the book.
When Hans got up from the chair and went over to the bed to take a look at Karl, the boy shut his eyes completely.
Hans walked about the room a few times, back and forth. He picked up another book and brought it over to the lamp. He stood and read; then once again he quickly took out a pencil and sat down at the table. He took a piece of paper from a drawer and began writing.
Karl started to get scared. He didn’t understand what had happened to Hans, why he was so different. Karl made up his mind that the next day he would have to get out of bed. He stretched his legs and felt that he had the strength to do it. Under the covers he made a fist and was happy to see that it was strong, too.
He knew he’d been sick, but now he felt better. In the morning he would definitely get out of bed, and right away he would have to tell Emil the secret of how Hans behaved at night, how he became a completely different person, that he never shouted, not even once, but that he looked so nice and calm.
From the next room Aunt Matilda tiptoed in. Once more, Hans’s whole body moved. Karl expected that Hans would shout “Heil!” or might even stand on his head.
“You should get some rest. Karl’s feeling better,” Matilda said.
But Karl wasn’t paying attention to what Matilda was saying. He listened closely to find out how Hans would answer her.
And he was glad he listened, because Hans spoke, softly but clearly. Karl didn’t recognize his voice at all.
“There’s so much work, Matilda. So much to be done.”
“Yes, but you must have the strength to work. You must have the strength to live.”
“Don’t worry, the devil won’t get me,” Hans answered, laughing.
He put out the lamp and started stretching his arms in all directions. It seemed as though he was doing exercises in the dark.
“It’s already morning,” Hans said.
“You can still get a few hours of sleep,” Matilda replied, going back into the other room.
Hans dozed off in the chair. Karl lay there, petrified. He was afraid to move. He felt like crying. He didn’t understand what had happened to Hans. He wished that it were already daytime, so that he could tell Emil about Hans’s strange behavior.
chapter sixteen
In the morning Emil and Karl found a note from Aunt Matilda:
“Don’t worry, boys, I’ll be back in a few days. Hans will take good care of you.”
Karl felt much better, though he was upset that Aunt Matilda had left the house. He thought about how many times she would get up in the middle of the night and cover him, and how many times she gave him a spoonful of medicine. Now he wanted to show her his thanks, but she was gone.
Karl’s heart felt heavy. He fought against the feeling that perhaps Matilda might never come back again—like his mother, like all of the others who had been disappearing. He wanted to tell this to Emil but he held back, because Emil looked so worried. Karl knew that Emil missed Aunt Matilda terribly, too.
Karl also felt very grateful to Hans, who had stayed by his bed night after night, but the boy didn’t know how to express his thanks. Now he found himself avoiding Hans. Karl couldn’t look him straight in the eye—not after he’d seen Hans reading and heard how softly he had spoken to Matilda.
&n
bsp; In fact, it seemed to Karl that Hans was avoiding him as well. He set the table, served breakfast, and let out one of his laughs now and then, even shouted “Heil” a few times, but Hans behaved differently from how he had in the park or on that first day when Karl and Emil came to the house.
Karl wanted to tell Emil everything that he’d seen the night before, but he waited. He didn’t feel well enough to do that yet.
After lunch Karl sat in the warmth of the sun while Hans played ball with Emil. The ball flew back and forth, and Hans did some tricks. As the ball flew toward him, Hans did a somersault and still managed to catch it.
Karl wanted to join in their game, but Hans stopped him.
“Not healthy yet. Not healthy yet. Tomorrow!”
Hans stroked Karl’s head and let out one of his sharp laughs.
Then Karl asked Hans if he would let him play ball for just fifteen minutes. Hans looked at him sternly and then broke out laughing.
“No. Aunt Matilda’ll be mad.”
“Where did Aunt Matilda go?” asked Emil.
“Back soon, back soon,” Hans replied and did a somersault.
Emil had been playing for such a long time that he was drenched with sweat, and he decided it was time to stop.
All the while, Karl sat on the threshold, enjoying the sun. When Emil stopped playing, Karl asked Hans if he and Emil could take a short walk, just as far as the train tracks. The boys both promised that they would sit on the little hill near the tracks, and then, after watching a few trains pass by, they would come straight back.
“I’ll shout ‘Come back,’” Hans warned them, pointing his finger at Karl. “You’re still weak.”
Emil and Karl were lucky. As soon as they sat down on the little hill, a long train chugged by, and they counted the cars out loud.
“Thirty-two,” the two boys shouted together, happy that they had both counted the same number.
Suddenly, Emil let out a sigh.
“What’s the matter?” asked Karl.
“When I remember everything, I can’t help it,” Emil answered. “At night, when I think about my mother and father, I feel like crying. When you were sick I cried a lot, too.”
“I was looking all around me then. I couldn’t remember who you were or what your name was, but I knew that I missed you.”
“We ought to find out what happened to our mothers.”
“How can we do that?” Karl turned his large blue eyes toward Emil.
“I don’t know, but we have to find out. We should ask Aunt Matilda. She knows everything.”
“It might make Aunt Matilda very upset,” Karl said. “She’s been so good to us.”
“But now she’s gone,” Emil said, trying not to sound upset.
“You know, Emil, I have something to tell you,” Karl said. “I’ll tell it to you, if you promise me that you won’t get scared.”
“Is it something very scary?” asked Emil.
“Very,” said Karl. “I won’t tell you now. I’ll tell you when Aunt Matilda comes back.”
“But I want to know what it is,” Emil said. “Tell me a little bit at a time, not all at once.”
Karl began to explain how he’d seen Hans reading books and even writing, and how Hans had spoken to Aunt Matilda in a soft voice, and that he had lots and lots of work to do.
“And you should have seen how he looked—completely different from before. His beard was different, his hair was combed, and his face looked so nice.”
“And he didn’t shout Heil?” Emil asked, amazed.
“Not once.”
“That really is scary,” said Emil. “I don’t like it at all. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
“I’m a thousand times sure. After that, it took me a long time to fall asleep.”
“And he didn’t laugh and shout ‘This is good?’” Emil wanted to know.
“No, not at all. He held his book up to the lamp, he read and wrote things down.”
The signalman saw the boys. He waved to them from far away, but they didn’t respond.
“I don’t like him. Did you hear the story that he told us?” Emil asked.
“Look, he’s wearing the yellow shoes he took from the shopkeeper,” Karl said quietly.
Arm in arm, the boys started walking slowly back.
“You know what?” said Emil. “Tonight I’ll stay up and watch what Hans does at night.”
“You still don’t believe me?” Karl asked, angrily.
“Oh, I believe you all right, but I want to see it with my own eyes.”
“You’d be better off going to sleep,” Karl suggested, “because you’ll get scared.”
“I’m scared at night anyway. I think about my mother. I can remember how she looked when they took her out of the house. You know what? Tonight, I’ll plan to wake up in the middle of the night. But if I get really scared I’ll wake you up.”
“Yes,” Karl agreed. “Tonight we’ll sleep in the same bed. If you want to wake me up, just pull on my hair gently.”
“OK!” said Emil.
“OK. Only don’t pull too hard—just a gentle tug, and I’ll open my eyes right away.”
chapter seventeen
In the evening Friedrich, the signalman, came by. He sat down and blew clouds of smoke from his pipe. He was as drunk as he had been the last time. When he tried to speak, he could only utter fragments of words. He spoke to Emil and Karl, straining to make himself understood, but everything came out of his mouth so strangely that they kept laughing.
The signalman laughed with them. Between fits of laughter, he tried one more time to say something, but his tongue wouldn’t do what he wanted.
And so he began to mumble to himself. It seemed as though he was asking himself a question that he himself didn’t understand. When the boys burst out laughing, he couldn’t help laughing, too.
Hans sat on the threshold. From time to time Emil and Karl looked at him, as if they expected something unusual to happen.
Then the signalman made a huge effort to say something. He struggled fiercely, until he was able to get a word out.
“Matilda?”
He punctuated the question with his pipe, using it to point at the room where Matilda usually slept.
“She’ll be back soon,” Karl answered.
The signalman was so happy that they understood him that he tried once more and asked, pointing to Karl.
“Better?”
“Yes, I’m all better now,” said Karl.
The man took a penknife out of his pocket and offered it to him.
“Here, take it. A gift for you!” He opened it up and showed the boy that it had three blades and a corkscrew.
Karl looked at the shiny penknife and wanted to take it. But before he did he asked, “What about Emil?”
The signalman puffed on his pipe, pleased.
“Good boy! That’s a good boy! Look—” and he took out another penknife, just as shiny as the first one.
“Two boys, two knives,” he said, opening all the blades of the second knife as well.
Karl waited for Emil to take his penknife, but his friend didn’t even move from his place.
“Here!” the signalman said to Emil. “It’s yours.”
“I don’t want a knife. I don’t need it,” said Emil, lowering his head. Karl stopped, surprised.
“Strange,” said the signalman quickly, as if he had suddenly sobered up. “All boys like penknives, and these are nice ones, with corkscrews.”
“I don’t want a penknife,” said Emil, his head still bowed. “You took those knives from someone.”
The signalman jumped up.
“May God punish me if I’m not telling the truth. I bought these knives, one for Karl, and another for Emil. I haven’t stolen any more things. That suit is still hanging in my closet, like a dead man. I’ve only put on these yellow shoes. The soles of my own shoes are completely worn out. I even put the watch away. It’s just lying there like a sleeping monster, th
e hands stopped at ten after twelve. Look, this is still my old watch.”
He took out his pocket watch and showed them. Suddenly he said, “Damn it, the ten o’clock train will be here soon.”
And he ran out of the house, leaving both penknives on the chair where he had been sitting.
“He didn’t steal the knives,” said Karl, looking longingly at the open blades. “You heard, he swore that he didn’t.”
“I don’t want them,” Emil said, looking away from the chair. “He said that he stole some money, and he probably used that money to buy them. You can have your knife, if you want.”
Karl went over to Emil. He wanted to say something, but he just stood there and looked at him, his eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t need my penknife, either. My mother once bought me a penknife with four blades. It even had a little scoop for cleaning out your ears.”
Emil didn’t respond.
“You’re my only friend,” Karl continued, “and I’m the only friend you have.”
“Yes,” Emil answered. “Of course you’re my only friend.”
“Even though I really wanted to have my knife, I didn’t take it,” Karl said, apologetically.
“Yes, we’re friends,” Emil answered happily. “And we can play without knives.”
Hans was still sitting on the threshold. He was leaning his head against the doorjamb. He breathed heavily.
Karl bent over and said softly, “He’s sleeping. He’s sound asleep.”
Emil also bent over.
“He’s asleep, all right. He must be very tired.”
“He sat by my bed all night when I was sick. He must be worn out,” Karl said, guiltily.
“I miss Matilda very much,” said Emil, sighing. “She’s so good; like Berta, maybe even better. Like my mother. When you were sick she cried, I saw it myself. Once she said to me, ‘You know, Karl is very ill.’”
Emil and Karl Page 8