I watched him for a long time, which I could do undisturbed as he had ceased to notice me. Perhaps he thought I had already left. In his watchful gaze was something resembling hate, while his shallow, rapid breathing shook him like the prelude to an explosion …
If only he would remember, I sighed to myself, to give me one of the two cigarettes and my share of the bread. I was afraid to ask, for now the tram was stopping again at the corner. Then I saw, very briefly, the first and last smile on his face before he rushed forward with a smothered cry. From among a cluster of people, some of whom he had thrust aside, I heard a woman’s gasp breaking the melancholy silence of the autumnal evening, and something like a shadow fell across the astonished void of my heart, for now I knew that I would have to go on inexorably alone, that I would also have to accept the loss of the cigarette and the bread and of the two months of shared danger and shared hunger …
I turned away, dipped my tired feet into the golden waves of dead leaves and walked out of the town, once again towards that Somewhere. The freshness of the falling light was still permeated by the spicy smell of burning potato plants, the smell of childhood and of longing. The sky was starless and drained of colour. Only the grinning face of the moon hung over the horizon, watching me mockingly as I plodded on under the weight of the darkness, towards that Somewhere …
BESIDE THE RIVER
To tell the truth, I’d never known the meaning of despair. But then, a few days ago, I found out. All of a sudden the whole world seemed grey and wretched; nothing, nothing mattered any more, and I had a bitter lump in my throat, and I thought there was no way out for me, no escape and no help. For I had lost all our ration cards, and at the ration office they would never believe me, they wouldn’t replace them, and we had no more money for the black market, and stealing—I really didn’t like to steal, and anyway I couldn’t steal enough for that many people. For Mother and Father, for Karl and Grete, and for myself, and for our youngest, the baby. And the special mother’s card was gone, and Father’s manual worker’s card—everything, everything was gone, the whole briefcase. I suddenly realized it in the tram, and I didn’t bother to look or even ask. It’s useless, I thought—who’s going to hand over ration cards, and so many, and the mother’s card and Father’s manual worker’s card …
At that moment I knew the meaning of despair. I got off the tram much earlier and walked straight down to the Rhine; I’ll drown myself, I thought. But when I reached the bare, cold avenue and saw the calm, wide, grey river it came to me that it’s not so easy to drown oneself; still, I wanted to do it. It must take a long time to die, I thought, and I would have liked a quick, sudden death. Obviously I couldn’t go home any more. Mother would simply throw up her hands, and Father would give me a good hiding and say it was a disgrace: a big lout like that, almost seventeen, who’s no good for anything anyway, not even for the black market—a big lout like that goes and loses all the ration cards when he’s sent out to queue up for the fat rations! And I didn’t even get the fat. It was all gone after I had been queuing for about three hours. Still, that might not have lasted too long, that trouble with Father and Mother. But we would have nothing to eat, no one would give us anything. At the ration office they would laugh in our faces because once before we had lost a few coupons; and as for selling or flogging something, we had long ago run out of things, and stealing—you can’t steal for so many.
No, I had to drown myself, since I didn’t have the nerve to throw myself under some big fat American car. There were many cars driving beside the Rhine, but there wasn’t a soul in the avenue. It was bare and cold, and a damp, icy wind blew from the grey, swift-flowing water. I kept walking straight ahead and eventually was surprised at how fast I reached the end of the avenue. The trees seemed to fall away on either side of me, keeling over like poles and disappearing, and I didn’t dare look back. So I very quickly reached the end of the avenue where the Rhine widens out a bit and there is a launching ramp for kayaks and a little farther on the ruined bridge. There wasn’t a soul there either, only over by the launching ramp an American sat staring into the water. It was odd, the way he was crouching there, sitting on his heels; it was probably too cold to sit on the stones, so there he squatted, throwing precious cigarette butts into the water. Each butt, I thought, is almost half a loaf of bread. Perhaps he isn’t smoking at all, but all the Americans just smoke a quarter of a cigarette and throw the rest away. I know it for a fact. He’s lucky, I thought, he’s not hungry and hasn’t lost any coupons, and with every butt he throws three marks and seventy-five pfennigs into the cold grey Rhine. If I were he, I thought, I’d sit down by the stove with a cup of coffee instead of squatting here by the cold Rhine and staring into the dirty water …
I ran on; yes, I believe I did run. My thoughts about the American had been very brief and fleeting; I had envied him no end, it was terrible how I envied him. So I walked on or ran, I forget now, all the way to the ruined bridge, thinking: if you jump off from up there it’s all over, all over in no time. I once read that it is hard to drown yourself by going into the water slowly. You have to plunge in from high up, that’s the best way. So I ran towards the ruined bridge. There were no workmen there. Maybe they were on strike, or it’s impossible to work out there on the bridges in cold weather. I saw nothing more of the American, I never once looked back.
No, I thought, there’s no help and no hope, and no one will replace our ration cards, there are too many of us, Father and Mother, my brother and sister, the baby and I, plus the special mother’s card and Father’s manual worker’s card. It’s hopeless, drown yourself, then at least there’ll be one less mouth to feed. It was very, very cold, there in the avenue beside the Rhine; the wind whistled, and bare branches fell from the trees that in summertime are so beautiful.
It was difficult to climb onto the ruined bridge; they had knocked out what remained of the paving, and there was only the skeleton left, and along it ran a kind of little railway, probably for hauling away the rubble.
I climbed very carefully, and I was terribly cold and very much afraid of falling off. I can well remember thinking: how stupid to be scared of falling since you want to drown yourself! If you fall off here, onto the street or onto the rubble, you’ll also be dead, and that’ll be all right, that’s what you want. But it’s quite a different thing, I can’t explain it. What I wanted was to throw myself into the water and not smash onto the ground, and I thought of all the pain one might suffer and maybe not even be dead. And I didn’t want to suffer. So I climbed very carefully over the bare bridge right to the end, the very end where the rails stick out in the air. There I stood, looking into the grey, grey murmuring water, there I stood close to the very end. I felt no fear, only despair, and suddenly I knew that despair is beautiful, it is sweet and nothing, it is nothing, and nothing matters any more.
The Rhine was fairly high, and grey and cold, and for a long time I stared into its face. I also saw the American squatting there, and really did see him throw a precious butt into the water. I was surprised to find him so near, much nearer than I had thought. I looked once again along the whole length of the bare avenue, and then suddenly looked down into the Rhine again, and I became terribly dizzy, and then I fell! All I remember is that my last thought was of Mother, and that it might after all be worse for me to be dead than to have lost the ration cards, the whole lot … Father’s and Mother’s and my brother’s and sister’s and the baby’s, plus the special mother’s card and Father’s manual worker’s card, and … yes, yes, my card too, although I’m a useless mouth, no good even for the black market …
I guess I must have sat there for an hour beside the murky Rhine, staring into the water. All I could think of was that blonde broad, Gertrud, who was driving me nuts. Hell, I thought, spitting my cigarette into the Rhine: throw yourself in, into that grey brew, and let it carry you down to—to Holland, yes, and still farther, say into the Channel, right down to the bottom of the sea! There wasn’t a soul a
round, and the water was driving me nuts. I know for sure it was the water, and my thinking all the time of that good-looking broad who wouldn’t have me. Nope, she wouldn’t have me, and I knew for sure that I’d never, never get anywhere with her. And the water wouldn’t let go of me, the water was driving me nuts. Hell, I thought, throw yourself in and those goddamn women won’t bother you any more, throw yourself in …
And then I heard someone running along the avenue like a maniac. I’ve never seen anyone run like that. He’s in trouble, I thought, and stared at the water again, but the footsteps in the deserted avenue above made me look up again, and I saw the kid running toward the wrecked bridge, and I thought, I’ll bet they’re after him and I hope he gets away, never mind if he’s been stealing or whatever. A thin, lanky kid, running like a maniac. Again I looked at the water—throw yourself in, a voice kept whispering … You’ll never get her, never, throw yourself in and let the grey brew carry you to Holland, goddammit, and I spat the third cigarette into the water.
For God’s sake, I thought, what are you doing here in this country, in this crazy country, where every living soul can think of nothing but cigarettes? In this crazy country where the bridges are all gone and there’s no colour, no colour anywhere, dammit, only grey. And everyone chasing after God knows what. And that girl, that crazy, long-legged broad, will never be yours, not for a million cigarettes will she be yours, damn it to hell.
But just then I heard that crazy kid crawling around up there on the bridge. The iron skeleton rang hollow under his boots, and the crazy kid climbed right out to the far end, and there he stood, for the longest time, also looking into the dirty grey water, and all of a sudden I knew that no one was chasing him, but that he … Goddammit, I thought, he wants to throw himself into the water! And I got a real shock and couldn’t take my eyes off the spot where that crazy kid was standing, not moving, not making a sound, up there in the gap of the ruined bridge, and he seemed to sway a little …
I automatically spat the fourth cigarette into the Rhine and I couldn’t take my eyes off that figure up there. I turned cold all over, I was terrified. That boy, that young kid, what kind of troubles can he have, I thought? Girl trouble, and I laughed—at least I think I laughed, I can’t be sure. Can this young kid already have girl trouble, I thought? The water said nothing, and it was so quiet that I thought I could hear that kid’s breathing as he went on standing there, motionless, silent, in the gap of the ruined bridge. Goddammit, I thought, it mustn’t happen, and I was just going to call out when I thought, you’ll scare him and then he’ll fall for sure. The silence was weird, and we two were all alone in the world with this dirty grey water.
And then, for God’s sake, he looked at me, really looked at me, and I was still sitting there, not moving a muscle and Splash! the crazy kid was actually down there in the water!
That really woke me up, and in no time I’d thrown off my jacket and cap. I dived into the cold water and started swimming. It was hard work, but luckily the current carried him toward me. Then suddenly he was gone, gone under, dammit, and my shoes were full of water, they felt like lead on my feet, my shirt was like lead too, and it was cold, icy cold, and not a sign of the kid anywhere … I paddled on, then trod water for a bit and shouted, yes shouted … and dammit if the kid didn’t come up again, he was already a bit downstream, and I hadn’t thought the current was that fast. Now my body seemed to warm up a bit, with panic, at the sight of that lifeless bundle being swept off in that grey dirty water, and me after it, and when I was less than two yards away—I could actually see the blond hair—he was gone again, just gone, dammit … but I was after him, head down, and Christ Almighty! I’d grabbed hold of him.
Nobody in the world can know how relieved I was when I’d grabbed hold of him. In the middle of the Rhine, and there was only grey, cold, dirty water, and I was as heavy and cold as lead, and yet I felt relieved. It’s just that I had no more fear, that’s what it must have been … and I swam slowly across the current with him to the shore and was surprised at how close the shore was.
Jesus, I had no time to shiver or moan, although I’d had a lousy time of it. I’d swallowed a whole lot of water, and the dirty stuff made me feel sick as a dog, but I rested till I got my breath back, then I grabbed his arms and pumped them up and down, up and down, up and down, just like they tell you to, and I got pretty damn hot over it … There wasn’t a living soul up there on the river bank, and no one heard it or saw it. Then the kid opened his eyes, a pair of bright blue child’s eyes, for God’s sake, and he sicked up water, kept sicking it up … Dammit, I thought, the kid’s got nothing but water in his stomach, and nothing but water came up, and then he felt he had to smile, the kid actually smiled at me …
By that time I was as cold as hell in those wet things, and I thought, you’ll catch your death, and he was shaking like a leaf too.
Then I pulled him up and said: “Go on, boy … run!” and I just grabbed him by the arm and ran up the ramp with him, he was as limp as a rag doll in my arm, then he stopped again and sicked up some more grey water, dirty grey Rhine water, that was all, then he could run better.
Goddamn, I thought, he has to get warm and you have to get warm, and in the end we ran pretty good, right up to the avenue and then a bit along the avenue. I began to feel quite warm and I sure was panting, but the kid was still shaking like a leaf. Dammit, I thought, he needs to get indoors and then into a bed, but there were no houses there, just a few piles of rubble and some rails, and it was already getting dark. But then one of our vehicles turned up, a Jeep, and I dashed out onto the street and waved my arms. First it drove on, there was a black driving it, but I yelled at the top of my voice: “Hey there, bud …” and he must have heard from my voice that I was an American—you see, I wasn’t wearing a jacket or a cap. So he stopped, and I hauled the kid over, and the black shook his head and said: “Poor kid—almost drowned, did he?”
“Yes,” I answered, “let’s go, and step on it!” I told him where my billet was.
The boy sat next to me and gave me another of those pathetic smiles, enough to make me feel pretty weird, and I felt his pulse a bit, it seemed okay.
“Hurry!” I shouted to the black. He turned around and grinned and really did speed up, and all the time I was saying: “Make a left, now right, right again,” and so on till we actually stopped at my billet.
Pat and Freddie were standing in the hallway and laughed when they saw me coming: “Boy oh boy, is that your charming Gertrud?” But I told them: “Don’t laugh, fellows, help me, I’ve just fished this kid here out of the Rhine.” They helped me carry him upstairs to our room, Pat’s and my room, and I told Freddie: “Make us some coffee.” Then I threw him down on the bed, pulled off his wet things, and rubbed him for a long time with my towel. God, how skinny the kid was, how terribly skinny … he looked like … like, hell, like a long, limp, white noodle.
“Pat,” I said, for Pat was standing there watching me, “you go on rubbing, I have to get out of these wet things.” I was as wet as a drowned rat, too, and scared to death of getting the flu. Then Pat handed me the towel, for the lanky kid on the bed was now red all over like a baby, and he smiled again … and Pat felt his pulse and said: “Okay, Johnny, he’s going to be all right, I guess.”
The boys were damn good about it; Freddie brought us some coffee, and Pat scrounged some underwear for the kid, who lay on the bed drinking coffee and smiling, and Pat and I sat on the chairs, and Freddie went off, I guess he went off to the girls again.
Jesus, I thought, what a scramble, but it turned out okay, thank God!
Pat stuck a cigarette between the kid’s lips, and you should’ve seen how he smoked! These Germans, I thought, they all smoke like crazy, they suck on those things as if they contained life itself, their faces go all queer. And then I remembered that my jacket was still lying down there by the water, with the photo, and my cap too, but shit, I thought, why would I still need that photo …
; It was real peaceful and quiet, and the kid was happily chewing away, for Pat had given him some more bread and a can of corned beef and kept refilling his mug with coffee.
“Pat,” I said after a while as I lit up too. “Pat, d’you suppose it’s all right to ask him why he tried to drown himself?”
“Sure,” Pat replied, and asked him.
The lad gave us a wild look and said something to me, and I looked at Pat and Pat shrugged his shoulders. “He’s saying something about food, but there’s one word I can’t understand, I just don’t get it …”
“What word?” I asked.
“Marken,” Pat said.
“Marken?” I asked the boy.
He nodded and said another word, and Pat said: “He’s lost them—those things, those Marken … ”
“What’s that, Marken?” I asked Pat. But Pat didn’t know.
“Marken,” I said to the boy. “Was ist das?”—that being one phrase I could say properly in German, and I could say Liebe too, that’s all. That goddamn broad had taught me …
The boy looked baffled; then with his thin fingers he drew a funny kind of square on the top of the bedside table and said: “Papier.”
I can understand Papier too, and I thought I knew now what he was trying to say.
“Ah,” I said, “pass, you’ve lost your pass!”
He shook his head: “Marken.”
“Damn it all, Pat,” I said, “this Marken is driving me nuts. It must be something pretty special to make him want to drown himself.”
Pat refilled our mugs, but that damned Marken kept nagging at me. My God, hadn’t I seen that youngster standing up there, not moving, not making a sound, in the gap of the ruined bridge, and Splash! goddammit?
“Pat,” I said, “look it up, you’ve got a dictionary.”
“Sure,” said Pat, jumping up and bringing the dictionary from his locker.
The Collected Stories of Heinrich Böll Page 78