Life Goes On: A Novel

by Hans Keilson

  “No, it partly is my fault.” He spoke the words slowly and with difficulty, as though they carried with them an incalculable admission.

  “How?” Albrecht asked. He trembled a little in expectation. Was he onto something?

  Father, in a serious voice: “Back in the years when inflation was astronomical, and after that too, I should have understood what was happening better … but who could know?”

  Then Albrecht firmly pressed his father’s hands and calmly said: “You couldn’t have known. Leave it to the experts; you couldn’t have known.”

  Father nodded, satisfied. “No, it wouldn’t have helped anyway.”

  Silence.

  “How could this all have happened so suddenly?” Albrecht asked.

  Father shrugged and said, looking thoughtful: “Suddenly? No, it’s been happening for a while, you just haven’t noticed.”

  “I noticed,” Albrecht said; how old he felt in that moment.

  Father, after a while: “Everything hangs together, it all stretches further and further back and reaches all the way up to the top.” He couldn’t find any better explanation than that.

  Albrecht pensively shook his head.

  “No one has money, only very few people still have work, and so it goes on, it’ll never change, there will never be enough.… Look,” his father continued, “if a worker has no money, he needs to buy his clothes on credit, because he needs them, he can’t walk around naked. But then I don’t have enough money, and I can’t pay my suppliers, and they had to buy the goods somewhere too. So the slowdown keeps going, all the way up, to the factories that make the products and the banks that give them credit. Whoever has the strongest lungs wins—whoever can hold out the longest. Usually that’s the one who has capital behind him. Today only someone with capital behind him can survive, everyone else is going to go under.”

  “Is that really what you think?” his son asked.

  Herr Seldersen nodded. “It is,” he said.

  “Do you think Herr Dalke really hurt you?” Albrecht asked next. He himself didn’t know what had made him think of Herr Dalke, who owned the big store up on the corner across the street. Father said nothing. He knew Herr Dalke personally, they even spent time together outside of business, even though they were competitors.

  “His calculations are nothing like mine, he has a lot at his disposal,” he eventually said. “He’s been on top of things ever since he finished the building and added another floor.… We can’t compare ourselves with him.”

  Herr Seldersen avoided directly answering the question of whether Dalke had harmed him. He let himself ask it only in silence, to himself, or maybe the question had never crossed his mind before; he didn’t like reflecting on such things, he had his pride too, after all. The fact that he was in such a tight position now was his own fault only in the most minimal way—he had never in his whole life been presumptuous. But Herr Dalke, now that was a totally different case. He lived, or rather he ran his business, on essentially another level, you couldn’t compare the two. Herr Dalke had money behind him, capital, and that made for a totally different picture.

  It was late by then and they walked home, saying little. Later, when Father was lying in bed, the boy gently came up to him and kissed him on the forehead. In return, as usual, his father kissed him twice: once on the cheek and once on the forehead. Albrecht was about to straighten up when the arm around his neck pulled him lightly downward and he felt a light kiss on his mouth. “Sleep well, my boy.”

  Albrecht went back to his room and got ready for bed, scrubbing himself with a cold washcloth.

  * * *

  “Nelken’s coming tomorrow,” Herr Seldersen told his wife one day after opening a letter. “I just heard when he’s getting in. We’ll have him over for dinner tomorrow.”

  Mother wanted to say something but Father didn’t let her open her mouth; he knew what she wanted to say.

  “There’s no way around it,” he said. “Every time he comes he’s our guest, this time would be the first exception. We can’t do that.”

  Frau Seldersen mentioned the expense of having him over, trying to change Father’s mind that way. But Father had already had the same thoughts. “That’s the way it is,” he said finally, to end the discussion. “We can’t make him suspicious. We have to stick it out as long as we can.” Mother obeyed.

  Nelken arrived the next day—a tall, impressive-looking man, a director in a large firm with which Herr Seldersen had had a close relationship since he started his business. Herr Nelken usually brought three large suitcases with him, which the porter of the hotel he was staying in had to haul around to his clients’ businesses in a wheelbarrow. A kind of friendship existed between him and Herr Seldersen. Herr Nelken didn’t pay visits to everyone, heaven forbid; he traveled to see only his elite clientele, so to speak, including Herr Seldersen. It was a great honor, and he knew enough to value it and try his best not to lose it. Herr Nelken would come for dinner, bringing flowers and chocolate, then there would be conversation after dinner, a little card game, and he would set off again.

  This time he came with only one heavy suitcase and two light ones. A sign of the times, he told Herr Seldersen. They spent a moment reminiscing about the past and then got down to work. Herr Seldersen had drawn up a list of what he needed beforehand; Herr Nelken pulled out one after another of the countless samples from his suitcase and presented them. Then he wrote out the orders in his notepad.

  “No,” Herr Seldersen interrupted him, “there’s time. Don’t write it down, I can always order anything else I need later; you always have it in stock.”

  “Of course,” Herr Nelken assured him. And he knew exactly why Herr Seldersen was being cautious with his orders. He ran into the same fearful caution everywhere, and he let Herr Seldersen know it.

  Everyone was waiting and seeing, trying to spend as little up front as possible. Herr Nelken got around a lot and had plenty of stories he could tell.

  The stock in his suitcases was far from depleted; he brought out more and more new items, but Herr Seldersen stood firm.

  “No, we can’t take those anymore, they’re much too expensive. What are you thinking? No one has any money.” He told Herr Nelken about the fire that had robbed two hundred people of their daily bread. Whatever the reason, it quickly led to further cutbacks, he said; other factories were announcing layoffs every week; the construction business was in a slump, the bricks heaped up high in the warehouses with no orders coming in.

  They were already finished by early afternoon—it used to take two days to place all the orders.

  “We’re expecting you for dinner tonight, Herr Nelken,” Father said. “It’s a sacred tradition.” He laughed.

  Herr Nelken looked at the time.

  “Actually, I can still make the train to E.,” he reflected. “It leaves in an hour.” He looked questioningly at Herr Seldersen.

  “If you want, if it’s important to you to finish your trip.”

  “It would gain me half a day, and I might even get away without unpacking there, then I’d save a whole day.” He thought about it while Herr Seldersen stood there in silence.

  After a while: “I’m not trying to press you to stay, Herr Nelken, if it would save you a whole day’s costs.… After all, it’s your business, the expenses come out of your own pocket. But we’d be glad to have you over tonight, for a simple meal—you know it’s no trouble, we have to eat too.”

  Herr Nelken eventually decided to take the afternoon train after all. He said goodbye to Herr Seldersen, told him he should definitely come by whenever he came to Berlin and needed something. Herr Seldersen had one other question: about the payment terms, how many days he could have.

  “Same as always, Herr Seldersen, naturally,” Nelken answered in surprise.

  “All right, forty days. That’s a little short, you know, everyone else is giving me sixty.”

  Herr Nelken thought for a moment, then said: “Hmm, I see. I don’t know
if we can manage that, in our firm.”

  “You can manage it better than anyone!” Herr Seldersen said. Who knows what he meant.

  Herr Nelken laughed: “What do you mean? We have our own bills to pay too, we’d have to change the contracts with our factories; it’s not as simple as you think. And then there’s the union.…”

  “Of course.” Father nodded. “Of course.”

  “Well, never mind all that, we’ve known each other long enough, I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “What about the letters?” Herr Seldersen blurted out.

  “The letters? What letters?”

  “Well,” Herr Seldersen said in a joking tone, trying to make light of the situation as much as he could, “you’ve sent me a couple of letters recently, account statements.…”

  Nelken understood what he meant. “Hmm, hmm…” Then he said: “I don’t have anything to do with that.”

  Herr Seldersen looked at him suspiciously. Nothing to do with the letters? Who else if not him? He was the boss, wasn’t he?

  “Our branch office sends them out without showing them to us; they’re responsible for handling such matters on their own. You’re not the only one, you can be sure of that. And why would you be? It’s the same everywhere these days.”

  “Yes, yes,” Herr Seldersen repeated a few times, “little reminders.” But wasn’t it more than that? Should he tell Herr Nelken about the anxiety, and the other feelings that came over him every time he saw the mailman come into his store these days?

  Herr Nelken shook his hand. “Don’t worry, such a longtime customer, like you…”

  Father thanked him for the comforting words, and in fact he looked visibly relieved—someone believed him, he was still worthy of credit. What more could he want? But Herr Nelken’s claim not to know anything about the letters was beyond him—he simply didn’t believe it. Was there anything that happened in his own business that he didn’t do because he wanted to and then carefully keep track of? And here was Herr Nelken, claiming that in his firm … No, he didn’t believe it. He knew all about the few customers that Herr Nelken honored with his visits. There was no deception about that. He was trying to make Herr Seldersen feel better, nothing more—he didn’t want to embarrass him, that was why he denied knowing about these letters, no question. A longtime customer like you, he’d just said. Then Herr Nelken left.

  Mother and Father ate alone that night, all the food Mother had bought especially for Herr Nelken’s visit. But they ate without taking any special pleasure in it—in truth, they almost had to force themselves to swallow it. Neither of them could stop thinking that now they had spent the money for no reason. They couldn’t get the thought out of their heads; it was as though they had committed a sin.

  * * *

  That winter, times were tough and expectations were low for a lot of people in the city. The factories operated with a small workforce; they were promising new hires in the spring, but in the meantime construction jobs were on hold for the season. A depressed, defeated mood held sway everywhere. The boys who had left school at Eastertime lazed around in the streets without any work to do; only a few of their fathers were making a living either. But everyone wanted to live, and needed money to buy food and warm clothes—it was getting colder and colder.

  So Christmas approached. In the end it was a holiday, and people celebrated it, even if they weren’t really in the mood. Not even in the war years had spirits been so low. But then came New Year’s, and people spent New Year’s Eve having fun and making noise. Exuberance and confidence filled the city—cannons were fired off, people toasted one another and sang songs, only a few kept their clear-eyed gaze on the year to come. But after all, it was good to have hope.

  In the middle of all the commotion, Fritz Fiedler suddenly appeared on the street in front of the Seldersens’ home. He shouted, waved up, and Albrecht’s parents invited him in. Before they could blink, Fritz had clambered up the outside wall, swung himself over the balustrade, and was standing in the room. After a warm welcome and best wishes for the new year, Fritz was given a full glass, drank it down, and Herr Seldersen added: “To your graduation!” He had a long way to go before graduation—next year would have been a better time to toast it—but what else are you supposed to wish for a schoolboy?

  “Why?” Fritz cried. His eyes shone; he couldn’t understand why Herr Seldersen was saying that now. There was still time, thank God. But thanks in advance!

  He had already had a bit to drink at home and was in high spirits. He grabbed Albrecht by the arm and pulled him aside. “Come here a minute,” he whispered. “I have to tell you something.” Then he told Albrecht in a quiet voice that he intended to use the last three days of vacation to put his plan into effect.

  “Your plan?” Albrecht asked. He hadn’t had anything to drink that night, but still didn’t exactly have all his wits about him at the moment.

  “You know.” Fritz got impatient and started fidgeting.

  Of course Albrecht remembered. He was completely focused again.

  “Shh, not so loud,” Fritz said. “Don’t give anything away. Look, I’m only acting, I think they think I’m drunk.” He was suddenly deadly serious: “Next week,” he said. “I’d love to know where I’ll be by then.”

  “Where?” Albrecht asked. He wanted to know right then.

  “I don’t know,” Fritz answered. “I’ll come by again beforehand, but now let’s go back to the others.”

  Albrecht nodded in silence, and they rejoined his parents.

  He had been in a troubled mood all night. He didn’t drink, didn’t cheer and make noise, nothing except toast his parents and a few friends they had over when the clocks struck midnight. He watched his parents kiss with tears in their eyes, saw how Mother patted Father encouragingly on the shoulder and how Father kept quiet, off to the side, as usual. He only gradually warmed up and showed that he was capable of more than just hanging his head all the time. How had he been before, before the war, before the current hard times? Fun-loving? Strong and confident? Yes, yes. Did he even remember it himself? Then, later, when Fritz came over and told Albrecht about his upcoming departure, it brought him even more forcefully back to the present. He recalled the conversations, the walks, all the things they had done together—and now Fritz was heading out into the world, in a week he would be who knows where. A week! Albrecht shook his head. No, he had never really believed that Fritz would actually leave. He had thought in all seriousness that the whole thing was just a daydream, a thought experiment—and now Fritz was off.

  Fritz came to see the Seldersens several times in the next couple of days. The two friends were together until late at night, but then again, they often were; it would have attracted attention if they had acted any differently. On the last night, they parted as though they would be seeing each other again the next day—no lingering goodbye, no words of farewell, just a simple handshake. “See you later, take care.” Then Fritz headed out into the world.

  The next morning, Fritz got up at the last possible minute—he had to hurry or else he would miss his train. His mother and brother were standing in the store and he ran through it, hurriedly pulling on his coat.

  “Gotta run,” he said, “I’ll be back Thursday, I’ve already packed my books, they’re in the knapsack. ’Bye.”

  “Be careful,” his mother called after him.

  His suitcase was waiting at the station—he had taken it there the night before, secretly, full of anticipation. Then the train pulled in and Fritz found a compartment where he could sit by himself. He had his school cap on his head; his heavy suitcase was in the net up above. He would have to get out at the next stop if he wanted to visit Kern the forest ranger. The train stopped. Fritz looked out at the platform. A few young people boarded his train car. Then the train moved on. Fritz leaned far out the window—fields, meadows, forest, a river, and in the distance a church spire rising up from a bright red cluster of roofs. He watched it for a long time a
s it grew smaller and smaller. Now it was no longer his. None of it had anything to do with him anymore. In Berlin, he threw his school cap into a dark corner of the station.

  That afternoon, Albrecht dropped by the Fiedlers’ yard and whistled and called until finally Frau Fiedler appeared at the window and said: “Fritz is visiting Kern, the forest ranger. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “Ah, right,” Albrecht answered. “He did mention it once. When will he be back?”

  “Thursday.”

  Albrecht was suddenly in a hurry and quickly said goodbye.

  Classes started on Thursday and Fritz Fiedler’s place was empty. Every teacher asked where he was when their class started. His mother spent the day at home and when school let out she waited to see Kern’s son.

  “No, he wasn’t at school either,” he said.

  “So he’s still at your house?” Frau Fiedler asked.

  “Our house?” The boy was genuinely surprised. “He was never at our house.”

  Then she understood. She ran home without saying another word and went up to her son’s room. The bed, unslept-in, the same as the day before; the knapsack, on the table, with the books neatly stashed inside it; everything tidily in its place. You could tell that no one had been there for a few days. She opened the closets—and they were empty. She looked under the bed and the suitcase was gone. She couldn’t stop crying and her short fat body was shaken with gasps of breath and she screamed out loud in pain. She tore the sheets off the bed, rummaged through all the closets and drawers, and found books, notebooks, shoes, but not what she was looking for. The picture on the wall—a class photo from the previous year—was gone. She kept looking and could find nothing personal left—he had burned it all. In the middle of her search she stopped; now she realized why she hadn’t seen him do the trick with his lip for a while: he was letting it heal. One less distinguished feature. He had prepared his escape down to the last detail.

  That afternoon she visited the Seldersens. They had just sat down for coffee when Frau Fiedler arrived, her face puffy and streaked with tears. The Seldersens couldn’t tell what was wrong at first, and Albrecht acted innocent too. Then they were shocked and upset. Father paced restlessly back and forth, fidgeting with his keys, while Mother sat at the table and joined Fritz’s mother in crying.