by Hans Fallada
“Quite sure!”
“You swear to that?” he asked, although he knew how useless such oaths were.
“I swear it!”
He had an uncomfortable feeling. Something was wrong; she must have lied to him somewhere. “If I am to keep quiet, you must promise me one thing. But on your word of honor.”
“Yes, of course.”
“If this man—this Lieutenant—should again approach you, you must let me know at once. Will you promise me that? Give me your hand.”
“On my word of honor!” she said, giving him her hand.
“All right, then. Let’s go. Try and find some pretext for sending your manservant Räder over to me this evening, as late as possible.”
“Fine!” she cried enthusiastically. “What will you do to him?”
“I’ll make the young fellow yelp,” he said grimly. “He won’t torment you again.”
“And if he runs to Papa?”
“We’ve got to risk that. But he won’t. I’ll put such fear into him he won’t want to. Blackmailers are always cowards.”
“Can you hear whether they are still talking in the office? Heavens, I must be looking awful. Please give me your handkerchief quickly; I must have lost mine—no, I didn’t bring one with me. I’ll never lie to you again, not even about little things. You are so nice, I’d never have thought it. If I wasn’t in love already, I’d fall in love with you on the spot.”
“That’s over, Fräulein,” said Pagel dryly. “Please don’t forget it—you swore that.”
“Why, of course.”
“All right, now let’s go and show ourselves under the window. The debate in there seems to be endless.”
IV
“Dear Lady,” Herr von Studmann had said, straightening Frau von Prackwitz’s desk chair, which he gladly granted her, “apologies for calling you. But we’re having a meeting here which you have to attend. We’re talking about money.…”
“Really?” said Frau Eva, examining herself in the shaving mirror. “Of course, that’s quite a new topic for me! Achim discusses it at least every day.”
“Eva, please!” cried the Rittmeister.
“And why does my friend Prackwitz speak of money every day? Because he hasn’t any. Because the smallest bill upsets him. Because the rent due on the first of October weighs on him like a nightmare. Because he is always wondering if he will be able to pay it.”
“Quite right, Studmann, I’m worried. I’m a prudent businessman.”
“Let’s examine your financial position. You have no capital; current expenses are paid from current income—that is to say, by sales of cattle, of early potatoes, the harvest.… You have no capital reserves.…” Studmann rubbed his nose thoughtfully. Frau von Prackwitz gazed at herself in the mirror. The bored Rittmeister leaned against the stove, hoping that Studman (this eternal nursemaid) would at least have sufficient tact not to talk of his gambling debts.
“Then comes the first of October,” went on Studmann. “On that date the annual rent has to be handed over in cash to Geheimrat von Teschow. This, as you ought to know, is equivalent to three thousand hundredweights of rye, and as far as I’ve been able to find out, the price is round about seven or eight gold marks a hundredweight, which would mean a sum of twenty-five thousand gold marks, not to be expressed in milliards—if only because we don’t know what the price of rye will be in paper marks on the first of October.” Von Studmann gazed at his victims, but they were not yet aware of the significance of his words.
“I’m very much obliged to you, Studmann, for bothering with all these things. But, if you’ll pardon me, we know them. The rent is somewhat high, but I’ve got a very nice crop standing in the fields, and now that I’m getting reapers—”
“Excuse me, Prackwitz, you don’t see the problem. On October the first you’ve got to give Herr von Teschow the value of three thousand hundredweights of rye. Since the gold mark is a fictitious standard, the price of rye in paper marks—”
“I understand all that, my dear Studmann, I know that.”
“But,” continued the inexorable Studmann, “you can’t deliver three thousand hundredweights of rye to the dealer in one day. Judging by your books, you require about fourteen days for that. Now suppose you deliver three hundredweights of rye on September the twentieth. The dealer, let us say, will give you three hundred milliards for it. You put the three hundred milliards in your safe ready for payment on October the first. In the period between September the twentieth and thirtieth the mark continues to fall. On September the thirtieth you’ll get from the dealer, let us say, six hundred milliards for the three hundred hundredweights. Then the three hundred milliards in your safe will only represent the value of one hundred and fifty hundredweights. You would have to deliver another one hundred and fifty hundredweights.… That’s clear, isn’t it?”
“Just a minute,” said the Rittmeister, perplexed. “How was that? Three hundred hundredweights are suddenly only one hundred and fifty?”
“Herr von Studmann is quite right,” asserted Frau von Prackwitz. “But it’s terrible. No one can afford that.”
“It’s a fourteen-day race with inflation,” said Studmann. “And it will exhaust us.”
“But the inflation won’t necessarily keep on like this!” exclaimed the Rittmeister indignantly.
“No, of course not. But one can’t tell. It depends on so much: on the French in the Ruhr, on the firmness of the present government, which wants to continue the Ruhr struggle at all costs and so needs more and more money, on the attitude of England and Italy, who still oppose France’s action. That is to say, on thousands of things we can’t influence—yet we have to pay on October the first whatever happens.”
“Can we do it, Herr von Studmann?”
“We can, Frau von Prackwitz.”
“There you are!” cried the Rittmeister, half laughing, half angry. “Just like Studmann! First he frightens us, then he has the solution to hand.”
“There are people,” said Studmann, unperturbed, “who believe in the perpetual depreciation of our currency, who speculate on a fall. They’d be prepared to buy your rye from you today, Prackwitz, payment to be made on October the first, delivery to be made October to November.… I have a few offers here.”
“The fellows will make a mint of money out of it,” said the Rittmeister bitterly.
“But you’ll be able to pay Papa the rent punctually and without loss, Achim! That’s what we have to consider.”
“Give me the offers, Studmann,” said Prackwitz sullenly. “I’ll look them through. Anyway, I’m very grateful to you.”
“The second question is,” went on Studmann, “whether it is any use paying the rent at all.” He said nothing and looked at them both. Fallen from heaven, he thought, like children.
“But why?” asked Frau von Prackwitz, puzzled. “Papa must have his money, mustn’t he?”
“That’s a crazy idea, Studmann,” objected the Rittmeister very crossly. “As if there weren’t enough difficulties without that!”
“The contract states,” said Frau von Prackwitz, “that we would immediately lose the lease if punctual and full payment is not made!”
“I shall fulfill my obligations!” declared the Rittmeister.
“If you can!” said Studmann. “Listen, Prackwitz, now don’t interrupt me. You listen, too—it will be a little painful, as I must speak of your father.… Well, let’s speak of the lessor and lessee. For you are coming in for a few hard things, too, my dear Prackwitz, you, the lessee. The study of this lease is not uninteresting. If you examine it, you will be reminded of the Treaty of Versailles, over which stands the motto: ‘To hell with the conquered’! Over your lease stand the words: ‘Woe to the lessee!’ ”
“My father—”
“The lessor, Frau von Prackwitz, the lessor! I don’t want to speak of all the mean, petty conditions which might lead to disaster. The electric light incident opened my eyes. My dear Prackwitz, if I hadn’t been
here you would have come to grief over that, as you were intended to. But the enemy retreated. He’s waiting for you to fall over the rent payment, and you will fall over it.”
“My father-in-law …”
“My father …”
“The lessor,” said von Studmann firmly, “fixed the rent at one and a half hundredweights of rye per acre. Is that a reasonable rent?”
“It is perhaps a little high,” began the Rittmeister.
“The State lands in the neighborhood pay sixty pounds of rye per acre; you pay more than twice that. And remember—the lessees of the State lands had to pay only an installment at the last quarter, and next quarter they’ll probably pay nothing. That won’t lose them their leasehold; but if you don’t pay the full amount punctually, well …”
“My brother in Birnbaum …”
“Quite so, Frau von Prackwitz; your brother in Birnbaum, as he always moans to everyone, pays the lessor the same rent. But what’s right for one child is too dear for the other. That’s to say, one hears everywhere that your brother actually pays only ninety pounds but has had to promise his father to say it’s one hundred and fifty.”
“My dear Studmann, that would be equivalent to fraud. I must ask you …”
“If, then, one can call the rent a very high one, it may be that Neulohe is such an excellent property that even an unusually high rent is justified. I did not find this office”—Studmann let a disapproving glance sweep over it—“a striking model of order. No, excuse me, Prackwitz. But one thing was very striking: there wasn’t a book to be found from the time of your predecessor, nothing which could afford information as to Neulohe’s productivity in previous years. However, there were other ways. The overseer kept threshing lists, there were records at the Treasury office, the dealers kept entry-books. Well, after some trouble I finally came to the conclusion that even in previous years Neulohe produced only an average crop of five to six hundredweights of rye per acre.”
“Much too low, Studmann!” cried the Rittmeister triumphantly. “You’re no farmer …”
“I carried out a test on the—lessor. He didn’t know why I was asking and wanted to try and fool me; like you he thought I was no farmer. But I’m a man who can calculate; it was Herr von Teschow who was fooled. The lessor admitted against his will that only an average crop of five to six hundredweights is to be expected, not more. ‘There’s a lot of sand in the outfields,’ he said.”
“But then I’m paying …” The Rittmeister paused in dismay.
“Yes,” said Studmann inexorably, “you pay twenty-five to thirty per cent of your crop as rent. That can hardly be called reasonable. If you will remember, Frau von Prackwitz, the peasants in the Middle Ages paid a tithe to their manorial lords, that’s to say, a tenth of their produce. It was not tolerable, and in the end they rose and killed their lords. Your husband doesn’t pay a tenth, no, he pays a quarter—even so, I wouldn’t advise killing.” Herr von Studmann smiled. He was happy. The nursemaid could instruct, the teacher could teach—forgetting, meanwhile, the despair of his listeners. A child whose toy has been broken does not find much consolation in being told how this could have been avoided.
“But what are we to do?” said Frau von Prackwitz tonelessly. “What can we do?”
“My father-in-law has certainly no inkling of all this,” said the Rittmeister. “One must tell him. You’re so clever and calm with it, Studmann.…”
“What about asking his son in Birnbaum to keep quiet?”
The Rittmeister said nothing.
“So far, one might still think the lessor was just a man eager to get money. Too eager. Somewhat greedy, eh? But unfortunately it is much worse.”
“If you please, Herr Studmann! We’ve had enough now.”
“Yes, you really must stop.”
“One must know everything, otherwise one will do the wrong thing. The rent amounts to three thousand hundredweights—one and a half hundredweights per acre, which corresponds to a farm of two thousand acres. And that is the area as given in the lease.”
“Is that also false?”
“I always heard, long before, that Neulohe had two thousand acres of land,” said Frau von Prackwitz.
“That’s quite true, Neulohe has two thousand,” replied Studmann.
“Well, then!” The Rittmeister heaved a sigh of relief.
“Neulohe has two thousand acres, but how large is the area you cultivate, Prackwitz? From the two thousand acres you must take away paths, unfertile land, the field-balks, ditches, heaps of stones. You must exclude, too, a few bits of arable land which have been planted with firs—you can get yourself a Christmas tree without having to ask the owner of the forest, Prackwitz …”
“Yes, I know. Nothing much.”
“You must exclude also the huge farmyard, the laborers’ houses, this staff-house, your Villa with its garden, and you must exclude too the Manor and the park! Yes, my dear Prackwitz, you even pay rent to your father-in-law for the house in which he lives!”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll do that!” cried the Rittmeister.
“Steady, steady—you want to get out of all your difficulties, don’t you? I have reckoned it out on the ground-plan; the area actually cultivated amounts to a trifle over fifteen hundred acres, so you are really paying two hundredweights of rye.”
“I’ll contest the contract, I’ll sue the fellow!” The Rittmeister looked as if he were about to dash immediately to the nearest law court.
“Oh, Achim!” wailed Frau von Prackwitz.
“Sit down!” shouted Studmann. “Now you know everything, and we can sit in judgment on the culprit—that’s you, Prackwitz. Steady, now! How could you have signed this disgraceful contract? You signed it as well, madam. Well, go on, Prackwitz. You can talk now.”
“How could a man imagine he was being tricked in such a low-down way—by relatives!” cried the Rittmeister angrily. “I knew my father-in-law was a skin-flint and after money like a cat after canaries. But I still can’t believe, Studmann, that he would cut his own daughter’s throat.”
“Herr von Teschow is no fool,” said Studmann. “When he drew up this lease he knew it could never be carried out. He must have had some motive. Have you anything to say about that, Prackwitz? I’d like to hear your views, too, madam.”
“I don’t know what my father was thinking.” But Frau von Prackwitz turned red under Studmann’s scrutiny.
“I’ll chuck the damn thing in his face! I’m going to court!”
“According to clause seventeen any objection to a condition of the contract dissolves the lease. Once you have lodged your complaint you are no longer the lessee. How did the contract come to be made? It’s new, and you’ve been farming here a long time.”
“Oh, that’s got nothing to do with the case. After the war we had nothing. I wasn’t going to be paid my pension—was I not a traitor? So we landed up here as visitors. I ran around the fields with my father-in-law—slaving like the devil. I found it fun at the time. Then one day he said: ‘I’m getting old, take the place as it stands. Eva will inherit all one day.’ So I started managing it alone.”
“Without any contract?”
“Without a contract.”
“What rent did you pay?”
“Nothing was settled. When he needed money I gave it to him if I had any; otherwise he just waited.”
“And then?”
“Then one day he said: ‘Let’s draw up a contract,’ and so we made this disgraceful lease with which I’m landed.”
“He just said ‘Draw up a contract’? But something must have happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Something’s missing,” persisted Studmann. “Well, Frau von Prackwitz?”
She had flushed. “Well, Achim,” she said hesitantly, “oughtn’t we to tell him? It’s better.…”
“Oh, the old story!” growled the Rittmeister. “Studmann, you’re a real nagger. What good will it do you to know—it won’t alter the lease
.”
“Frau von Prackwitz,” pleaded Studmann.
“A short while before the lease was made,” she said quietly, “I had a quarrel with Achim. He thought it was time he started being jealous again—”
“Please, Eva, don’t be ridiculous!”
“Yes, Achim, it’s true. Well, you know him, and I do too. He immediately flew into a temper—you’d have thought the world was coming to an end. Screamed about divorce, adultery—well, it wasn’t nice to listen to. But I’ve been used to it for nearly twenty years and know that he really doesn’t mean it.”
“My dear Eva,” said the Rittmeister stiffly, “if you go on talking about me in this way I shall leave the office. And anyway, I was quite right. That affair with Truchsess—”
“Was years ago,” interrupted Studmann. “Please sit down again, Prackwitz. Don’t forget, it’s your money we are discussing.”
“I don’t want to hear any more of these stories!” cried the Rittmeister fiercely, sitting down, however.
“Go on, Frau von Prackwitz. So there was a little domestic quarrel?”
“Yes, and unfortunately my father heard of it without our knowing. From that time onwards he was convinced that Achim tormented and ill-treated me.”
“Ridiculous! I’m the most peaceful, most placable man.”
“For weeks he urged me to divorce Achim—”
“What!” The Rittmeister jumped up. “That’s the latest! He wanted you to divorce me?”
“Sit down, Prackwitz,” urged Studmann. “As you say, these are very old stories. Your wife is not divorced …”
“No, Papa saw that I didn’t want to. He thinks more of me than you’d expect.” She had flushed again. “And then there came this lease.”
“Now I understand him,” said Herr von Studmann, feeling extremely pleased. “And I hope you understand him, too, Prackwitz, and know what your attitude is to be. Your husband was intended to lose his nerve, become unbearable, be economically ruined; his incapability was to be proved, he was to pile up debt after debt …”
“And that man calls himself my father-in-law! It’s true I could never stand him, but I thought, after all, he’s quite a good fellow in his own way …”
