Iron Gustav (11 page)

Hackendahl had turned to go when it dawned on him that the second bed was empty. ‘Is Sophie on night duty again?'

‘Sophie? Didn't Mother tell you that Sophie has gone too?'

‘Gone? What d'you mean?'

‘Gone to her nuns. This afternoon she's moved into the hospital for good, bag and baggage. We're not pious enough for her, so it seems. We're always quarrelling, she says.'

‘Indeed!' was her father's sole comment. ‘Well, goodnight, Evchen.'

For a long while he stood in the passage. Blow upon blow, worse and worse; two of the children lost in one day! And Sophie hadn't said goodbye either. What had he done that they should treat him like this? Certainly he had been strict, but a father had to be strict. Perhaps he hadn't been strict enough. Now he saw how spineless they were, how they took to their heels when things became difficult. They should have been soldiers! Gritted their teeth, without batting an eyelid, and hung on.

He stood there a long time, resentful and accusing, his thoughts flitting to and fro. Nevertheless he did not soften or give way. His children had dealt him heavy blows, but he did not complain of the blows, only that a man's children should become his enemies. He did not give way. He continued his evening round and went into the boys' bedroom with a firm step. Of the three beds two were unoccupied.

‘Good evening, Father,' said Heinz.

‘Good evening, Bubi. Aren't you asleep yet? It's been bedtime for a long while now.'

‘I'll be going to sleep, Father. You're still up and about and you rise three hours earlier than I do.'

‘An old man needs very little sleep, Bubi.'

‘You're not old, Father!'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘No!'

‘Yes.'

‘No.'

Hackendahl crossed the dark room and sat on the boy's bed. ‘Have you any idea, Bubi, where Erich is?' he asked, as if he were a friend and not his father.

‘Not the slightest, Father. You're not worrying?'

‘Well – the others don't seem to know where he is either.'

‘Don't they? I'll keep my ears open then. Perhaps one of his pals at school may know something.'

‘Will you do that, Bubi?'

‘Certainly, Father.'

‘And you could go to the headmaster. I'd promised him I'd send Erich to school again tomorrow. That can't happen now. You must explain …'

‘Oh, Father!'

‘What?'

‘I'd rather not go to the beak tomorrow …'

‘Why ever not? Anyway, you shouldn't call him that.'

‘Oh, he might be angry with me. Me and a classmate had a bit of a fight today. The teacher put us on report and said he'd tell the beak – the head.'

‘So why were you fighting?'

‘Oh, only because he had a silly look on his face, asking for it.'

‘And did he get it?'

‘And how, Father. In spades! He ended up gasping for air and shouting pax.'

‘What's pax mean?'

‘It means peace. It's what you shout when you're at the end of your tether.'

‘So, Bubi, it will be quite all right to go to the head and tell him what I asked. As a matter of fact, he and I saw your fight from the window.'

‘OK then. I was just scared that to get bad marks for behaviour would be miserable.'

For a moment there was silence. Hackendahl had been restored to tranquillity. ‘Well, all right, don't forget. Sleep well.'

‘Sleep well too, Father, and don't worry about Erich. He's cleverer than you and me put together. Erich will always come out on top.'

‘Goodnight, Bubi.'

‘Goodnight, Father.'

31
JULY
1914.

Since early morning the crowds now occupying much of the Lustgarten had been gathering before the Schloss, on which flew the yellow Imperial standard, symbol of the presence of the all-highest War Lord. Unceasingly the people came and went, an ebb and flow of thousands who waited for an hour or two before departing to daily tasks half-heartedly dispatched, for everybody was oppressed by the question: would there be war?

Three days had passed since the allied State of Austria had declared war on the Serbs. What would happen now? Would the world intervene? What importance, after all, had a war in the Balkans, a vast empire against a small nation? Yet it was said that Russia was mobilizing, that the French were bestirring themselves and – what would England do?

The weather was oppressive, and grew closer; the crowds buzzed and could not keep still. The Kaiser was said to have spoken that morning from the Schloss – but Germany was still at peace with the world. There was a ferment in the people; a month of uncertainty had come and gone in obscure negotiations, threats and assurances of peace – nerves were on edge with suspense. Any decision seemed better than this terrible uncertainty.

Vendors of sausages, newspapers and ice cream pushed through the crowd, but they sold nothing, for the people were in no mood to eat nor were they interested in news which must have long since been overtaken by events. They wanted a decision. Incoherent and excited, everyone had something special to relate. And then, in the middle of their talk, they would fall silent, forgetting everything else as they stared up at the balcony where the Kaiser was said to have
made his speech this morning. They were trying to see through the windows but the glass was dazzling in the sunshine, and nothing was visible but pale yellow curtains.

What was going on inside? What decision affecting everyone waiting there, every man, woman and child, was being taken in that palace twilight? Forty years of peace in the land; people could not imagine what war meant … Yet they felt that a word from the silent building could change their whole lives, change everything. And they were waiting for that word. They dreaded it and yet dreaded still more lest it should not be forthcoming, and the many weeks of suspense should prove to have been endured in vain.

Suddenly the crowd became as still as if it were holding its breath … Nothing had happened – nothing yet – but the clocks in the steeples were striking from far and near, quickly, slowly, deep-toned, high. It was five o'clock.

Nothing had happened yet; the crowd was waiting breathlessly …

Then the great gate opened, opened slowly, very slowly, and out came … a policeman, a Berlin policeman in blue uniform and spiked helmet.

They stared …

Climbing up on a balustrade, he made a signal for silence.

They were already silent …

The policeman removed his helmet, held it before his chest. Breathlessly they followed every movement, though he was no more than an ordinary policeman, the kind to be seen any day in any of the Berlin streets … And yet he made an indelible impression. They were to see monstrous and terrible things during the coming years, but they would never forget that Berlin policeman who had taken off his helmet and was holding it in front of him.

The man on the balustrade opened his mouth; every eye was fixed on those lips. What would come forth? Life or Death, War or Peace?

The policeman spoke. ‘By order of His Majesty the Kaiser I announce that a state of mobilization has been proclaimed.'

Closing his mouth, he gazed over the countless heads; with the jerky movements of a puppet, he put on his helmet.

For a moment the crowd was silent; then a voice here and there started to sing, and hundreds – thousands – of voices joined in:

Now praise we all our God

With hearts and hands and voices …

In jerks, like a puppet, the policeman took off his helmet again.

Along Unter den Linden motor cars tore along with officers standing up in them waving flags. Through their cupped hands they were shouting: ‘Called up! Called up!'

People were laughing and cheering and throwing flowers; girls had pulled off their large straw hats to swing them round by the ribbons, and were shouting, enraptured: ‘War! War!'

It was the officers' hour – for forty long years there had been nothing but parades and drills, till men had become heartily sick of life; people had hardly turned to look back at them, they had become so ordinary. Now everyone was cheering them, with shining eyes; they were going to fight and perhaps die for the freedom and peace of everyone.

‘That I should live to see this day!' cried old Hackendahl amid the surge of enthusiasm. ‘Everything'll be all right now.'

Heinz was clinging to one arm and Eva to the other; they let themselves drift along with the people, laughing. In high spirits Eva was kissing her hands to the officers in the cars.

‘Oh, Father!' cried Heinz pressing his father's arm.

‘What is it, Bubi?' In the turmoil Hackendahl had to bend down to hear.

‘Father!' Bubi was quite out of breath. ‘Father …' At last he managed to speak. ‘Couldn't I go too?'

‘Go where?' Old Hackendahl did not understand him.

‘Go to … the war … to the Front. Please, Father!'

‘But, Bubi,' said old Hackendahl teasingly and yet with pride, ‘you're only thirteen. You're still a child.'

‘It would be possible, Father, if you gave permission. If you sent me to your old regiment. They do have drummer boys, I know that.'

‘Drummer boys! And you the son of an old soldier! We Germans never have drummer boys – perhaps the Frenchies do.'

‘Father!'

‘Hold tight, Evchen, hold tight! We've got to get home now, to tell Otto – he won't know yet. If they're mobilizing today, he'll have to present himself tomorrow at the latest. Or even today … I don't know. Quick, let's get home, I'll have to see what it says in his papers.'

It was a stiff battle to make any progress at all against the human tide and they had to clutch one another so as not to be separated.

Heinz looked cautiously at old Hackendahl. ‘Father …'

‘Yes?'

‘Don't be cross – but won't Erich also have to join up?'

‘Have to?' The father answered freely, as if Heinz were an adult. He'd just been thinking about it. ‘No, he doesn't have to. He's only just seventeen. But he could volunteer.'

‘Erich volunteer?'

‘Why not? You mustn't think badly of your brother, Heinz, there's an end to that now. From now on we must all stand together. Everyone feels a new sense of unity – Erich will, too.'

‘Yes, Father. I also believe everything has changed.'

‘Yes, absolutely. You mark my words – Erich will come back now. He's compelled to, I've got his papers, he needs them. But even so he would have to come back anyhow. Bubi, he'll know now that no one can live just for himself. Each belongs to the other, and all belong together – we Germans!'

‘Yes, Father.'

‘That we've been looking for him in vain all these weeks had to be the case. He had to learn what it's like to be quite alone, without anybody. Now we all belong together. See how Eva laughs and speaks with that man?! They didn't know each other from Adam a moment ago; and now they've never heard of each other. But now they feel they have
one
thing in common – they're German! You wait, by the time we get home perhaps we'll find Erich sitting with Mother and waiting for us. Well, not a word about the past, you understand, Bubi? All is forgotten and forgiven! It just never happened. And, of course, you'll be so kind as to behave yourself like a brother. From
now on we're all … Stop, where's Eva? There she is! … Eva, we're here! Would you believe it? The girl doesn't see us. Eva!' He shouted with his hands round his mouth. ‘Eva … Eva Hackendahl! Hac … ken … dahl! Over here!'

A troop of young men was coming along linked arm in arm, trying as far as possible to march in step through the crowds. They were singing: ‘Victoriously we will vanquish France …'

One of the marchers laughingly made a grab at Eva, who was battling her way through the people, and she too laughed as she evaded him.

Hackendahl shook his head. ‘She's gone, I can't see her. Can you, Bubi? No, you're much too small, of course. Well, come along, Eva will find her way home. We have to hurry. Otto must be told and perhaps Erich is waiting …'

Gleefully Eva mingled with the crowd going along Unter den Linden in the direction of the Brandenburger Tor, away from her home, quite content to be separated from a father and brother who had talked nothing but a lot of boring rubbish about war and unity. So now they were expected to pig together more than ever, a real loving family! Why should there be war, anyway? This was only mobilization – she had managed these last few days to grasp that mobilization did not necessarily mean war.

But if the war turned out to be like the mobilization, then it was pretty magnificent. Never had she seen men in such high spirits, and with such shining eyes. A little fat man, an old boy with a turned-up moustache, forty at least, suddenly took her round the waist. ‘Well, my dear, you're pleased, aren't you, I am!' And before she could protest he was gone.

A young man shouted: ‘Urgent – war bride wanted to darn my socks,' and everyone laughed.

Splendid, to drift with a crowd in such festive mood!

A hand fell on her shoulder. ‘Well, missie, still goin' strong?' a somewhat hoarse voice enquired.

She wheeled round, startled, to meet a face she had once seen for a few minutes and had not forgotten – a dark, impudent face with a black moustache.

‘What do you want?' she cried. ‘I don't know you. Please let go.'

The young man smiled. ‘It doesn't matter; if you don't know me now, you soon will.'

‘Leave me alone or I'll call a policeman!'

‘Call one, missie, call one. I'll help you. Or what about goin' together, eh? I don't mind the bluebottles meself – blue's my fav'rite colour. You've got a nice blue costume on yourself, missie.'

Eva had always been a real Berlin child, pert and self-confident; it wasn't easy to frighten her. But she was frightened now. Faced with this fellow's assurance her own nerve vanished. The impudent manner in which he was patting her frock, just on the breast! And between her breasts hung …

‘Please let me go,' she begged. ‘There must be some mistake.'

‘Of course I'll let you go,' he laughed. ‘Going's good for you in this heat. Come on, my dear, I'll go with you.' And without further ado he took her arm. ‘Look at this pack of fools,' he went on, ‘dying of joy because they've been given a war. As if it wouldn't be a sight easier with a razor in front of a mirror. But no,' he said, finishing, ‘that's not for us. We're more for the life beautiful.'

‘Let me go,' she implored. ‘Let me go, I don't know you.'

‘Girl,' he whispered, ‘don't you kid me.' His smile had changed into a cold anger. ‘A whole month I've been traipsing all over Berlin looking for you and now I've found you, d'you think I'm going to let you off the string again? D'you think I put them things into your ruddy shopping bag, with its photo stuck up everywhere, just to have you keep 'em? No, my girl, I'm not so cracked as all that. You've got to shell out.'

He looked at her and she, against her will, nodded.

‘And when you've shelled out, that won't be all. I've been looking for a girl like you for a long while – a girl fresh from home. Be a great help to me. You've no idea how I'll put you up to things. You're going to be something classy an' the cops will put you in a frame at headquarters – that's the girl what started off with a jewel robbery at Wertheim's!'

‘Please don't. People …' Her brain was working feverishly. Surely she could tear herself free and disappear in the crowd, once his grip slackened for a moment.

‘Well, what's your name?'

‘Eva,' she said in a low voice.

‘Well, and what else, Eva, my pet?'

‘Schmidt.'

‘Yes, of course! Schmidt! Just what I thought. Meier's too common, I must say. And where d'you hang out, Fräulein Schmidt?'

‘In the Lützowstrasse.'

‘Ah, in the Lützowstrasse. Posh district, eh? And where d'you keep the stuff, you know what I mean, the sparklers? At home, I bet.'

‘Yes,' she said boldly, resolved now to scratch at his eyes with her free hand when the right moment came, and so get away.

‘Oh, at home!' he sneered. ‘And where d'you keep 'em? Under the pillow?'

‘No, in the lamp-weight.'