“How much did it cost?”
Hank was not quick enough in lying. Taken off his guard, he stated the purchase price. He was too blown up with pride at his own achievement to be cautious. Power was coming with money, just as Leo had told him it would. Power to buy all things which meant a new world for him. With this motor cycle of his own much of Leo’s ascendency over him would go. Hank had not been blind to the effect of his own orders to the gang having been obeyed at the last meeting, while Leo’s had been ignored.
When Joseph heard the price of the machine he was dumbfounded. It never entered his head that Hank had actually paid for the thing. He assumed that he had made a deposit and would pay the remainder over a long period. He hated this. It was wrong for juveniles. To him Hank was still a child. He might be earning more money than his father, but he was still undeveloped and irresponsible. The sum of money which the cycle cost would have helped him enormously with his project for the building of a house. If he did not secure that plot soon the option would be up. The matter was becoming urgent. Every day now there were signs that the country was more and more on its feet again. It could not be long before their full sovereignty was restored to them by the victors; especially now that the same victors found it in their interest to confer this. Just like this question of Rearmament. They’d taken every weapon away from them for over nine years. Now it seemed that they were going to get them back again. And why? Because they thought that his country would make better use of them next time? Even Joseph knew better than that. No, it was because it suited the Allies to arm them again on account of Russia. All the men in the factory had been discussing it feverishly. None of them wanted to be rearmed. None of the young men wanted conscription. They were doing very well as they were. Too well, that was the trouble, said Peter. Other countries were jealous of their success in the commercial and export world. An army and conscription would slow them up a bit. They were not such fools as people thought.
The acclamations of joy at the turn of events and the sense of justice with which these new signs of the Fatherland’s resurrection were received by the mass meant one thing, and one thing alone, to Joseph. That he would be turned out of this temporary home! He had gone again and again to the housing authorities. He could not forget their chuckles and sneers.
“A house for fifteen people? Impossible!” they had laughed. It had been made to appear shameful that they had such a large family. How quickly they had forgotten the last Government of the Third Reich which had encouraged and subsidized them. Everyone said that the Peace Treaty would soon be signed. Joseph dreaded the day. The owner of this large house which sheltered them would certainly be released from prison then, and they would all be turned out again.
Peter’s friend, Franz the builder, had already made a fortune by carrying out shoddy work with shoddy materials for the Occupation houses. No one blamed him for this—indeed they approved. If the Occupation did not trouble to obtain the services of a qualified surveyor or architect to pass the plans, whose fault was that? What did it matter to Peter’s friend if the houses which looked so attractive from the outside began to sink soon after their completion? What did it matter to him if the walls cracked and the ceilings sagged and the roofs leaked? He had been paid. He carried out the work to schedule. The houses were up, the Occupation living in them. The builder was far too clever to be accused of fraud or using poor materials. Long before any trouble started Franz had left the district and was carrying on business under another name.
He could now afford to build a few really well-built homes for his own countrymen. The profits from cheating the Occupation should go to that. Because Peter told him about Joseph and his large family, the man had said that he should be one of the first to have a chance. Joseph would have to find quite a large deposit, but the builder would agree to take the rest of the money in instalments as rent. This was a favour—but even so the sum required before any kind of serious discussion could take place seemed enormous to Joseph. He despaired of ever getting it, even with the compulsory help of his family.
When he heard the cost of the motor cycle he was too furious to speak. The suit had been bad enough. That money could have gone towards the house. He had not been able to bring himself to the idea of selling the thing—he had hated it too much. That Hank could spend all this money on himself appalled and terrified him. Where did it come from?
Father Lange had told him that the village were talking about the amount of new clothes worn now by the children in the family. The boots, the new bicycles, the musical instruments. They were all at a loss to understand where they came from. They knew just how much the boys and girls could earn in the factories now—a lot, certainly, but not enough for this standard of life. Their envy knew no bounds, as details of each new purchase were given them by the upstairs tenants of the house.
Joseph’s resentment could no longer be repressed. He shouted at Hank, accusing him of selfishness and of an insatiable desire to spend. He accused him of perverting his brothers to his way of life Hank retorted by saying that his father was a nice one to talk, everyone knew what he had been spending on drinking and why should they all save towards a house when he and most of the others would have left home by the time it was completed?
“Left home?” Joseph demanded. What did he mean by that?
They would all want to get away, shouted Hank. Did Joseph think that home was such a pleasant place? They were sick of the fuss and eternal rows going on. They would all get married and leave the place. Joseph was dumbfounded. He had never contemplated their all getting married. Why, Anna, the eldest at home now, was only nineteen. People did not get married until they had a settled job and a place to live in. Hank pointed out that both Lise and Willi had got married without either of these necessities. There was a noisy quarrel, with both Moe and Katie joining in, suddenly interrupted by the arrival home of Krista and Anna. They tried to soothe the angry participants, but in vain. Joseph’s mind was made up. He would get control of this unruly family again. Hank had held the reins too long. When Hank now demanded angrily what Joseph had done with the new suit they had bought him, his father, beside himself, shouted that he had put it in the river, which was the best place for it. There was a dead silence. Then Moe said slowly: “Joseph, do you mean to say that you deliberately put that beautiful new suit, to which all the children subscribed, in the river?” Joseph maddened by all those staring faces retorted, “Yes, exactly that, in the river.”
“But why?” asked Anna quietly amongst the chorus of protests.
“Because it burned my skin as if it were unclean,” said Joseph shortly.
They looked at him with something very like fear now, and Hank with a real fear. Could his father know anything? Did he know that some of the money which had bought it had come from those burglaries? No, impossible. Yet why did he say that it burned him? Hank was suddenly in a cold sweat.
Moe asked quietly, “What do you mean, that it burned your skin?”
“Just that. You wouldn’t understand. All the time we were looking at the President’s house and the Chancellor’s house that afternoon the suit burned into me like a hot brand. I could never have worn it again.”
Moe looked at him consideringly. She took her mind back to that Sunday afternoon. He had been very quiet. But then there had been all that fuss over Krista and the flowers in the morning. He hadn’t wanted to go for that motor-coach tour at all. They had finally persuaded him. On the way back they had left the coach in Cologne and gone to visit Carola. The nuns had made a special occasion of it, because of the birthday, and they had all been allowed in for twenty minutes. Yes, Joseph had been strangely quiet.
She was extremely angry that he had thrown away all that money. The suit could have been sold. What was the use of her saving and scrimping and of his accusing the children of extravagance if he did things like this? She simply could not follow it. She gave it up and said angrily, “You’re mad, Joseph, really mad.”
He sat there
glaring at them all like a trapped creature. Even Krista dared not go and console him as she used to do. Their eyes accused him. Their lips formed the word which Moe had thrown at him. That was it. Mad. He was mad.
There came to him suddenly a conviction that he was sane. Horribly sane, and that it was they who were mad. He got up to leave them and it was then that Moe said bitterly, “So you have nothing to say about Carola?”
“Carola?” he asked stupidly, “What about Carola?” And she realized that he hadn’t heard one word of what she had told him of the miracle of the child’s recovery.
With an effort Hank threw off his fear. There was no money left now in the hoard under the loose board. None of his, anyway; the twins and Katie still had some, but not much. He had spent all that hoard on the motor cycle. He had got it through one of the mechanics at the repair station. It was much better so: no questions were asked as to how he had come by such a large sum of money. He was going to try out his new toy. He didn’t care what Pa said or what he thought. He didn’t like his new bossy manner. Did the old man mean to have his own way again? If so he had another think coming to him. Hank was the master and would remain so. Money talked. There was no doubt about that. And he, Hank, had the money. He took the cycle out into the lane, and watched by the neighbours, tried it out with the twins on the back. They took a noisy turn up and down, and then he sent the twins in to ask Krista to come out and ride pillion. But she wouldn’t. She was nervous, she said. Nothing would induce her to get up behind him. Hank was upset and disappointed. Everything he got now he got with a view to Krista’s pleasure. He had bought the accordion because she loved music, and he hoped that she would go out with him on the motor cycle. But he had time. She would come; of that he felt sure.
Joseph heard the noise of the engine being tried out, and the twins waved to him as they passed the summer-house to which he had retired. Suddenly Moe’s words about Carola struck him. What had she been saying? That the child had walked. She couldn’t. He was surely going mad. Had he imagined such a thing? He must have—with all this fuss over the motor cycle the words had got muddled. He went indoors. Moe sat alone in the old arm-chair in the kitchen. Her face was expressionless.
“Carola?” he said. “What was it you were saying about her?”
“Nothing that you’re glad to hear,” she said bitterly. “I came home full of joy to tell you that today she walked—actually walked five steps—and what did you, her father, do? Didn’t even hear!”
She put her head in her hands and her hair fell over her face as she sobbed. Joseph stood there looking at her. Had he caressed her then, things might have been very different. But he made no move; after a while he turned and went back to the summerhouse.
XXIV
KRISTA wrote the letter during the lunch hour in the factory canteen. The radio was playing a nostalgic waltz and among the chatter and laughter of the girls round her she felt curiously detached and isolated. She had never written a letter to anyone. There had been no need; except for the family she knew no one. But now she lived in constant dread that Paul would repeat his unexpected visit. It was better to end it all. She had his address he had pressed it on her. She sat there trying to find words—her heart as heavy as the music was light.
“Don’t try to see me any more. It’s finished. I can never marry you—never. Don’t write to me please.” She added her love in the conventional form. “But I love him—I will never love anyone else”, she thought passionately as she sealed the envelope.
Already doubts as to the infallibility of her foster-father’s opinions were beginning to creep into her hitherto docile mind.
She went to drop the letter quickly, before she changed her mind, in the post-box at the big gates. Letters were an event in the family, as rare as a telegram in others. Except for Joseph’s correspondence with his sister in the East Zone, letters were few and far between. Joseph was devoted to his youngest sister, who lived under a tyrannous rule, and whenever her letters—often heavily censored—arrived he would be bitter and brooding for days. Moe got cards and notices about Carola from the hospital, and the boys their cycle-club literature. But that was all.
As Krista was putting on her lavender overall in the glass cosmetic-hall, Rosa, her face alight with excitement, came dancing up. She showed Krista an engagement-ring. “Can you come home with me tomorrow evening? We’re having a party to celebrate this. I suppose your boy friend couldn’t come too? It’d be nice for John—he likes Americans.”
Krista was hesitant. “I’d love to come—but I don’t think I can. I have to get home. And about Paul. That’s all off. I’m not seeing him any more.”
“What?” cried Rosa in astonishment. “Had a quarrel? Oh, that’ll soon blow over . . . John and I’ve had lots!”
“No, it’s not that. It’s my father. He objects. I’ve promised not to see Paul again.” Krista kept her head bent low over her work at the chain-belt table, but Rosa was not deceived. “Why can’t you come? My mother wants to meet you. I’ve told her all about you. She’s ever so interested. It’s too silly. You’ve never been to any of our homes, and lots of girls have invited you, haven’t they?”
Krista nodded. She had a sudden urgent desire to see what other girls’ homes were like. A new and disturbing doubt about her own was thrusting itself upon her. She wanted to know how other people lived with each other. Did they have these tense violent clashes of will, the sudden terrifying upheavals which her family did? Was Paul right when he said that there were millions of happily-married people in the world? That she couldn’t judge by hers? She would go! Turning to Rosa she said quickly, “I’ve changed my mind. I’d love to come, thank you.”
“Good! And your boy friend?”
“I can’t do anything about him—he’s away. Besides, I’ve just written him telling him not to write or try to see me again.”
“How silly of you. Have you put it in the factory post-box? Let’s go and ask old Emil if he’ll unlock it for us and give it you back.”
“No, no. I promised father.”
“But why? Besides, he’s only your foster-father!”
“Rosa,”—Krista hesitated, then said with a rush—“If your mother had objected to your engagement to John you’d have given him up, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course not!” Rosa’s voice was scornful. “You can’t care much for Paul if you’re giving him up as easily as that!”
“Well—what would you have done, then?”
“I’d have gone to the Court and asked permission to marry. Why don’t you do that, Krista? After all, they’re only your foster-parents.”
“It’s just because they are foster-parents that I can’t,” said Krista miserably.
“But you won’t live all your life with them,” protested Rosa. “You’ll have to leave them to get married some day—whether it’s Paul or someone else. Have they adopted you legally?”
“I think so.” Krista was vague. She had persistently refused to discuss or hear anything about the matter. But now it was different. It was suddenly vitally important to her.
“Can’t you remember anything at all about your life before your foster-father found you?” pursued Rosa curiously as she manipulated the machine which squeezed the cream into the jars, which Krista would then smooth off with a spatula.
“Nothing,” said Krista flatly. Then she said slowly, “But I sometimes dream of a house I’ve never seen. It’s always the same house, and the people in it are always the same people; but although in the dream I know them, I’ve never met them in real life.” She was astonished that she was confiding this to Rosa. For a long time she had refused to contemplate the possibility that the persistent dream might be part of her early life.
“Maybe it’s your real home! How exciting! What sort of house?”
“It’s low and white—and the roof is of green tiles, and there’s a garden full of flowers. It’s not like anything I’ve ever actually seen.”
“Have your foster-pare
nts really tried to find your people?”
“Yes. Pa tried everything. And the doctors tried all sorts of queer ways to try to get my memory back. But it’s no use. I don’t remember anything—not even that night when Pa found me. I had concussion, you see. Something fell on my head. When Pa found me in a blazing doorway I was unconscious, lying on a pile of bodies—all burned. Pa went back after he’d carried me to the shelter—but the whole building had collapsed on to them—there was nothing but a raging inferno.”
“If he hadn’t rescued you, the building would have fallen on you, too.”
“Yes. He saved my life. Moe gave her blood for me—and Hank and Anna gave skin for grafting. I was terribly burned. Just think what I owe them. Now d’you see how difficult it is for me to oppose Pa?”
“You don’t owe them your whole future happiness!” insisted Rosa. “You aren’t their flesh and blood—even if they did give a little of theirs for you. D’you ever feel that you don’t really belong to them?”
Did she? She had always fought the feeling. She had wanted passionately to belong. It was terrifying to be alone—with no roots. But since she had met Paul? Wasn’t it different now? Several times lately, in spite of herself, she had had the strangest conviction that her life with the family was really a dream, a dream in which she was on the outside edge vainly trying to get inside. Whereas with Paul it wasn’t like that at all. She felt more and more strongly that she belonged to his world—to him.
Rosa looked at her troubled face as she mechanically and deftly put the cream into the jars. “Don’t worry. Talk to my mother about it tomorrow,” she advised her. “She’s not one of these spoil-sports. She’ll understand. You are coming, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” Krista was astonished at herself. What was she doing? Pa would be angry if she were late home again. Should she say that there was a meeting of the factory club? She was shocked at the ease with which lies were beginning to come to her. What was happening to her? To them all? There was something wrong at home. Everyone was on edge and afraid of something or someone. She didn’t want to go home now. If it weren’t for Anna, who laughed at her fears, she would dread going home still more. Pa was still hurt and aloof with her. He never mentioned Paul—but he watched her, and Krista was terrified that a letter might come, and even more terrified that he might again turn up uninvited. The atmosphere at home now was affecting them all. Something in which Katie, Hank and the twins were involved—and which was turning Robert from a gay fun-loving little boy into a pale jumpy ghost. Robert cried and moaned in his sleep. Twice when she had awoken in the early hours of the morning his bed was empty. When she had remonstrated with him and questioned him he had stuck to his statement that he couldn’t sleep and had gone out into the garden. But a child of his age should sleep—and his face belied his glib words. Why didn’t she go to Pa or Moe? She had salved her conscience by telling Moe that her boy was not sleeping well. Moe had merely said that he pored over his books too much, and that she had never approved of so much book learning for growing boys.
A House on the Rhine Page 23
