Life Goes On: A Novel

by Hans Keilson

  Every night he sat at the desk in the small room in front, with a pile of books, notebooks, and sheets of paper covered with writing in front of him. His eyes hurt, his head throbbed with a dull ache; he laid his head down on the desktop to rest for a moment. The warmth of the overheated room and his own body got to him and he jumped up, opened the window, leaned out, and breathed in the cold air of the winter night with relief. The streets were empty, the trees bent under the white weight of the snow. The stars glittered in the sky, every constellation so close you could almost touch it. Down by the front door was the landlord’s maid, who had not been working there long. Albrecht could recognize her by her curly blond hair, framing her head like a fur hat. She dressed like a lady; when she was done with her work, she went downstairs and waited in front of the house. Everyone who passed by looked at her long and hard—maybe she liked that. A man, still a boy really, walked up to her and Albrecht recognized him: the carpenter’s apprentice from across the street. He was tall, strong, with long limbs. What were they saying to each other? Albrecht listened.

  “Hi, why are you so late today?” She had been waiting for a long time.

  “I couldn’t come sooner,” he answered curtly.

  Albrecht could hear every word—the air was clear and cold, with no wind to carry away the sound. A simple greeting. Silence. They stood facing each other. Why didn’t they take each other’s hands, warm each other up?

  “What’s wrong?” the girl asked at last. Her voice sounded surprised but calm.

  “I have to talk to you, Johanna.” The words came out slowly, as though he were still wondering whether he should say them at all. He leaned against the wall. After a while:

  “I went to the doctor today. I couldn’t take it anymore, the master had already noticed, he was asking me what was wrong.”

  Silence.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

  “I’m not sick anymore,” the girl answered. “I’m better now.”

  Again, the firm, clear ring in her voice, making the boy feel uncertain.

  “But why didn’t you tell me you had been? I could have maybe been more careful.”

  She laughed quietly, not mockingly: “You really were wild,” she said, and suddenly she was very shy and timid. “You couldn’t wait, it was just the first time and you…”

  She fell silent.

  “But you didn’t say anything; just one word would have been enough.”

  “I really thought I was better, and then … I wasn’t only thinking of you.”

  “Not only of me? What do you mean?”

  Silence.

  “Why won’t you answer? Fine, I’ll report you, Johanna.” Now his voice has grown firm and clear, he is so sure of himself, he is standing in front of her, right up next to her. She still says nothing. Then she takes her key, unhurriedly opens the door, and bolts it from the inside. The young man steps to the door and grabs the iron grate of the window.

  “Johanna,” he calls out quietly, “Johanna!”

  Albrecht heard her slowly, then faster and faster, going upstairs to her attic room. The young man went home through the snow. Albrecht shut the window. He was done working for the day.

  * * *

  When his brother wrote back that he was prepared to help out with the necessary sum of money, under certain conditions, Herr Seldersen wrote to his creditors: he intended to pay off his debt at once, in return for their willingness to write off a certain percentage of it; they would discuss the particulars in more detail if they agreed, but he was looking forward to restructuring and rebuilding his business in accordance with modern principles as quickly as possible. This was the common form that settlements out of court generally took. Many days went by before the answers started arriving, one after the other. Some creditors agreed at once, others only with reservations. But his main supplier was the most stubborn of all: they had a lot of money at stake and a lot to lose, so they kept finding new reasons to try to get a special deal. Herr Seldersen had done business with them since he’d opened his store—it was the company where Herr Nelken worked. Herr Seldersen had visited the old boss in his office many times, spent hours talking to him. Finally, the situation grew serious enough to make him go to Berlin again to discuss matters in person. He put on his blue suit, shaved carefully, and in general took every pain to make the best possible impression. He went with the best intentions, and now he was sitting there like someone who was only allowed in up the back stairs.

  “How many proposals like yours do you think we receive these days, Herr Seldersen? The answer is three or four a day, sometimes more. We’ve taken great losses, and always from businesses such as yours, which have been around for many years. People leave home without a penny in their pockets nowadays.”

  Herr Seldersen nodded. Certainly, the general poverty had not just affected a single business, not just him, they were all in it together.

  “And as for your case, I have to tell you we are very surprised. You have continued to place orders with us, our salesmen have been paying you visits even recently.” He paused for a moment and looked at Herr Seldersen.

  Was he accusing him of something?

  Father thought and then said: “Of course, you keep trying everything you can to the bitter end, you don’t leave out any possible chance no matter how few you have.” Really, he didn’t deserve reproaches, he wasn’t trying to trick anyone or take unfair advantage of his desperate situation to pull one over on his creditors. Let others try tricks like that, if they’re lying flat on the ground and still have the strength to try to outwit their attackers and go down to their deaths with the knowledge of their final triumph—not him, he had other ideas. He just wanted some peace for once, at last. Peace! No more terrifying ups and downs all the time, mixed with despair about a future that seems twice as deadly since you can’t see it coming. He didn’t have the courage for it anymore, or the strength. Did his situation really make the other man think he was in a strong position?

  “Yes, yes, of course, you’re trying to do what you can, but the percentage is too low for us, we would lose too much money.”

  Father replied that he had been doing business for twenty-five years … and then everything else he had said so many times already, and more, things he had thought about only in silence. It all came to him now and he said it out loud, without shame. But it didn’t touch him anymore. He was old, and the older he got, the shakier the ground felt under his feet. He had had to live to see that, and, he said with mild astonishment as he stood there, he was still alive. It was true, they had always given him the best possible terms in their dealings, but now they were forced to act in their own best interests without any leniency and without taking account of personal relationships.

  * * *

  It was a hard struggle, a test of Herr Seldersen’s nerves and patience. The other man wanted to think it over some more: there were numerous factors to consider; he had to consult with the other directors, Herr Nelken too. That reassured Herr Seldersen; he was sure Nelken would agree. He tried to set up a meeting with Herr Nelken in person, but there was never an opportunity, they always said he was not in at the moment, or, if Seldersen ever caught sight of him from a distance, Nelken always ran busily off somewhere else. Herr Seldersen could not help but think that Nelken was avoiding him, which deeply depressed him. He lost all hope.

  It stretched out more than six weeks—all the letters back and forth, the long and tedious negotiations. The snow was slowly starting to melt away when Herr Seldersen had everything worked out. He paid the agreed-upon percentage of his debts, from the money he got from the bank with his brother’s guarantee. They charged interest, of course, or did Herr Seldersen think he could just get the money loaned outright, on faith? Naturally, he had to pay interest, but it was an extra burden, no question about it, a heavy burden. At first it didn’t matter much, Herr Seldersen thought he could take it on; only later did he realize how much worrying and difficulty this interest al
one would cause him. His debts were paid off, the creditors were satisfied, Herr Seldersen’s shelves were fully stocked and apparently the goods were all paid for. It seemed that a new day had dawned.

  * * *

  Albrecht passed his final exams in the spring. It wasn’t an especially good performance: how could he concentrate? He stood in front of the teachers who had known him all these years, or thought they knew him, and he answered their questions thinking all the while about how he could best help his father finally be happy and dignified again, both now and in the future. Yes, happiness and dignity—that was what was going through his head, everything else was lies, just endless, vicious lies. He had nothing but contempt for his teachers, a proud contempt for the fact that they were testing his maturity and fitness to receive a diploma while knowing nothing about his most burning, desperate cares and worries.

  Albrecht went to Berlin and enrolled in university. What else could he do? Become a shopkeeper? God spare him from that, his father had said, often and with feeling, to anyone who asked him. And the others had agreed—no, no, not a shopkeeper, there was no future in that, you would end up with nothing. But they couldn’t think of anything better to suggest in its place. When you really looked at the state of things, there was practically nothing that you could say in good conscience had a promising future, everything was slowly, unstoppably going downhill, if it hadn’t hit bottom already. Father, who already had troubles enough, now had that to worry about too—apparently he would be spared nothing. School was the last hope; at least there you were busy doing something that had a certain aura to people on the outside. You could try to arrange things so that it wouldn’t be too expensive, you could make a little money on the side, and it would last a good long time, several years, during which at least you would not have to face any final decision and you didn’t have to be afraid of ending up out on the street after classes were over. You could wait and see—that was it, wait and see how things turned out.

  One day, among all the advice and well-intentioned suggestions coming in, a distant relative offered to send a small sum of money for Albrecht every month. Finally, something solid you could build on: a promise—or more, an unexpected windfall. So Albrecht went to university, to wait and see. He went to Berlin.

  It was hard for his parents when he left them; he was not going far, but now they had an empty nest.

  “We’re getting old,” Mother said. She forced herself to laugh, as though she were joking, but it was bitterly serious for her. Father said nothing: he was old, and had had to face his age in his own way. He thought that when you’re old you should keep quiet, because an older person does not belong in his times anymore.

  Albrecht stood on the street and said goodbye to all of his friends.

  “You’re off to Berlin?” they asked. Albrecht nodded.

  “That’s the life! Not like here, this old backwater. Oh, if only I could get out too! So you’re going to university?” They wished him good luck. Yes, he’d really have a great time. They knew what it meant to be a student.

  He left; he walked through the streets of his hometown, and the buildings he knew so well stood on either side of the road and bade him farewell. Albrecht was moved. I’m leaving now, he whispered, I have to go out and see the world a bit, but I’ll be back soon. The stone structures nodded gravely at him and said nothing. Albrecht took the road up the mountain and shouted down into the forest for the last time. The echo came back loud and clear. He strained to listen, and then joy came over him. He threw stones into the air, at the birds that had already found their way back, drawn by the warm air of the season. Hooray, he was leaving, and he would return.

  Albrecht said goodbye to his friend Dr. Köster too, the young scholar who spent his days in his room writing his big book. They had grown to be close friends in the time they had known each other, and now Albrecht was leaving him here alone. It was a difficult goodbye for Albrecht—he had so much to thank him for, so infinitely much. Dr. Köster warned him not to forget his books and reminded him of everything they had often discussed together. He gave him countless pieces of advice, with words and images he found for Albrecht from his own early years, which seemed suddenly to have come back to life for him. Albrecht had some sense of what it meant to be a university student, he had seen a glimpse and knew—but only the half of it. Albrecht took in everything Dr. Köster said, and as he said goodbye, he thought that now he would have the chance to try out what had only been empty knowledge until then, and experience it in real life. Maybe it would open up many new things to him that he hadn’t known; yes, maybe he would gain a new and completely different kind of knowledge.

  Before he left town, one more thing happened: Fritz came back from Hamburg. He had announced his return on a postcard one day and then there he was, to great consternation. He had spent almost a year in Hamburg, everyone had hoped he had found his footing there, but it was all for nothing; cast to the winds, Fritz just came back home and no power on earth could keep him away. And the reason? What could have made him suddenly decide to come home?

  “It all happened so fast,” Herr Fiedler said, adding: “Couldn’t you keep up anymore?”

  “No,” Fritz replied, “they couldn’t keep me on anymore.”

  But why? Had he done something wrong? He had been apprenticed there more than a year.

  The reason was simple: the company had gone bankrupt; Fritz was out on the street. He had done everything, long hours at the office on a stool, bent over his desk in a cramped, stuffy room, for more than a year—now he was out on the street. He was upset and angry, you could tell by looking at him that something bad had happened.

  “What else can I do?” he said, by way of apologizing to his parents for being a burden on them. What had happened to his company wasn’t his fault, of course, but it had affected him too, and hit him as hard as though he had suffered a great loss himself. All in all, this one year in Hamburg had taken a lot out of him: he was still healthy and strong, more manly than before, with eyes shining behind the lenses of his glasses, but he no longer had the boundless energy and proud confidence he’d once had. He had seen a lot in Hamburg, more than he could describe. He had talked with sailors from every country, stood on the docks while the ships set out and came back, attentively followed the course of events in Hamburg and around the world. In the business he was in, he could see for himself exactly how everything was going: the offices abroad, once flourishing, proud possessions, and now … He quickly realized that he had no prospects for taking over a department in the immediate future; on the contrary, they were slowly letting employees go, and it was unclear if they would even keep on the trainees once they had finished their apprenticeships.

  Albrecht felt sorry for his friend. “You had bad luck, damn back luck.”

  Fritz shrugged. “Never mind that.” Yes, it definitely affected him, it was his personal misfortune, but deep down he had foreseen this happening a long time ago; the situation didn’t surprise him anymore, it was so universal and widespread you couldn’t really call it a matter of individual luck. Everything was slowly falling apart—old trading firms that had once been powerful and respected were closing their offices, long lines of their ships were in the port bobbing in the water, left abandoned to every storm, it was like a graveyard. It had been a long time since they had taken on any cargo and traveled to other parts of the globe. The sailors drifted around the city or had moved on, they went on the dole or tried their luck somewhere else. Everything was slowly coming apart, Fritz had seen it with his own eyes.

  “And how have things been going with you?” Fritz asked.

  Oh, Albrecht had a lot he could say on that subject; he had been through a lot that year, but he didn’t come out with it. It was strange, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it; he kept thinking that Fritz could now be in the same position as him if he hadn’t dropped out. Everything had seemed different back then. Albrecht didn’t hide that for a while he had thought Fritz had made the
right decision, and that his future was very promising—his friend had tried to make a real start, and it had worked for more than a year—but now he was out on the street, without anything to do, the year was a dead loss. Just out on the street. He could manage, he wasn’t going to go hungry, his parents were still doing well—his father had in fact retired and his older brother Erich, who had in truth been running the business for a while, was now officially in charge. And now here was Fritz, who quickly realized that he was not needed at home. They never told him so—no, they showed nothing but understanding for his situation—but he was too independent to try to crawl back here and start over. What he needed was something he could cling to: some kind of major task that would keep him in its grip for a long time, an idea that would hold his attention for the long haul and not plunge him back into isolation. Albrecht was familiar with all those feelings, even if they weren’t so clear and specific with him. A great task: that was what mattered.

  “So, you’re going to university?” Fritz said.

  “Yes,” Albrecht said. He felt slightly ashamed, though he didn’t know why himself.

  Pause.

  Fritz just sat there and put his hands on his knees.

  “What made you decide to do that?” he then asked.

  “Oh…” Albrecht considered how he could answer.