A Small Circus

by Hans Fallada

  Frerksen motions with his head, and now Stein comes over all embarrassed. ‘Oh, Herr Tredup, I’m so sorry! If only I’d known! But the mayor will be surprised at you, writing that way.’

  ‘I gave an objective presentation of the facts,’ says Tredup doughtily.

  ‘Well, you won’t make a lot of friends with those sorts of objective presentations.—Well, Frerksen, will you be sworn in or won’t you!’

  ‘I’ll be sworn in later. It’s a lot of tripe that I’m supposed to have made myself punishable.’

  ‘Of course it is. You’ll see the witnesses they bring in for you. The Reichsbanner and the SPD, the whole of the working class is squarely behind you.’

  Frerksen changes hue.

  A hundred yards away, outside the school gates, the same theme is being discussed. Gareis has thrown his fluffy grey loden coat over his tails, and is pacing back and forth, flanked by Councillor Geier and Party Secretary Nothmann.

  ‘I wish I knew, Mayor,’ says Nothmann, ‘where you get your confidence from. This whole trial could turn into a calamity for us.’

  ‘Wait for the witnesses. Yesterday it was the defendants, that counts for nothing. Of course all those fools feel pity for a cute lad like Henning. What a golden boy!’

  ‘The witnesses are in the balance,’ says Geier. ‘They’ll feel the atmosphere too. And that avuncular judge is a wretch. We know, we know.’

  ‘What do we know?’ asks Gareis irritably.

  ‘For instance, that the judge, unlike the other gentlemen, doesn’t come in every morning by train from Stolpe, no, he’s staying with his brother-in-law, Thilse, the factory owner. Judge and factory owner—do you think people like that are going to be against the farmers! They’ll stick together, mark my words! But I’ll tip the wink to Pinkus, so he can bring it out in the Volkszeitung.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t do that!’ cries the mayor in consternation. ‘Why shouldn’t the man stay with his brother-in-law? That’s not enough to make him biased.’

  ‘You’re slipping, Mayor,’ says Nothmann. ‘Standards. You used to be different. Of course that has to go in the paper. The worker who comes to give evidence must know what sort of man is asking him questions. That he’s a friend of exploiters.’

  ‘If Pinkus prints that,’ says Gareis emphatically, ‘then I’ll wallop him so hard he won’t know what hit him.’ More mildly: ‘How can you be such idiots as to mess this up for me? Oh, I know, it’s not your fault.’

  ‘You, Comrade Gareis,’ says Geier, offended, ‘you always think you’re so clever, but we have yet to see you achieve much for the Party. We’re forever having to go back to the membership, to explain, and justify, and ask for patience. Why don’t you steer a course that the working man understands, not these subtleties that end up as neither fish nor fowl.’

  ‘If the farmers go down, then you’ll find out I was right all along.’

  ‘If. And if they don’t?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Then, Comrade Gareis, you can pack your bags. We can’t afford this sort of unideological slackness.’

  ‘No,’ says Gareis. ‘No. So I’ve noticed.’

  An uncomfortable silence descends.

  Pinkus is seen waddling across the street. He is almost breaking into a trot, that’s how much of a hurry he’s in.

  ‘I’m coming straight from Party HQ, Mayor,’ he pants. ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve got.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you go and tell me, then.’

  ‘A registered letter has arrived. From Frerksen—’

  ‘What does he want? Why is he writing to us?’

  ‘He’s resigning from the Party,’ squawks Pinkus.

  The four men all stare at each other.

  ‘Your witnesses, Gareis . . .’ mocks Geier.

  The mayor takes a deep breath. ‘Mneh. Never mind!’ And, emphatically: ‘I promise you, I won’t be packing my bags for a long time yet. I don’t care who thinks he can take me down. I’m staying.’

  He runs off.

  ‘Today,’ Nothmann says to Geier and Pinkus.

  V

  In the meantime, Frerksen is back in front of the judge’s table.

  He is speaking even more quietly, more hesitantly, more mildly. Perhaps it’s the mortifying sense that his swearing-in has been declined by the court, perhaps it’s the after-effects of Henning’s glare . . .

  At any rate, Tredup notes that this witness, this prize prosecution witness, has actually seen nothing, knows nothing, recognizes no one.

  ‘So you had the sense that your meeting with Herr Benthin was being undermined? That you were deliberately being sent to the wrong pubs?’

  ‘Yes, I’m not certain of that. If I said so in earlier interviews, it’s possible I could have been mistaken. It was just a feeling I had.’

  The judge asks: ‘What led you to confiscate the flag?’

  ‘I heard shouts of disapproval. It worried me. I thought it was a provocation.’

  ‘Do you remember who shouted?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Did you have the impression, as you were confiscating the flag, that Herr Henning offered you much in the way of resistance.’

  The witness, haltingly: ‘Resistance? No. Not really.’

  ‘You said earlier that Herr Padberg had pushed you away from the flag?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t be able to say that any more. I’m not sure if it was Herr Padberg or someone else.’

  ‘You received a blow, though?’

  ‘Yes. A hard blow.’

  ‘And by whom?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not familiar with their names.’

  A pitiful sight, a man twisting and writhing, anxious not to incriminate anyone, and to please everyone.

  ‘Well,’ says Tredup with a hint of glee to Pinkus, who is just returning, ‘your prize witness isn’t up to much.’

  ‘Prize witness? What are we to do with Frerksen?’

  ‘Frerksen’s in the Party.’

  ‘Frerksen . . . ? Golly, whoever gave you that idea. Frerksen isn’t SPD.’

  ‘Really? That’s news to me.’

  ‘Do you think we’d want people like that in the Party?’

  ‘So he’s been thrown out?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. But it’s interesting you should say that.’

  Meanwhile, Padberg has stood up in the little group of defendants. ‘Commander, I have a question for you: were you in control of your nerves on the 26th of July?’

  Frerksen looks at him tensely. The ingratiating smile round his mouth twists into something else. ‘Yes, I was.—Allow me a question back, Herr Padberg, are you not an alcoholic?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you never been booked into a drying-out clinic?’

  ‘That’s a vile slander.’

  The judge intervenes: ‘Gentlemen, please, what’s the point? We’re trying to sort this out in a sensible way. All right, Herr Frerksen . . .’

  But the atmosphere gets worse and worse. It’s clearly visible at the press desk. Pinkus writes nothing at all, because this is no good to him. And Stuff is scribbling away like crazy.

  But during the break, Frerksen goes up to Tredup. The commander is so alone in this mob of people, no one wants to have anything to do with him.

  From the group around Stuff he can clearly hear the voice of his old adversary: ‘Frerksen? Done for! He’ll be out on his ear in a month at the most.’

  Now he goes up to Tredup, with a cautious, timid smile on his face. ‘Well, Herr Tredup, can I ask you what people are thinking? What’s the view on my evidence?’

  Even Tredup sees no grounds to be merciful. ‘Too weak. Flip-flops, Commander.—“Couldn’t remember”—“Didn’t recognize”—If a man does something like that, he has to stand by it.’

  And he turns round.

  Manzow is holding forth to his own circle: ‘Frerksen was always a wet rag, but that’s not such a bad thing for Gareis. It makes it easy to see who’s re
sponsible for dog’s breakfasts in the past.’

  ‘Say,’ says Meisel unpleasantly, ‘you’re not about to go over to Gareis again, are you? That’s not on, boy. Gareis is toast.’

  ‘Go over to Gareis?’ protests Manzow. ‘Hardly. But surely you’ll let me say what happened. It was Frerksen who cocked everything up.’

  ‘And now Gareis is paying for it. That’s always the way of it. As if we minded.’

  VI

  Behind the defence counsel is a little table at which two gentlemen are seated. One of them is Councillor Röstel, who is following proceedings as a representative of Altholm. When the dentist Czibulla was questioned, Röstel was writing avidly, because Czibulla is bringing a suit against Altholm.

  And the second gentleman at the table is Chief Adviser Meier. He sits there looking faintly stricken, as though trying to hide behind his pince-nez. So far, by some miracle, things are going—touch wood—rather nicely, he’ll be able to send an optimistic report back to his boss in Stolpe. So long as Gareis doesn’t make a mess of things . . .

  Meier would have liked to have a quiet word with Gareis first, he had the sense that back home, in that dark, dingy, lightless room, they would have quite liked to make things up with the man . . . But how could he take such responsibility upon himself? A word before a trial like that could be wildly misunderstood . . . Influencing witnesses. It’s safer to wait, in the end. Gareis will be sensible . . .

  It’s a little before eleven that Gareis makes his appearance. He is quite calm as he steps before the judge. His posture is good.

  ‘Arrogant son of a bitch!’ growls Stuff. ‘Wearing tails, he’s having a laugh!’

  During the swearing-in of the witness, Gareis is obliged to interrupt the judge.

  ‘Not the religious formula, please,’ he interrupts loudly, and the judge quickly apologizes.

  Then Gareis gives evidence.

  He had not been opposed to the demonstration. It hadn’t been until he had seen a letter in the press from the farmers’ leader Franz Reimers, calling for protests outside the prison, that he had lost his sympathy. He had then agreed with Farmer Benthin that Benthin with some of the other farmers’ leaders should come to him just before the demonstration. Unfortunately, Benthin hadn’t kept his end of the agreement.

  He himself had gone home at noon to pack for his holiday.

  As the witness speaks, the black robe of the defence counsel inches forward slowly and unstoppably. The man keeps his yellowish skull lowered, his hands in the folds of his robe.

  Were it not for the dark shadow moving towards the witness, everything would be in order. For Gareis’s cool speech spreads clarity and calm. Now the counsel raises his right hand in the direction of the judge.

  ‘I request leave to ask the witness a few questions at this stage, which may perhaps cast a new light on his evidence.’

  The judge makes an obliging gesture.

  The counsel looks down at the ground. Nor does he raise his eyes when he asks: ‘Your Honour. Was there not a discussion with representatives of the government on the day before the demonstration?’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘Did Commander Frerksen not participate at this meeting?’

  ‘Herr Frerksen was present at it, yes.’

  The defence counsel speaks very slowly: ‘Was it not said on the government side that this farmers’ movement posed a greater threat than the KPD, and that it was therefore necessary to clamp down on it with unusual severity?’

  Gareis has switched fronts: he no longer addresses himself to the judge’s table, he stands and faces the counsel. Legal Councillor Streiter inclines his head a little to look up at the giant in front of him. Gareis replies just as slowly, and with utter calm: ‘The talks with the government went on for perhaps an hour or two. I don’t recall individual phrases verbatim. I don’t think that the words you used were said.

  ‘As far as substance is concerned, it’s fair to say that there was a gulf between my views and those of the government. A gulf that still exists today. The government sought a complete ban of the demonstration. As far as I was concerned, there were neither legal means nor any political justification for doing so. I declined the ban.’

  Chief Adviser Meier, at his table at the back, groans: ‘I knew it. Now the pot is broken. Oh, boss, boss!’

  The counsel asks: ‘Would a third person present have been able to understand from the words of the government delegates present that the government sought an unusually severe response to the farmers?’

  Gareis hesitates, but only for moment. His eye wanders to the spot in the gallery where the commander has sat down.

  Only for a moment. Then, just as calmly, he answers: ‘That was indeed the impression. I should add that I was out of the room for maybe a quarter of an hour. During that time, I spoke to Farmer Benthin. Of course I don’t know what Commander Frerksen may have talked about with the government representatives during those fifteen minutes. When I returned, though, he was under the distinct impression that the government desired a sharp approach. I left him under no doubt that my own preferences were different.’

  ‘He’s hung Frerksen out to dry!’ shouts a jubilant Stuff from the press desk.

  ‘My understanding is,’ the counsel says, ‘that Commander Frerksen had the impression that the government wanted an exceptionally tough approach to the farmers. Whether Herr Frerksen later acted in accordance with the wishes of his direct superior, or those of the government’—the lawyer hesitates—‘that is something we can determine only by the nature of his conduct during the demonstration.’

  Pause.

  ‘Are you done with your questions, Legal Councillor?’ asks the judge.

  ‘No,’ says the counsel. ‘No, not quite yet.’

  Another pause.

  He’s not a bad impresario, this defence man. He knows how to use a pause to raise expectations. The whole room is waiting with bated breath.

  ‘Your Worship,’ the defence counsel begins again, ‘did you receive any other expression of government policy—other than what was said at that meeting?’

  Gareis closes his eyes for a moment. Then, hesitantly: ‘I don’t remember. There were so many conversations . . .’

  The defence counsel takes his time. He has folded his hands behind his back and is trying to see the tips of his shoes under his robe.

  ‘No,’ he says, ‘I’m not talking about any verbal understandings. Let me jog your memory. Did you not receive a letter from the government, a set of secret orders, conveyed to you by a militia officer?’

  Gareis looks straight in front of him.

  ‘Yes,’ he says slowly. And then again: ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what was contained in those secret orders?’

  Gareis is still looking straight ahead. He doesn’t answer.

  ‘Let me rephrase my question,’ says the counsel. ‘Did these secret orders not contain instructions to proceed against the farmers with all conceivable rigour?’

  Long silence.

  Very long silence.

  ‘Now, Your Worship, please answer the question.’

  Gareis recovers his self-possession. He turns towards the judge’s table: ‘Is the question allowed?’

  A thousand little creases play around the judge’s eyes. He gestures as if in regret. ‘Actually, yes.’ And after a pause: ‘But you must know how much you are permitted to divulge of government policy.’

  Gareis thinks about it. ‘I am of the view that I am not permitted to divulge this. These were, after all, secret orders.’

  The counsel contradicts him: ‘I am of the opposite view.’

  And the judge: ‘That’s easily enough resolved. We have a representative of the government here with us.’ Turning to the little table at the back: ‘Chief Adviser . . . ?’

  And the adviser, eagerly: ‘I’ll check back right away.’

  He’s already halfway out of the court.

  ‘Half an hour break,’ announces the judge.

/>   VII

  Tredup rushes to the typesetting room. It’s almost noon, but this sensation has to make it into the Chronicle today. He’s not going to flub this.

  He wrote his piece during the hearing, now he works on the running titles. They write themselves.

  The heading, right across the front page:

  sensational development in farmers’ trial.

  The second headline:

  mayor gareis refuses to answer questions.

  Charging through the dispatch office, Tredup calls out to Wenk: ‘Come into the typesetting room, quick. A big story. An extra two hundred street sales, I reckon. But it’s still got to be typeset.’

  Hurriedly, he tells the story.

  The maker-up is grumpy, but he feeds the manuscript into a machine.

  Wenk, meanwhile, rather astonished: ‘I’m amazed you’re so keen, Tredup! I had you down for an admirer of Gareis?’

  Tredup stops for a moment, then: ‘What does that have to do with anything? I write it the way it is. How can he be upset if what I write is the truth?’

  ‘I only hope you’re not fooling yourself. It’s good for us anyway. Anyone who sees the headlines is going to stop and buy the paper.’

  ‘I’ve got to get back to the court. Will you do me a favour, Wenk, and read the corrections, make sure there’s no slips?’

  ‘I suppose so. Hope the whole thing isn’t rubbish.’

  ‘Nah. Today we’ll pip the News. Today I’ll make my name with Gebhardt.’

  When Chief Adviser Meier left the courtroom, he had every intention of calling his boss, District President Temborius. But where do you make such a call from? It’s an important and highly confidential conversation. He knows his master, knows he’ll have to report in minute detail on the way Gareis commented on the differences with the government, and endeared himself to the farmers.

  Is it possible even to conduct such a conversation over the telephone? People can listen in every step of the way. No, Chief Adviser Meier decides he will have to go back to Stolpe in person. But he can only do that if he’s first checked with the judge, got his agreement that he can leave his post this afternoon, that no important witnesses will be called. Well, everything goes smoothly with the judge, he sees no obstacle.