Iron Gustav

by Hans Fallada

  ‘You’ve been drinking! How disgusting! Minna, give the taxi man a tip. Herr Henri’s not going.’

  ‘I am – you stay here!’

  ‘You’re not – send the taxi away at once.’

  ‘Well, I’m off. Goodbye, Tinette.’

  Suddenly she laughed. ‘Au revoir, you bad boy. But come back this evening, won’t you? I have a surprise for you.’

  She had run after him and put her arms round his neck. And – what she had never done before – she kissed him on the lips. ‘Be off, you bad boy. But come back, won’t you, Henri?’ He had almost not gone; had she again asked him to stay he would have done so but she turned away immediately.

  And so he had got into the taxi, still conscious of the blissful sensation of those arms seeking to retain him, of those lips on his mouth. It was as though she had clanked the chain on seeing her slave about to escape – that chain that seemed to truss his feet together, so that he would never be able to escape from her. It was shameful to be kissed like that; she had stirred up his senses to revolt against his brain. And yet …

  The taxi stopped. Heinz slowly got out. Although it was dusk no light burned within the little shop; only with difficulty could he distinguish the dusty paper flags commemorating victories long since forgotten. The pile of boxes with letters from the Front was still upright. As always, the shop bell seemed to tinkle for ever and, as always, nobody came even then until he had twice shouted out ‘Hello!’ And when at last Frau Quaas did come, he could hardly see her in the darkness.

  It was so odd to stand there again, at the home of his first girlfriend, after all that had happened to him, all that he’d experienced, and from where he now came. Many lights were now shining in the Dahlem villa, all radiantly bright. But he stood there in obscurity. Why had he come? What did he expect from the young girl who understood nothing? Help … ? But he knew that help could only come from within, never from outside.

  Then he was gripped by the memory of that kiss at the city gate. It came to him as if from far away – a memory of purity, youth, her moist mouth. Not all the fires were burnt out, the trees still had their leaves. Was that why he was here?

  ‘Frau Quaas,’ he said doubtfully, ‘I would like two nibs, Bremen-Change, EF, very pointed. My name is Heinz Hackendahl.’

  The woman did not move or make any attempt to reply or serve him.

  ‘Well, Frau Quaas,’ said Heinz, a little embarrassed. ‘Won’t you give me my nibs?’

  No reply.

  ‘I would like to speak to Irma. I’m Heinz Hackendahl. You know!’ Suddenly, there in the dark, he felt quite uncertain whether she’d even understood that.

  ‘Leave my shop,’ said Frau Quaas suddenly. She spoke in her old plaintive voice and yet resolutely. ‘Please leave my shop at once.’

  He was taken aback. ‘But, Frau Quaas … I only want to have a few words with Irma.’

  ‘You’re to leave my shop,’ she insisted. ‘I can call the police if you continue to molest me, you know that. I don’t want you in my shop. You’re wicked.’

  Heinz groped for a chair. He knew where it ought to stand, for Frau Quaas needed it to take down the cardboard box with coloured paper for the children. And find the chair he did. But in every other respect things had changed … ‘I’m sitting down, Frau Quaas,’ he said. ‘I shan’t go until I’ve spoken with Irma.’

  ‘Then you must go on sitting,’ she called out sarcastically – for such a timid woman she seemed unusually courageous. Then the door slammed and he was sitting alone.

  Well, what was the good of staying? There was nothing to be done there. And what had he wanted to do, anyway? Exchange a few words with Irma? See his childhood friend and convince himself that she had no hold on him, that he had to return to the other woman, the beautiful, the evil one? Sunken garden of childhood – for ever sunken – you can still hear the rustling of its leaves in your ear, and feel on your cheeks the warmth of its sun, which will never again set with such purity and strength.

  No, it was useless waiting there any longer. Irma was certainly not at home, he sensed it. And yet he remained. However brightly the Dahlem villa was lit, however attractive the beautiful woman was, he stayed where he was. He sat in the cold, dark, dusty shop.

  It was as if a hand slowly turned the pages of his youth, an impoverished youth, without ideals, full of hunger for everything with which body and soul can be nourished. And to every page he spoke the words: ‘Stay a while – you are so beautiful.’

  Nothing stays. There was an impatient hoot from the taxi outside. We are not put into this world to look back. We’ve got to be on our way, to our destination, or upwards – or down. What we can’t do is stay put. Heinz got up, said a few words to the impatient chauffeur, handed him some money, then went back into the shop.

  Frau Quaas was back in her shop and standing on a chair with a lit match in her hand to light the gas lamp. As soon as Heinz entered, she dropped the match, which glowed for a moment on the ground, then went out. Frau Quaas, still standing on the chair, moaned: ‘Oh, please, please go away! This is torture … Please go.’

  ‘Me torturing you …’ he said uncertainly. Then quickly after: ‘Where’s Irma? I just want to say a few words to her.’

  ‘She’s not here, she’s staying with relatives. It’s true, Heinz, really.’

  ‘Please tell me where Irma is, Frau Quaas. I must speak to her.’

  ‘You can’t. She’s in the country near Hamburg … No, I’m not giving you her address. You nearly killed her once and—’

  ‘Nearly killed her,’ he repeated. The words seemed to him meaningless.

  He stood, Frau Quaas still above him on her chair – it was almost completely dark now. From time to time she struck a match mechanically and dropped it before she could light the gas.

  ‘Sneer if you dare!’ she cried indignantly. ‘You must have known my daughter was in love with you. You kissed each other, didn’t you? She almost died when you didn’t come all this long time.’

  ‘Frau Quaas …’ he begged.

  She wouldn’t listen. ‘That night when it all started she came home at four o’clock in the morning, she’d walked all the way from Dahlem. When I got her to bed she was shaking so and her teeth chattering I thought she’d caught a chill and I got her a hot-water bottle. But she said: “It isn’t that, Mother, he loves someone else, and that’s the end of me!” ’ On her chair the old woman was weeping.

  ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t know, Frau Quaas, that Irma took it so seriously.’

  She stopped weeping. ‘No, of course you didn’t know, Herr Hackendahl! You never thought about it at all. You kissed Irma, she told me so herself, but then someone else came on the scene and you forgot her at once. Was she serious? You couldn’t care less! You’re only interested in what’s serious to you. Just as I said – you’re a bad lot!’

  ‘Good evening, Frau Quaas,’ said Heinz Hackendahl. ‘If you write to Irma, tell her I’m very sorry.’

  For a moment he hesitated, his hand on the door latch. Then he said it after all. ‘I’m not wicked, Frau Quaas, only weak – for the present at any rate.’

  Before she could reply he had gone.

  § XI

  And yet here he was back again in the villa, in the dining room, eating roast beef with fresh vegetables. However, the pale girl with the black Madonna coiffure did not eat roast beef, because she never ate ‘before’, whatever that meant. Hardly a word was being spoken. Sometimes a spoon clinked against a plate – otherwise there was silence.

  We’re like conspirators, he thought. But what are we conspiring about? He looked at Tinette. She was twirling her wine glass so that the wine danced round inside it, and she was watching this with a soft, enigmatic smile. Then he glanced over at the strange Fräulein. Her face, he noticed, was thickly powdered and the painted lips shone like blood; he felt as if he were sitting opposite a woman who had risen from her grave.

  ‘I went to Irma’s this afternoon, Tinette,�
�� he said loudly, to break the spell.

  ‘Yes, Henri,’ she replied absent-mindedly. ‘It’s all right.’

  Then there was silence again.

  Erich returned from one of his mysterious errands, the embodiment of brotherly love. From the hall strange sounds were heard, sometimes shrill, sometimes soft, and Heinz almost jumped out of his chair. Then he remembered that this must be the violinist tuning his instrument …

  In what was almost a whisper his brother reported that the servants had left. ‘They have leave of absence till tomorrow. Minna will clear the table when we’ve finished, then she’ll go too.’

  ‘Good,’ said Tinette. ‘We’re ready. Do you want anything more?’

  Erich looked over the dishes as if he were considering what he would like. Suddenly he made a gesture. ‘Thanks, no more … May I show you to your room, my dear Fräulein?’

  That girl, thought Heinz, walks like a queen. No, rather as you walk in a dream, when the body loses all weight and you feel you can fly. She walks like that.

  Tinette and Heinz were alone.

  ‘What’s the meaning of all this?’ he asked almost belligerently, in an attempt, and a vain one, to exorcize the spell which bound him.

  ‘Yes, we must seem very mysterious,’ said Tinette and laughed. Then she got up and led the way into the hall.

  A big, flaming, very bright fire burned in the fireplace. At quite a distance from it stood three chairs – the table in front of the fireplace had been taken away – and the huge Persian carpet in its soft colouring was like a summer field.

  ‘Sit down, Henri,’ said Tinette, pointing to one of the chairs.

  He sat down.

  She stood beside him. Again he saw that enigmatic smile which seemed to dwell in the expression of her eyes. Her fingers closed round his wrist, felt for his pulse.

  ‘Is your heart beating too?’ she whispered. ‘Feel how mine beats!’

  She guided his hand to her breast, which was warm and sweet; remote and mysterious was the beating of that other heart … He shut his eyes. There was that song again, the magic song of his own blood, with which the whole world seemed to be joining in.

  ‘I’m going now, Madame,’ said Minna.

  Heinz opened his eyes. The maid was standing by the door, her face expressionless.

  ‘All right, Minna,’ said Tinette. She kept his hand on her breast; the mysterious smile still dwelled in her eyes. ‘Don’t forget to lock the front door. Goodnight, Minna.’

  ‘Goodnight, Madame.’

  Minna had gone. Tinette put his hand gently on the arm of the chair. ‘Where’s Erich?’ she whispered.

  Going to the middle chair, she sat down, leaning forward and fixing her eyes on the flames. Now and then a piece of wood fell with a thud into the grate and the flames leaped up in brightness, casting radiance on a face which seemed to shine from within – the most beautiful face in the world.

  I shall never love any woman like this again, thought Heinz. And in this moment I love her more than ever.

  Erich was back. He glanced at his brother and Tinette, both gazing into the fire from chairs widely separated, and he smiled. ‘She’s coming.’

  ‘Splendid, my friend,’ replied Tinette, without looking up.

  Heinz turned round. ‘I wish you’d explain,’ he said crossly, ‘the meaning of all this. Who’s coming? Why have the servants been sent away? Why all this secrecy?’

  ‘Didn’t Tinette tell you?’ Erich was pretending to be surprised. But good liar that he was, his lying was still sometimes clumsy.

  Heinz noticed immediately. ‘Go on, pretend!’ he said ungraciously.

  ‘I consider it very charming of Tinette,’ replied Erich, imperturbably courteous, ‘to want to give you so pleasant a surprise. But it’s nothing mysterious, Bubi. I can tell you all about it. My dear boy’ – he bent down close to Heinz and whispered as though he didn’t want even Tinette to hear – ‘my dear boy, you’re to have a wonderful experience. The young lady you saw just now is the most beautiful, gifted and celebrated dancer in Berlin. And she’s going to dance just for the three of us … She dances Chopin, Bubi!’

  Heinz looked flabbergasted. Was that all? Then why this secrecy? Dancing to him meant nothing more than the kind of trotting up and down which he had seen in nightclubs recently. ‘All right, Erich,’ he said. ‘Charming of you! Now I understand why she wanted no more roast beef.’

  Erich made a furious gesture.

  Heinz sat back in his chair and looked with a superior, challenging gaze at his brother, who now no longer appeared friendly but very angry.

  ‘You still don’t understand,’ said Erich. ‘She doesn’t just dance like that … But—’ He broke off and again looked at Heinz secretively.

  ‘But?’ he asked provocatively, feeling that, despite everything, his brother had still not told him all, and really was keeping a secret.

  ‘But, well, she dances …’ began Erich hesitantly.

  ‘It’s time!’ a voice suddenly called from Tinette’s chair.

  ‘It’s time!’

  Tinette was lying back in the soft hollow of her chair, her mouth half opened and her eyes tight shut. It looked as though she were asleep – as if she were talking in her sleep.

  ‘Time!’ she called a third time, almost singing, but what it was time for, that she didn’t say.

  ‘Yes, it really is,’ said Erich. ‘Excuse me, Bubi, but you’ll see for yourself now. Perhaps Tinette too will—’ He did not finish the sentence but sat down in the chair on the other side of hers, out of sight. It was quite still in the large hall, though occasionally a log in the fireplace crackled, sending up very red sparks.

  Heinz, though annoyed, nevertheless found himself sharing the expectancy shown by the others. To dance, all well and good. But neither Erich nor Tinette would make such secretive preparations for a bit of dancing. Servants were to leave the house, and Tinette would also … Erich had said.

  He was just about to speak when he heard the violinist (the blind violinist) playing … but just listened. Clear and silvery the sounds – Heinz, as if he had been called, now turned his head. She was coming down the stairs, the stranger, the woman with a regal air who had made him see for the first time that the upright posture of man is divine and distinguishes him from all other creatures …

  With heavenly rhythmic limbs she descended – and she was naked, utterly naked. He shut his eyes. Was it a dream? No, she was naked … of course she had to be naked … for one who can walk thus, moving so harmoniously, all garments are a clog and hindrance.

  Down the stairs she came like a white flame – beautiful, silent, noiseless – passed close to Heinz and stood in front of the fire. Upstairs the violin began to call, to allure … With bent head she stood as though listening to her own heart, motionless as if, like Heinz, she heard the call of the violin not from without but within.

  What was happening? Had she stirred? At what sound? She swayed, her hands moved, her arms glittered through the air – and all was over … The white flame leaped and yielded; a flurry of wind seemed to blow her down and away. But again she was there, whiter and more regal than before. Then – miraculous! – with feet together, immobile, she yet seemed to free herself from the earth, to rise, ethereal … What was that?

  Why has she stopped? She stands there, listening, while the violin sings on. She is tranquil and is waiting. Light dances over her body, caresses her hips, lifts a nipple out of the darkness and is swift to brighten the arm she now raises, beckoning, luring …

  Heinz turned his head. Whom did she beckon? Whom did she lure?

  Tinette – Tinette had risen from her chair. Slowly, as if asleep, she was taking off her clothes, one after the other, and letting them glide to the floor. Down slipped her skirt, to lie round her feet like a husk shed by a silver fruit. Slim and white she stood …

  I must shut my eyes, he thought. I can’t bear it. I don’t ever want to see her like that, I’d never be able to forget it
.

  However, he continued to stare at her, watched her standing – a silver, dreamlike figure, actually descended from the clouds, the anxiously guarded Venus of his boyhood dreams.

  What enticement, invitation, in the violin now! The world was saluting her, Life calling. What we had dreamed came true and was beyond all our dreams.

  The two women swayed nearer, stretched out their hands – but, as if something had come in between, one glided away while the other sought to reach her. Again they approached. Gentle was the violin, the soft crackling of the fire … And now they were held in each other’s arms.

  Embracing thus, each seemed to be searching the other’s face, the other’s eyes – for what? And both were smiling as Tinette had been smiling all evening … a smile ancient and sad, knowing the transitory nature of all things, the futility of desire.

  Didn’t they know how they were smiling? Far too close they were, body against body, breast on breast … closer, closer … They no longer held each other in their arms. They were pressing against each other … No, I don’t want to see that! We’ve all had our childhood paradises, but we had to come out of them, because mankind doesn’t live in paradise, and doesn’t want to. Man wants to work with other people!

  But if we no longer live in paradise, do we have to stoop so low as a result? No, I don’t want to see it. No! Go away! I disliked you from the beginning – you with Madonna-like hair – I knew you were evil. I won’t have you clasping her like that, pursuing her with your mouth. Erich, she belongs to you. You tell her she shouldn’t. You tell her – I can’t.

  In this moment Erich turned his head, just as if Heinz had actually addressed him. ‘Well, Bubi, how d’you like it? Did we exaggerate?’ And he looked at his brother triumphantly and with scorn.

  Heinz rose. He wanted to reply – no, he wanted to go away – and yet he could not take his eyes off this woman who now came slowly, very slowly, towards him.

  ‘I want to go. I must go … I …’

  ‘Bubi,’ she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. And under that soft touch he gave way as if a fist had struck him, and he knelt down, while her hand played very gently in his hair. Pressing his face against her body, he groaned with desire and despair. He sensed the smell of life and of life’s transience …