by Hans Fallada
“What do you mean, Lobedanz?” I asked warily. “I think you’ve already had enough, and more than enough, out of me. When I think of that jewellery of mine.…”
He paid no attention.
“Look, sir,” he began in his most insinuating tone, and he made his joints crack sickeningly, “a man like myself is like a brute beast, born in filth and never getting out of the filth. A fine gentleman like yourself can’t imagine it properly …”
“I can imagine a whole lot of things about you, Lobedanz,” I said grimly, “and they certainly have to do with filth.”
Again he took no notice of me. Impressively and with conviction, he said: “And when such a brute beast, sir, sees a bit of business that might lift him out of the filth for his whole life, well, sir, there can’t be any hesitation, the business has to be gone through with, sir!”
He looked at me and repeated, this time with nothing soft and insinuating in his voice: “The business has to be gone through with, sir. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Inwardly, I trembled at the wild threat in his voice, but outwardly I was quite calm as I asked: “And what sort of business are you talking about, Lobedanz?”
He passed his hand over his eyes as if wiping away some evil picture, and began to smile, insinuatingly, softly. He had himself under control again.
“What sort of business, sir?”
He smiled more broadly, his finger joints cracked.
“The gentleman knows best how much money he drew out of the bank, and how much he wants to give me.”
I was dumbfounded by his impudence. I had expected that he would claim the silver, and was already half prepared to let him have it, but that he should ask for a share of my precious money, that was something I hadn’t anticipated.
“You’re a fool, Lobedanz,” I laughed. “Moreover, you didn’t pay proper attention. I didn’t get a pfennig from the bank. My wife had blocked my account. I’m not allowed to draw any more money out, do you understand?”
He listened to me in gloomy silence. I reached into the side-pocket of my jacket and took out what was left of the money I had taken from Magda’s cashbox.
“Here, see for yourself. That’s all the money I possess.”
I held the money out to him. His dark suspicious glance wandered from my face to the money in my hand.
“How much is there?” he asked in a faltering voice. “Show me.”
He stood quite near to me, his eyes close to the money. Then surprising me with a sudden lunge he reached into my breast pocket and tore out the bundles of money. One or two fell on to the dirty wet asphalt floor of the lavatory—we both bent down after them simultaneously. His hands were quicker, but realising the futility of trying to pick up the money. I seized him by the throat, I hung tightly on to him, determined never to let him go until he had given in, until I had my money back.… He tried to defend himself, but his defence was hindered by his greed. With both hands he was holding on to the money that he could not bear to relinquish.
He jerked his knee up against my stomach. A moment later, we were both rolling on the floor, I still hanging on to his throat, his limbs wildly threshing, like a fish the angler pulls in to land … then his limbs went slack, from his throat came a horrible rattle … I let go of him and tried to open his hand … I would like to know what our honest postmaster Winder can have thought when he found two men struggling wildly on the lavatory floor, when all he wanted was to settle peacefully his morning business! “Gentlemen! Please!” he cried in a high startled voice. “Here, in the toilet! Gentlemen!”
Lobedanz, who had got his breath back, saw his chance—with one bound he was up, grabbed the suitcase, pushed the postmaster aside, and was out of the lavatory, before you could count three. I stood giddy and benumbed, unable to make any quick decision. I went towards one of the basins, turning my back on the bewildered and indignant postmaster. He said “Herr Sommer, if I’m not mistaken. I’m surprised, Herr Sommer. I’m really surprised at you!” For a moment I felt his stabbing glance at my back, then a closet-door closed, a lock clicked, clothes rustled—I was alone and able to make my exit. And just at that moment when I was about to leave the convenience, absolutely desperate, without money, my glance fell on a blue package, and, look, there crumpled and soiled, lay a bundle of hundred-mark notes—a round thousand in ten hundred-mark notes!
21
Nobody who has just lost a beautiful cowhide suitcase with his best things and all his silver, nobody who has just lost four out of five thousand marks, can have the slightest idea how happy I was, as I left my native town a quarter of an hour later in a second-class compartment. Heaven knows how it was, but I really felt I had got rid of Lobedanz remarkably cheaply and I thanked God that I had at any rate salvaged a thousand marks from the disaster.
Of course I must confess, this feeling of happiness was considerably helped by the fact that despite the struggle, I had found the brandy-bottle intact and unspilt in my trousers pocket. I had already taken a long drink from it, and this drink no doubt contributed substantially to my optimistic assessment of the situation. Comfortably I gazed at the green fields gliding by, with grazing cows and peaceful woods, and I had not the slightest care for the future. For the time being, I had enough to live on (and to drink), and what came after would somehow settle itself. I would manage somehow; I felt I had emerged from the day’s adventures with complete success, for I marked up the visit to the waiting-room and the bank as victories to my own credit, and I took the defeat at Lobedanz’s hands with a calm shrug of my shoulders, as an inevitable accident of nature.
About midday, I reached my destination (which I had only chosen to mislead anyone who might be following me). It was a small health-resort, little known but well kept. I ate in an hotel by the water (green eels with dill sauce and cucumber salad) and let the sun shine on my head as I drank a fine fully-matured burgundy, and reflected what a comfortable life I could lead now, as a retired businessman and semi-bachelor. After the meal I sauntered through the town, bought a brief-case, two pairs of silk pyjamas (I had never before possessed any so gaudy) some fine toilet things, scented soap, and some rather sharp French perfume with which I had already been sprayed on approval—and I joked in such a superior, charming, mondaine way with the young salesgirls that I, at least, came to have a lively respect for my own hitherto-unused talents as a gallant and a ladykiller.
As a logical consequence I immediately bought some scented cachous at a chemist. Then I went to the best hotel in the square, to which was attached a wine-shop, to buy some schnaps. I had the good fortune to meet the owner himself, a stout white-haired man whose blossoming red face told of many bottles of burgundy emptied in peace and comfort. He smiled a little at my primitive request for corn-liquor, recommended and sold me an amber-yellow Saxon schnaps, and then drew my attention to a highly alcoholic plum-brandy from the Black Forest, a real wood-cutters’ tipple for icy winter days, he called it. He poured me out a little glass to try, and I must confess I was so enthusiastic about it, that I quickly followed the first glass with a whole sequence of others. This was just the thing for me, an exaltation far above my hitherto primitive experience—burning and pungent and retaining in itself something of the sweetness of ripe fruit. I bought five bottles straight away, a handy-sized parcel was made of my purchases; in another shop I obtained a strong corkscrew, and so I wandered back to the station, well-provided and in a most cheerful mood.
Now I was travelling again, and on the same route by which I had come this morning. I was travelling back towards my home town. But one station before it, I got out and walked. Night was falling. I was nearly half an hour from that country inn where Elinor, the queen of alcohol, lived. Forgotten was that abortive night in her room, forgotten that humiliating bout when, under the eyes of the doctors, my boozing companions had all left me, forgotten were the shoes that had been so maliciously handed into the car! Alcohol has no memory. If it makes a man angry, a word or a glass can soon ex
tinguish that anger again. I only knew that after my experiences with Magda and Lobedanz, Elinor was my refuge. With her I would stay or with her I would go—that was the only glimmer of life I had, and it seemed enough.
22
I had come too late. At the inn-windows the shutters were already closed, and no gleam of light came through. I tried the latch but the door was locked. For a moment I stood reflecting. Then I went softly round the house into the orchard and looked up to Elinor’s window. There, too, all was in darkness, but that did not matter. I had all the time in the world, and in any case we would get on quite well in the dark. Better, even, better!
First of all I sat in the grass and started to open my parcel. A cleverly-tied parcel is an excellent thing, but it has the disadvantage that one cannot get at its contents so easily. I had been thirsty for too long, I had accomplished great things, and now for that good old woodcutters’ schnaps! After I had considerably, very considerably, fortified myself, I began to set my belongings up on the shed roof, which I could just reach with my hands. First the brief-case, and then one bottle after the other: one bottle of Saxon schnaps, then four unopened and one opened bottle of Black Forest plum-brandy. All nice and tidy, side by side on the edge of the roof. Now I was ready for the climb. I hung on to the overhanging edge of the roof and tried to pull myself up. But I had overestimated my gymnastic abilities and underestimated the effect of the schnaps. For a while I dangled helplessly in the air, then I lost my hold and fell heavily in the grass. I lay there groaning; the fall had done me no good. But with that obstinacy that drunkards develop towards impossible tasks, I kept renewing my attempt—after I had well and truly fortified myself each time. The remainder of the first bottle went in that way. Each time I fell to the ground. The last time I tried, it was clear to me that I would never achieve my aim like this. Also I realised that I was very drunk. “I’m absolutely tight, I’m completely sozzled,” I kept murmuring stupidly, and I leaned panting against a tree.
Then I dimly recalled that I had seen iron tables and chairs standing outside the inn. Laboriously I dragged one of the chairs over, clambered on to it carefully (by now I was afraid of another fall) and tried to get up on the roof. And again I fell. There was a longer pause, partly because I had bruised myself badly and partly because I had to hunt around for the corkscrew to open a fresh bottle. I was sure I had put it on the edge of the roof, but quite inconceivably it had fallen off. Grumbling to myself I looked for it on all fours in the grass. It was not to be found. Eventually it occurred to me that there was a corkscrew on my pocket knife which had served me quite well up to now. I felt in my pocket for the knife, did not find it, but found instead the corkscrew I had put on the roof. After I had had another drink, the thing became clear to me: I would never reach her bedroom window by way of the roof. So I went round to the front again and once more tried the front-door. It was still locked. I took the bunch of keys out of my pocket and tried my keys one after the other. They were all much too small for this stout country keyhole, but I kept on trying them with stupid obstinacy, in the firm hope that eventually a miracle would happen and the door would open of itself. During all these drunken preparations I had not shown the slightest consideration for the inhabitants’ sleep, so it was no wonder that eventually a window opened above me and an angry woman’s voice asked sharply: “Who’s there?”
I stood quite still, like a trapped thief.
“Will you go away!” cried the furious voice from above. “You won’t get anything here. We’re closed!”
With that, the window slammed to, and I stood alone in the dark, still locked out. For a while I remained without moving, then I tiptoed to the back-garden and began softly to take my belongings off the shed roof and round to the entrance, where I pedantically arranged them on an iron table. (Needless to say I did not forget to drink during this operation.) Hardly had I finished this task, which took a long time on account of my stupor and my uncertain gait, than I began that idiotic game with the bunch of keys and the keyhole again. I had not been at it for long, when the window flew open again with a crash, and the woman’s voice cried out furiously: “This is going too far! Will you get away from here, or do I have to fetch the police!”
The word “police” loosened my heavy tongue. “Oh please, let me in!” I called up in confusion. “I’m the Professor.…”
How I came to give myself the title of “Professor” I have no idea, it was a heaven-sent inspiration.
“The Professor?” said the voice from above in a tone of utter astonishment. “What Professor … ? The one who was painting pictures here last summer?”
“Yes, of course,” I said in the most matter-of-fact tone in the world, as if it were quite normal for a picture-painting professor to try to unlock strange doors with his own keys in the middle of the night.
“Let me in! I’ve been standing here for two hours!”
“If you’d only written a postcard, Herr Professor,” said the voice from above, still not exactly friendly but milder. “Wait a moment. I’ll open up at once.”
Relieved, I sat down on an iron chair, took a quick drink and shut my eyes. I was very tired, almost stunned. I did not realise then that something dangerous lay hidden within my calmness, a wild unbridled rage that might break out at any moment. It only lacked a cause, and anything might start it off This plum-brandy was far more dangerous than the comparatively harmless schnaps. It went deeper into the blood, and led to unexpected abysses.
At last the key turned in the door. A ray of light shone on me.
“Well, come in then,” said the woman’s voice, “but it’s not very nice of you to disturb our night’s rest like this, Herr Professor.”
I got up and followed my guide into the bar-room, which, by the light of a single bulb, looked most inhospitable, with its chairs set up on the tables. My companion now turned to me. It was the white-haired innkeeper of whom I had caught a glimpse once before. She gazed at me in astonishment.
“But you’re not the Professor at all!” she cried angrily. “You’re that gentleman who got drunk here the other day, and the medical officer had to take you away. You’ve got a cheek, coming here with your lies …!”
I silenced her with a threatening glance. I felt an enormous rage rising in me. I knew I would break any resistance that might be opposed to me; I was capable, I knew, of striking this woman, of throwing her to the ground, of killing her even, if the devil so prompted me. I looked at the woman and ordered: “Call Elinor!” And as she gave a sign of dissent: “Call Elinor at once, or” my voice became soft and threatening, “or something will happen!” The woman made a helpless gesture and then said pleadingly:
“Please don’t cause any trouble, sir. It’s night time now, and the girl’s asleep. I’ll gladly make up a bed for you on the sofa. You see, you’re a little bit drunk.”
She tried to smile but there was fear in her smile. I recognised it very well.
“You sleep it off, and tomorrow Elinor’ll be with you as much as you like. After all, you’re an educated man, sir.”
“Call the girl,” I said obstinately, and as she started to protest again: “All right, then I’ll go up to her myself.”
I pushed the landlady aside. “I’ll call Elinor,” she said quickly. “Please sit down on the sofa for a moment. Elinor’ll come immediately.”
“Stop!” I cried as the landlady made to go upstairs. “You call her from down here. You’re not leaving this bar-room. Any one leaving this room will be shot.”
I reached into my pocket as if I had a gun there. The landlady screamed softly.
“Now you know,” I said darkly. “Go on, call her.”
The landlady called. She had to call several times before an answer came from above. Elinor slept heavily.
“You’ve got to come down, Elinor!” called the landlady. “Be quick, will you?”
“That’s better,” I said, with the face of an examining magistrate. “And now, one question: have you any Bla
ck Forest plum-brandy?”
“No,” said the landlady, and as she saw my furious expression, she added, “but we’ve got some kirsch, that’s much better.”
“Nothing’s better than plum-brandy, but bring me your kirsch, anyway.”
She brought it, bottle and glass shaking in her hand.
“That’s it,” I said, and drank. My mood brightened; it really was almost better. “And now sit down and tell me who else is in the house besides yourself.”
“Only Elinor, really, besides myself there’s only Elinor.”
“You’re lying!” I cried furiously. “Don’t you try to lie to me again, or something will happen!” And I reached in my pocket again. And again she screamed softly.
I continued inexorably, “I saw a woman the last time I was here, with shaggy hair and a red nose …”
“Oh, you mean Marie,” cried the landlady, relieved, “but sir, what do you want to upset yourself for and frighten me like this. I’m not trying to tell you lies; Marie only helps here. She lives in the village with her parents.”
“Well,” I said, pacified, “if that’s the case, I’ll forgive you this time.”
I drank.
“This kirsch isn’t bad. It’s quite good, even.”
“Isn’t it, isn’t it?” said the landlady eagerly. “I’m doing all I can to satisfy you. I’m getting the girl out of her bed in the middle of the night. But now you’ve got to be nice too, and not threaten me with that gun any more. Best thing would be to put it away. A thing like that goes off easily, and you wouldn’t want that; you’re a good respectable gentleman …”
Before I could protest against this new insult, for I was determined not to be good, but awe-inspiring and wicked, and to show my power over people, before I could get angry again, Elinor’s firm tread was heard on the stairs; and she stepped into the light. She was fully dressed, only her dark hair was not done up but combed to the back. She looked more beautiful than ever.
