Iron Gustav (17 page)

‘No, I'm sorry, Fräulein, no! I can't accept this work. No!' The negation, so bitterly repeated, increased Eva's confusion.

‘But, Fräulein Gudde, what's the matter? You've always worked for us.'

‘I saw at once,' said Fräulein Gudde passionately, ‘that you had guessed. But he's my child, our child. You can't interfere there, you Hackendahls. No. My child! If Otto wasn't good enough for you …'

‘Otto!' cried Eva, dumbfounded.

‘Don't pretend you don't know. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Yes, Otto, my Otto, not yours, not the Otto you turned him into, you Hackendahls, you and your father! Iron Gustav! So I should think!' And with a sudden change of mood: ‘He's just gone to the Front and I'm worried about him already. But when he comes back
I'll see that he frees himself of everything Hackendahl. Then I'll bless the war, bless, bless …' She let her head fall against the door frame and wept in a heartbreaking manner.

Eva had listened wide-eyed to this outburst; now she timidly reached out a hand to the weeping woman. ‘Fräulein Gudde, please, please don't. Think of the child!' For the little boy was standing there, trying to embrace his mother. ‘Mummy, dear Mummy, don't.'

‘Yes, yes, it's over, Gustäving. Mummy's laughing. She's laughing again, Gustäving. Fräulein Hackendahl, now you know what you wanted to know and you can go home. What letters you'll all be writing to him now! Not even at the Front will he be left in peace.'

‘Nobody suspects Otto, believe me, Fräulein Gudde. We wouldn't have thought him capable of such a thing.'

‘No, you never thought him capable of anything.'

‘And nobody will hear about it from me. You shall have the child all to yourself. I understand, I do indeed, I understand how you hate everything belonging to the Hackendahls. I'm a Hackendahl myself and – I'm just as unhappy as Otto.' Now it was Eva's turn to weep, but she soon recovered. ‘You see,' she said to the silent woman, ‘I've no little one – and mustn't have, ever. That's my fate. That's why I came, because I saw you with such a fine, handsome child. I've always wanted to have children and so I couldn't help being envious when I saw you. You must understand that.'

Gertrud Gudde looked at her for a moment. Then she said: ‘Come in, Fräulein Hackendahl.' Holding the child's hand, she led the way. ‘Give me the material, Fräulein.'

And Eva handed it to her and the dressmaker fetched fashion books and made suggestions and asked: ‘Would you like it this way?' and said: ‘I shouldn't have leg-of-mutton sleeves, Fräulein Hackendahl, I'd have quite a small puff.'

And Eva gave the right answers, just as she would have done with any other dressmaker, and even began to be a little interested. The blue material with its white dots was really pretty and would make up quite well.

But suddenly the other said: ‘One moment!' and went into the adjoining room, to return carrying something very carefully. ‘Look at this crucifix he carved. Isn't it beautiful?' And without waiting for
a reply: ‘I could have sold it ten times over, but I wouldn't part with it. All the other things I took to the shop. They don't pay badly and the proprietor says he has it in him to become a proper artist, he only needs training and materials. But nothing will come of it,' she added with her former hostility, gently putting the crucifix down. ‘He has to groom horses and clean out stables.'

Eva looked helplessly at Fräulein Gudde.

‘Of course I've never talked to him as I'm talking to you. I always said: “Do what your father says, Otto.” I realize that he's weak and that he'd only be unhappy if I encouraged him to quarrel with his family.'

‘Perhaps he'll come back a different man, stronger,' said Eva carefully. ‘You can't be for ever on your own here with the child, and if Otto's so gifted … Father has enough money.'

‘Oh yes, I can be. I can quite well stay here alone with my child and wait for him. Then I'll have the child to myself and him too, even if it's only for a short time. As for money – I don't want a penny of your money. You people think money gives happiness, but all it's done is to make all of you unhappy.' She was looking angrily at Eva again. But seeing how pale and tired the girl looked she softened at once. ‘No, I won't scold any more. You say you're unhappy like Otto. But you don't know how unhappy Otto is.'

‘Nor do you know how unhappy I am,' replied Eva. She took herself in hand, however. ‘When can I come to be fitted? Or would you prefer me not to come again? I won't say a word at home.'

‘You can come every day – if you wish to see Gustäving.'

‘And,' continued Eva, ‘it's possible Mother may send for you or come herself. She's very inquisitive. You mustn't give yourself away in that case – Mother won't ever be connecting you with Otto. You can say Gustäving is a relative's child.'

‘I tell a lie about Gustäving? Never! I'll tell her that he's my child. She can't ask me who the father is.'

‘I'll go now, then,' said Eva, with a last glance at the little boy playing at the other end of the room.

Gertrud Gudde noticed the glance. ‘Give him a kiss,' she said. ‘I'm quite happy with you now.'

But Eva merely made a gesture of rejection, whispered, ‘No, no'
and went like a hunted woman across the passageway to the door, without saying goodbye. She opened the door, and only when she was on the threshold, said. ‘Perhaps I'll come again tomorrow.'

‘Good,' said Gudde and nodded her head.

‘I was wondering,' said Eva, bending down to see the name on the bell, ‘what your first name is. I see – Gertrud. I'm Eva.'

‘He calls me Tutti …' said Gudde quietly.

‘Goodbye, Tutti,' waved Eva.

‘Goodbye, Eva,' said Gudde.

Then Eva went – back to the street.

Gustav Hackendahl had had an exciting day, a great day, a proud day. That morning there had been the imposing exodus of his thirty-two horses, and the curious faces of people turning round at the clatter of hoofs on the road. Then there had been the muster itself and the officer who had praised his animals. One could even look back at the somewhat unexpectedly unsuccessful spying adventure with a little pride. And in the afternoon he had been one of the very first to send a son to fight for the Fatherland. In a few days a second son would be wearing uniform, too … Yes, it had been a proud day: there were not many men today in Berlin who had given as much to the Fatherland as he had. But then he had come home – to home and stables, forever his pride, and it felt so strange, deserted, empty …

For quite a while he stood in the stable holding a conversation with Rabause or, more exactly, describing in detail his recent experiences. Rabause naturally had a lot to do; now that only five of the thirty-two horses were back the whole stables had to be rearranged, and the old man was running here and there, toiling furiously with meaning looks at his employer, who did once or twice lend him a hand. But Hackendahl found it irksome. It was, he realized suddenly, a very long time since he had done any sustained manual work. Now he would have to join in occasionally. He'd have to learn how to do it again. It would probably even do him good. Would it really be necessary, though? With only five horses there was hardly work
enough for one ostler. And Rabause had been thinking along similar lines. ‘In the winter the stables will be too cold for just five horses, Governor,' he said. ‘We'll have to build a partition.'

Hackendahl grunted. He was an enemy to all building – it ran away with so much money. ‘By winter the war will be well over and then I'll get my horses back from the military.'

‘We'd better not be so sure that the war will be over by the winter, Governor,' contradicted Rabause. ‘In 1870 it went through the winter and we had only one foe then.'

‘Don't talk nonsense, Rabause,' said Hackendahl angrily. ‘What do you know about war?' And he left the stables abruptly; the prospect of working for months with no more than five horses was extremely mortifying. This isn't a hackney cab business any longer, he thought. Why, it's not much more than a day and a night cab. I might just as well clap on my top hat and wait on the stands myself.

Irresolutely he walked up and down the yard. If only the cabs would return! Then he'd have something to do. But he at once remembered that only five were left, that he could polish off the accounts with his eyes closed, and there were no night cabs to get ready …

There he stood, a man who had never doubted himself and did not do so now, but who felt very empty all of a sudden. Had he in fact lived only in the lives of other people, and not they in him, as he had always thought? He didn't know. He hadn't thought about it. He only knew that suddenly life had gone sour. Look at the children! Up till now they had been his; he had brought them up and made them familiar with the virtues of punctuality, hard work and obedience; he had bawled at them or been nice according to mood or circumstances. But now they had gone; they could manage without him. There was still Heinz, but Heinz wasn't easy to order about. Heinz was very independent – he never talked about what he did at school, for instance.

And, of course, there was Eva … Why, he had told her that very day that he was going to have a serious talk with her. Just as well he hadn't forgotten. Hackendahl hurried upstairs, he had found something to do. But a disappointment awaited him – Eva wasn't at home. That was another thing he'd have to talk to her about. He wasn't going to have this continual running off the premises. Children had
to say where they were going and why – that was only right … And now he stood there once more at a loss.

‘What are you doing, Bubi?'

‘My Latin scriptum, Father.'

Hackendahl looked in a puzzled way at the copybook. ‘Can't you write better than that? That's a terrible scrawl.'

‘Pooh, Father, our Latin coach scrawls much worse; he can't read his own writing. We have to help him.'

‘Never mind, Bubi, you yourself must write neatly.'

‘Yes, Father.'

And that was that. Nothing more to be said. Hackendahl cast another glance at what Heinz was now doing – the writing didn't seem to have improved much since he had spoken. It was no use arguing with the boy, however.

Hackendahl went into the kitchen.

His wife sat there drinking coffee.

Hackendahl sniffed. Not malt coffee but bean coffee, which he had forbidden except on special occasions, forbidden a hundred times, and he now forbade it for the hundred-and-first time, breathing fire and fury – he wouldn't have it, he didn't find money lying on the ground … And for the hundred-and-first time Frau Hackendahl had at least half a dozen valid reasons for her transgression. Otto had had to go away that afternoon; the heat had given her a headache; hurrying to the station had upset her; she had only had five beans in with the malt coffee; and so on and so on.

Somewhat refreshed by his outburst, Hackendahl went to his room. On the desk lay a file containing papers relating to the requisition, and it occurred to him that among them was an army warrant for a considerable sum. He looked at his watch; there was still time to go to the bank. The file under his arm, he marched off.

It looked rather empty behind the counter, but the clerk who usually served him was there and greeted him with his customary quiet politeness. ‘Well, Herr Hackendahl, have you come to fetch a little money?' And in a whisper: ‘It has just come through. Banknotes no longer redeemable against gold.'

‘What d'you mean?' asked Hackendahl, annoyed. He was always annoyed if he did not understand something at once.

‘There won't be any more gold in exchange for banknotes. Gold is withdrawn from circulation.'

‘Well, it's sure to be for the best,' said Hackendahl. ‘We must do what the government wants. I've had to deliver up my horses, too.' And he pushed the warrant over the counter.

The clerk looked at it. ‘Pretty nice sum,' he said appreciatively. ‘But the horses were pretty nice too, eh? On current account, Herr Hackendahl? For the present – yes, of course – I understand. Perhaps you'll be buying some stocks and shares later. I believe good shares will be getting cheap, people are selling.'

‘I'll think it over,' said Hackendahl, adding very suddenly: ‘Perhaps I might buy a few taxicabs instead …' Not that he really intended this – the idea had just occurred to him – but it would be interesting to hear what the bank chap thought about it.

And the man, of course, was enthusiastic. ‘Excellent idea, Herr Hackendahl!' he said. ‘There's no doubt you move with the times. Horses are done for.'

‘If horses were done for, the army wouldn't be paying so much for 'em, young man,' said Hackendahl dryly. ‘By the way, why haven't you joined up yet?'

‘At present I'm being retained by the bank,' replied the young man importantly. ‘Indispensable!' This last word he pronounced in a very insufferable manner, or so Hackendahl felt, who stumped out of the bank with a surly ‘Good luck to you!' The bumptious and disgusting ass!

On the advertisement pillars they were already sticking up the announcement that banknotes could no longer be exchanged for gold. What did he care? He'd never thought in his life of taking his notes to the Reichsbank for that purpose, nor did he intend to do so in the future. Why worry? Money was money, whether in paper or gold …

In the Kleine Frankfurter Strasse it occurred to Hackendahl that in the neighbourhood there was a tavern frequented by horse-dealers – he'd look in and see if anybody was there, and find out whether there were any horses for sale. A few more in the stable would come in very handy.

The place was crowded, and he received a great welcome.

‘They caught you on the hop this morning, Gustav! Nag after nag! But yours were all fine ones!'