The Sleepwalkers

by Hermann Broch

  Marie recognized me too; she smiled to me. Then she asked:

  “Are these friends of yours?”

  “Neighbours,” I replied.

  I suggested a visit to the restaurant, for Marie seemed to be exhausted and in need of something to eat. But the two Jews refused to enter the restaurant. Perhaps they were afraid that they might be forced to eat pork, perhaps they were afraid of being jeered at or something or other. In any case one could have made it a pretext for getting rid of them.

  But an extraordinary thing happened: Marie ranged herself on the side of the Jews, said that she was not in the least hungry, and as though it were an unavoidable arrangement, she went on in front with the young Jew, while I followed with Dr Litwak.

  “Who is he?” I asked the doctor, pointing at the young Jew, the tails of whose grey coat swung in front of me.

  “He’s called Nuchem Sussin,” said Dr Litwak.

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  Dr Kühlenbeck and Dr Kessel had been in the operating-theatre. Generally Kühlenbeck spared Dr Kessel as much as possible, for Dr Kessel, although at the disposal of the hospital, was overworked attending to his panel patients; just now, however, the new offensive had brought in fresh material for treatment, and Kühlenbeck had no choice. It was fortunate that only lighter cases had been sent. Or at least what were called lighter cases.

  And because the two men were genuine doctors, they sat talking over their cases later in Kühlenbeck’s room. Flurschütz too had come in.

  “A pity that you weren’t there to-day, Flurschütz, you would have enjoyed it,” said Kühlenbeck. “It’s astonishing how much you learn … if we hadn’t operated, the man would have been a cripple for the rest of his life …” he laughed, “but now he’ll be able to go out and be shot at again in six weeks’ time.”

  Kessel said:

  “I only wish my poor panel patients were as well looked after as the men here.”

  Kühlenbeck said:

  “Do you know the story of the convict who swallowed a fish-bone and had to be operated on so that they might be able to hang him next morning? That’s our job at the moment.”

  Flurschütz said:

  “If the doctors in all the combatant countries went on strike, the war would soon be over.”

  “Well, Flurschütz, you can make a beginning.”

  Dr Kessel said:

  “I feel jolly well inclined to send the ribbon back … you should feel ashamed of yourself, Kühlenbeck, playing an old colleague such a dirty trick.”

  “What could I do? I had to give you your medicine … the civilians are all wearing the black-and-white now.”

  “Yes, and you’re just running round palming it off on them.… You’ve been down on the list too for a long time now, Flurschütz.”

  Flurschütz said:

  “At bottom it just comes down to this, that we all sit about here discussing cases that are more or less interesting, without thinking of anything else … we haven’t time as a matter of fact to think of anything else … and it’s the same everywhere. You get swallowed up, swallowed up by what you’re doing … simply swallowed up.”

  Dr Kessel said:

  “Damn it all, I’m fifty-six, what is there left for me to think about? … I’m glad when I get into bed at night.”

  Kühlenbeck said:

  “Would you care for a drink at the regiment’s expense …? We’ll be getting another twenty men or so in by two o’clock … will you stay to receive them?”

  He had got up and walked over to the medicine cabinet beside the window, from which he now took a bottle of cognac and three glasses. As he stood in profile against the window reaching up his hand to the shelf in the cabinet, his beard was outlined against the light and he looked gigantic.

  Flurschütz said:

  “We’re all being pumped dry by the profession we’re stuck in … and even soldiering and patriotism are nothing more than professions … we’re simply past understanding what is happening in any province but our own.”

  “Thank God for that!” said Dr Kühlenbeck, “doctors don’t need to be philosophers.”

  Sister Mathilde entered. She smelt of scented soap. Or at least one felt that she must smell of it. Her narrow face with the long nose contrasted with her housemaid’s red hands.

  “Dr Kühlenbeck, the station people have rung up to say that the transport train has arrived.”

  “Good, one more cigarette before we go … you’re coming too, Sister?”

  “Sister Carla and Sister Emmy have gone to the station already.”

  “Excellent … well, shall we be going, Flurschütz?”

  “Straining at the leash,” remarked Dr Kessel, but without real gusto.

  Sister Mathilde had remained standing at the door. She liked to dawdle in the doctors’ room. And as they all went out, Flurschütz’s eye caught the gleam of her white throat, noted the freckles where her hair began, and he felt a little touched.

  “ ’Day, Sister,” said the Chief.

  “Good-day, Sister,” said Flurschütz too.

  “Gott mit uns,” said Dr Kessel.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  Trees and houses appeared before the eyes of the bricklayer Gödicke, the weather changed, sometimes it was day and sometimes night, people moved about and he heard them speaking. Food was brought and set before him on objects, mostly round, made of tin or earthenware. He knew all this, but the way that led to a knowledge of these things, or by which they reached him, was a laborious one: the bricklayer Gödicke had now to work harder than he had ever done in his hard-working life. For it was by no means a simple and self-evident action to lift a spoon to one’s mouth when one was not clear in one’s mind who it was that was being fed, and the frightful strain of making this clear turned it into a torment of despairing labour and impossible duty; for nobody, least of all Gödicke himself, could have provided a theory to explain the structural elements that composed his personality. For of course it would have been erroneous to assert that the man Gödicke was made up of several Gödickes, including for instance a boy Ludwig Gödicke who had played in the street with his friends and made tunnels in the ash-heaps and sandpits, a boy who was called in every day to dinner by his mother and made to carry his father’s dinner afterwards to the building where he was working, since he too had been a bricklayer; to assert that that boy Ludwig Gödicke represented a constituent part of the man’s present self would have been just as erroneous as to recognize another constituent part of it, say, in the apprentice Gödicke who had envied the Hamburg carpenters so intensely on account of their broad-brimmed hats and the mother-of-pearl buttons on their waistcoats that he had not rested until, to spite them all, he had seduced the bride of the carpenter Gürzner among the bushes by the riverside, although he was merely a bricklayer’s apprentice; and it would be erroneous again to assert that yet another part was the man who during a strike had put the concrete-mixing machine out of action by unscrewing the cylinders, and in spite of that had left the union when he married the servant-girl Anna Lamprecht, and that simply because she cried so much on account of the baby that was coming: no, such a longitudinal splitting as this, such a quasi-historical section, can never give the constituent elements of a personality, for it cannot go beyond the biographical. The difficulties with which the man Gödicke had to contend, then, were certainly not caused by the fact that he felt this whole series of persons living within him, but rather sprang from the sudden interruption of the series at a certain point, from the fact that there was no connection between the earlier biography and himself, though he himself should obviously have been the last link in the chain, and that being cast adrift in this way from something which he could hardly any longer describe as his life, he had lost his own identity. He saw these figures as through smoked glass, and although when he lifted the spoon to his mouth he would have liked well enough to be feeding the man who had lain with Gürzner’s fiancée under the bushes—indeed, that would have given him great pleasure�
��nevertheless he simply could not bridge the gap, he remained as it were on the farther bank and could not lay hold of the man on the other side. And yet perhaps in spite of all that he might have bridged the gap if he could only have known for certain who it really was that remembered Gürzner’s girl: for the eyes that had looked at the bushes by the riverside then were not the same eyes that gazed at the trees along the avenue now, nor again were these quite the same as those which looked round the room. And beyond doubt there was one Gödicke who could not bear that that other man should be fed, and who refused to feed him, that man who was even now still prepared to sleep with Gürzner’s girl. And the Gödicke who was enduring these pains in his abdomen might be with equal probability either the one who issued the refusal, or the one against whom it was directed, but he might just as well be a quite different Gödicke altogether. It was a highly complicated problem, and the bricklayer Gödicke could not see his way through it at all. It had probably arisen through his reluctance to resume all the scattered fragments of his soul in returning to consciousness, but perhaps it might also have been the cause why he was not in a condition to do so. True, if he could have peered within himself now, one could not exclude the possibility that in each fragment of his ego which he had admitted he might have recognized a separate Gödicke, somewhat as though each of those fragments were an independent nucleus. For it may be that the same thing happens with the soul as with a piece of protoplasm, in which by dissection one can produce a multiplication of nuclei and therewith new regions of autonomous, intact and separate life. However that may be, and however it may have come about, in Gödicke’s soul there existed several autonomous and integral separate existences, to each of which one might have ventured to give the title of Gödicke, and it was a laborious and almost impossible task to subsume them all in one personality.

  This task the bricklayer Gödicke had to accomplish entirely by himself; there was no one who could help him.

  CHAPTER XXX

  When after a politic interval of two days Huguenau once more appeared in Esch’s office, he found a broad-hipped person of uncertain age, devoid equally of sex and charm, sitting in the basket-chair beside Esch’s desk. It was Frau Esch, and Huguenau knew that now the game was his. He had only to make a favourable impression on her:

  “Oh, your good lady is going to give us the benefit of her assistance in these difficult negotiations.…”

  Frau Esch drew back a little:

  “I know nothing about business matters, that’s my husband’s affair.”

  “Ah, yes, your husband, he’s a real business man comme il faut; he’s a tough nut to crack, I can tell you, and lots of people will break their teeth on him yet.”

  Frau Esch smiled faintly, and Huguenau felt encouraged to go on:

  “A splendid idea of his to take advantage of the market and get rid of the paper, which brings him only worry and annoyance, you might say, and business going from bad to worse.”

  Frau Esch said politely:

  “Yes, my husband has a great deal of worry with the paper.”

  “I’m not going to give it up, all the same,” said Esch.

  “Come, come, Herr Esch, if your health is of no account to yourself, I’m sure that your good lady will have a word or two to say about that … besides,” Huguenau considered, “… if you don’t want to sever your connection entirely with the paper, you can make your further collaboration a condition of the deal, the group I represent will only be too glad if I secure them such valuable assistance.”

  Well, that might be considered, Esch thought, but under 18,000 marks it couldn’t be done, he and his wife had just come to that decision.

  Well, it was a hopeful sign that Herr Esch had already somewhat qualified the fancy price he had asked; still, if he wanted to retain his connection with the business, he must surely make some allowance for that too.

  To what extent, asked Herr Esch.

  Huguenau felt that something concrete was demanded:

  “The simplest way, really, would be to draw up a trial contract and go over the different points by the way.”

  “All right, I don’t mind,” said Esch, taking out a sheet of paper, “dictate.”

  Huguenau seated himself in the appropriate posture:

  “Well, right then; Heading: Memorandum of Contract.”

  After much desultory discussion, which took up the whole forenoon, the following contract resulted:

  1. Herr Wilhelm Huguenau, as representative and executor of a group of combined interests, hereby enters into partnership with the private company owning the Kur-Trier Herald on the following terms, the property of the firm to be allocated as follows:

  10 per cent. to remain in the possession of Herr August Esch.

  60 per cent. to be held by the “Industrial Group” represented by Herr Huguenau.

  30 per cent. to be held by the group of local interests also represented by Herr Huguenau.

  Esch’s original claim to half-ownership was turned down by Huguenau: “That would be against your own interests, my dear Esch, the bigger your share, the less you’ll realize in cash … you see, I’m keeping an eye on your interests.”

  2. The firm’s assets consist of the publishing and other rights, together with the office furnishings and complete printing plant. Interim share certificates shall be issued, covering the new distribution of share capital.

  The Statue of Liberty and the view of Badenweiler were claimed by Herr Esch as his private property and not included among the firm’s assets. “Certainly,” said Huguenau magnanimously.

  3. The net profits shall be distributed among the shareholders in proportion to the number of share certificates held, except for any sum that may be carried to the reserve fund. The losses shall be borne in the same proportion.

  The clause regarding the losses was inserted in the contract at Herr Esch’s request, as Herr Huguenau had not entertained the possibility of losses. The reserve fund too was Esch’s suggestion.

  4. As representative and executor of the new group of shareholders Herr Huguenau brings into the firm capital amounting to 20,000 marks (say twenty thousand marks). One-third of this amount to be paid up immediately; the two further instalments of one-third may be paid, if the shareholders desire, within the next six months or twelve months respectively. On deferred payments the firm shall charge interest at the rate of 4 per cent. per half-year. The share certificates shall be allotted in proportion to the money paid in.

  As the share certificates were to be issued immediately on payment, and the high rate of 4 per cent. was a grave deterrent, Huguenau was not greatly afraid of the local subscribers taking advantage of the deferred payment; but even if they did, some means or other would easily enough be found of tiding over the emergency. Nor was he worried by the question of how he himself was to get together the deferred payments of his legendary industrial group—the first instalment did not fall due for another half-year, at the beginning of 1919, that was to say, and it was a long time until then, and lots of things might happen; the war conditions created a great deal of confusion, perhaps peace might have come by then, perhaps the paper itself might have brought in the sum required, in which case it would of course be necessary to conceal those gains by the creation of imaginary losses and thus wipe them off, perhaps Esch would be dead by that time—one would find some way of getting over the difficulty and coming out on top.

  5. The payments made by Herr Wilhelm Huguenau, in all 20,000 marks, shall be allocated to two accounts: viz. 13,400 marks to the account of the Huguenau “Industrial Group,” and 6600 mark to the account of the local subscribers.

  But now came the most difficult point in the negotiations. For Esch insisted on his 18,000 marks, while Huguenau maintained that first of all 10 per cent., that was 2000 marks, had to be deducted on account of the shares retained by Esch, but that in addition the rebate had to be doubled in consideration of the increased capital put into the business, thus making in all 4000 marks; so that Esc
h, even accepting his own valuation, would have only 14,000 coming to him; but even that was still far too much; he, Huguenau, as a middleman, had to be unbiassed, and he would never be able to get such a price as that out of his group, delighted as he would be to do so for Esch and his charming wife’s sake; no, that would be simply impossible, for he must have a serious proposal to lay before his clients, and he had no wish to be laughed out of court; in this matter he was not in the least a partisan, but quite objective, and as an impartial judge he could offer 10,000 marks for the remaining 90 per cent. of the business, but not a penny more.

  No, Esch shouted, he wanted his eighteen thousand.

  “How can anyone be so hard of hearing?” Huguenau turned to Frau Esch, “I’ve just proved to him that according to his own valuation all that he can ask is fourteen thousand.”

  Frau Esch sighed.

  Finally they agreed on 12,000 marks and on the following clause:

  6. As former sole proprietor Herr August Esch shall receive:

  (a) A final quittance of 12,000 marks, of which a third, that is to say, 4000 mark, shall be paid immediately to Herr Esch by the company, and the two further instalments of 4000 each on 1st January and 1st July 1919 respectively. Interest at the rate of 4 per cent. will be charged on the two outstanding instalments;

  (b) A contract engaging him for a period of two years as assistant editor and head book-keeper with a monthly salary of 125 marks.

  Perhaps Esch might not still have given in, even though Huguenau adroitly diverted the dispute to the subordinate concession of the interest payable to Esch, intending only after a hotly contested sham fight to allow the 4 per cent. to be wrung from him; no, Esch might not even then have given in, had not the prospect of such complicated book-keeping so dazzled and enchanted him that it never entered his head that the outstanding instalments—and he had not the slightest idea that their payment presupposed nothing less than a miracle—might never be settled, or that the difference between the 12,000 marks and the 20,000 marks might flow, in spite of all those book-keeping prospects which so allured him, into Huguenau’s fraudulently open pockets. To tell the truth, Huguenau thought just as little of such sordid matters, so unconscious was he that once the payments were made by the local subscribers the Kur-Trier Herald became via facti a pure gift to him; he fought with all sincerity for the interests of his hypothetical clients and said at last in an exhausted tone: “Ouf, well, as far as I’m concerned, let us make it 12,000 marks and 4 per cent. as you say, to settle the matter for good. I’ll take the responsibility on my own shoulders … but I must get something out of it too.…”