by Uwe Johnson
It was because we couldn’t get to Lower Saxony with the horses anymore, Gesine.
That’s why you stayed?
What would people think.
That you two were going away and leaving me in the lurch. So you wanted those bastards to starve you slowly.
Don’t forget, we were looking to grab that house of yours too, jung Fru Cresspahl.
You sure know how to make fun of me.
A younger sister like you was just what I wanted. Pure selfishness.
It was me who was selfish, Jakob.
How does a young man from the country who’s landed in a strange town go about being head of a household that hasn’t even been entrusted to him? This young man started by charging rent, retroactive to July 1—the coming of the New Order. He’d measured out the house in his head, and the people in it hadn’t even been warned before he put a receipt book down on the kitchen table. It was no more than Mrs. Quade or the Maass family were charging but still it rubbed them the wrong way, because they weren’t used to it. The teacher from Marienwerder threatened to lodge a complaint because he couldn’t put a rental agreement down on the table. A light bulb went on in the others’ heads when they heard “put down” and they started paying, after all it was only money. Now the Cresspahl child had an income at least, enough to cover the cost of boarding her friend Hanna. They were free to take up the matter with Town Hall if they wanted—the name Abs was known there, because when he’d applied for his ration cards he’d insisted he was someone doing heavy labor. That led to an argument over the 2,450 grams per week instead of the usual 1,700, but in the end they had to give those grams to the gasworks repairman; in the confusion, he’d accidentally been given a residence permit, and it was in the files, and irrevocable. It was also hard to dispute that he needed 0.43 reichsmarks for the 1,600 grams of bread for each of the two children too. And if that wasn’t enough, young Abs had brought back forms for the latest registration of every resident’s personal information, and it was his job to fill them out. “You are required to enter all persons forming part of the household as of December 1, 1945, regardless of whether they were present or temporarily absent on that cut-off date.” The name Cresspahl, Heinrich, b. 1888 was staunchly put right at the top, as head of household. The Abs family put themselves down as his representatives, not as caretakers. “Do not include members of the occupation forces”: young Abs might get in trouble because of course he’d included one Mr. Krijgerstam as a member of the household, since this ingenious survivor from the Baltic provinces did sometimes wear a Red Navy uniform. But he could also be found in Jakob’s room wearing a dressing gown—a sallow-faced man in his forties, smelling of fruit. With a serious expression and the manners of a well-paid waiter, he would offer for sale ladies’ underwear, some even silk, a private Soviet citizen. Jakob dried his hands on the same towel as the Russians did, as they say; he called them by first name and patronymic. He hadn’t taken his stake off the black market when Pontiy’s detachment was transferred. Even Wassergahn still came by to see him. Jakob had his own room, solely because he now and then conducted some German-Soviet meetings in it, and he hadn’t hesitated to move his mother into Cresspahl’s room, possibly to be a guard for the two girls’ bedroom, but he had made sure that the Housing Office forgot to inspect the house he was in charge of. He might not escape punishment forever, but for now what he brought to the communal evening meals was satisfactory. By bringing little jars of milk for her baby boy he’d gotten the bewildered schoolteacher from West Prussia to the point where she said he was “a man of true sensitivity” (a doctor had prescribed it for Jakob). The two girls used to burst out giggling at such comments but he soon put a stop to that; not only did they learn to feel pity for the unfortunate teacher, they wanted to make it up to Jakob, too, and secretly kept their eyes on him when he relaxed at mealtimes. His face had turned blank; he liked to adopt a faraway look, then he’d drily swallow a smile. When he looked at Gesine she felt trapped, unable to escape; she was often reminded of his sorrel, who when drinking would always turn his eyes to look at the person holding the bucket. What the others saw in Jakob was that he’d spent ten hours mixing cement or shoveling coal in the gasworks, and for now they accepted him as the man of the house.
Jakob was dissatisfied with himself as head of the household.
He’d had to look through Cresspahl’s papers with Gesine, whatever was left after the search, since she rightly viewed every decision now as one she needed to make—her own decision, to be made together with Jakob. Cresspahl’s account books and drawings were left in Lisbeth’s secretary, to catch future prying eyes, while the 1935 life history and two passports were tucked away down in the east corner of the basement, where there was no basement. Jakob watched his step carefully, but she still realized they’d put his papers in order like a dead man’s. Her lips started quivering, because she didn’t want him to see her actually crying, and he didn’t know what to do. Whatever it was, his own words weren’t enough and he had to go looking for his mother so that she could hug the child to her apron. That night he realized that there shouldn’t be a place set where Cresspahl used to sit. She understood him in a quick glance, which immediately swung wetly over to Mrs. Abs; he could see her thinking about the chair that she used to pull out at the empty end of the table when she heard Cresspahl coming; it seemed to him that she knew another way and just couldn’t tell him. Eighteen years old and not seeing what’s right in front of his eyes because his mother doesn’t want him to see it—and now someone like that is supposed to console people.
He was only doing his duty when he cut Amalie Creutz down from the wire around her neck; his mother had had to fetch him because old Creutz hadn’t dared set foot in his dead daughter-in-law’s room, after fifty years living next to a cemetery and supervising burials. Jakob lay the body on the bed, his mother washed her and changed her clothes, because Creutz refused to come away from his golden rain bushes along the Soviet fence and wouldn’t come near the house until morning. That was all the Abses had in mind to do, they didn’t owe this stranger anything more. That evening Cresspahl’s daughter got back from the school train and acted calm. She asked about the coffin, the appointment with Brüshaver, how the body was to be transported. She also knew that there was a letter for Cresspahl, and Mrs. Abs admitted that she’d found one in the dead girl’s jacket; it was put with Cresspahl’s things under the floorboards. The child would have tackled the obligations of this family friendship on her own—unhesitating, oddly experienced—but here the Abses decided to help her. Jakob went to Gneez with some Schlegel brand liquor to see Kern the carpenter and came back with a coffin, Mrs. Abs wrote Gesine an excuse note for school, and together they took Amalie Creutz to the New Cemetery in Swenson’s (Kliefoth’s) rubber-wheeled cart. Jakob stood like a genuine mourner next to Creutz just because the old man needed a firm grip on his arm, and Pastor Brüshaver shook Jakob’s hand too, then his mother’s, then Gesine’s. In the eyes of Jerichow, they were representing Cresspahl’s house, but representing the Red Army too, and even if Cresspahl would’ve wanted them to, in the end it wouldn’t help his cause.
Keeping Cresspahl’s house safe didn’t only involve knocking a broken lock back into shape and onto the door, or distracting children from their hunger or putting up shutters. Jakob could only guess whether or not Cresspahl wanted his daughter kept away from her grandmother so permanently. He would see this Mrs. Papenbrock behind the shop counter, she would look so weepy and bitter when she asked after Gesine. He had seen her in church at Amalie Creutz’s funeral and noticed that her eyes were brimming with tears, though directed less at the coffin than at the left front pew, at the back of her granddaughter’s neck. (Jakob couldn’t know everything about Jerichow after only five months; he didn’t realize that old Mrs. Papenbrock had a talent for tears until later.) She didn’t send for the child, she didn’t come get the child—Jakob could see her waiting, like a fat sad bird with ruffled feathers. Did Cresspahl mean
times like Christmas too? His child nodded. Did Gesine? She looked at him clear-eyed, didn’t stop to think, and said: Should I? She would do what he said, he had taken Cresspahl’s place. Jakob shook his head, and again after Gesine left the room; he now answered Mrs. Papenbrock somewhat more curtly. He wasn’t sure if that was what Cresspahl wanted.
How do they celebrate Christmas in Jerichow? In church? With everyone in the house? With just the two children? Another thing for Jakob to worry about. All he knew was the presents he’d be giving—a standing sled for Gesine and a bike lamp for Hanna Ohlerich. Then old Creutz brought his advent wreath over as he did every year, the children asked for a baked apple for their Christmas dinner, and prepared the party on their own. When they came to fetch him the table was all set and ready, and he felt he had gotten off easy.
And now what is a head of household like this supposed to do when it gets out after all that December 25 is his birthday, and everyone in the house shakes his hand and thanks him?
Cresspahl had been supposed to be shot too often, he’d gotten inured to it, he didn’t think they could take him away, so he hadn’t even made a plan for Hanna Ohlerich. Hanna knew that her parents were dead and buried in Wendisch Burg. She vaguely realized that she had inherited the woodworking shop, but the will was somewhere with her fishermen relatives in Warnemünde. Why didn’t Hanna want to go to Gesine’s school with her? Hanna was only going to go to school for as long as it was mandatory, then she’d study carpentry. With who? With Cresspahl. And if Cresspahl wasn’t back by Easter 1946? With Plath. But if his trade wasn’t carpentry then it didn’t matter to Hanna if she went back to the fishermen. She walked next to Jakob on Brickworks Road, he thought she wasn’t paying attention. He changed his stride. She took a short step, in the middle of the snow, so she’d be even with him again. She listened to him. She blew on her hands to fight off the cold, she sniffled in the cold air, she was obliviously doing her own thing. Maybe she was surprised at him. He was four years older than her, he was the head of the family. Who else was supposed to know what was to become of her!
At the corner of the cemetery, the other child came up to them, satchel on one shoulder. This Gesine walked right past them, indifferent, like she didn’t know them, but it wasn’t that dark on a January afternoon, in the glittering snow. She often did that when she saw him with Hanna, and Jakob didn’t understand it. There were many times he thought that she wanted to show him something, then she’d cover it up again. In November she’d come to him with questions about the English. Whether the Soviets didn’t want the same things as the English. Jakob granted that they used to, before. In that case would the Soviets help someone who’d helped the English? – Yes-and-no: Jakob said cautiously, he had become plenty Mecklenburgish. He no longer thought English connections were a positive in the Soviet zone but didn’t want to say so too soon. The child understood perfectly and ran off; later she dismissed the question, said she was just curious. Why was she so insistent on taking it back? What was there to be scared of? And why was it enough to give her a bad conscience? Now he’d have to watch out for that child, still he couldn’t figure it out.
That day he didn’t need to call her back, she came back on her own, ran through the loose snow, one time she slipped onto one knee. – Jakob! she cried when he was standing right in front of her already. – Jakob! The English have made a trade!
Again these English. What did the Cresspahls have to do with the English? The child had totally forgotten to act aloof and dignified, she was beside herself with excitement. Jakob couldn’t deny that the English had made a trade. It had been the talk of Jerichow for a week, again they were saying: This neck of the woods is going to end up in the West. Not in Sweden, dammit, but still, with the British. In December the British had ceded a large piece of land to the Soviets, near Ratzeburg, almost twelve thousand acres, in exchange for some four thousand acres east of the town so that the demarcation line wouldn’t run so close to it and it would have some backcountry to farm. The villages of Bäk, Mechow, and Ziethen were granted to Schleswig-Holstein; Dechow, Groß Thurow, and the whole east bank of Schaal Lake along with the Stintenburg Holm now belonged to Soviet Mecklenburg. Around two thousand people were handed over to the British: the population of a small town (like Jerichow). If the border wasn’t drawn properly in one place, then it wasn’t in other places either—if territory could be found for a town like Ratzeburg, then just think how much space the Free Hanseatic City of Lübeck needed to stretch out in! The demarcation line at Schlutup and Eichholz hugged Lübeck a little too close for comfort too, and then if you factor in the strategic requirements of the British, you could probably draw a line from the north tip of Ratzeburg Lake, or from Dassow Lake, over to where Wismar Bay starts. And then Jerichow would be in the West.
– You knew! Cresspahl’s child cried, and if it made her so mad and so miserable then Jakob wanted to make it up to her by making a guilty face. He didn’t think Jerichow would be a morsel to satisfy England’s strategic hunger. When he turned to look at Hanna, he noticed how awkwardly she was looking down at her feet, as if she were present at a bereavement, if not partly responsible. If Jerichow went to the West, Gesine would be separated by one more border from Cresspahl’s prison.
Jakob should have brought up the rumor himself, so he could rid her of the idea that Jerichow was going to the West. Now Gesine firmly believed it was and took even the most vigorous denials as nothing but efforts to console her. Now it was for nothing that Cresspahl had been put down on the registration form as “temporarily absent,” and she’d asked to see the form so many times, just to read that one section of it.
Jakob was not satisfied with himself as head of the family.
May 29, 1968 Wednesday
Cost of Living Index, taking 1957–1959 values as 100:
U.S.A.
APRIL 1968 PERCENTAGE CHANGE FROM MARCH 1968
All items 119.9 + 0.3
Food (includes restaurant meals) 118.3 + 0.3
Housing (includes hotel rates, etc.) 117.5 + 0.3
Apparel & upkeep 118.4 + 0.7
Transportation 119.0 0.0
Health & recreation 128.8 + 0.4
Medical care 143.5 + 0.4
Personal care 119.0 + 0.5
Reading & recreation 124.9 + 0.6
Other goods, services 122.5 + 0.1
NEW YORK
All items 122.5 + 0.3
Food (includes restaurant meals) 118.8 + 0.3
Housing (includes hotel rates, etc.) 121.1 + 0.2
Apparel & upkeep 122.8 + 0.5
Transportation 119.1 – 0.1
Health & recreation 133.3 + 0.5
Medical care 145.2 + 0.5
Personal care 115.6 + 0.8
Reading & recreation 136.6 + 0.7
Other goods, services 127.7 + 0.2
This means that what cost $10.00 ten years ago is now $2.25 more expensive. Some workers lost thirteen cents a week in their purchasing power. The dollar is now worth 83.4 cents. Will we make it here?
If Jerichow had ended up in the West:
Town Street would be a ground-level canal, paved over between banks of plate glass and chrome. Even in the poorest houses the wooden window frames would have been torn out and replaced by display windows or double-glassed sealed devices that swing open both up and to the side. Two driving schools, a travel agency, a branch of Dresdner Bank. Electric lawn mowers, plastic household appliances, transistor radios, TV sets. Methfessel Jr. would have had his butcher shop tiled from top to bottom. The assistant’s sports car, complete with roll cage, parked at the entrance.
Of course you would still be able to buy, maybe at Wollenberg’s, wicks and globes for kerosene lamps, centrifuge filters, carriage whips, axle grease, the kind of chain laid out for the cow to step on so that it can’t run away when the farmers pull up in their Gran Turismos to do the milking.
And there would still be bargaining over the counter, that would’ve stayed t
he same.
Jerichow would be part of the Lübeck Zone Border District. Representatives in the Kiel state parliament. Grousing about Kiel. The surviving nobility as CDU candidates.
Newly counted among the “good families”: garage owners, drink distributors, army (Bundeswehr) officers, public works officials. Not Bienmüller—he wouldn’t let his son join the Federal Navy. Though he wouldn’t mind listening in on ship-to-shore phone calls via Kiel Radio. (Rügen Radio too.) Vacations in Denmark, TV from Hamburg, pop music and a TV station from Lower Saxony, Hanover Broadcasting Company. Officers of the Federal Border Guards would partake at the Lübeck Court, which would be called the Lübeck Court; enlisted men would drink at Wulff’s pub. No one would set jeeps on fire here.
Jerichow would have five picture postcards for sale instead of the earlier two. The new ones: The red-brick addition to Town Hall (Hamburg-style). The rebuilt “Swan’s Nest” (formerly Forest Lodge). The monument to “Divided Germany” (or to the prisoners of war) on the square outside the station.
A small town in Schleswig-Holstein. Maybe the farms would be reckoned in tons, in acres. There’d be a coastal road from Jerichow through Rande to Travemünde with room for three cars abreast.
Papenbrock would’ve gotten rich again by 1952, from managing the new great power: the nobility’s property. He would have disposed of the von Lassewitz town house before he died. The town would renovate it, even bringing in stucco workers from Hanover for the garlands under the windows. Half the building would be a museum, the other half a cave for various offices. The sweet-tempered German Socialist Party, Gneez.
The town council would have laid sewer pipes under almost every street by that point. The brickworks would have turned into a factory for plastic household goods to keep a labor force in Jerichow. Lampposts even on the Bäk. A neon mushroom on a long stem illuminating Market Square at night. The hospital would have been turned into the gatehouse for a clinic with an operating room. In the station restaurant they’d have lowered the ceiling, the furniture that had been used for fuel would’ve been replaced by Gelsenkirchen Baroque, a refrigerated display case for cakes, wall-to-wall carpeting.