Iron Gustav

by Hans Fallada

  ‘The War Loans, too?’

  The old man nodded, watching his son expectantly. Heinz however had smiled, thinking of his brother. But why mention Erich? Father had his own worries and so had Erich; he, Heinz, earlier called Bubi, had the greatest worry of them all. But that was a man’s private affair. ‘I’ll speak with Professor Degener,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I can take the exam earlier. Then you’ll be rid of me sooner.’ Took his hat and left.

  His father watched him go. Then he said to his wife in the kitchen: ‘I was right after all, Mother. Heinz won’t be any diff’rent from the rest. But I’m glad about the black horse. Black’s a lot better than grey … grey’s always getting dirty, but black’s black.’

  § II

  Heinz Hackendahl stood in the street, undecided, his hands in the pocket of his very shabby greatcoat. He could go to the station, or he could go to his friend Irma. He could also do what he told his father he would, and ask Professor Degener about his chance of graduating.

  Heinz would have liked to go to the station, but not to his friend Irma, whom he hadn’t seen since that fateful evening. However, going to the station would have been unpleasant, and the path to his faithful friend pleasant. But a cunning fox always finds a way out, so Heinz did neither and went to Professor Degener.

  The professor was sitting at his desk. Giving Heinz a thin, blue-veined hand, he looked at him with his bright blue eyes and asked whether he would like a cigarette. ‘We all have tea together later.’

  Heinz declined the cigarette and, without wondering what was meant by ‘all’, hurriedly mumbled something about illness, absence from school and his examination.

  Professor Degener made a vague gesture. ‘We’re all ill nowadays. We all attend school irregularly. You know quite well what you need for the examination. The written part will be in February. I’d advise you to show up in class now and again – if only on account of my colleagues, you know.’ These remarks were shot forth somewhat contemptuously, as if such matters had no importance, as indeed they had not for Heinz. Splendid! That was settled, then. And, the invitation to tea forgotten, he rose and thanked the professor who, with some hesitation, held out his hand, saying: ‘Oh, what I wanted to ask you was – have you seen any of your schoolfellows recently?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you’d care to wait a moment you’ll be seeing quite a number of them. We have a kind of tea session here every day.’

  Heinz, however, really had no time to spare … He didn’t know which way to turn. ‘Of course! By the way, have you heard about what’s going on in Cologne – the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils?’

  An incredible situation had occurred in Cologne. The town had been completely overwhelmed within three days, flooded with lawless soldiers fleeing in waves from the western part of the Rhine region. All were bristling with weapons, and lacking food and drink. A minority took the ascendant and wanted rapine and plunder. Then this Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council sprang up, formed human chains, disarmed people, gave them food and drink, helped them.

  ‘All free and gratis, if you will, Hackendahl. Because when everything’s finished …’

  Heinz Hackendahl was silent. He’d forgotten he was in a hurry. But he was anyway not all there. He was like a traveller waiting between two trains. He had time, but no time to do anything with it. In his thoughts he was already travelling elsewhere.

  The professor looked at him and said, raising his voice: ‘If blood is infected, the healthy corpuscles attack the invaders. A battle follows. If the invaders are stronger, the person dies. But if the healthy corpuscles prevail, the person is restored to health.’

  He reflected and thought: ‘I could imagine that such a battle was now taking place in Germany. It all depends on each of the healthy corpuscles …’

  The teacher fell silent. Then, after a while, Heinz Hackendahl began to talk about the officer in the corridor of the Reichstag – that man who gave orders in the middle of chaos, untouched by the chaos.

  Professor Degener nodded. ‘You see, he’s an example of one. No, I don’t know his name. Someone unknown. You can imagine how the machinations of the profiteers disgust him. But that’s why he’s for order. He may not be able to do more than guarantee that his people get regular meals – but that doesn’t discourage him. He knows that order and cleanliness are good, and disorder and shady dealing bad. He’s not put off, if others go to the bad …’

  ‘But what’s going to happen to it all?’ asked Heinz.

  ‘We don’t know yet. Only no defeat. Your Reichstag officer and the people in Cologne – they’re fighting for something they don’t even know. It’s sometimes good for people, Hackendahl, when they can only look a short way ahead … Perhaps that officer would despair if he knew how much longer the road is till somewhere is reached. Instead, he looks to the short term, and takes care to see that they have enough to eat and that their footwear is in order. He has nothing to do with disorder.’

  Heinz Hackendahl went a little red. Everything Professor Degener had said could be directly applied to himself … It was undeniable that great disorder had come into his own life … and the extent of that disorder was measureless … But it was out of the question that the professor could have any idea of such a thing.

  Professor Degener seemed not to notice his pupil’s confusion. He chuckled and said, ‘Your classmates will be coming along presently, Hackendahl – some who have gathered round me. We, too, aren’t going very regularly to school. I sometimes feel really nervous on entering the classroom. I feel my colleagues look with disfavour on me – that I deserve punishment and should be in detention …’ The professor chuckled, and Heinz Hackendahl felt the same ardent love for this man, who had remained as young as the youngest of his pupils, as had overcome him before.

  ‘But I have to admit that it’s not because we dislike order. However, I’m no more than adviser to your comrades,’ exclaimed the professor; ‘I’m not actually suited to the affairs we have in hand.’ His smile was at once melancholy and somewhat sly. ‘We’re collecting arms, my dear Hackendahl,’ he went on. ‘Imagine – instead of harassing my boys with the second aorist I keep them on the run looking for arms. The task’s not excessively difficult but it’s far from unimportant. Some of the troops coming back home simply lean their guns – do you call them guns, by the way? – against the nearest wall or give them to anyone who asks for them. They’ve had enough of guns. Then there are the goods depots with wagons filled with machine-guns, trench mortars and field guns – the men are in a hurry to get home, one can understand that – and so the wagons are left there for anybody to open, whether he’s for or against order.’

  Heinz nodded. It was strange how you couldn’t help coming under this man’s influence, let him lecture on the garments worn by the women of Ancient Greece or on guns …

  ‘That is,’ said the professor, suddenly quite cheerful, ‘our ambition doesn’t reach as far as field guns and trench mortars; up till now our biggest achievement has been a few heavy machine-guns. I often try to find out from your comrades how heavy they are – I don’t want them to injure themselves – but they won’t divulge it. I suppose you’ve no idea, Hackendahl, of the approximate weight? I’m really worried at times.’

  But Hackendahl had, alas, no idea. Moreover he was convinced that the professor wasn’t worried in the slightest but was merely laughing at him – perhaps because this pupil had no share in these things.

  ‘It’s not altogether without danger, you know, Hackendahl. People have such strange prejudices … If a man in any sort of uniform whatever goes about with a gun, that’s all right. But a pupil, a schoolboy, a youngster, let alone the parents!’ The professor sighed audibly, then pulled himself together. ‘But that’s immaterial. The main thing is for the boys to get the better of our chaos and this they are now doing by collecting arms as frequently and as cheaply as possible.’

  ‘And why do you collect arms, Herr Professor?’

  The teach
er’s eyes flashed, but he spoke quite calmly. ‘You’ve rather lost touch with us, haven’t you, Hackendahl? Perhaps very different matters occupy you.’

  Heinz flushed, confused and indignant.

  ‘But there is no shame in being in chaos. There is only shame in remaining so, in disorder.’

  What a terrible teacher stood before him! Heinz Hackendahl was shocked and wanted to leave. But he wanted to defend himself and stayed.

  ‘It’s odd,’ went on the professor, ‘but until now not one boy asked me that question. Perhaps they’ve told themselves that the fewer weapons there are in unknown hands the less the danger for the community. Or maybe they haven’t thought about it at all …’

  ‘But you, Herr Professor …’

  ‘Yes, my son, I also see only the famous short term. I tell myself that all the troops now returning are still not the front line. The Front is still out there, Hackendahl. Don’t forget that – the Front that’s stood for four years against the whole world, the unknown Front, which we in the rear only get to see in individual parts. Now it’s coming back to us in closed ranks, and we know nothing about it. Perhaps it needs weapons?’

  ‘What for? The war’s over isn’t it?’

  He felt he was speaking with his brother’s voice. He didn’t want to say what he had, but said it all the same.

  ‘We’ve now got an armistice. An armistice still isn’t peace.’

  ‘We’ll never fight again,’ cried Heinz. ‘The war must end! We must finally have peace.’

  ‘An imposed peace? A peace for slaves?’

  ‘But we just can’t go on!’

  ‘What do you know of what we can do?’ The professor’s blue eyes were flashing like a true Prussian. He was angry. ‘Have you ever in your life gone to the limits of what you can do? And you want to speak about, speak for, us?’

  Heinz thought of that villa in Zehlendorf, and his brother with his clever but unscrupulous talk. Luxury. Wine in crystal glasses, and the beautiful, unbelievably beautiful woman with glittering hair, every schoolboy’s earthly dream, and every man’s … And she put her cool white arms around his brother’s shoulders, and talked of idealists and egoists. And already all this meant nothing. Because all of us want to hold the earth’s dream in our arms, dream it, possess it – ‘Stay a while, you are so beautiful’! And we might want to run around on cold November nights dragging heavy weapons about. But that house is shining bright, with warmth and style. No, that’s not it! Not that!

  It’s the sweetness of a voice, the as yet unknown lightness of being, magic and seduction …

  What had the professor given him for homework? It is not a shame to get into chaos, it is only a shame to stay in it.

  The bell rang outside.

  ‘Your comrades,’ said the professor quite peaceably. ‘Your comrades. You stay here, Hackendahl, where you belong.’

  § III

  They entered, some in a hurry, some leisurely, others pale and a few glowing with the cold, but all excited and happy.

  ‘Hello, Hackendahl.’

  ‘Evening, Professor.’

  ‘Would you believe it? Heinz has found his way here!’

  ‘Behold, Timotheus!’

  ‘That’s fine!’

  Heinz shook his hand. He felt as if he were in a dream. The familiar faces – not seen for a week, ten days, a fortnight – had become strange, or was it he who had become strange? Some of the lads hurried into the kitchen to make the tea – Professor Degener, of course, was a bachelor – others reported that they were on the scent of such-and-such weapons, and had collected this and that.

  ‘What about hand grenades, Herr Professor? D’you understand anything about ’em? How do you know if they’re ready for use?’

  ‘Ready for use, you oaf! I’ll tell you all right!’

  ‘Herr Professor, in the Artilleriestrasse you can buy revolvers …’

  ‘So you can at the Schlesische Station.’

  ‘Everywhere, you ass!’

  ‘Let me finish – five to fifteen marks each, Brownings, Mausers, army revolvers, Verey-light pistols … I find pistols especially dangerous because anyone can hide them in their pocket. Other weapons can be seen.’

  The professor sighed. ‘How much do you want, you young rascals? It’s costing me my entire fortune.’

  ‘Perhaps five hundred marks to start with.’

  ‘Five hundred marks! The bank clerks already look at me as if I were bankrupt. But all right, Hoffmann, drop in tomorrow morning at eleven.’

  ‘Herr Professor, I’ve made the acquaintance of a roof sniper. He wants to retire – it’s got a little too hot for him. A light machine-gun, fifty to a hundred marks. What about it?’

  ‘Certainly, Bertuleit. Roof sniper – the devil! Tomorrow morning at eleven.’

  It was a strange world, an enchanted world, a world gone mad. Heinz Hackendahl listened with astonishment and a certain indignation at being excluded from these activities. Moreover, he had the feeling that Degener was watching him unobtrusively and his wrath increased. What was the sense of it all? A mere game. Why didn’t they worry about food for the starving instead? And he thought of the weary queues of women outside the food shops, of women who had struggled for the lives of their children four years and more – and now, when peace was at hand, these people were thinking about machine-guns.

  Peace for slaves? There was an old saying – ‘rather slavery than death’! Oh, no, no, oh, God! Erich must have reversed this – ‘rather dead than slavery’. He didn’t want a slave peace … But what are we supposed to do? Collect weapons? But we’ve no longer the hands who want even to hold such weapons. We can fight no longer! Mad, obsessive thoughts! Madness, disorder – rather do nothing than do something wrong. Rather do something wrong than do nothing at all?

  And now a shrill voice was heard, naturally the voice of dear Porzig, who had just entered the room. ‘Herr Professor, I would like to point out that a room exists in the Reichstag with the following nameplate: Erich Hackendahl. I happen to have been in the Reichstag today and had a look at what’s going on there. He’s got a brand new cardboard nameplate!’

  For a moment there was a deathly silence. Everyone looked at Heinz Hackendahl. He moved and tried to laugh scornfully, but he angrily felt that he’d gone blood-red. However, his blushes faded in extreme bitterness. Hatred rose up in him. As fast as lightning, it occurred forcibly to him: yes, that’s what they were like – these idealists! He who is not with me is against me. They suspect anyone who doesn’t collect weapons like they do. And just because Erich’s got a room there, they suspect him. Erich can really achieve something there, something useful, something decent. That’s what he’s called. Is he not in Security? Oh, that’s all nonsense! I know he’s not doing anything decent at all. He’s cold-heartedly ambitious, a pleasure seeker … But what’s it got to do with me? Why does he suspect me? If Porzig shouts like that, doesn’t it mean that I’m also suspect?

  Then the professor spoke into the silence. ‘I don’t understand what you want, Porzig? Our schoolfriend’s name is Heinz Hackendahl, not Erich!’

  Immediately all the faces, which had looked so strangely at Heinz, changed. They were friendly. Conversation continued, Hoffmann slapped Heinz on the shoulder and said, ‘What an idiot Porzig is!’

  Kunze muttered merrily, ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’

  Finally Porzig appeared, drew himself up self-importantly next to Heinz, and explained long-windedly, though rather embarrassed, in the following words: ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Hackendahl, will you? You must understand that we’re all playing dangerously with fire here and must be terribly careful. Is that clear? These people here are not all lawyers, but my old dad’s a regional councillor, and I know my Criminal Code! Of course, Professor Degener is a mere child … Well, you understand all right! All in order, Hackendahl?’

  And Heinz assured him that all was in order. But he didn’t have the feeling it was; he sat a while a little worried, laughing a
mong all the camaraderie and trust, repeatedly thinking: it’s not at all true what Degener said. That was Erich, and I’m Heinz. But we’re both Hackendahls and have an iron father. That’s why we’re too soft. And even if everyone looks at me in such a friendly way and behaves as if I belong to them … I don’t, and will not. I only want one thing – to be at the railway station as quickly as possible and go to Dahlem! That’s what I want, and I’m just bored with all this hunting for weapons.

  After a while, he stood up and said goodbye to everyone. Only when he stood in front of Degener did he suddenly feel guilty about him, and he said what he in no way had wanted to: ‘I won’t forget all that with the chaos, Herr Professor!’

  The professor unwillingly shook his lion’s head with the red beard and said: ‘Kalos kathagos – student Hackendahl – you still know that: only what is good is beautiful, isn’t that so?’

  And that was the most puzzling and wonderful thing about this Professor Degener. Because he couldn’t possibly have heard of Tinette, yet his last words sounded exactly as though he had just written her a testimonial.

  § IV

  Heinz had hardly rung the bell when the maid was at the door, saying reproachfully: ‘Madame has already asked for you four times.’ And hardly had he taken off his overcoat and glanced in the mirror – his damned tie would drag into a knot of course – when Tinette entered the hall. ‘But, Henri, where have you been all this time? You were supposed to come at three. And now it’s four! I thought you reliable and Erich unreliable – now it looks as if it’s the other way round after all.’

  Heinz was furious – she hadn’t said a word about three o’clock. But what was the use of contradicting her? And the maid hadn’t gone away yet; she ought to know better than to stand and stare at him as if he were some strange animal from India or Baluchistan. She should be ashamed of herself!

  Tinette crossed her hands behind her back, looked closely into his angry face and laughed softly. ‘What a face you’re pulling, Henri. Exactly the same as when you were outside the door; I watched you for five minutes. Didn’t you want to come? Why are you so angry? Look at me, Henri – you’re just like Erich when he’s in a rage. Neither of you will look at me then. But I – I keep my best smiles for people.’ And she laughed again. That horrible maid was still there, too, holding his shabby overcoat. Tinette was terrible. She kept nothing to herself, whoever was present. Yes, she was utterly shameless. She hadn’t the least idea of shame, like Nature; and like Nature she was just as unconstrained.