Iron Gustav (10 page)

He – the man ground between two millstones – had the feeling that he had achieved something. ‘And what will Father say now that Erich has gone? And Eva who is so miserly – what a scene she'll make!'

‘Eva? She can't say anything – at least not to your father. The money was stolen.'

He nodded. ‘But Father – about Erich?' he asked, hoping that she would relieve his mind about this too.

She looked thoughtfully at him, her look as soft as a dove. ‘Your father,' she said – and the form of Iron Gustav, who had overshadowed her modest life, towered above them – ‘Your father' – she smiled encouragingly – ‘he'll be very hurt. He's always been so proud of Erich. Don't say a word against Erich, particularly about taking Eva's money. Your father will be upset enough as it is. Admit quite calmly that you forced the lock and tell him – listen, Otto – “Father, I'd have got you out of a cellar, too.” Can you remember that?'

‘Father, I would have got you out of a cellar, too,' he repeated awkwardly. ‘But that's really true, Tutti.'

‘You see, Otto, I'm only saying what you yourself think.'

‘But what will Father do then, Tutti?'

‘One can't tell.'

‘Perhaps he'll throw me out. And what then?'

‘But you could always get work, Otto. Overnight you could go in a factory as an unskilled hand or a builder's labourer.'

‘Yes, I could do that all right. Yes, that's possible.'

‘And we could then live together quite openly. Your father would have to give you your papers and we could …'

‘No, not that! I mustn't marry against his wish. It says in the Bible …' Strange that this weak man is adamant in one respect – he will not get married against his father's wish! At the beginning she had told him many a time that he could get the necessary papers without old Hackendahl's knowledge and that she would put up the banns. What difference would a civil marriage make? How could it hurt a father who was ignorant of it? But Otto would not be moved. From the religious instruction at school, the confirmation course by Pastor Klatt, and the depths of his being arose the conviction that it would be unlucky to marry without his father's consent.

She had understood. She realized that, to the despised son, his father was not only the God of Wrath but the God of Love; this son loved his father more than the other children did. Nonetheless she continued to hope for the marriage, not for her own sake but for Gustäving's who, already named after his grandfather, had still to receive the family surname.

‘Couldn't you give your father a hint, Otto?' she had often asked. ‘For instance, if you were to speak of me in his presence sometime when I'm working at your place.'

‘I'll try, Tutti,' he had replied, yet had never made the slightest attempt.

This question of marriage was the one point on which she was not in agreement with him. She always mentioned it, although she knew it tortured him. She didn't really want to, but it always came to her tongue, just as it did now, entirely without her wanting it to.

So she said quickly: ‘No, you're right. Just when Father has so many other worries, it would be wrong.'

She looked in front of her. His hand came nervously over the table to hers. ‘You're not angry, are you?' he asked worriedly.

‘No, no,' she assured him straight away, ‘only …'

‘What are you thinking about?' he now asked, noting her silence.

‘I was thinking of the assassination and that people think there will be a war …'

‘Yes?' he murmured, not understanding.

‘You would have to join up, wouldn't you?'

He nodded.

‘Otto,' she urged, gripping his hand, ‘Otto, tell me you wouldn't join up without having married me. It isn't for my sake, you know that. But Gustäving would never have a father if anything happened to you.'

He looked at the child. ‘If there's a war I'll marry you. I promise it.' And, seeing the hope in her eyes, he muttered: ‘But there won't be a war.'

‘No, no,' she exclaimed, herself terrified by her wish. ‘Of course not. Not at that price!'

As on any other evening, Iron Gustav had stood in his yard settling up with the returning day cabs and dispatching those for the night. Perhaps he had been more taciturn than usual, but nobody paid much attention to that in the general excitement. For the drivers were very excited this evening.

Some said: ‘There'll be war,' and others: ‘Nonsense. The Kaiser has left Kiel – he'd return to Berlin immediately in case of war.'

‘But the Kiel Regatta has been cancelled.'

‘Because the Kaiser is in mourning, not because of war. The Archduke was related to him.'

‘The
Lokalanzeiger
says …'

‘You with your silly
Scandal Advertiser
!
Vorwärts
says we have
110 Social Democrats in the Reichstag and they're in agreement with the proletariat of the world not to go to war.'

‘Silence!' ordered Hackendahl.

‘We won't vote a penny for a capitalist war …'

‘Quiet!' commanded Hackendahl again. ‘I won't have such nonsense in my yard.'

But the men continued to whisper behind his back, which did not bother him for once though it would have annoyed him at other times. Even the day's takings, unusually large – again because there was much afoot in Berlin – did not please him. People were restless; they couldn't remain indoors but hurried into the streets, driving from the Reichstag to the Schloss, from the Schloss to the War Ministry, from the War Ministry to the newspaper offices, wanting to hear and see whatever there was. But the Schloss lay in darkness – the yacht with the Kaiser on board was sailing towards Nordkap – and only when the guard was mounted, to the sound of drum and fife, were people able to cheer.

Old Hackendahl wouldn't have any of this kind of gossip in his yard. He went on cashing up. The day's takings were plentiful, but one thing annoyed him, and something else displeased him, and war talk interested the old soldier not one bit! He was thinking: my Erich has gone just when I was going to fetch him out of the cellar and tell him he could attend school and that everything was all right.

Silence reigned in the yard. The day drivers had gone home and the night drivers had gone to work. Hackendahl looked up at his house. Outside it was still a little dark, but in their bedroom the light was already on. Mother must already be going to bed. He could go to bed too, but he turned round and went into the stable.

Rabause was handing out the second feed and looked at his chief warily, clearing his throat as if to speak but not doing so. A little further away Otto was rubbing a horse down with a handful of straw; the cabby, so as to catch a train and earn a good tip, had driven it too hard. Hackendahl looked on. ‘The belly, Otto, don't forget the belly,' he called out.

Otto glanced dejectedly at his father and then did as he was told.
The vigorous rubbing tickled the animal and it snorted, beginning to dance about.

‘Harder!' called the father. ‘It's a horse, not a girl.' He spoke in the old sergeant-major manner, and almost automatically. Once again Otto lifted a red, swollen eye, where his father had lashed out at him on learning that he had freed Erich, thus giving him no time to repeat the sentence Tutti had taught him.

Hackendahl looked at his son almost with hatred. Had it not been for this fool's precipitate action he would have liberated Erich himself, and everything would have been all right. As it was, the one occasion on which the fool thought of acting on his own initiative had been sufficient to spoil everything.

The father looked at his oldest son with scorn and hate. ‘Lift up the leg!' he shouted. ‘Can't you see that you're hurting the poor beast?'

Otto lifted up the leg, placed it over his knee and went on rubbing. ‘You're on stable duty tonight,' added Hackendahl. ‘I don't want to have you sleeping in my house.'

Otto did not interrupt his work.

‘You're to do stable duty,' shouted Hackendahl. ‘Did you hear me?'

‘Yes, Father,' said the son in the loud, clear voice he had been trained to use.

He wondered if he should say anything more, to make clear how much he despised him. But he decided not to. The lad was far too soft and obedient, always said ‘Yes, Father', and was without resistance. He didn't even raise his arm when being hit in the face – a milksop you can do anything you like with. He won't change.

Hackendahl turned round and left the stable. When he passed old Rabause, still carrying his feeding bucket, he told him kindly, ‘When you've finished feeding you can go home and sleep. You've got today off, Rabause.'

Rabause looked at him sideways. This time he dared to open his mouth. ‘I slept during the day, sir,' he croaked. ‘I don't need sleep during the night – but Otto does.'

Hackendahl flashed his eyes angrily at this rebel. He didn't want his son defended. He should defend himself if he's unjustly treated. But he isn't unjustly treated.

‘By the way, I helped to break open the locks on the cellar doors, sir,' said Rabause. ‘I agreed that it was the right thing to do.'

‘Did you indeed?' asked Hackendahl slowly. ‘So … and now, you old lush, you think I'll hit you in the face, like I did Otto? You'd like that, wouldn't you – so that you can feel big and insulted, eh? But I'm not going to do you that favour. You're just a creep, just like your dear Otto. Both just creeps. You make me sick!'

He looked at the old man, almost shaking with anger. ‘I want you out of the stable by ten. Do your sleeping at home. Understand?' he shouted. ‘That one … that one' – and he pointed backwards – ‘he's got to wake up.'

And with a bang the stable door closed behind him.

Night came and the roar of the town died down, but there was no peace in Hackendahl's mind. It seemed that it was not even his own initiative that had made Otto free Erich. That bastard, that drunken sot Rabause showed him how and he simply followed him, just as he's been following his whole life long. And someone like that stayed at home while the intelligent and beloved son ran away and was even now wandering about deprived of any means of support and exposed to all the perils of a large city. What would become of him? Would he end up as a Hamburg cabin boy, a Foreign Legionary, a suicide in the Landwehr Canal? At the best he saw his favourite son on a bench in the Tiergarten, constantly moved on by policemen, since one was not allowed to sleep in the open. The prodigal son and the swine – his situation was poignantly described in the New Testament but not a word was said about the father's feelings during his absence.

Hackendahl turned round, went quickly upstairs, crossed the landing and went into the bedroom. ‘Where's Erich?'

His wife started. ‘What's the matter with you, Father? You frightened me.'

‘Where's Erich? That's what I want to know.'

‘I don't know. He didn't even say goodbye to me before he
went …' She stopped, fearing she had given herself away, but he took no notice.

‘That's not true,' he said gruffly. ‘You do know where he is.'

‘I don't. I'm worrying about him too. Otto looked for him but he'd gone by then.'

‘That's not true. Erich wouldn't run away like that. Did you give him any money?'

‘Not a penny,' she moaned. ‘I have no money, you know that quite well, Father.'

By now he was convinced she was lying. They had hidden Erich somewhere. He knew Erich – Erich wouldn't run away without money. ‘I'll find out. You wait!' he threatened and marched off.

It was dark in the girls' bedroom. Eva had gone to bed. In the last of the daylight she had been playing with her jewels, trying on the rings, pinning the brooches on her nightdress. Oh, they were so beautiful! When she had come home at noon and learned that the hiding place in the lamp had been looted (she had regarded it as an utter secret, and now they all knew about it), she could have burst with fury and had even thought of going to the police and charging her brother.

But now she had these jewels and dared have nothing whatever to do with the police. Trembling, she had read in the newspaper a description of the theft. The authorities were of course convinced that the young man and the girl were accomplices, working together very cleverly. And the shopping bag had been found …

No, anything for peace and quiet! Only that morning she had desired her share of the beautiful things of life and now she possessed a good deal already. She heard her father's footsteps in the corridor, his voice scolding and her mother's whining. She hid her jewellery quickly in a little bag, which hung from a thin but strong string between her breasts. She then turned to the wall and pretended to sleep.

Hackendahl was standing in the doorway, listening – it was an old habit of his to listen like this to his children in bed; he knew every sound and could tell at once if they were shamming sleep …

‘Eva,' he called, ‘you're not asleep! Where's Erich?'

‘I don't know, Father.'

‘You do. Tell me at once where he is.' Then, almost pleading: ‘Be sensible, Evchen. I'm not going to do anything to him. I just want to know where he is.'

‘I don't know, Father, I was shopping when it all happened. You can be sure I'd tell you if I knew. I wouldn't have let Erich out.'

Yes, his daughter held the same opinion as he did – Erich ought not to have left home. But, oddly enough, the way she expressed this did not please him. ‘I don't want to know what you think about it. Keep a sharp lookout and let me know at once if Erich calls or sends a message.'

‘Certainly, Father.'

‘You will?'

‘Of course, Father.'

‘Good!'