The light was kept on. Frank half opened the door twice, the first time at 1.30 in the morning, the second just after three, and the pink line was still visible under the door opposite.
He didn’t sleep either. He stayed in the salon, where the women insisted on setting up the camp bed for him. They tried, without success, to knock him out with hot toddies. He drank everything they gave him and kept a clear head. He has never been as clear-headed in his life! It almost scares him, as if there is something supernatural about it.
The women undressed. His mother gave Minna some kind of treatment. He heard the whole of their conversation, a technical conversation all about female organs. Otto’s name was again mentioned.
Maybe they thought he was sleeping. Lotte was quite surprised, as she was about to switch off the light, to hear her son’s clear voice utter categorically:
‘No.’
‘Whatever you like. But try to get some rest.’
It was about five o’clock that Holst opened his door and went and knocked at Mr Wimmer’s. He had to knock several times. They talked in low voices in the corridor, then presumably Mr Wimmer got dressed. He now knocked at the Holsts’ door in his turn, and Holst opened immediately.
Holst left. It wasn’t hard for Frank to figure it out. He was going to fetch a doctor. It was not yet the hour when people are allowed to be on the streets, but Holst didn’t care. He could have tried to phone from downstairs. Frank would have done the same as him. Doctors don’t like to put themselves out, especially not when they’re phoned.
He has to go a long way. There are no doctors in the neighbourhood these days, apart from a bearded old man who’s almost always drunk – nobody trusts him, and virtually all his patients are charity cases.
Holst has to cross the river. He finds one in the end, since at six o’clock a vehicle pulls up in the street. What if it’s an ambulance? What if she’s being taken away?
Frank runs to the window and tries to see but can only make out two headlights.
Just two men climb the stairs. If they were taking Sissy away, there would be nurses and a stretcher.
He switches off the light, because he doesn’t want Holst to know that he is watching, maybe out of decency, maybe because it would look like a provocation. He certainly isn’t acting out of fear. He isn’t afraid of Holst. He won’t do anything to avoid him. On the contrary!
The doctor stayed for a long time. The stove was refilled and poked, and they had to put water on again to boil. Did Sissy pick up her bag from where he left it? Did she understand what he was doing? If she didn’t, her father will have to go to great lengths to get hold of new ration cards.
The doctor stayed for half an hour. Mr Wimmer ought to have left, but he stayed, not getting back to his own apartment until 6.50.
That was how those hours passed. Frank slept after that. He slept so deeply that he didn’t notice when they carried his bed into the kitchen, put it up against the stove and placed a hot-water bottle on his feet.
The kitchen doesn’t look directly on to the street. Daylight only comes in through the fanlight. And yet, when he opens his eyes, he knows immediately that something has changed. The stove is humming, within reach of his hand. He is forced to sit up in order to see the alarm-clock. It is eleven o’clock. From the next room, he recognizes Bertha’s voice, her peasant accent.
‘You really should stay in bed, Frank!’ Lotte says, rushing to him. ‘We didn’t want to wake you to put you in a proper bed, but you must have a fever.’
He knows he doesn’t have a fever. It would be all too easy to be sick! They can stick all the thermometers they like in his mouth or up his backside.
Snow is falling, thick and silent, so thick that it is barely possible to make out the windows of the building opposite. Even in the kitchen, the quality of the air has changed.
‘Why won’t you ever let anyone look after you?’
He doesn’t even reply.
‘Come with me, Frank.’
Since he is up and has his dressing gown on, she takes him into the salon, where the carpet has been half rolled up – they were in the middle of doing the housework – and closes all the doors.
‘I’m not going to tell you off. You know I never have. All I ask is that you listen to me. Believe me, Frank, it’s best if you don’t show your face outside today, or maybe for the next few days. I sent Bertha to do the shopping. They almost refused to serve her.’
He isn’t listening. She understands the look he throws in the direction of the Holsts’ apartment. She hastens to reassure him.
‘It’s probably nothing serious.’
Does she think he is in love, or that he feels remorse?
‘The doctor came by this morning. He sent for oxygen bottles. She caught a chill. Her father . . .’
Well? What’s she waiting for?
‘Her father . . .?’
‘He won’t leave her. The tenants clubbed together to bring them a little coal.’
They themselves have two tons of it in the cellar, but nobody will accept any of their coal.
‘When she’s feeling better, people will forget all about it. Even if it turns out to be pneumonia, which they’re saying it might, it never lasts more than three weeks. Listen to me, Frank. Listen to me seriously, for once. I’m your mother.’
‘For God’s sake!’
‘This evening, or better still tonight, since you have a document you chose not to tell me about but everyone has seen . . .’
The green card! She is impressed by that, too. She procures barely nubile girls for occupying officers, but she is shocked because her son has that famous green card! . . . Still, since he has one, he might as well take advantage of it.
‘You’d do best to leave for a few days and not show your face in the neighbourhood. It’s happened before, a few times. You have friends. You have money. If you don’t have enough, I’ll give you some.’
Why does she say that, when Minna must have told her about the big wad of banknotes he has in his pocket? She probably had a look at it herself while he was asleep. That also gets her in a panic. There is too much of it. You don’t get hold of so much money in one go except by doing something dangerous.
‘If you prefer, I’ll find you a quiet room somewhere. The friend I went out with yesterday has a room I can use whenever I like. She’d be happy to have you. I’ll come and see you there, I’ll look after you. You need rest.’
‘No!’
He won’t leave the house. He knows perfectly well what his mother has in mind. He has gone too far, and now she’s panicking, that’s the truth of it. When she was happily plying her trade in girls, even when officers were involved, people despised her but didn’t dare say anything. They were content to keep their distance from her, to turn their heads away when she climbed the stairs, to give her a wide berth if ever she happened to join a queue.
But now it has become more serious. There is a sentimental element that has got the tenants worked up: there is a young girl who is sick, who might die and, to top it all, is poor.
Lotte is scared, that’s the long and the short of it.
And Lotte, who is so friendly towards someone like Otto, towards officers who have had dozens of people shot or tortured, is angry with him for getting that green card she herself has never dared dream of.
If only he hadn’t shown it to anyone!
The whole building is against them. Their victim is on their very doorstep. To make matters worse, emotions have been high since the previous day’s search of the violinist’s apartment. It is already claimed the policemen struck his mother with their rifle butts to keep her quiet.
Even if they aren’t being directly linked to that, people are worked up. Everyone in the building will long remember that Frank, and only Frank, a mere boy, walked calmly through the police cordon – there were housewives whose children had been left on their own, without a fire, who weren’t allowed to pass – simply by showing his green card.
; Lotte is scared of Holst, too.
‘I beg you to listen to me, Frank.’
‘No.’
Too bad for her and the girls! He will stay. He won’t run away when night falls, as he is being urged to do. He won’t go looking for refuge at Kromer’s or with a friend of his mother.
‘You always do exactly what you want, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Now more than ever. From now on, he will only do what he wants, without caring about anybody else. Lotte will have to realize that, and so will the others.
‘At least get dressed. Someone might come.’
But the person who shows up at their door soon afterwards, just before midday, is not a client but Chief Inspector Kurt Hamling, as cold and polite as ever, with that same air of simply paying a neighbourly visit. Frank is in the shower when he comes in, but as usual in the morning, the doors are open and it is possible to hear everything that is being said.
Among other things, his mother’s traditional question:
‘Won’t you take off your galoshes?’
Today, that wouldn’t be a luxury. It is snowing heavily, and soon there will be a pool of mud on the carpet at the foot of the armchair in which Hamling is sitting.
‘Thanks. I was just passing and thought I’d drop in.’
‘A little something to drink?’
He never says yes, but accepts tacitly. ‘It’s turned milder. In a day or two the sky will clear.’
It is unclear which sky he is referring to, but Frank isn’t afraid of him. He puts on his bathrobe and deliberately comes into the salon.
‘Well, well! I didn’t expect to find your Frank here.’
‘Why not?’ Frank asks aggressively.
‘I was told you were in the country.’
‘Me?’
‘People say all kinds of things, you know. And we’re obliged to listen, because it’s our job. Fortunately, we listen with only half an ear, otherwise we’d end up arresting everyone.’
‘It’s a pity!’
‘What is?’
‘That you listen with only half an ear.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d like to be arrested. Especially by you!’
‘Frank!’ Lotte protests. ‘You know perfectly well they can’t arrest you!’ She seems really scared now, because she adds, with a defiant glance at the chief inspector, ‘With the papers you have!’
‘Precisely,’ he insists.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just like I said.’
He pours the drinks and clinks glasses with Kurt Hamling. It is as if they are both thinking about the door opposite.
‘Your health, inspector.’
‘And yours, young man.’ Why does he harp on the same idea? ‘I really thought you were in the country.’
‘I never had any intention of going there.’
‘It’s a pity. Your mother’s a good woman, all things considered.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know what I’m talking about. Your mother’s a fine woman, and you’d be wrong to doubt it.’
‘Oh, you know,’ Frank says with a laugh, ‘there’s a lot that I doubt!’
Poor Lotte, signalling to him in vain to be quiet! This is all beyond her. They seem to be having a go at each other over her head, and although she still doesn’t understand, she is intuitive enough to realize that it’s some kind of declaration of war.
‘How old are you, my boy?’
‘Even though I’m not your boy, I’ll answer your question. I’m eighteen, nearly nineteen. But allow me to ask you a question. You’re a chief inspector, aren’t you?’
‘That’s my official title.’
‘And how long have you been a chief inspector?’
‘I was appointed six years ago.’
‘How long have you been in the police?’
‘Next June will make twenty-eight years.’
‘You see? I could be your son. You deserve my respect. Twenty-eight years doing the same job. That’s a long time, Mr Hamling.’
Lotte is about to open her mouth, to order her son to be quiet, because he has overstepped the mark, and things are sure to take a turn for the worse. But Frank refills the glasses politely and holds one out to the inspector.
‘Your health!’
‘And yours!’
‘To your twenty-eight years of good and loyal service.’
They have pushed things really far. It is hard to sustain this tone for long, but it is even harder to turn back.
‘Prosit!’
‘Prosit!’
It is Kurt Hamling who beats a retreat.
‘My dear Lotte, I really must go, I’m sure there are lots of people waiting for me in my office. Look after this boy.’
He leaves, with his thick back and square shoulders, and his wide galoshes leave wet prints on every step of the stairs.
He doesn’t realize that he has just rendered Frank the greatest service he could: it has been some minutes now since Frank last thought about the cat!
3.
It was on the Thursday that the scene with Bertha took place. It was almost midday, and Frank was still asleep, having got home at about four in the morning. It was the third time since Sunday. And the fact that he had stayed in bed so late that their work was thrown into disarray might have been partly responsible for the argument. He didn’t think of finding out after the event.
He had drunk a lot. He had taken it into his head to show two couples he didn’t know around the nightclubs, paying for their drinks himself, each time taking the big wad of banknotes from his pocket. When a patrol had stopped them, because they were singing in the street, he had flashed his green card, and they had been allowed to go on their way.
There was a new girl in the house, a girl they hadn’t had to go looking for, because she had shown up of her own accord, looking calm and confident. Her name was Anny.
‘Have you worked before?’ Lotte asked her, looking her up and down.
‘You mean, have I made love? You can rest easy on that score. I’ve had more than my fair share.’
And when Lotte had questioned her about her family, she had replied, ‘What do you want me to tell you? That I’m the daughter of a high-ranking officer or a well-placed official? Even if I do have a family somewhere, they won’t bother you, I promise.’
Compared with the others, all the others they had had, she had the air of a thoroughbred. And yet she was very short, slim and plump at the same time, with brown hair and flawless golden skin. She was like a piece of silverware. She wasn’t even eighteen, and she was already a nasty piece of work.
When she saw the others washing the dishes, for example, she went and sat down in the salon and started reading one of the magazines she had brought with her. She did the same that evening, and the following morning declared to Lotte, ‘I don’t suppose you’re expecting me to work as a maid on top of everything else?’
Minna had gone back to work, even though it still hurt. But it was almost always the new girl the clients chose. It was curious, though. Frank had climbed up on the table, intrigued. She managed to maintain a surprisingly dignified manner. It was the men who seemed to be demeaning themselves, to show themselves in a bad or ridiculous light. Frank guessed the words she uttered unsmilingly, unemotionally, with a kind of high-handed indifference.
‘Do you want me to turn round? Higher? Lower? There you are. What now?’
While they worked on her, she would look up at the ceiling with her beautiful eyes, like those of an unfettered animal. That was how her eyes met Frank’s. She must have been able to see him vaguely through the glass. For a while, he wondered if she really had seen him, because she didn’t give a start, expressed no surprise; she continued to wait for the man to satisfy himself, all the while thinking of something else.
‘Is it the boss who asks you to watch?’ she asked some time later.
‘No.’
‘Are you a pervert?’
/> ‘No.’
She shrugged. Because of her, Minna and Bertha were sleeping in the same bed, and Frank had regained possession of his camp bed in the kitchen. On the Tuesday evening, he got into bed with Anny, and she declared:
‘If you want to know what I’m like, hurry up about it. I suppose I have to do it with the boss’s son, but don’t think you’re going to spend the night in my bed. I hate sleeping next to someone.’
Minna had tried to make friends with her, but she spent all her time reading. As for Bertha, she was increasingly reduced to the role of servant and avoided saying anything to the new girl, serving her grudgingly – because Anny expected to be served. She even had to be helped to wash and dry her hair.
Frank was sleeping when the argument started. As happened every morning, his bed – with him in it – had been pushed into the back room. Much later, he heard raised voices and recognized Bertha’s accent. He had never before seen her in a temper, nor were the words she was coming out with part of her usual vocabulary, which was reserved and respectable.
‘I’ve had enough of this dump. I’m not staying a day longer. With all the mucky business that goes on here, it’s not going to last anyway, and I’d prefer to be somewhere else when things turn nasty.’
‘Bertha,’ Lotte said in a sharp voice, ‘why don’t you just shut up?’
‘Yell as loudly as you like, why don’t you? But I wouldn’t advise it. There are enough people in this building who take an interest in you and would kill you if they dared!’
‘Bertha, I order you—’
‘Go on, order me! Just yesterday, in the market, a boy no taller than this spat in my face, and it wasn’t because of me, it was because of you. I wonder what’s stopping me from doing the same to you!’
Would she have done it? Probably not. She was the kind of girl who allowed her resentments to build up over a long time, and now that it was all coming out, there was a whole stream of them. She hadn’t seen Frank come into the kitchen behind her, barefoot and in his pyjamas. So she was stunned, just as she was looking at Lotte and talking about spitting, to suddenly get a slap from somewhere she didn’t even know anybody was standing.
The Snow Was Dirty Page 11
