by Hans Fallada
Happiness and Woe
(1932)
At six o’clock, still dark, the man got home from stealing wood. He lit a lantern and split the logs so that, in case a policeman came looking for wood thieves, he would find nothing incriminating. While he worked, he could hear the others in the allotment huts around variously chopping and sawing; they always went out in groups of four or five, so that the forester thought better of meddling with them.
When the man was finished with his work, he went into his summer house. It was now seven o’clock, and starting to get light. His wife was asleep, but his son was awake, sitting up in his cot, going ‘Pepp-Pepp’ and ‘Memm-Memm’ by turns. The man gently laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder and said, ‘Seven o’clock, Elise.’ She took a lot of waking, she had been washing clothes all day yesterday. Today she was going out again.
‘Can I put the boy with you just for a minute?’ he asked, and she murmured sleepily. The boy was very cheerful, and laughed when his father picked him up, and set him down next to his mother. Then he saw the alarm clock, called ‘Tick-Tick’ and reached for it. His father gave it to the boy. He sat there playing beside his mother, while the man lit the fire, put on coffee and warmed up milk for the boy.
A while later, they were breakfasting together, the boy wasn’t eating. ‘We’ll have to try and get some good butter for the boy,’ said the man.
The woman said: ‘I’ve got another two days of laundry to do this week, that’ll bring in twenty marks.’
‘And I’m getting twenty-five in unemployment money. I’ll buy half a pound of butter.’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘it’s better for him than margarine. Perhaps teething’ll be easier for him then.’
‘We still owe for the rent.’
‘Yes, take care of it when you’re in town today.’
‘I will,’ said the man.
The boy was cheerful; he was sitting on the ground, tearing a newspaper in tiny pieces, all the while saying ‘Pi’, which meant picture, and hence all other printed matter. Just before eight, the woman got ready to go out.
‘Will you be running late today?’ he asked. ‘Because I have to go to the labour exchange. I won’t be back before six.’
‘I’ll try and be back by five,’ said the woman. ‘Maybe he’ll have a long sleep.’
‘I hope so,’ said the man. ‘It’s always a wretched feeling leaving him on his own so long.’
‘I know,’ said the woman. ‘But what else can we do?’ And then she went.
The man tidied up the room, and hung the bedding in the open window to air. He did the dishes and peeled potatoes and scraped carrots for lunch. The boy ran around and pressed his face against the featherbeds. Then the man said: ‘Noni’s gone. Where’s Noni?’ and the boy looked up and crowed in triumph. He ran to his father and buried his face against his legs. After a while, the man said: ‘All right, Noni. That’ll do, little man.’ And the boy ran off to play again.
When the housework was done, the man dressed the boy for going out, he put a white woollen cap on him, and dressed him in coat and shoes. Then the boy climbed into his little white cart and the pair set off. There was nothing left to do in the garden, it was early winter, the earth had been turned, and the strawberry plants buried in straw. They trundled along between the houses. Only a very few were still inhabited, whoever could afford the extra rent was wintering in the city. After a while they reached the nice, smooth asphalt road, and the man stopped the cart, unbuckled the strap and said, ‘You can get out and push now, Noni.’ The boy looked at his father with a cheerful smile, poked one leg out of the cart, blinked and pulled it back in. ‘Come on, Noni, let’s be having you,’ said the father. The boy put a leg out, and pulled it in again. It was a game he liked to play with his father, a little tease he had thought up all by himself. ‘Then I’ll go on by myself,’ said the father, and walked off, leaving son and cart behind. Straight away the boy scrambled out and excitedly called: ‘Pepp-Pepp!’ The man turned, the boy pointed to his leather braces, he had a keen sense of order, and they looked untidy hanging out, and his father had to tie them up and put them inside the cart.
Now the child was pushing the cart; at times he walked quickly, even breaking into a trot, and then he would stop and watch a dog, and go ‘Wow-wow’ to it. The father had to go ‘Wow-wow’ too, the boy repeated it until his father had confirmed it. If he saw chickens, he would say: ‘Cheep-cheep!’ and his father would say, ‘Yes, Noni, those are little chicks and ducks.’ That too would satisfy the boy even though he couldn’t say the words yet, he was only eighteen months.
The boy then discovered the tensioning wire of a telegraph pole, which consisted of five or six individual strands that were a little slack. He was able to push a finger in between them, and did so time and again. His father called him repeatedly, and kept on walking, but Noni was unwilling to leave his wire. Then the father stopped behind a hedge, and when the boy saw that his father was gone, he ran down the road after him. At that the father poked his head out from behind the corner, and when the boy saw that his father was still there, he spun round and ran back to his wire.
By the time he finally tired of his game, his father had gone much farther, he really was a very long way off, to the boy it seemed too far. He set off after him, but the father was not thinking about his boy any more, and was walking slowly on. The boy stopped, looked along the road, cried ‘Pepp-Pepp!’ then took hold of his cap and pulled it down over his whole face. The father turned round when the boy called, and there was his son with his cap covering his face, totally blind. He tottered a few steps this way and that, always close to tripping and falling. The father raced to reach him in time, his heart was pounding, he thought: eighteen months, and he’s come up with this all by himself. Blinds himself so that I have to come and get him. He pulled the cap off his son’s face, and the boy beamed at him. ‘You’re a silly-billy, aren’t you, Noni, what a silly-billy!’ The father kept saying it, he had tears of emotion in his eyes.
A little after noon, the father had washed and changed his son, given him his lunch, had something to eat himself and put him to bed. ‘Good night, Noni, good night,’ said the father, and stepped behind the wardrobe, so that the boy couldn’t see him. Now it needed Noni to drop off quickly, because the man had to be at the labour exchange at three, to be given his benefit. The man waited perfectly still, the boy burbled away a little more, then he tried calling or luring him: ‘Pepp-Pepp!’ but the father didn’t stir. And only then did Noni go to sleep.
The man locked the summer house, hid the keys for his wife and set off into the city. He had a good two hours’ walk to the labour exchange; officially they were still registered in the city, he hadn’t been given permission to live anywhere outside. It was always a worry to leave the boy on his own for so long, but there was no other way. The man walked very fast, he often repeated that he had to buy butter and bananas, which the boy called ‘Na’ and which were only five pfennigs on the fruit carts in the city, whereas out here they took you for fifteen. Then the rent was due, fifteen marks, but his wife would pick up twenty, so they would get through the week in good shape. Even so, it was hard going, only three months ago they had cleared three hundred marks a month, before he had lost his job.
He collected his unemployment money, and went to the man they rented the summer house from. But he wasn’t in, and wasn’t expected back till seven. The man decided to try again later, and walked back down the street. He did his shopping, and because he was near Friedrichstraße, he went there, to take a look at the shops and the crowds of people. He walked slowly back and forth, he had come here a lot earlier, before he was married. There hadn’t been so many girls standing on the corners then. He looked at them now, a few looked really good, but most of them were hopeless. He was accosted regularly. Then he would blink his eyes shut and smile and slowly shake his head.
Darkness fell, the lamps came on, the lights in the shop windows looked horribly garish. T
here was music in all the cafés. The man felt very downcast, he found it harder and harder to shake his head when propositioned. What’s the matter with me? he asked restlessly. Is it because I’m so far out of things, because everything is so hopeless that makes me so sad? He kept walking up and down Friedrichstraße, from Leipziger Straße to the station, it was getting late. Once he trotted after a girl in a green hat for quite a long way, but she avoided looking at him or wasn’t interested, because he had such an angry and scared expression. Finally, he forgot about her in a huff, and walked into a café. The café was dismal and empty, he sat down and ordered a beer and a cognac. What am I doing? he asked himself. Do I want to sleep with a girl like that? No, I don’t. So what is it? I could have been home long ago, and I haven’t paid the rent either. And now it’s too late for that.
It was past nine o’clock. The man paid, to his alarm the bill came to two marks forty. The alcohol affected him powerfully; as he left, he had formed a new resolve: if I’m not accosted now, on the way to the station, I’m going to go straight home. And if I am … He didn’t know what he would do.
He wasn’t accosted, and he got on the train. He had to change at Schlesischer Bahnhof, and there between platforms he was seized by his old restlessness, he walked out of the station, and up the nearest street. A girl asked him: ‘Come with me, darling?’
He stopped and said: ‘You can come and have a drink with me, until my train goes.’
‘I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘I need to earn money, dearie.’
‘I’ll give you three marks, go on,’ he said, and she pushed her arm through his.
In the bar they sat facing each other, and drank Curaçao, which tasted like petrol. He asked the girl if she had a kid, but she said she hadn’t. He was disappointed, he wanted to talk to her about children. As it was, they talked about the hard times, two weeks ago she had taken a pair of shoes to be mended, they were going to cost her one mark eighty; but each time she thought she had the money together, rent and food claimed their share. He told her about the job he used to have, back when life was good, and then about his wife, and then – after all – about their son.
After a long time they got up to catch the last train, but they ended up just going to another bar instead. He had to be with her, to tell her things. They drank quite a lot, he gave her three marks, and then another three marks later. Sometime after midnight he was out of money, and they went out onto the street. ‘Now I’m going to take you home with me, and give you some coffee,’ he said to the girl.
‘Yes, and your wife is going to throw me out,’ she said.
‘She won’t throw you out, she’ll make you coffee. And you’ll get another five marks if you come.’
The girl pushed her arm through his, and they set off. He kept talking, so that she wouldn’t notice how far it was. Sometimes she would stop and not want to go on. Then he would tempt her with the five marks. He was talkative and in a good mood, and all the time the sadness was growing in him.
A long time later, they got to the summer house colony. ‘This is where I live,’ he told the girl.
‘Better let me go,’ said the girl. ‘Your wife will kick up. Give me the five marks and let me go.’
‘The money’s inside,’ he said.
They knocked. Elise opened quickly. She was in her dressing gown, her cheeks were rosy from sleep, and she looked very adorable. The girl was nothing compared to her. ‘Will you make us some coffee,’ said the man. ‘She kept me company all the way here.’
The woman shook hands with the girl and said: ‘Have a seat. A long walk like that, I don’t know another man in the world who could have talked you into that.’
The girl said a little sheepishly: ‘Yes, it was a long way, I suppose.’
The woman lit the fire and put on water to boil. She got some cups and sugar. ‘I need the milk for my little boy,’ she said.
‘That’s all right, Elise, we’ll take it without milk,’ he said. ‘Will you give the girl five marks, I promised her.’
The woman looked at her husband for a moment, he closed his eyes, and nodded slowly to her to indicate his complete loyalty to her. Elise took five marks from her purse and gave them to the girl. ‘Thank you very much,’ said the girl. ‘Now I can go and reclaim my shoes tomorrow.’
The man took the girl by the hand and said, ‘I want to show you my little boy.’ They went into the corner where the cot was. The child was fast asleep. His long, fine, blond hair was tangled up, he had his fist pressed against his red cheek and his mouth was half-open.
‘Now I can tell you,’ said the girl. ‘I’ve got a kid too, her name’s Gerda, and she’s three years old.’
‘You see,’ said the man. ‘My boy’s just eighteen months. He’s very cheerful.’
After they had drunk their coffee, the girl said: ‘I don’t want to bother you any more.’
‘Don’t you want to wait for it to get a bit light?’ asked the woman.
‘Who’s going to bother me,’ said the girl. ‘No, I’ll go now.’ The man walked her to the garden gate.
When he came back, his wife had cleared away the cups and was back in bed. The man undressed in silence. After a while he asked: ‘What are we going to do for money?’
‘Did you pay the rent?’ she asked back.
‘No,’ he said.
They didn’t speak for a while, then the woman said: ‘We’ll get by somehow. We’ll just have to be very careful over the next few weeks.’
‘Yes,’ said the man. ‘It was like an illness. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I know. You just need to remember that things won’t ever get really bad. You know: Noni.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course. I think it’s just because everything’s so hopeless.’
‘I know,’ said the woman. ‘You don’t need to explain. And now try and get some sleep. You’ve got the boy all day. I’m laundering again.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Well, good night.’
‘Good night,’ she said, and turned the light off.
With Measuring Tape and Watering Can
(1932)
From the Life of Menswear Section Manager Franz Einenkel
When Franz Einenkel, head of the menswear section in Haarklein & Co.’s department store, awoke early during the summer months – and, with business so poor, he usually woke early – he would think about the cat.
He had many things he could have thought about: the unpaid mortgage instalments on the house, his shrinking salary, Gerda’s bronchial catarrh – ‘the doctors out here don’t know anything’ – wretched Herr Mamlock on his staff; but, no, Einenkel thought about the cat.
In the twin bed next to his, Lotte was calmly and deeply asleep; in the room next door, which opened off theirs, Gerda and Ruth were still silently asleep, the maroon rayon curtains were already aglow in the light … So it would be another fine day without rain, Einenkel would have to water the vegetables at least, the water bill this summer was bound to be horrendous – but what the heck, it was barely five o’clock, and maybe the old Muthesius baggage was already up, and had let her tom-cat Peter out the back door, and the sandbox …
But let’s back up a bit: Grünheide, where Einenkel was paying off his own summer house in a row of fifty, Grünheide had heavy, claggy soil: a mix of loam and clay. And little Ruthie had turned two this year, so she had to have a sandbox to play in. Einenkel had ordered two loads of fine, clean, white sand (at a cost of forty marks) from three miles away, and had built a wonderful sandbox, with a ledge around it for baking cakes, and the Einenkels’ visitors (though not Ruthie) loved playing there – until the old Muthesius cat started …
Well, it wasn’t quite five, and the sun was shining beautifully, it would do him good to loaf in bed and doze a little, there were seventy-three unsold blue trench coats in stock, he had to think about that, but now he had just thought about the potatoes …
With a sigh, Einenkel lowered his legs over
the side of his bed. Lotte murmured: ‘Are you getting up already, Franz?’ and went straight back to sleep. In blue striped pyjamas, bare feet in red slippers, Einenkel slipped down into the cellar.
What in God’s name had the woman done with the potatoes? They were supposed to be in the second crate on the right, the first was for Ruthie’s carrots, carrots are supposed to be terribly good for children, and luckily Ruthie ate hers with a passion – no, no potatoes. He had lectured Lotte endlessly on the importance of organization, in his menswear department he could find any suit, any coat blindfolded, but she didn’t get it! They had been married for twelve years and she didn’t get it, the potatoes were in a big cardboard box that had no business in the cellar, potatoes belonged in the attic, the cellar was much too damp – he would have to kick up another fuss, and he was so exhausted from the difficulties at work!
He gathered up six or eight good-sized potatoes and climbed, quietly groaning to himself, back up to the kitchen. He lined up the potatoes on the kitchen window sill, the window was opened, the garden lay squarely in Herr Einenkel’s field of vision. He stands there, waiting for the cat, that blasted Muthesius woman’s blasted tom, whom he suspects of doing his business in little Ruthie’s pristine sandbox – well, the garden is before him. He loves his garden, all spread out before him with its bushes and trees, and soft green grass – ‘I gave it nitrogen, it came up beautifully, the best lawn in the settlement’ – and its flowers and vegetable patch.
But he has no eyes for it, the morning wind is just enough to shake the branches, they dance a little, all he sees is the yellow square of the sandbox, the potatoes are ranked in front of him, he will fling them at the creature: whatever his old lady says, there’s no other way. Small, thick-waisted, full of worries, he stands there, life should be perfect, he really does what he can, he is peaceable, methodical, but everything seems to go wrong. He buys a house on the instalment plan, and promptly gets two pay cuts; he is a stickler for order, and Lotte thinks he’s a silly pedant; they had welcomed Gerda into the family, and now nine years later Ruthie pops up and they practically had to start over – why does life have to be so difficult!
