by Hans Fallada
Pinneberg livened up as he told her the story, his face lightening into gaiety.
‘Now, Mr Heilbutt,’ Spannfuss had said with a smile. ‘I hear you are a man of superior intellect. May I ask whether you’ve considered how economies are to be effected in this business?’
‘Yes,’ said Heilbutt, fixing his dark, almond-shaped eyes on the dictator. ‘I have considered that question.’
‘And what conclusion did you come to?’
‘That every employee earning more than four hundred marks ought to be made redundant.’
Mr Spannfuss turned on his heel and left. The whole of Gentlemen’s Outfitting, however, rejoiced.
Lammchen understood what was the matter. It wasn’t just worries at work; he wouldn’t normally have let it get to him so easily; the real trouble was that he had to do without her. She had got so heavy, so shapeless and fat that when she got into bed she had to settle her belly down as well. It had to be manoeuvred carefully into position, otherwise it got in her way and she couldn’t get to sleep.
Sonny had got used to her, she could always tell when he got restless, and now he could no longer have her it happened much more frequently. She was often tempted to say: ‘Go out and find a girl’, and the reason that she didn’t was not because she’d have been jealous of him or the girl, but because of the money. Just simply the precious money. And it wouldn’t have helped, finally. Because she knew there was something else: she wasn’t just living for her young man any more, her unborn child had a claim on her too. Well, all right, Sonny told her a bit about his troubles, she listened to him and stood by him but, if she was absolutely honest, she kept a slight distance. She wasn’t going to let it disturb the Shrimp. Nothing must be allowed to disturb the Shrimp.
So she went to bed. The light was still on and her young man was pottering at something. She preferred to be lying down, the small of her back was so painful. And, as she lay there, she pulled up her nightie and lay almost naked looking at her belly.
Then—she seldom had very long to wait—she saw something move, and started. It took her breath away.
‘Gosh, Sonny!’ she called. ‘The Shrimp kicked me again. He’s going mad.’
Yes, he was alive in there, and seemingly quite merry. He was a lively child, he kicked and punched. Once it might have been tummy-rumbles, now it was unmistakeable.
‘Look at that, Sonny,’ she cried. ‘You can see it quite plainly.’
‘Can you?’ he asked, and approached hesitantly.
They both waited, and then she cried: ‘There! There!’ and then realized that he wasn’t looking that way at all but at her breasts.
Then she was shocked at herself for having unintentionally tormented him once again, pulled down her nightie, and murmured: ‘Shame on me, Sonny.’
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘I’m a silly fool too.’ and he found something to occupy him in the semi-darkness.
It kept on happening. However ashamed she felt afterwards, she just couldn’t stop herself from watching the Shrimp thumping and kicking about. She would have preferred to be alone, but they had only these two rooms with the door removed in between, and they had to share each other’s every mood.
Once, and only once, Heilbutt came to visit them in their ship’s cabin. It was now impossible to conceal that she was expecting a baby, and it turned out that Sonny had never told his friend about it. Lammchen was surprised.
But Heilbutt took it all in his stride, joked a bit, inquired what it was like. He was a bachelor, and his worries in that direction had never gone beyond hoping his girlfriend took precautions every time. And so far, touch wood, it had worked. Thank Heaven. Heilbutt was interested, sympathetic, raised his teacup and said ‘Here’s to the Shrimp!’ And then, as he set the cup down, he said: ‘You’re a brave pair.’
In the evening, as the couple were lying in bed, and the light was already out, Pinneberg said: ‘Did you hear what Heilbutt said, that we’re brave.’
‘Yes,’ said Lammchen.
And then they were both silent.
But Lammchen reflected long about whether they were really brave, or whether it wasn’t rather that everything would be quite hopeless without the prospect of the Shrimp. For what else was there in life for them to look forward to? She wanted to talk about it with Sonny some time, but not just at the moment.
SONNY HAS TO HAVE HIS LUNCH AND FRIEDA IS GIVEN AN OBJECT-LESSON. WHAT IF I NEVER SEE HER AGAIN?
Pinneberg was coming home from Mandels. It was Saturday afternoon; he’d got Mr Kröpelin to let him off, he was restless.
‘You go on home,’ said Mr Kröpelin, understanding fellow that he was. ‘Good luck to your wife.’
‘Thank you very much,’ replied Pinneberg. ‘I don’t know for sure it’ll be today. I’m just so restless.’
‘Well, go home, Pinneberg,’ said Kröpelin.
Spring was early this year; although it was still only mid-March, the twigs were already green and the air was soft. ‘I hope it will soon be over for Lammchen,’ he thought. ‘Then we can get out a bit. This waiting’s dreadful. I wish this Mr Shrimp would get a move on.’
He went slowly up Calvinstrasse, his coat open to the light breeze. ‘Everything is so much easier when the weather is good. How I wish it would start!’
He crossed the Alt-Moabit district and a few steps further on a man offered him a sprig of lily-of-the-valley, but though he’d have liked to take it, the budget did not permit. Then he was back at the yard. The garage door was standing open and Puttbreese was busy with his furniture.
‘Now then, young man,’ he said, blinking with his red-rimmed eyes out of the darkness into the sunshine. ‘Are you a father yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Pinneberg. ‘Soon.’
‘They take their time, these women, ‘said Puttbreese, reeking of spirits. ‘It’s bloody stupid when you think about it. Mad. You think about it, young man. It’s only a moment, not even a moment: wham bam! and then you’ve got this millstone round your neck for the rest of your life.’
‘That’s right,’ said Pinneberg. ‘Well, enjoy your lunch. I’m off to have mine.’
‘Nice though, wasn’t it, young man?’ remarked Mr Puttbreese. ‘And I’m not saying you called a halt once you’d done it: wham bam and that’s your lot. No, not the way we are.’
And he thumped himself on the chest. Pinneberg retreated up the ladder into the darkness.
Lammchen came towards him, smiling. Every time he came home now, it was with the feeling that something must have happened, but it never had. The limit had surely been reached, her body looked weird, tight as a drum, her once white skin threaded with innumerable ugly blue and red veins.
‘Hello, wife,’ said Pinneberg and gave her a kiss. ‘Kröpelin has let me off. I’m free.’
‘Hello, husband,’ said she. ‘That’s great. Don’t start smoking. We can eat straight away.’
‘Really?’ he said. ‘I’m gasping for a cigarette. Could it wait a moment?’
‘Of course,’ she said, settling in her chair. ‘How was it?’
‘Same old thing. And here?’
‘The same.’
Pinneberg sighed. ‘He’s taking his time.’
‘It’s nearly over, Sonny love.’
‘It seems silly,’ he said, after a pause, ‘that we don’t know anyone to ask. How will you know that you’re in labour? You might think it was just a belly-ache.’
‘Oh, I think you know.’
He’d finished his cigarette, and they began lunch.
‘Well!’ exclaimed Pinneberg. ‘Chops! This is a Sunday lunch.’
‘Pork’s very cheap at the moment,’ she replied apologetically. ‘I cooked enough for tomorrow, so that you … that we have more time for ourselves.’
‘I thought,’ he said, ‘that we’d go on a leisurely stroll down to the Castle Park. It’s so beautiful there now.’
‘Tomorrow morning, Sonny, tomorrow morning.’
They were washing up. Lammchen wa
s standing with a plate in her hand when she suddenly opened her mouth and groaned. Her face went very pale, then grey, then very red.
‘What is it, Lammchen?’ he asked, frightened, leading her to her chair.
‘The pains,’ was all she whispered, without attending to him at all, sitting doubled up with the plate still in her hand.
He stood there, quite at a loss, looking at the window, at the door, wanting to run away, stroking her. Ought he to get a doctor? Gently he took away the plate.
Lammchen righted herself, her colour came back, she mopped her face.
‘Lammchen,’ he whispered. ‘My Lammchen …’
‘Yes,’ she said and smiled. ‘It’s time to go. Last time there was an hour between the pains and this time it was only forty minutes. I thought we’d have time to finish the washing up.’
‘And you didn’t say anything to me, and you let me have a cigarette!’
‘We’ve got time. When it’s about to happen they come every minute.’
‘You ought to have told me,’ he persisted.
‘Then you wouldn’t have eaten anything. You’re always so low when you come in from work.’
‘Let’s go then.’
‘Yes,’ she said, glancing round the room one more time, her face lighted with a strange, fleeting smile. ‘Yes, you’ll have to wash up on your own now. And you will keep our little nest clean, won’t you? It’s a bit of extra work, but I do like thinking about this place when I’m away.’
‘Lammchen,’ was all he said. ‘Lammchen!’
‘Yes, let’s go,’ she said. ‘The best is if you go down first. I hope the pains don’t come on when I’m on the ladder.’
‘But you said forty minutes at the most,’ he began reproachfully.
‘How can you know?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps he’s in a hurry. I wish he’d wait just a bit and then he’d be a Sunday boy.’
And they climbed down.
It all passed off well. There was no Puttbreese either. ‘Thank heaven,’ said Sonny. ‘His drunken jabber would have been the last straw.’
And now they were out in the Alt-Moabit district, the trams jingled, the buses drove by. They strolled very slowly through the warm March sunshine. Some of the men stared really nastily at Lammchen, some looked shocked, some appeared to leer. The women looked at them quite differently, with a serious, concerned air, as though sharing in her ordeal.
Pinneberg was deep in thought, he struggled with himself, then took a decision. ‘Definitely,’ said he.
‘What’s that, Sonny love?’
‘No, I’ll tell you afterwards, right at the end. I’ve made a resolution.’
‘Very good,’ said she. ‘But you don’t need to make any resolutions. You’re fine as you are.’
They only had to cross the Little Tiergarten, and then they were there, they could see the hospital gates over the other side. But they only got as far as a bench. Five or six women were sitting on it. They were immediately in the picture.
Lammchen sat doubled up with her eyes closed. Pinneberg stood by, helpless and rather embarrassed, with her little bag in his hand.
A fat, shapeless woman said in a deep voice: ‘Cheer up girl, if you can’t get any further they’ll fetch you with a stretcher.’
A young woman remarked: ‘With her build, she’ll be all right. She’ll just put on weight.’
The others cast her an unfriendly glance.
‘It’s a good thing to be well-covered in these hard times. No need to be jealous.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, ‘said the young woman defensively, but no one was listening.
A dark woman with a pointed nose observed reflectively: ‘That’s the way it is. The men have the pleasure and we have the pain.’
An older woman with a sallow face called a fat thirteen-year old girl to her side, saying: ‘Take a look at that, that’s what’ll happen to you if you get in with men. Take a good look, Frieda, it’s for your own good. Get like that, and father’ll throw you out.’
Lammchen had recovered. Seeing the circle of women’s faces around her as she came to, she tried to smile.
‘It’ll be coming on again soon,’ she said. ‘Let’s go on at once, Sonny. Do you mind it very much?’
‘Oh God,’ was all he said.
And the Pinnebergs went on, one step at a time.
‘Tell me, Lammchen,’ said Sonny hesitantly.
‘What is it? Do ask.’
‘You don’t ever think like that old girl, that it’s only for my pleasure?’
‘That’s rubbish!’ was all Lammchen replied, but she said it with such fervour that he was perfectly satisfied. And now they were at the hospital gates, where there was a fat porter. ‘Delivery? Reception’s on the left.’
‘Can’t we go in straight away,’ asked Sonny anxiously. ‘The pains have already started. Into bed, I mean?’
‘Good God!’ said the porter. ‘It won’t happen that quick.’
Slowly they climbed the few steps to Reception. ‘We had a woman recently, thought she was going to have it here in the hall, and then lay in there for a fortnight, and then went back home again, and it went on another fortnight. Some women can’t count.’
The door to Reception opened. A nurse was sitting there, but no one seemed at all excited that the Pinnebergs had arrived and were in the process of founding a real family, which after all wasn’t such a common thing as it used to be.
It seemed to be very usual here. ‘Delivery?’ asked the nurse. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure we’ve got a bed free. We may have to send you somewhere else. How often are the pains coming? Can you still walk?’
‘Now listen!’ cried Pinneberg, who was beginning to get very angry.
But the nurse was already phoning. Then she hung up. ‘There’ll be a bed tomorrow. But you’ll be all right till then.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ cried Pinneberg, incensed. ‘My wife is having pains every quarter of an hour already. She can’t do without a bed till tomorrow.’
The nurse laughed, she laughed at him to his face. ‘Your first, isn’t it?’ she asked Lammchen, and Lammchen nodded. ‘Well, of course you’ll go to the Delivery Room first, and then …’ taking pity on Pinneberg, she turned to him to explain: ‘then by the time the baby has arrived a bed is sure to be free.’ In a different tone: ‘And now be quick, young man, go and get the paperwork done, and then pick your wife up here.’
Mercifully the paperwork didn’t take long. ‘No, you don’t need to pay anything. Just sign here that you surrender your right to benefit. Then we get the money from the insurance. Good. All done.’
Lammchen had just been through another attack.
‘Well, yes, it is starting, slowly,’ said the nurse. ‘But not before ten or eleven tonight I wouldn’t think.’
‘As long as that?’ said Lammchen, looking pensively at the nurse.
Her expression had changed a great deal, Pinneberg thought, as though she had moved a long way away from other people, even from him, and was thrown back on her own resources. ‘As long as that?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said the nurse. ‘Of course it could go quicker. You’re strong. With some women it’s over in two hours. Others are still in labour twenty-four hours later.’
‘Twenty-four hours,’ said Lammchen, feeling very much on her own. ‘Come along then, Sonny.’
They stood up and tottered off. It turned out that the maternity block was the very last of the buildings, and they had to drag along an endless distance to get to it. He would have liked to talk to Lammchen, to take her mind off things. She was going along so silently, with a closed face, and her worried frown; she must be thinking about those twenty-four hours.
‘You know, Lammchen,’ he began, wanting to explain that he thought such torture was altogether too cruel. But he didn’t; instead he said, ‘I wanted to entertain you a bit. But I can’t think of anything. All I can do is think of This.’
‘You needn’t say anything, Sonny,’ she sai
d. ‘And you needn’t worry either. This time it’s really true to say that what other women can do, I can do too.’
‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘But all the same …’
And then they arrived at the maternity block.
A tall blonde nurse was in the corridor at the time, and turned around when she saw them coming, and perhaps she liked the look of Lammchen (all nice people liked Lammchen) as she put her arm round her shoulders and said brightly: ‘You’ve come to visit us, I see? Well, you’re in the right place, dear.’ And then she asked the question which seemed to be standard here: ‘Your first, isn’t it?’
And then she said to Pinneberg: ‘Now I’m going to take your wife away. No, don’t look so horrified, you’ll have a chance to say goodbye to her. And you must take all her things away with you. Nothing stays here. You can bring them back in a week when your wife goes home.’
And with that she bore Lammchen away. Lammchen nodded to him once more, over her shoulder, and then disappeared into the meshes of this baby-production plant, manned by professionals who knew what to do. And Pinneberg was left outside.
Then he had to give their details all over again, to a grey-haired, severe-looking sister. ‘I hope Lammchen doesn’t get her,’ thought Pinneberg. ‘She’s bound to be nasty to her if she doesn’t do things right.’ He tried to curry favour with her by behaving very humbly, and then was terribly ashamed not to know Lammchen’s date of birth. The sister remarked, ‘Typical. No man ever knows.’
It would have been so nice not to be like the others.
‘Now you can say goodbye to your wife.’
He entered a long, narrow room, filled with all kinds of machines whose use he could not conceive of, and there sat Lammchen in a long white nightie, smiling at him. She looked like a little girl, rosy, with her hair hanging loose, and seemed a little ashamed.
‘Say goodbye now,’ said the sister, fiddling around with something by the door.
The first thing he noticed as he stood by Lammchen was the pretty little blue garlands of flowers printed on her nightie. They made it look so cheerful. But when she put her arm around his neck and drew his head down to her, he saw that they weren’t flowers but letters, which spelled out, all over the nightie, ‘Berlin City Hospitals’.
