by Hans Fallada
‘But Miss!’ he cried. ‘It’s always been our apartment, we were never de-registered, so why do I need to go and register again? You can check in your card index!’
‘Then you’ll have to get confirmation from the housing office! And anyway …’ She gave him a dismissive look. ‘Next, please!’
Doll was wasting his breath. One thing she had learned at work was the knack of not hearing. His words were like the buzzing of a fly to her. He had to leave, and he’d wasted more than three hours and a lot of energy just to be told that!
He went off in search of the housing office, and found it. This time he didn’t have to queue for so long. He was only waiting an hour and a half. But he got nowhere at the housing office either. Once again a lady listened to his story, and felt doubtful about his case. He should have registered before the 30th of September, and now it was almost December! The lady passed him on to a male colleague, a very excitable gentleman, who, as Doll noted from his treatment of a man before him in the queue, was not a great listener, and preferred to do the talking himself.
Doll placed various pieces of paper in front of this man: old rent receipts for his apartment, proof of his appointment as mayor of the small town, written confirmation that the Dolls had spent time in hospital in the district town …
The man behind the desk blinked briefly, then pushed all the papers together in a heap and said quickly: ‘I’m not interested in any of that. You can put it all back in your pocket, though you might just as well toss it into the wastepaper basket! Next!’
‘And what about my certificate of residence?’ persisted Doll, now quite angry.
‘Your certificate of residence? That’s a good one!’ cried the excitable gentleman, now in full flight. ‘On what grounds? I can’t think of any! I’ve no intention of issuing one of those! Next!’
‘So what kind of documents do you want, then?’ inquired Doll doggedly.
‘I don’t want anything! You’re the one who wants something! Next, please, and quick about it!’ This ‘Next!’ appeared to be a kind of linguistic tic, the way other people end every sentence with ‘… you see?’ He added quickly: ‘Bring me a sworn statement from your landlord that you’ve occupied the apartment since 1939. Bring me a notice of departure from your last address in the town you were evacuated to, plus confirmation that you are signed off the ration card register.’
‘I was never evacuated. And there was nothing to sign off from, because they haven’t got ration cards there.’
‘Ridiculous!’ cried the official. ‘Stuff and nonsense, a bunch of excuses! You just want to worm your way into Berlin, that’s all! But you’re not getting anything from me, nothing at all, and I don’t care how many certificates you produce!’ He slammed his hand down on the table. He was getting more and more worked up. ‘I know your sort as soon as I clap eyes on them — you’ll never get anything from me. Next!’
Suddenly his tone of voice changed. Now it was just sullen: ‘And anyway …’
It was the second time this morning that Doll had heard the words ‘And anyway’, and it sounded like some kind of dark threat against him. After these absurd rantings and accusations, Doll’s own blood was up now, and he asked sharply: ‘“And anyway”? What’s that supposed to mean? What are you getting at?’
‘Oh, come off it!’ said the official, suddenly acting very bored, ‘You know very well. Don’t pretend you don’t!’ He studied his fingernails, then looked up at Doll: ‘Or are you going to tell me what you and your family have been living off here in Berlin since the 1st of September?’ He ploughed on triumphantly, and all the other people in the room were looking at Doll and enjoying his discomfiture as he got it in the neck. ‘Either you didn’t move here on 1 September, but only just now, in which case you have missed the deadline, and there is no way you are going to get a certificate out of me! Or you’ve been living off the black market since the 1st of September, in which case I have to report you to the police!’
Doll flared up angrily, failing to see in his agitation and his uncritical self-regard that the man was at least partly right: ‘If you had looked at the paperwork properly, instead of just binning it without even reading it, you’d have seen that I was in hospital until yesterday — so I got all my meals there. And my wife is still in hospital, you can get written confirmation of that any time …’
‘I’m not interested in any of that! It’s got nothing to do with me! Next! I’ve told you what paperwork I need from you. Right: next!’
This time, his final word was not just a verbal flourish tacked on to the end of a sentence: he really did turn his attention to the next man in the queue. Doll walked slowly out of the office. He could feel the other man’s disdainful, taunting gaze in his back; he knew that he was relishing his triumph and thinking: I gave him what for! He won’t be back again in a hurry! And Doll knew with equal certainty that the next man in line would have no trouble getting what he wanted, no matter how shaky his case might look. He would even receive friendly treatment, because the official was now keen to demonstrate to himself, his office, and the waiting public that he really was a decent sort of fellow. But he wasn’t: he was one of the millions of petty tyrants who had wielded their sceptres in this land of commissars and corporals since the beginning of time.
On the way home Doll completely forgot that he was shielded from the November cold by a coat that had been generously given to him only a few hours earlier, and that his belly was full from a breakfast that had come to him the same way. Once again, he despaired completely of his fellow Germans. His buoyant mood of the morning had evaporated. Robinson felt very much alone on his island.
And so it was that Miss Gwenda, and more especially Mrs. Schulz, had to atone for the sins of the housing office. And so it was that Doll fell asleep feeling completely depressed. But now he was no longer the Doll of the recent past. An hour and a half of sleep had restored his confidence and spirits. I’ll get there! he thought to himself. And if I don’t, Alma will succeed where I have failed. Maybe it would have been better to send her down there in the first place. She knows how to handle men much better than I do. And anyway, Alma is Alma …!
He had to grin, because here he was, resorting to ‘And anyway …’ himself. Then he crept along quietly to the burned-out room to fetch his food supplies, and sat down to a late lunch.
CHAPTER TEN
Robinson at large
As quietly as Doll had crept along, the widow of Major Schulz had heard him anyway. He had hardly cut the first slice of bread before there was a gentle tapping on the door, and when he said, ‘Come in’, Mrs. Schulz’s mop of curls appeared round the door. ‘Oh, Dr. Doll, would it be all right if I fetched my things now — if I’m not disturbing you?’
‘Take them, take them!’ replied Doll. Then he remembered the angry outburst with which he had punished this woman for the sins of the housing office, and he said: ‘By the way, I’m sorry I got so worked up earlier. They gave me a really hard time down at the government offices, and my nerves were in shreds. The fact is, I’m still not well again yet.’
The words were hardly out of his mouth before he regretted them. He could sense, indeed he could positively see, how Mrs. Schulz, all meekness just a moment before, now perked up again. It had been particularly unwise to mention the ‘government offices’, because she immediately asked: ‘And what did they say down at the housing office? What did they decide about the apartment?’
‘How the apartment will be divided up between me and Miss Gwenda’, said Doll, rather more guarded now, ‘has yet to be decided. But you will understand, dear lady, that I cannot give up the use of this room.’
Mrs. Schulz grimaced. ‘But Mr. Doll!’ she cried plaintively, ‘you can’t put me out on the street at the start of winter! I’m happy to look for another room, but until then …’
‘Until then we’ll be living here together, and when my wife comes
there will be three of us …’ She made as if to speak. ‘No, no, dear lady, it’s out of the question. I know you’ve only ever made occasional use of this room …’
‘That’s a lie!’ shrieked Mrs. Schulz, and her podgy white face quivered with anger and indignation. ‘You shouldn’t believe a word of what that Gwenda says! She’s an actress — she tells lies for a living!’
‘I’ve never said a word about you to Miss Gwenda, Mrs. Schulz!’
‘No, of course you haven’t. Please forgive me. I know who it was — that snake in the grass, the janitor’s wife, that Nazi bitch! She’s always trying to pin something on me! But I’ll see her in jail yet! I can’t tell you all the stuff she lifted from your apartment before I took the key away from her! Buckets and pans and pictures — your wife ought to take a good look round her rooms downstairs; there’s enough stuff there to furnish half a house! Of course I’ve always lived here, every day!’
‘So’, said Doll, ‘you’ve been using the room on a regular daily basis?’
‘Yes, always! I’ve told you, since last year.’
‘Then you’ll agree that it’s high time we settled up for the rent, etcetera. I haven’t kept a written tally of everything, like you, so I’ll make it very reasonable. Shall we say, for the rent and the furniture and use of the kitchen throughout that time, two hundred marks, and for the gas and electricity, another hundred, making three hundred marks in all? So, if you wouldn’t mind, dear lady …?’
And he held out his hand.
Mrs. Schulz had involuntarily sat down, probably not so much because she wanted to get comfortable, but because the shock had made her unsteady on her feet. She hadn’t been expecting such an assault. ‘I’ve got no money!’ she mumbled, holding on very tightly to her handbag. ‘Barely twenty marks …’
‘Oh well!’ said Doll in a soothing tone, ‘that doesn’t matter. Give me the twenty marks for now. I’m quite happy to take instalment payments. And in the meantime, while you’re getting the three hundred together, perhaps you could leave the quilt here for me! I could really use it at the moment.’
‘No! No! No!’ Major Schulz’s widow was positively screaming now. ‘I’m not paying that! That was never agreed! I arranged with your wife that I would look after your things here, and in return I was allowed to live here.’
‘But you’ve just told me that so many of my things have been removed! How could that happen, if you were supposed to be looking after them? No, Mrs. Schulz, the three hundred marks have got to be paid. Maybe you recall that I didn’t quibble when I settled your accounts for so and so many cigarettes, for this and that loaf of bread, for so many pounds of potatoes — no, my demands are very reasonable. And I’m quite certain my wife would take a different view; she would demand a lot more …’
‘Your wife expressly told me I wouldn’t have to pay anything here!’
‘No, dear lady, that’s not something she would have said. There’s no point in discussing it further. That’s how it is, and the money must be paid, and the sooner, the better!’
‘And what about my quilt?’ cried Mrs. Schulz. ‘Doctor, dearest Doctor, I’ve been bombed out of my house four times now, and all I’ve managed to rescue is this quilt. Doctor, you can’t be that hard-hearted! I’ve got nothing left, I am a poor woman, and I’m getting old!’ She had grabbed hold of his hand, and was looking at him with tears in her eyes. ‘It’s the cigarettes!’ she whispered as if to herself. ‘He’s holding the cigarettes against me. I really didn’t overcharge you — or only a tiny bit. You surely don’t begrudge me my livelihood — the cigarettes are my living, after all, and I need to live, too! What was the point of struggling to survive for the last few years, only to die of hunger now? No, you can’t hold the cigarettes against me, and you have to let me keep my quilt! You’re not as hard-hearted as you make out. There is no way I can pay the three hundred. It would be a different matter if they paid me my pension. But nothing, not a bean! And yet the Führer said …’
By now she had got herself into a complete state, and just looked imploringly at Doll with tears in her eyes. She was squeezing his hand in both of hers, which were unpleasantly warm and moist.
‘Dear lady!’ he said, and freed his hand with a sudden pull that was not polite. ‘Dear lady, tears don’t work with me; in fact, they generally just make me more annoyed. You’ve just admitted that you didn’t charge me the correct amount for the cigarettes, so when you plead poverty I don’t believe a word of it. You can keep your quilt if you pay me the three hundred. If you don’t, the quilt stays here.’
‘No!’ said Major Schulz’s widow, and her feverish agitation was gone in a flash. ‘No, I’m not paying the money. You can take me to court if you want. Your claim won’t stand up. Your wife expressly told me …’
‘We’ve been through all that, Mrs. Schulz. So the quilt stays here!’
‘Fine’, said Mrs. Schulz drily. ‘In that case, you’ll see where that gets you, you and your wife! Morphine addiction is against the law!’
‘Not as serious as fraudulent trading in cigarettes.’ But then he felt sickened by the turn this conversation was taking. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Schulz, we have nothing more to discuss. Kindly remove your things from the kitchen dresser and the pantry. And give me your house keys.’
‘I’m not giving you my keys! I won’t be turfed out on the street like this!’
‘Your handbag!’ shouted Doll. He was suddenly angry again, to his own surprise. He snatched the bag from her hand. She squealed a little. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to take your things!’ The bag was stuffed full of letters, all manner of toiletries, and cigarette packs. ‘Where are the keys?’ asked Doll, and burrowed down further into the bag. He came across a bundle of money — blue notes, hundred-mark notes, at least thirty of them, maybe even forty. He put them into her hand. ‘Here are your twenty marks, you poor woman with nothing to your name, who has to wait until the Führer pays her pension …’ Finally he found the keys. ‘Is one of these a private key of yours?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve got nothing …’, she whispered, holding the bundle of notes in her hand and still looking utterly bewildered.
‘So I see!’ said Doll, and gave her bag back to her. ‘Thanks very much. Now if you could be on your way— ?’
She stood there for a moment, undecided, then suddenly placed three hundred-mark notes on the table — without looking at him, without saying a word. (Was she ashamed after all? Unlikely!) She walked out of the room …
‘Your quilt!’ Doll called out after her. ‘You’ve forgotten your quilt!’
She walked on down the passageway, past the kitchen. ‘And your things in the kitchen dresser!’ shouted Doll. But to no avail. The apartment door banged shut. Mrs. Schulz was gone.
Doll shrugged and went back to his loaf of bread. Despite the money, he was not really happy about the way their conversation had ended. The sight of the three hundred-mark notes made him feel a little uncomfortable, and in the end he put them in his pocket. Based on the prices that Alma was now paying in the hospital, they would only buy fifteen cigarettes or one pre-war mark. But they were worth a lot more than that to him, and not just because he had had to fight for them.
By now it had grown quite dark. He put the light on to eat his bread, and marvelled yet again how small a loaf of bread is when a man does indeed live by bread alone — and how quickly it is gone. He kept on saying to himself: Now this really is the last slice! And every time, after a moment of indecision, he cut himself another one. He ate the bread dry, keeping the jam and margarine until Alma came home.
Then he took his supplies, and was about to take them back to Petta’s scorched changing table. Then he remembered that he’d had the keys to the pantry in his pocket since lunchtime, and went along to the kitchen.
There he found Miss Gwenda. She was now wearing a silver-grey fur and make-up, as if she was going stra
ight from the kitchen to the stage. It turned out, however, that she had only been invited out by friends. Miss Gwenda started to moan about how cold it was now, and said that in the winter it would be so cold in the apartment that they wouldn’t be able to stand it. So she had bought herself a little stove on the black market, and in the next few days she planned to get some briquettes on the black market, too, costing two-fifty apiece. She assured him that was cheap, incredibly cheap; some people were paying four marks for a briquette. And what was he planning to do in the winter, she asked. He couldn’t possibly run the electric fire all the time, otherwise they’d cut off the electricity, and they’d all be sitting in the dark!
‘Listen, Miss Gwenda!’ said Doll, interrupting her tale, which wasn’t exactly gladdening his heart. ‘Listen, Miss Gwenda, I’ve given Mrs. Schulz her marching orders and taken her keys away. So she’s got no business here from now on. Just so that you know …’
Miss Gwenda promptly twisted her painted face into a grimace that was doubtless an attempt at laughter, and she said: ‘Ah, so you’ve rumbled her little game, too, have you?! I thought she wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer. Well, I won’t be shedding any tears on her account.’
‘So you’ve had problems, too’, noted Doll. ‘I think we’ll leave the kitchen dresser open from now on, and each can take what he or she needs. There should be enough crockery for both of us. But we’ll keep our supplies in separate pantries, and both hold on to our own keys. Which one would you like, the right or the left?’
Miss Gwenda preferred the left, and otherwise she was happy with the new arrangements. ‘Well, let’s both of us check what supplies Mrs. Schulz still has left, so that she can’t accuse us of anything later on …’
‘Oh, you won’t find much of hers here’, said Miss Gwenda disdainfully. ‘She always lived from hand to mouth, and just bought what she needed.’
