Little Man, What Now?

by Hans Fallada

  ‘Look who’s here, Mrs Witt,’ said Heilbutt. ‘This is my friend Pinneberg. I want to take him to our meeting this evening.’

  Mrs Witt was a small round elderly lady. ‘You do that, Mr Heilbutt,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun for the young gentleman. You needn’t be nervous,’ she reassured Pinneberg. ‘You don’t have to undress if you don’t want to. I didn’t undress when Mr Heilbutt took me.’

  ‘I …’ began Pinneberg.

  ‘It is funny though,’ Mrs Witt told him, ‘when all of them are going around naked and talking to you quite naked, elderly gentlemen with beards and glasses, and you have your clothes on. Very embarrassing it is, too.’

  ‘You see,’ said Heilbutt. ‘And we aren’t embarrassed.’

  ‘Well, it must be quite nice for the young gentlemen,’ said plump, elderly Mrs Witt. ‘I don’t quite see what there is in it for the girls, but it must be a good way for the men to pick up a lady-friend. They don’t have to buy a pig in a poke.’

  ‘That’s your opinion, Mrs Witt,’ said Heilbutt shortly, visibly annoyed. ‘If you could clear away, please.’

  ‘You don’t like me saying that, Mr Heilbutt,’ pushing the dinner things together,’ but it’s the truth, some of them were going into the cubicles together quite openly.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Mrs Witt,’ said Heilbutt. ‘Good evening, Mrs Witt.’

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ said Mrs Witt, going off with her tray, but stopping a moment in the doorway to say: ‘Of course I don’t understand it. But it’s cheaper than going to the pub.’ And with that she was off, leaving Heilbutt staring angrily at the brown varnished door.

  ‘You can’t blame the woman,’ he said, blaming her deeply. ‘She doesn’t know any better. Of course, Pinneberg, of course people strike up relationships, but that happens everywhere when young people get together. It has nothing to do with our movement.’ He broke off. ‘You’ll see for yourself. You’ve got time, haven’t you. You’ll come with me?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Pinneberg, embarrassed. ‘I have to make a phone call first. My wife is in hospital.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Heilbutt sympathetically. Then he realized: ‘Is it happening?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pinneberg. ‘I took her in this afternoon. It’ll probably be tonight. And Heilbutt …’ he wanted to say more, about his unhappiness, his fears, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  ‘You can telephone from the baths,’ said Heilbutt. ‘You don’t think your wife would have anything against it?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It just seems so strange, when she’s lying there in the maternity ward, the delivery room it’s called, where they give birth, and it seems to be so hard. I heard one of them shrieking, it was awful.’

  ‘Well, yes, no doubt it hurts,’ said Heilbutt with an outsider’s sang-froid. ‘But it always goes off all right. You’ll both be happy to have it behind you. And, as I said, you don’t have to undress.’

  WHAT PINNEBERG THINKS OF NATURISM AND MRS NOTHNAGEL’S FEELINGS ABOUT IT

  For an inexperienced man like Pinneberg an invitation like Heilbutt’s was dangerous in all sorts of ways. Not that he had ever been particularly shy in sexual matters, on the contrary. He had grown up in Berlin and, as Mrs Pinneberg had not long ago reminded him, there had been those games with schoolgirls in the sand-pit that had given such offence at the time. And then when you grow up in the clothing business where the jokes and the models are as free as the supply of clothes, you don’t have many romantic ideas left. Girls are girls, and men are men, and however different they are, they all like to do it. And if they behave as if they don’t, then they have reasons which are actually nothing to do with the matter: they want to get married, or the boss doesn’t like it, or because they’ve got silly ideas of some kind.

  So that wasn’t the source of the danger. The source of the danger was precisely that he knew too well what it was all about and had no illusions about it. It was all very well for Heilbutt to say that nothing of the sort ever entered people’s heads. Pinneberg knew better. Something of the sort did enter people’s heads.

  Pinneberg had only to paint the briefest mental picture of the young girls and women running about and bathing and swimming, and he knew what went on.

  But—and this was Pinneberg’s great discovery—he didn’t want to have any sensations in that quarter unless they were connected with Lammchen. He had behind him the usual childhood with all its disenchantments and revelations, and at least a dozen girlfriends, not counting escapades. And then he had met Lammchen, and the joyful and pleasant experience that had happened for the first time in the dunes between Wiek and Lensahn had for a long time stayed just that: something that made life happier.

  Then they had got married, and they had often done what comes so easily and naturally in marriage, and it had always been good and pleasant and liberating, just as it had always been, but then again not as it had always been. For out of it a commitment had emerged; whether because Lammchen was such a wonderful woman, or whether from the habit of marriage, but the mysteries and the illusions had returned. And now he was on a pilgrimage to the baths with his friend Heilbutt (whom he admired but now found just a trifle absurd), he knew very clearly that he didn’t want to feel anything that wasn’t connected with Lammchen. He belonged to her, as she belonged to him, and he did not want any pleasure that had not its origin and fulfilment in her; he just didn’t want it.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say to Heilbutt: ‘You know, Heilbutt, I’d rather go to the hospital. I’m a bit worried.’

  Just an excuse, so that he didn’t look too foolish. But then, before he could snatch a pause in Heilbutt’s stream of talk, everything was all mixed up again: his flat, the delivery room, the swimming-pool with naked women, the nude photos, what little pointed breasts some girls had! He used to think that was nice, but since he had known Lammchen’s full, soft bosom … well, it was the same story, wasn’t it, everything that she was was good, so now he was really going to tell Heilbutt …

  ‘Here we are,’ said Heilbutt.

  Pinneberg looked up at the building and said. ‘Oh, it’s a normal baths. I thought …’

  ‘You thought we had our own. No, we aren’t that rich yet.’

  Pinneberg’s heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, he was actually frightened. Nothing frightening presented itself for the moment however. A grey female sat at the ticket office and said: ‘Good evening, Joachim. You’re in thirty-seven.’ And gave him a key with a number.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Heilbutt. Fancy him being called Joachim, thought Pinneberg.

  ‘And the gentleman?’ asked the female, motioning her head towards Pinneberg.

  ‘A guest,’ replied Heilbutt. ‘So you don’t want to swim?’

  ‘No,’ said Pinneberg, embarrassed. ‘I’d rather not today.’

  ‘Just as you like,’ said Heilbutt, smiling. ‘Take a look at everything and perhaps you’ll come for a key later.’

  And then the two of them went down the corridor between the cubicles, and from the pool, invisible from here, there came the usual laughing and splashing and cries, and there was the usual tepid watery swimming-pool smell. It was all so normal that Pinneberg was beginning to feel much calmer when a cubicle door open a crack and he saw something rosy and wanted to look away. And then the cubicle door opened and a young female person dressed in nothing at all appeared in the doorway and said: ‘Oh, there you are at last, Achim, I thought you weren’t coming again.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Heilbutt. ‘Allow me to introduce my friend Pinneberg. Mr Pinneberg: Miss Emma Coutureau.’

  Miss Coutureau inclined her head, and extended her hand to Pinneberg like a princess. And he looked away, looked round, didn’t know where to look.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ said Miss Coutureau, who remained stark naked. ‘I’m sure you’ll see we’ve got the right idea.’

  But then Pinneberg spied a way out: a telephone booth. ‘I have to
make a quick call. Excuse me,’ he murmured, and dashed off.

  Heilbutt called after him: ‘We’re in cubicle thirty-seven.’

  Pinneberg took a lot of time getting through. Anyway it was much too early to be phoning, it was only nine, but it was better to be out of there for the moment.

  ‘Maybe you don’t feel any desire?’ he reflected. ‘Perhaps the thing would be to be naked too.’

  And then he put in a coin and asked for Moabit 8650.

  Oh God, how long it all takes! His heart began hammering again. Perhaps I shall never see her again.

  The nurse said: ‘One moment please. I’ll find out. Who’s calling? Pallenberg?’

  ‘No, Pinneberg, nurse, Pinneberg.’

  ‘Pallenberg, that’s what I said. One moment please.’

  ‘Nurse, Pinne …’

  But she’d already gone. And perhaps there was a Mrs Pallenberg in the maternity ward, and he might be given the wrong information, and think it had all gone off well when in reality …

  ‘Are you still there, Mr Pinneberg?’

  Thank heaven, a different nurse. Perhaps the one who was looking after Lammchen.

  ‘No, it’s not time yet. It could last another three or four hours. Perhaps you could call again around midnight?’

  ‘Is it going all right? Is everything as it should be?’

  ‘Yes, completely normal. Ring us again at midnight, Mr Pinneberg.’

  He hung up. Now he had to go out again. Heilbutt was waiting for him in cubicle thirty-seven. How ever had he been mad enough to come here?

  Pinneberg knocked at thirty-seven, and Heilbutt called, ‘Come in’. They were sitting side by side on the little bench, and appeared really only to have been chatting; perhaps it was all in his mind, perhaps he, like Mrs Witt, was too corrupted for these things.

  ‘So let’s go,’ said the naked Heilbutt, stretching. ‘It’s cramped in here. You’ve got me really warmed up, Emma.’

  ‘And you me!’ laughed Miss Coutureau.

  Pinneberg followed behind them, and once again decided that it was purely and simply embarrassing.

  ‘What news of your wife?’ called Heilbutt over his shoulder, then explained to his companion: ‘Mrs Pinneberg is in the hospital. She’s due to have a baby tonight.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Miss Coutureau.

  ‘It’s not time yet,’ said Pinneberg. ‘It could last another three or four hours.’

  ‘That will give you the chance to see everything,’ said Heilbutt, highly satisfied.

  Actually, it gave Pinneberg the chance to get thoroughly cross with Heilbutt.

  They entered the swimming area. ‘Not many here’ was his first impression. But then he realized there were actually lots of them. A whole crowd were gathered on the diving-boards, all incredibly naked, and one by one they stepped forward and executed a leap off the board and into the pool.

  ‘I think it would be best if you stayed here,’ said Heilbutt, ‘and if you want to know anything, you need only wave to me.’

  And with that the two went off, leaving Pinneberg perfectly safe and unmolested in his corner. He watched what was happening on the diving-board. Heilbutt appeared to be something of a leading light, everyone greeted him, smiled and beamed at him; the shouts of ‘Joachim!’ reached as far as Pinneberg.

  True, there were some tall, good-looking young men among them, and some very young girls, with firm sturdy bodies, but they were very much in the minority. The main contingent were dignified older gentlemen and stout women. Pinneberg could very well imagine them listening to a military band and drinking coffee; in this place they looked utterly incongruous.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said a whispering, very polite voice behind him. ‘Are you a guest too?’

  Pinneberg started and looked round. A very stocky lady was standing behind him, mercifully with all her clothes on, hornrimmed glasses balancing on her hooked nose.

  ‘Yes, I’m a guest,’ he said.

  ‘So am I,’ said the lady, and introduced herself: ‘My name is Nothnagel.’

  ‘Pinneberg,’ said he.

  ‘Very interesting, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘So unusual.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ confirmed Pinneberg.

  ‘Were you introduced by a …’ she paused, and then asked, terribly discreetly, … ‘by a girlfriend?’

  ‘No, a man friend.’

  ‘Oh, a man. I was introduced by a man friend too. And may I ask whether you’ve decided yet?’ asked the lady.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About joining? Whether you want to become a member?’

  ‘No, I haven’t decided.’

  ‘Neither have I. This is the third time I’ve been, would you believe it? and I haven’t been able to decide. At my age, it isn’t so simple.’

  She gave him a timid, questioning glance. Pinneberg said: ‘It isn’t at all easy.’

  She was pleased. ‘There you are, that’s just what I keep saying to Max. Max is my friend. There he is, no, now you can’t see him any more …’

  But he could see Max, who turned out to be a good-looking forty-year old, tanned, upstanding and dark-haired, the very model of a go-getting businessman.

  ‘Yes, I keep saying to Max, it’s not as easy as you think, not at all, above all not for a woman.’ She again looked appealingly at Pinneberg, so that he felt obliged to say: ‘Yes, it’s terribly difficult.’

  ‘You see! Max is always saying: look at it from the business angle, it’ll be an advantage to you to join. He’s right it’s benefited his business a great deal already, being a member.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Pinneberg politely, genuinely curious.

  ‘Well, I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t talk to you about it. Max has a carpet and curtain agency. Now business is getting worse and worse, and so he joined up here. Wherever he hears there’s a big club, he joins it, and sells to the other members. Of course he gives them a respectable discount, and he says there’s still enough left for him. But it’s easy for Max: he’s so good-looking and knows such good jokes and is such good company always. For me it’s much more difficult.’

  She sighed deeply.

  ‘Are you in business too?’ asked Pinneberg, looking at the poor, foolish, grey creature.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, looking confidentially up at him. ‘I’m in business too, but I don’t have much luck. I had a chocolate shop, it was a good business in a good situation, but I didn’t have the gift for it. I had bad luck all the time. I wanted to make it look really nice once upon a time, so I got a window-dresser, fifteen marks I paid him, and he did the window for me. There were two hundred marks’ worth of goods in there. I was so busy and hopeful, I thought it was bound to work, and in my enthusiasm I forgot to pull down the blinds, and the sun—it was summer—shone into the shop window. And well, I really don’t know how to tell you, by the time I noticed it, all the goods had melted and run into each other. All spoiled. I sold them for ten pfennigs a pound to children. Imagine that, the most expensive chocolates, ten pfennigs a pound. What a waste!’ She looked mournfully at Pinneberg, who was moved by the sad, yet ridiculous tale, and had quite forgotten about the goings-on in the baths.

  ‘Didn’t you have anyone who could have helped you a bit?’ he asked.

  ‘No, nobody. Max came later. He got me an agency in trusses, girdles and bras. It ought to have been a very good agency, but I don’t sell anything. Hardly anything.’

  ‘Well, that sort of business is difficult today,’ said Pinneberg.

  ‘Isn’t it!’ she agreed gratefully. ‘I run about all day, upstairs and downstairs, and sometimes I don’t even sell five marks’ worth. ‘Now,’ and she tried to smile, ‘that isn’t so bad. People really don’t have the money. But if only some of them weren’t so nasty! You see,’ she said warily, ‘I’m Jewish. Have you noticed?’

  ‘No … not particularly,’ said Pinneberg, awkwardly …

  ‘You see!’ she said. ‘People do notice. That’s what I’m always sayin
g to Max, they do notice. And I just wish that anti-semites would have a notice on their door, so that one doesn’t need to bother them in the first place. It always comes like a bolt from the blue. “Take your indecent stuff out of here, you filthy old Jewess”, someone said to me yesterday.’

  ‘What a swine!’ said Pinneberg, incensed.

  ‘I have sometimes thought of leaving the Jewish faith, I’m not really practising, I eat pork and everything. But I don’t feel I can do that now, when everyone has it in for the Jews.’

  ‘You’re right there!’ agreed Pinneberg. ‘I shouldn’t do that.’

  ‘So Max thought I ought to join up here, and I’d be able to sell a lot. He’s right, too, you can see that most of the women—I’m not talking about the young girls—could do with a girdle or a bra. I know exactly what every woman here needs, I’ve been standing here three evenings running. Max keeps on saying: “Make up your mind, Elsa. It’s money for jam.” And yet I can’t. Can you understand that?’

  ‘Oh, I understand. I’m not going to decide either.’

  ‘So you mean I shouldn’t do it, in spite of the business opportunity?’

  ‘It’s difficult for me to say,’ said Pinneberg, looking thoughtfully at her. ‘You must know how necessary it is, and whether it’s really worth it.’

  ‘Max would be very cross if I said no. He’s been so impatient with me lately, I’m afraid …’

  But Pinneberg was suddenly alarmed in case she was going to unburden that chapter of her life onto him as well. She was a sad little grey creature to be sure, and it was far from clear what she could do with her life: in fact, as she talked he had found himself hoping desperately that he would not die soon and leave Lammchen in just such an agonizing plight. But he was quite sad enough already, and he suddenly cut her short quite rudely by saying: ‘I’ve got to make a telephone call. Excuse me!’

  And she said very politely: ‘Oh please do, I didn’t want to detain you.’

  And Pinneberg went.

  PINNEBERG IS TREATED TO A BEER, GOES TO STEAL SOME FLOWERS AND ENDS UP LYING TO HIS LAMMCHEN

  Pinneberg hadn’t said goodbye to Heilbutt, he didn’t care whether he minded or not. He simply couldn’t listen to any more of that depressed and depressing chat. He fled. He tramped all the long way from the outermost eastern district of Berlin to Alt-Moabit which was in the north-west. He might just as well walk, there was plenty of time till twelve, he could save the fare. Sometimes he thought fleetingly of Lammchen, then of the Nothnagel woman, and then Jänecke, who would soon be head of department, because Mr Kröpelin was not in Mr Spannfuss’s good books, but mostly he thought of nothing. You could just walk, and look in the shops, and the buses drove by, and the illuminated advertisements were so pretty, and once it occurred to him: what was it that Bergmann had said? ‘She’s only a woman. They don’t understand.’ What did he know, he’d never met Lammchen!