Iron Gustav (20 page)

‘
Merde
, we have to copy out the sentence 300 times and we never said a word!'

‘It was mainly Lange, the wretched swine.'

‘Well, there's nothing to be done now. Do you want to hear what the others have hatched out meanwhile?'

It was not too alarming: the class had decided to spend the next four Sundays helping with the harvest on the municipal estates, since labour was scarce and the harvest very much behind.

‘Moderate!' declared Hoffmann. ‘Will Redhead consider it enough?'

‘And you? How did you get on with Old Four-Eyes?'

‘Oh, don't let's talk about it …'

And indeed they had no time to do so, for Professor Degener now returned. ‘Is it all settled? Good! No, thank you, I don't want any particulars. I'm quite sure you've arranged everything properly. Now, before taking out our Caesars, we have something to do. Stand up!'

They stood.

‘Attention! The class is informed that two old boys, both of whom had been in the top form, have made the supreme sacrifice: Günther Schwarz, private in the 3rd Foot Guards, and Herbert Simmichen, volunteer serving with the 3rd Battery of the 15th Field Artillery.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori …
'

A moment's silence.

‘Sit down! I will read you the reports of their Commanding Officers about the death of your classmates …'

‘There's still a ring missing. Where's yours, Evchen?'

‘I haven't got one, Father.'

‘Of course you have – one with a brown stone. Isn't that so, Mother? Evchen had a ring?'

Frau Hackendahl sat tearfully at the round table whereon her husband had placed all the gold in the house – his beloved large watch with its heavy chain, her small enamelled one with a gold brooch for pinning it to the breast, a gold pencil case, a pair of large cufflinks – the value doubtful – a gold cross and thin chain which Sophie had been given on her confirmation, wedding rings that age had worn smooth and thin, a gold brooch and false pearl hanging from it, together with seven ten-mark and five twenty-mark gold pieces.

Everywhere, on walls and on advertisement pillars, was placarded the appeal: Gold I gave for Iron. Bring your gold to the Gold-Purchase Centres. The newspapers wrote daily about it. Gentlemen were much admired who were already wearing the thin iron chain that had replaced the gold one in their waistcoats.

‘Not a bit of gold is to remain in the house,' said Hackendahl. ‘We must give up the lot. Isn't there anything else? Mother, didn't you have some little things or other in the ears once – not earrings, more like buttons? I seem to remember them.'

‘Oh, dear,' wailed the old woman, ‘those tiny things – please leave me those. There's no harm in keeping something to remember one's youth by. They weigh next to nothing. A trifle like that won't make or break the government.'

‘Oh no, you don't!' decided Hackendahl. ‘We're supposed to give all our gold to the government and we will. I don't understand you, Mother. You had to give up Erich and Otto and now you're crying over a couple of gold thingummies.'

‘But I also cry about Erich and Otto. When I hear the postman on the stairs I always begin to cry …'

‘I know, Mother,' he said soothingly. ‘It's not easy, but it must be done so that we win. And we get iron in exchange, Mother! Why otherwise am I called Iron Gustav? Iron suits us much better than gold.'

‘I'll
get them.' And she went into the bedroom.

Hackendahl looked round. Eva had gone too. No, he hadn't forgotten Eva. He looked at the heap of gold – no, her ring wasn't there. Everything had to be given up. To keep back the article most treasured was no sacrifice at all.

He listened. The place was quiet. But it always was whenever Heinz was at school. He was the only one who brought a bit of life into the house. Eva used to go about singing, but she didn't now. Still as the grave. And he'd have to go to her room soon and fetch the ring.

Hackendahl sat down in his wife's chair and looked at the golden heap. For a man in his position he was sacrificing a great deal. But it was not enough. There was a ring missing. Though only a trifle was withheld it rendered the sacrifice to no avail. It was just as in the army – partial order was no order. A spot on a button, a speck on the heel of a brilliantly polished boot – and there was no order.

That's why you were here – on the planet, in Germany, in the coach yard, in this house – to see that in this place, for which the Hackendahls were responsible, everything was in order. Then you felt good and had a good conscience about yourself and before your Kaiser and the Almighty. You just mustn't give in, yield to no exceptions, be cast-iron. Iron!

Lost in his thoughts, Hackendahl pushed the gold coins to and fro, building little towers and afterwards arranging them in something like a cross. Yes, Otto had already been awarded the Iron Cross. Who would have thought the boy had it in him? But it must have been an accident, though he was certainly no weakling. It had been a good day, being able to tell people: my son's been awarded the Iron Cross. He had gone with the news everywhere, not forgetting the taverns, where of late he had spent a good deal of time, as one did now that Rabause saw to everything and one had nothing much to do. Hackendahl's whole life had been one of intense activity – who would have thought that a war, a great war, would force him to become acquainted with boredom and inaction?

Hackendahl sat there frowning and played with his gold coins. He was absolutely sure that neither Mother nor Eva had given up their valuables to him, which he would have to find and chase. But he sat
there and could not decide! Was it because he feared a confrontation with his daughter? That ring with the brown stone – she must have been given it by her young man.

He sighed heavily and pushed the gold into a heap again. He looked searchingly around the room, still unable to decide. Finally he called out, endeavouring to give his voice the old commanding ring: ‘Mother, where are you? I'm waiting.'

‘I can't find the earrings,' she called back. ‘And I forget where I put them. It's years since …'

‘Hurry up,' he urged. ‘I want to be at the Purchase Centre by twelve. They close at one.'

‘I'm looking. I won't be a moment, Father.'

In that moment he could have gone to Eva. He already had the doorknob in his hand when he heard Rabause shouting in the yard. Hackendahl went to the window. ‘What is it, Rabause?' he asked. ‘Who's there?'

‘It's someone from Eggebrecht's. But I said you had no time, you wanted to hand in your gold.'

‘What is it?'

‘Herr Eggebrecht returned this morning with horses from Poland. But you would have to go there at once or they'll be gone, like last time.'

‘I'm coming,' cried Hackendahl in his old voice. Horses! For many, many months he had been looking out for some, unsuccessfully. ‘Mother, don't bother about the gold now – or go there yourself if you want to. You know, the Reichsbank, Unter den Linden. I'm off – Eggebrecht has brought horses from Poland.'

‘Father! Father! You must tell me how much money you want for the gold and how many iron watch chains. Shall I take one for myself as well?'

‘Do what you like. I've no time now or the horses will go. I must have horses! Where's my chequebook? Evchen, I'm glad you've come before I went. Eggebrecht has got some horses and I must go at once or they'll be sold again. You'll add your ring to the other things, you promise, don't you? I have to fly now.' And he hurried downstairs.

‘Listen, Evchen!' said Frau Hackendahl, almost laughing. ‘Father's running downstairs like a youngster. As soon as he hears something about horses …'

‘Horses come first with him.'

‘Let him buy all the horses he wants even if business is doing badly. You know, people are saying horse cabs are finished but it's no life for Father without them – he was starting to drink. Well, that'll come to a stop when he gets some more horses.'

‘Yes, so long as he has something to order about – horses, drivers, children – it's all the same to him.'

‘Father was always like that, Evchen, even in Pasewalk when he was quite young. On leave, why, he was so unbearable, never still a moment, out of one room, in the other, all day long, measuring with a ruler where the bedroom rugs ought to be put. And our canary – but you wouldn't remember him – Father would weigh out Hänschen's seeds on the letter scales. He used to go to the post office specially.'

‘I don't know how you stood it, Mother.'

‘Whatever do you mean, Evchen? How queer you are! Father's always been very good – you wait till you meet other men. You always do nothing but complain because he's a bit of a disciplinarian. But you shouldn't complain about that – you've no reason to. You know you do as you like! But where's your ring?'

‘I won't give it up, Mother.'

‘And there's no need to, either. Luckily Father's gone off to Eggebrecht's and I'm to take the gold. But I won't do it myself – it's too far for my poor varicose veins. You go and tell me what it's like so that I can tell Father I've been. But you'll have to hurry, though, and come back quickly.'

‘Yes, but Mother, I might just as well go to the bureau in the Frankfurter Strasse. Surely it's all the same.'

‘No, don't do that. The Reichsbank is the most important and Father won't have less. If the rubber stamps on the receipts don't show that we've—'

‘Then
I'll go to the Reichsbank.'

‘Well, get ready and go at once. And listen, I've said you needn't give up your ring, I quite understand what that means to a girl but you ought to tell me more, Evchen. I can see quite well what's going on. So you take care he marries you before anything happens. Father wouldn't regard that as a joking matter.'

‘Oh …'

‘I know daughters would rather tell anyone other than their own mothers. But you'll come and tell me all about it one of these days. Well, I'm not giving up my earrings either; they weigh nothing and Father won't notice … And now look, promise me solemnly never to tell your father – I'm taking back three of the big gold coins and three of the small ones.'

‘Mother!'

‘That's not underhand, Evchen. I don't want them for myself – I want to put them by. They're always talking about sacrifices but nobody knows what's in store for us. Bread is already rationed. Sacrifice only holds good for us small people – nobody hears a word about what the bigger fry are doing. But you can guess. They won't make the Kaiser have a bread card or ask whether he's given up all the gold and silver plate in the Schloss … No, you're right, child. Well, you'd better go now. And when you come back don't run straight into Father, will you?'

There was a great clatter of hoofs in the cobbled yard and Frau Hackendahl poked her head out of the window, which she ought not to have done because Eva had not yet come back from the Reichsbank. But Hackendahl was thinking neither about gold nor the Reichsbank at that moment.

‘We've got our horses, Mother,' he cried. ‘Now the business will buck up!'

His wife stared. She had seen many a horse in that courtyard and whenever she went into town with Father he made her look at horse
flesh. She therefore understood something about it. ‘Aren't they very small?'

‘Small!' Hackendahl was terribly annoyed. ‘Small! They're not smaller than you are. Come on, Rabause, help me get them into the stables. We've work to do now. Small! She thinks that in wartime we harness elephants to the cabs …' He swallowed hard. ‘I'm not coming in for supper,' he shouted in another burst of anger. ‘You can eat by yourselves. I've work to do.'

‘Seventeen of them,' said Rabause. ‘Well, we can put twenty cabs into service again and give the grey and the bay a rest – they couldn't have stood it much longer.'

‘You're right,' agreed Hackendahl. ‘That's what I thought. And the woman says they're small!'

‘Not quite as big as our old ones, perhaps,' hazarded Rabause.

‘Not quite as big!' protested Hackendahl. ‘Don't talk nonsense, Rabause. Proper ponies – that's what they are. Russian horses, Polish horses – that's the name for 'em. Small! Of course they're small! They've got to be or else we wouldn't have 'em – the army would have taken them.'

‘That's right,' said Rabause. ‘Ponies. I've seen this kind before, Governor, at the Circus …'

‘Circus! What a thing to say, Rabause! Circus – that's as bad as my wife. This isn't a circus here.'

‘I know, Governor. I only mentioned it.'

‘All right, I just thought you were harping on the same string as my wife. Rabause, it seems to me we shall have to alter the harness. It won't fit these … ponies. I'll have the saddler round at once. And we'll have the blacksmith to alter the shaft irons.'

‘It'll cost a heap of money, Governor, and then when peace comes and we get proper horses again …'

‘But it isn't peace now, Rabause, it's war, and I'm adapting myself to new conditions. I've been waiting and waiting for peace but I'm not waiting any longer. As far as I'm concerned there's a war on, and I want to have something to do besides merely waiting. No, I'm glad that I've work to do again. And you're glad too, aren't you, Rabause? It wasn't a life with only five broken-down nags.'

‘Yes,
you bet I'm glad. We'll be able to feed this sort of horse however much oats are rationed.'

‘That's a fact, Rabause. And if oats get scarce they'll manage with just hay. Eggebrecht says that in Russia they get nothing but straw. Not that I'd do that, though. Work calls for food.'