by Hans Fallada
“How do I deceive myself?” He was vexed. “Please, Eva, let go of my coat. It has just been pressed.”
“I’m sorry.… How do you deceive yourself? Well, the truth is, Achim, you were sent away from there because of some folly or indiscretion. And because it’s painful for you to admit so, and it occurred to you in the train that the rent falls due on October the first—therefore you try to bamboozle yourself and me.”
“If that’s how you interpret it …” he said, offended. “Very well, then; I’m sent away and now I’m here. Or should I not be here?”
“But, Achim, if it’s not like that, say something, then. What is the help you intend to give? Are you going to get hold of the money? Have you any plans? You know that Papa made it a condition you should stay away for a good time, and yet you come back without a word of notice. We haven’t even been able to break it to my parents.…”
“I certainly didn’t think about my father-in-law’s feelings. All I thought was, you would be pleased.…”
“But, Achim!” she cried despairingly. “Don’t be a child. What have I to be pleased about? We’re no longer a newly married couple, for me to beam with pleasure as soon as I see you.”
“No, you certainly don’t do that.”
“Here we are struggling for the lease! That is the only thing which ensures us a small income such as we are accustomed to. What are we going to do if we lose it? I’ve learned nothing and there’s nothing I can do—and you—”
“I can do nothing either, of course,” said the Rittmeister bitterly. “What’s come over you, Eva? You are quite changed. Well, I may have come back a bit sooner than expected and perhaps it was a little thoughtless. But anyway, is that a reason to tell me I’ve learned nothing and can do nothing?”
“You are forgetting the car in front, Achim!” she cried. “You know we have no money at all, but there in front of the house is a brand-new car that certainly cost ten thousand gold marks!”
“Seventeen, Eva, seventeen.”
“Very well. Seventeen. Things are so bad I can say it’s all the same whether it cost ten thousand or seventeen thousand. We can’t pay either sum. What is the position with the car, Achim?”
“Everything is all right with it, Eva.” The proximity of extreme danger had restored his calm. He didn’t want another scene; he wished to hear no more unpleasant things. He had the right, surely, to do what he wanted. A man whose wife has done everything he wishes for twenty years can never understand why she so suddenly changes. The woman who for twenty years has been silent, forgiving, smiling, patient, becomes in his eyes a rebel when in the twenty-first year she loses her patience and argues, accuses, demands explanations. Then she is a mutineer against whom every stratagem is permissible. Twenty years of patience have only given her the right to be patient also in the twenty-first.
It was so easy for the Rittmeister. His nimble mind, his boundless optimism, made him see everything in the rosiest light. To put his wife in the wrong there was no need at all for him to give a false account of this car purchase; he only needed to say how it could have come about. Women didn’t understand. “All is in order, Eva. I’m not really supposed to speak about it, but I can say this. I bought the car more or less on higher instructions.”
“On higher instructions? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, on behalf of someone else. In short, for the military authorities.”
Frau von Prackwitz looked at her husband uneasily. That incorruptible weapon of womankind, her sense of reality, was not to be duped. Something was wrong.
“For the military authorities?” she asked thoughtfully. “Why don’t they buy their cars themselves?”
“My dear girl,” explained the Rittmeister, “the military today are restrained by a thousand considerations. By the talking shop in Berlin which won’t vote them any supplies. By the Treaty of Versailles. By the Commission of Control. By hundreds of spies. As a consequence they must, unfortunately, be secret in what they regard as indispensable.”
Frau von Prackwitz looked at her husband sharply. “So the car has been paid for by the military authorities?”
The Rittmeister would have liked to say yes, but he knew that a payment of 5,000 gold marks was due on October the second. Yet he ventured something. “Not quite that. But I shall get the money back.”
“Will you? I suppose, since the military have to be secret, there is consequently no written agreement either?”
The worst thing about the Rittmeister was that he became so quickly tired of anything, even of his lies. It was all so boring. “I am under official orders,” he said irritably. “And thank God I am still officer enough to carry out unhesitatingly whatever a superior officer commands.”
“But you’re not an officer, Achim! You’re a civilian, and if you as a civilian buy a car, you are answerable for it with your entire fortune.”
“Listen, Eva.” The Rittmeister was determined to put an end to all this questioning. “I ought not to speak about it, but I’ll tell you everything. On October the first, the day after tomorrow, the present Government is going to be overthrown—by the Reichswehr and other military associations. Everything is prepared. And I have received the official command to appear on October the first at six o’clock in Ostade—with a motor car. This motor car.”
“A different Government,” she said. “That wouldn’t be so bad. Instead of this mire into which we sink deeper every day. That would be a good thing.” She was silent for a moment. “But …”
“No, please, Eva,” he said resolutely. “No ‘buts.’ You know what is at stake. The thing’s settled.”
“And Herr von Studmann?” she asked suddenly. “He is also an officer. Does he know anything about it?”
“I couldn’t say.” The Rittmeister spoke stiffly. “I don’t know what are the principles according to which gentlemen are called upon.”
“I’m sure he knows nothing about it. And Papa? One of the richest men in the district? Hasn’t he been called upon also?”
“Some mention was made of your father,” retorted the Rittmeister bitingly. “Unfortunately, rather to his disfavor. It seems he has been the soul of caution, wanting to see the outcome first, before he joins.”
“Papa’s careful,” reflected Frau von Prackwitz. Then, suddenly seized by a thought: “And supposing the Putsch fails? What then? Who’s going to pay for your car then?”
“It won’t fail.”
“But it can,” she insisted. “The Kapp Putsch failed. Just think, seventeen thousand marks!”
“It won’t fail, however.”
“But it’s possible. And we should be ruined.”
“I’d return the car in that case.”
“If it’s confiscated? Or wrecked? Seventeen thousand marks!”
“I buy a car,” said the affronted Rittmeister, “and you go on talking about seventeen thousand marks! But when your dear father demands immense sums from us, simply ruinous, then you say we have to pay them without fail.”
“Achim, the rent must be paid. But we don’t need a car.”
“It’s an official command.” He was as obstinate as a mule.
“I don’t understand it at all. You have only just come out of the sanatorium, where you thought of nothing but shooting rabbits. And now, suddenly, you talk about a Putsch and buying a motor car, all at once.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. Her instinct kept on warning her that something was wrong.
He had colored under her glance; hastily he bent forward and took a cigarette from his case. Lighting it, he said: “You must excuse me, but you know nothing about it. This business was arranged a long time ago. I knew about it before I went away.”
“Achim, why do you say that? You would certainly have told me about it in that case.”
“I was sworn to silence.”
“I don’t believe it!” she cried. “This whole business happened suddenly. If you hadn’t quarreled with Dr. Schröck you would still be there shoo
ting your rabbits, and there would have been no talk about a Putsch, buying a car, and all that.”
“I’d rather not hear again,” said the Rittmeister menacingly, “that you don’t believe something I say, that I’m a liar, that is. As far as that goes, I can prove what I said. Go and ask the forester if a whole lot of men in Neulohe are not waiting only for the signal to burst forth. Ask Violet if there isn’t a very large arms dump hidden in your father’s forest.”
“Violet knows about it, too?” she cried, mortally offended. “And that’s what you both call trust! That’s supposed to be a family! Here I work myself to death, I humble myself to Papa, I calculate and worry, I put up with everything, I cover up your blunders—and you’ve got secrets from me! You conspire behind my back, get into debt, endanger everything, play fast and loose with our existence, and I’m to know nothing about it!”
“Eva, I beg you.” He was frightened at the effect of his words, and put out his hand to her.
She looked at him with fury. “No, my friend,” she cried angrily, “that was a bit too much. Kniebusch, a doddering old chatterbox, and Violet, a mere slip of a girl, plotting with you—but as for me, there you plead your duty to be silent. I’m not to know anything. I don’t deserve the confidences you give the other two.…”
“I beg you, Eva! If you’ll let me tell you …”
“No. Tell me nothing! I don’t want your confessions afterwards. I’ve had enough of that all my married life. I’m so tired of it all. I’m sick to death of it! Understand,” she cried, stamping on the ground, “I’m sick to death of it. I’ve heard it all hundreds of times before, the pleas for forgiveness, the promises to pull yourself together, pleasant words—no, thank you!” She turned toward the door.
“Eva,” he said, following her, “I can’t understand your agitation.” He was fighting with himself. After a hard struggle: “All right then, I’ll send the car back to Frankfurt this very minute.”
“The car!” she said contemptuously. “What do I care about the car?”
“But you yourself have just said … Do be logical for once, Eva.”
“You haven’t even understood what we’re talking about. We are not talking about cars, we’re talking about trust. Trust! Something that you have demanded for twenty years as a matter of course, and which you have never shown me.”
“Very well, Eva,” he said bitterly, “say precisely what it is you really want. I’ve already told you that I’m willing to send the car back to Frankfurt at once, although actually official instructions.… I really shouldn’t know how to justify it.…” He was getting muddled again.
Her eyes were cold. Suddenly she saw, as he really was, the man at whose side she had lived for almost a quarter of a century: a weakling, spineless, without self-control, at the mercy of every influence, a babbler.… He hadn’t always been like that. No, he had been different, but the times had been different, too—luck had been his, life had smiled, there were no difficulties, it had been easy to show only his good side. Even in the war. Then there had been superiors to tell him what he had to do, and discipline. Uniform, and everything connected with it, had kept him upright. But once he had taken that off, he collapsed, and showed that there was nothing in him, nothing, no core, no faith, no ambition, not one thing to give him the power to resist. Without a guide he had wandered, lost, in a lost age.…
But while all this flashed through her mind, and she saw that familiar face into which she had looked more frequently than any other, a voice within her whispered accusingly: Your work! Your creation! Your guilt!
All women who sacrifice themselves completely to their men, relieving them of all burdens, forgiving everything, enduring everything—all live to see their work turn against them. The creature rounds on its creator; tender indulgence and kindness turn to guilt.
She heard him continuing to speak, but hardly listened to what he said. She saw his lips opening and closing, and she saw the lines and folds of his face moving. That face had once been smooth when she had first looked at it. Alongside her, with her, through her, it had now become the face that it was.
“You keep on talking about trust.” He was reproachful. “Surely I have shown trust enough? I left you alone here for weeks, I put the whole property in your charge. After all, it’s I who am the tenant.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes, you are the tenant, Achim!” She spoke in ridicule. “You are the master, and you left your poor weak wife all to herself.… Don’t let us talk about it anymore now. Nor do I mind if you keep the car. Everything must be considered. I should like to talk it over thoroughly with Herr von Studmann, and perhaps sound Papa a little.…”
Wrong again! Always doing things the wrong way! No sooner was she gentler than he became harsher. “On no account do I wish Studmann to be told,” said he, beginning to be irritated. “If he hasn’t been called upon, there will be a reason for it. And as for your father …”
“Very well, leave Papa. But Herr von Studmann must be informed. He’s the only one who has a real notion of our finances and can say whether it is possible to buy the car after all.”
“Don’t you understand, Eva?” he cried angrily. “I reject Studmann as competent judge of my actions. He is not my nurse.”
“It is necessary to ask him,” she persisted. “If the Putsch fails …”
“Listen! I forbid you to speak a word to Studmann about the matter. I forbid it.”
“What right have you to tell me what not to do? Why should I do what you think is correct, since everything you do, everything, is wrong? Certainly I shall talk to Herrr von Studmann.”
“You’re very obstinate about your friend,” he said suspiciously.
“Isn’t he your friend also?”
“He’s a self-opinionated fool, a know-all! An everlasting nursemaid!” he burst out. “If you say a word to him about this matter, I’ll throw him out on the spot. We’ll see who is the master here!” he shouted, holding himself rigid.
With pale and unmoving face she looked at him a long, long time, and once again he grew uncertain under this gaze.
“Do be sensible, Eva,” he pleaded. “Admit that I am right.”
Suddenly she turned away. “Very well, my friend, I won’t say anything to Studmann. In future I won’t say anything whatever.” And before he could reply he was alone.
He looked around discontentedly. The lengthy quarrel had left a feeling of emptiness, of something unsatisfied. He had had his way, and for once this did not please him. He wanted to forget the quarrel—it had been an endless torrent of words, long disputes about nothing—and why? Because he had bought a car! If he could pay over twenty thousand gold marks in rent he could afford a car. There were peasants who had them. There was a peasant in Birnbaum who had a car and a tractor plow, and another had twenty-five sewing machines in his barn, just to have something for his money. Goods!
It was not as if he had bought the car for his own pleasure. He would never have thought of it had not Major Rückert instructed him to get one. He had done it for the Cause; a thing she, however, couldn’t understand. And didn’t want to understand. In her dressing table there was a drawer at least a yard long and twenty inches deep, crammed with stockings. Yet she was constantly buying herself new ones. There always had to be money for that! He himself had hardly spent a penny for weeks, only the few cartridges which he needed for the rabbits, and the wine at meal times—but the very first thing he did buy, she made a row!
Soft and musical, the car hooted in front; his car, his brilliant Horch. Glad of this diversion, the Rittmeister put his head out of the window. Violet sat at the wheel, playing with the knob of the horn. “Stop that, Vi!” he shouted. “You’ll frighten the horses.”
“The car’s so smart, Papa. You really are the nicest man. It must be the finest car in the whole district.”
“It’s also pretty dear,” whispered the Rittmeister, twisting his head to look at the floor above.
Vi screwed up her eyes laughingly. �
�Don’t worry, Papa. Mother’s gone to the farm. In the office again, of course.”
“In the office? Oh!” The Rittmeister was annoyed.
“How much, Papa?”
“Frightful. Seventeen.”
“Seventeen hundred? That’s not so much for a swell car.”
“My dear Vi! Seventeen thousand!”
“At any rate, Papa, for that we have the finest car in the district.”
“You think so? That’s what I say. If you’re going to buy something, it may as well be something decent.”
“I suppose Mamma is not quite in agreement?”
“Not yet. But she’ll change her mind, you see, when she’s been out in it.”
“Papa?”
“Yes …? What?”
“When can I go in it? Today?”
“Oh!” Both children were equally delighted. The nursemaids were absent, in the office.
“I know, Papa! Suppose we go quickly through the forest? The gendarmes are searching there for the convicts. We might catch the fellows. Our car’s so silent and fast! And then we could drop in at Birnbaum. Uncle Egon and the cousins will burst with envy.”
“I don’t know,” said the Rittmeister doubtfully. “Perhaps Mamma would like to come.”
“Mamma? She’d rather be in the office.”
“Oh? What’s the chauffeur doing now?”
“He’s having something to eat in the kitchen. But he can’t be long now. Shall I call him?”
“All right. By the way, Vi, guess whom I met in the train today.”
“Who then? How can I tell, Papa? All the neighbors might have been there. Uncle Egon?”
“What are you talking about? I shouldn’t have asked you to guess about him. No. Our Lieutenant!”
“Who?” Violet turned crimson and lowered her head. Confused, she pressed the knob of the horn and the car hooted loudly.
“Don’t make that noise, Vi, please. You know, the Lieutenant who was so rude …” In a whisper: “The one with the weapons.”
“Oh, him!” She still kept her head down, and played with the wheel. “I thought you meant someone we knew.…”
