A House on the Rhine

by Frances Faviell

  “Let’s have some proper music,” cried Moe. She was sitting with her arms on the table, smoking. “It’s no good without Pa,” said Hank. He said it flatly and positively. He loved music but was discouraged at his own failure to take his father’s place as conductor. He lacked Joseph’s ear and his sense of time.

  “Where is he?” asked Lise. She had come in as she often did with her husband. He was a short, stodgy, bespectacled electrician and as soon as he arrived Moe invariably found something for him to mend. There was always a plug or contact suffering from the boys’ rough handling. Hank was a good engineer, but he would never attend to dull things such as plugs and switches.

  “He’s probably in the beer garden,” said Moe. “Let’s hope he isn’t drinking again.”

  “He never used to drink,” observed Lise, putting her child on the ground. “There must be some good reason for it.” She looked at Moe as she said this. She had been feeding her child as a mother bird does her young, automatically popping bits of cake in it, and was now confronted with a tightly shut mouth indicating that it was full.

  Moe did not lose her implication, but all she said was, “That child’s had enough, Lise. Don’t overfeed her.”

  Hank went indoors and then came out with a self-conscious grin on his face. “Look,” he said. In his arms was a large accordion.

  “Ooh! Ooh! What a beauty, where did you get it?” shrieked the entire family.

  “Bought it,” he said laconically. He was looking at Krista. He found it difficult not to look at her. For some reason which he didn’t understand he wanted her approval passionately—more than he had ever wanted anything else. She loved to hear him play. He knew that, and for this reason alone he had bought the accordion.

  Lise’s husband exchanged a glance with her. “Instruments like that cost all of three hundred marks,” he said. “I suppose you bought it on the never-never?”

  “No. I paid for it,” said Hank still looking at Krista. “The never-never may be all right for you, but I’m a fellow who likes to pay cash down, on the nail.”

  He began to play an air from the Carnival of the previous year: it was still the most popular all over the district.

  Hätten wir doch das Geld vergraben,

  Das wir über vertrunken haben,

  Hätten wir einen Haufen,

  Ei, wir könnten saufen!

  They all joined in and sang lustily, but as there was no one to keep them together the noise was greater than the harmony. Moe got up and with the twins danced wildly round the garden. Suddenly Hank broke into the air from the current year’s Carnival—that fatal Carnival which had caused so much havoc in the family. Not only the town and district but the whole country had been singing and dancing to its songs.

  Gute Fahrt kleines Schiff auf dem Rheine,

  Fahre ins Glück and kehr bald zurück.

  Grüss’ mir Mosel und Ahr, grüss die Weine,

  Fahre ins Glück and kehr bald zurück.

  He played this so well that as Krista listened she was dancing again through the flood-lit crowded streets of Cologne on Rosenmontag. They had danced and danced until they could dance no more, and Paul had taken her home. Their hands had touched in the dance, his arm had been tight round her—but that had been all. He had made no attempt to kiss or embrace her in the reckless way of all those dancing around them. Perhaps that was why she instinctively trusted him, and had slept in the tram with her head on his shoulder all the way home.

  The song agitated Moe violently. She had made up her mind to give up Rudi. She wanted to. The present position was impossible. She saw that it could not go on like this. She had been blind, she saw that. She would give up her lover. Having made this decision she felt curiously virtuous, as if it were already done, and kindly disposed to everyone because of it. When, however, Hank began playing that tune “Good voyage, little ship, on the Rhine,” she cried violently, “Stop it! Stop it! We’ve had enough of that thing. Krista, go and see if you can find Pa. Tell him we want to have a concert. Tell him we can’t manage without him.”

  She was terribly agitated. She was seized with a wild longing to go to Rudi again. She knew he would be there—this was his free evening. It was that damned tune. It had dominated all those three wild days last February. And where was Joseph anyhow? He was never at home now. What was the use of her abstention, of all her attempts at reconciliation, of all this good will if he went off every evening and did not even notice it?

  Krista got up slowly at her request. She had a dreamy withdrawn look on her face. The music had upset her too. It had brought back the whole Carnival and her meeting with Paul. She had thought of nothing but him ever since that heavenly day on the Drachenfels. She was tormented with the thought that she had deceived her foster-father but knew that by doing so she had achieved a victory over her own fear and mistrust of her love for Paul. Paul had done that for her. She saw now how infinitely patient and gentle he had been.

  She slipped out of the garden without a word and went to look for Joseph. The village was growing so fast with the new commercial expansion that two new beer gardens had sprung up. At the third one she found Joseph. He was sitting alone; and there was a lost unhappy air about him which caught at her throat.

  As she and Joseph entered the gate the group round the acacia tree put down their instruments, all except Franz Joseph who was banging a saucepan lid in place of a drum. He went stolidly on making an appalling noise. Krista’s eyes went to the group under the tree. Her heart gave a sickening lurch, then her breath almost stopped. Sitting next to Moe, with Lise’s baby girl on his lap, was Paul. She was too taken aback to move and stood there unable to say a word.

  Joseph saw him immediately; ignoring the greetings and shouts of welcome from the children he stood staring at the American. His glance went from him to Krista, who stood white-faced with her hands clutched nervously together at her breast.

  “Well, are you struck dumb?” shouted Moe. “This is a nice way to greet a guest. Come on, Krista, and say good evening to your boy friend.” She gave a snigger as she deliberately used the popular term. “You look surprised to see him, little innocent—I bet you knew damn well he was coming, you sly puss.”

  “No! No! I didn’t, truly I didn’t,” faltered Krista. Paul put the child on his lap down as he stood up. He was perturbed as he saw Krista’s unmistakable fear. He sensed immediately that he had made a terrible mistake in coming to her home like this. But what else could he have done? He had been ordered away again unexpectedly and the thought of going without seeing Krista had been torture.

  “Krista,” he began awkwardly. He found it appalling to have to explain to her in front of all these staring eyes. If he could have taken her in his arms that fear would have gone out of her white face, but he had to blunder on. “I didn’t know when we went to Königswinter that I had to go away again or I’d have told you then. I’ve got to go tonight—I had to see you.”

  “Königswinter! You went to Königswinter with him?” Joseph cut him short. “What’s this, Krista?” His voice was deadly quiet.

  “Father . . . I spent Saturday afternoon with Paul . . . it was for my birthday . . . I . . .” she stopped at the look on Joseph’s face.

  “The Saturday before the birthday?” he insisted.

  She nodded mutely. Her lie must now come out, and shame was mixed with fear.

  “You gave me your word—and you told Anna to lie to me? When I asked where you were she said that you had been working late at the factory and had then gone out with her.” His voice began to rise in anger. “You lied to me! You, Krista, you! You’re just like all the others.” His voice was bitter.

  “Father I didn’t mean to lie, really I didn’t. But you’re always so angry, what was I to do? Paul begged me to go down the river with him for my birthday. That’s all.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Paul’s voice was belligerent; he hated to see Krista so frightened. “What’s wrong in my taking Krista out for an after
noon?” He was genuinely puzzled at Joseph’s anger and moved protectively towards Krista, who had begun to cry.

  She pushed Paul away and said urgently, “I didn’t know Paul was coming tonight. I did see him on that Saturday—I told you that I must say good-bye to him. Father, I can’t. I can’t give him up.” She caught Joseph’s arm entreatingly. He shook her off impatiently.

  “Get out!” he shouted violently to Paul. “Get out of here. I’ve told Krista she’s not to see you again.” He was in a fury now and the veins on his forehead stood out startlingly. Moe said quickly, “Don’t shout so, Joseph, don’t shout before you’ve heard everything—and for goodness sake sit down!”

  “Krista did not know that I was coming here tonight,” said Paul as calmly as he could, “but if she had, what of it? What’s wrong with my wanting to marry her. Is it so wrong?”

  At the word “marriage” Moe’s eyes narrowed. The girl was deceitful. She had never said a word of this to Moe. If he wanted to marry her he must have spoken of it to her; one would think the first person to tell would have been her. After all, wasn’t she the only mother Krista could remember? Moe was hurt, and Krista saw this.

  “Has he asked you to marry him?” Joseph asked more quietly. She nodded, unable to speak. To have her emotions and Paul’s paraded like this before the inquisitive eyes of the whole family was agony.

  “And you never said a word to me. Did you know anything about this?” he shouted again at Moe. She lied cheerfully in defence of the agitated Krista. “Of course, she told me and I was delighted for her. How could she discuss anything with you? You’re always in a mood, never want to listen to anyone except yourself.”

  “You’re a deceitful girl! And to think I imagined you were different. You promised me to give this man up; now he tells me that he wants to marry you. And you,” he was shouting again, “Do you want to marry this enemy of your country’s? This man who is here to occupy us and keep us down?”

  “Shut up!” shouted Paul now, whose temper was no longer under control either; “I love Krista. She loves me. There’s nothing you can do about that. For us there’s no nationality—we can’t help it if I’m American and she’s German. We want to be married. It’s people like you who put hate into their children.”

  As Paul said this he knew suddenly that what he said was true. The children, for instance, they all loved the Occupation soldiers, no matter what their uniform or nationality, they played with them, trusted them completely. It was their elders who would sometimes call them away, with that disapproval and resentment in their voices which would be handed on to the little ones. He looked at the small boys here, still playing desultorily on their instruments. They liked him. All of them, and he liked them. The girl Anna, and Moe too. Even Katie. The two who resented him were Joseph and Hank. And even Hank had been quite pleasant to him this evening.

  Joseph could see nothing but danger to Krista. This man wanted to take her away. He said violently, “That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t fought in a war. You haven’t starved and thirsted and bled for your country. Wait until you do, then you’ll know there’s nationality all right. You stick to your people and Krista’ll stick to hers.”

  “She doesn’t belong here! That’s just it!” shouted Paul angrily. “She’s not of your people—she has no people.”

  “Damn you! This is the only home she remembers. There’ll always be wars. You can’t get away with that rubbish about nationality. Get out of here, and leave Krista alone, like Pa says.” Hank, who had spoken, rather admired Paul. He liked his quiet air of authority. He envied him his uniform. Until the word marriage had been uttered he had had nothing specifically against Paul. Now that he had said that he wanted to marry Krista, Hank to his own surprise was violently antagonistic.

  Paul was unpleasantly startled at this attack. He had been given a great welcome by them all, Hank included. Moe had made him feel at home at once, with her warmth, her rollicking laugh, her overflowing generosity; and the homely but real fun this large family were having until Joseph arrived on the scene were a wonder to Paul.

  “Krista”, he said firmly. “We can’t talk here. Will you come to the gate with me?”

  “You can say good-bye to her here and now. What are you waiting for? There’s nothing more to say. Get out!” Joseph was shouting again.

  “Pa,” yelled Moe, “how can you talk like that? He’s our guest, I asked him to stay. If you don’t know any better manners, then I do. Sit down, all of you, and finish your wine.”

  Krista was now so upset and frightened at Joseph’s attitude that she couldn’t get a word out. Her face was piteous in its wavering between her father and Paul.

  Paul caught her firmly by the arm, putting himself between her and Joseph. “We are going to be married,” he said, looking defiantly at Joseph, “so make up your mind to that.”

  Moe put down her wine glass. There was a little smile on her face. “Splendid,” she said, “Krista’s a lucky girl, here’s to you both!” and she raised her glass high.

  “No!” shouted Joseph angrily, “It’s out of the question. Impossible. Get out now and leave her alone. Don’t come here again.”

  Krista found words at last. “Please go now,” she begged Paul. “May I go with him to the gate, father?”

  “Go where you like. You’re like all the rest of them—wanton, wanton, WANTON!” His voice rose to a shriek and suddenly with a violent movement he seized the table leg and hurled the whole thing over.

  There was a crash of crockery, and screams from Peppi who was unceremoniously thrown to the ground, where he sat howling with the wine pouring over him and the food and the tablecloth smothering him.

  Moe went on smoking. Her drink had been dashed from her hand by Joseph’s violence, but as the table had been overthrown at the opposite end, nothing had fallen on her. Her face was white with anger as she watched the girls trying in vain to calm Peppi and Franz Joseph and to clear up some of the mess.

  “Go to the gate with your friend, Krista,” she said tersely. “I don’t suppose he would want to come here again even if he weren’t going away.”

  Hank had been watching Krista. For some reason, despite his limited emotions he was violently agitated. He wanted to kill his father for bringing that stricken look to Krista’s face. “That’s enough, Pa,” he said savagely. “We’ve had about enough of your shouting; all the neighbours are listening. Sit down and be quiet; or go to bed.”

  Joseph gazed at his son in amazement. He had never been spoken to like this by any member of his family, in fact never told to sit down or go to bed by anyone. As if it were he who was the child. What were things coming to? He looked round at the ring of hostile faces. They no longer understood their father. When he had come home every night and ordered them to clear up the yard and wash themselves and insisted that they behave properly they had grumbled but respected him. Now he cared nothing for the place, or for what they did. He had somehow got rid of that lovely new suit they had bought him. When Moe had not been able to find it in the cupboard she had gone to the tailor to see if Joseph had taken it there for alteration. But no, the tailor hadn’t seen it. She had searched the place in vain. The boys thought that perhaps Pa had sold it to add the money to his fund towards a house.

  When Hank spoke so disrespectfully to him he looked at Moe. A year ago she would have either boxed Hank’s ears or thrown something at him. Now she sat smoking with a set hard look on her face. The sight of her detachment infuriated Joseph further. “Why you . . . you . . .” He could not find words to express his rage. “I’ll teach you to talk to me like that.” He seized a stick from the ground.

  In a moment Moe got up, picked up a pitcher of water from the ground behind her and threw its contents over Joseph.

  “Take that to cool you down,” she screamed. “And if you want any more there’s the wash-tub full over there.”

  The cold water shocked Joseph into sanity. He dropped the stick. He was shaking—that appalling
red rage had overwhelmed him again. He had felt the same urgent desire to smash Hank’s grinning face as he had felt to have that lion-tamer’s face crunched. He shook himself as a wet dog does and put his face between his hands. He seemed exhausted and bewildered now. Lise’s husband took him gently by the arm, while Anna rushed for a towel.

  “Come on in and get dry, Pa,” she said soothingly. “Come along. You’re all in . . . come on in to bed.”

  Krista had gone to the gate with Paul. She had not witnessed this last indignity to Joseph. Katie, her spiteful eyes following them, was still clearing up the broken crocks. Moe was calmly totting up the cost as Katie listed them. Joseph was always complaining that they were all extravagant. Now he would see what his fits of temper cost.

  Anna came out of the house. She pointed mutely up to the windows of the top floors. Heads were all hanging out, the windows flung wide open. Well, and why not? They could see the river from up there and what could be nicer on a summer evening? Anna knew that the beauties of the landscape were but an excuse. Tomorrow the story of Paul’s proposal to Krista and the reactions would not only be all over the village, but would be embroidered with lurid colours. The twins looked up too. Putting their fingers to their mouths they let forth an ear-splitting imitation of an air-raid siren, still used, but as a fire alarm now. The windows suddenly banged down but the curtains behind them moved, all except Frau Schmitt’s. She was deaf.

  The tension was suddenly released. Moe threw back her head and laughed heartily, and the boys joined in.

  “What an evening! And it started so well!” she sighed when she recovered.

  “It’s no use trying anything now,” said Hank bitterly. “Pa’s impossible. I think he’s got a screw loose.”

  “Don’t speak of your father like that!” reproved Moe, but she said it mechanically.