Iron Gustav (41 page)

‘I don't know, Father. That leaves us with nothing at all.'

‘And what do we get out of the house now? Only worry about gettin' in the rents and payin' the interest. No, I want to live without worry for a time.'

‘Well, you do as you think best, Father. I never interfere with your money matters, you know that … And we still have our War Loans.'

‘No, Mother, that's jus' what I want to say to Bayer as well – he c'n have what's left of the War Loans after I've bought my horse, in return for letting us both – the horse as well, that's understood – live here rent-free for life … then I'll be rid of that worry, too.'

‘But
we shan't have anything left except the little you earn with the cab.'

‘Yes, we won't have anything left, an' that's what I want.'

Very perturbed, the old woman sat up in bed, glanced at her husband and said: ‘Well, you must do as you like, Father. But you realize that Heinz hasn't yet taken his examination and there's a long time to go after that. It can't be done on the few coppers the cab brings in. And Erich will be coming home soon, without a job, and we can't say what will happen about Sophie either.'

‘No, we can't, Mother, you're right there. We can't say what's happening to our children.'

There was a long silence, on her part anxious, on his almost defiant. Then he began to speak again. ‘Mother, have you seen that rubbish newspaper they've stuck through the door?'

‘Is that why you're so angry, Father?'

‘I'm not angry, Mother. Have you read that our Kaiser, who we swore allegiance to, has scarpered to Holland? Just imagine, his soldiers fought four years for him and his people starved for as long, and now – when things go wrong – off he goes! Wilhelm the Runaway – that's what they call him. Pullman Wilhelm!'

‘So, Father? So? Do you want to leave everything – your children, your money – like Wilhelm?'

‘No, Mother. Quieten down! I'm not going to do a bunk yet!' His big hand reached over into the other bed and comfortingly held hers. ‘I'm an iron man, you know that. I'll stay with my cab. But, Mother, I don't want to hurt you, but I think it's our children who've done a bunk from us. To think of parents only when you want somethin' – no, that's not good enough. I'm tired of it.'

‘But, Father, it's always been like that. When the young birds are fledged they leave the nest and don't worry about their parents. You can't expect anything different, can you, Father?'

‘You can't compare human beings with animals, you know that. I was taught that a child should love, respect an' admire its parents. I dunno, Mother, I s'pose it's my fault, but not one of my children loves me.'

‘Don't say that, Father. Heinz …'

‘There you are, Mother! Only one of your five occurs to you and
he won't grow up any different … No, it's nothing to do with parents or children, and not the soldiers either. They did their duty – and their chief of staff just scarpered. It's the times we're living in. And if it is that, there's nothing we can do about it. We've just got to look after ourselves, that's all. I'd like to have a bit of fun again, have a proper horse in front an' go through the Tiergarten now and again with a good fare and see the crocuses comin' up, yeller 'n' blue 'n' white. And not keep on having to think: today you've got to give Erich a talking-to. And Heinz ain't come home at the right time either.'

‘Oh, is it because Heinz isn't home?'

‘How can it be, Mother? I've explained it all once. First it's one thing, then another, an' now it's too much. No good crying over spilt milk. Tell me, where d'you keep the odds and ends?'

‘The odds and ends? What d'you mean, Father?'

‘Why, the children's, of course.'

‘The children's? Oh, they're in the linen press, at the bottom. But, Father …'

She fell silent and, with anxiety in her eyes, watched the old man get out of bed and go to the press, which he started to empty of everything that had accumulated from the children – their school reports, copybooks, textbooks; a cap of Erich's; the earliest baby shoes belonging to the first child, Sophie; a half-used paintbox, some photographs of classes at school. Not until her husband opened the stove door and began to cram in all the paper and other things did she speak and say softly: ‘Oh, Father.'

He looked at her from under his bushy brows with his big round eyes and said, ‘Don't you fret, Mother – that's how things are.' And he set fire to the heap of paper, made sure that it had caught and then closed the stove.

Getting back into bed, he took her hand. ‘I'd like you,' he said, ‘to call me Gustav again. As names go, it's a decent sort of name and in future I want to live as Gustav. I've made a proper mess of being Father.'

‘Oh, Father.'

‘Gustav!'

‘I meant Gustav …'

‘And
I don't mind telling you, what with going to the pub and my risky life – driving or not driving, just as it takes me, Mother that must stop. For a start, because we can't afford it, because we're now poor folk again. And anyway, it's no fun any more either. No, we two oldies on our own, we want to live a bit of the sweet life, like we did when we started out. Even better, because now we know there'll be no more children to walk all over us.'

‘Oh, Father, why did you take it so badly that Heinz didn't come home tonight?'

‘For a start, I'm not “Father” but Gustav. But I'll have to tell you that a thousand times during the coming weeks. And I'll do it. I'm like iron in such things. And what do you mean by “taking it so badly”? If the grey doesn't pull any more, then off she goes to the knacker man, and when a child no longer wants to be a child, he'll have to stay away. I'm like iron about that too.'

‘Oh, Father …'

‘It's Gustav now.'

At any other time Heinz would have been astonished at his father's saying nothing whatever about his absence all night or his irregular mode of life, but stranger and more important happenings than this were nowadays ignored by Heinz Hackendahl, living in an enchanted world of his own. There was still fighting going on in Berlin (although the Independent Socialists and the governing Social Democrats had united and even formed a government with ministers and state secretaries), and looting in the city and the suburbs; iron shutters outside the shops offered little protection against the latest method of house-breaking with hand grenades.

Heinz saw it all on his various routes into town. And he heard and read about the dispute with regard to the calling of a National Assembly – the Workers' Councils were mostly against it while the Soldiers' Councils on the whole were in favour. And suddenly all the old parties were there – the Democrats, the National Liberals, the Centre and the Conservatives – telling all their supporters to back the new government, which then lifted the state of siege, ended press censorship, amnestied all political crimes, promised freedom of religion and opinion and introduced the eight-hour day. It went on to commit itself to fighting the housing shortage and even to support the unemployed, and promised the protection of property and person, and guaranteed sufficient food for the people.

Murder, theft and want were widespread and the food queues lengthened day by day – Heinz could not be unaware of all this but he was bewitched and the things that would have interested him passionately a week ago were hardly noticed now. So that when his father asked: ‘When are you takin' your exam?' he barely looked up.

‘I
don't know, Father – probably at Easter.' The truth was that he had quite simply stopped going to school.

‘Then do something about it – find out. I'm prepared to support you till Easter – after that, no.'

A little more attentive now, Heinz looked at his father. ‘Then it's all off with the university?'

The old man flushed. When he spoke it was not at all domineeringly. ‘I bought the black horse with the last of my money. You seen him?' Heinz nodded.

‘Fine little pony,' said the old man with more warmth, ‘cheers me up. An' with what I still had left I've rid your mother and me of rent for the rest of our lives an' got rid of the house too – all gone!'

‘The War Loans, too?'

The old man nodded, watching his son expectantly. Heinz however had smiled, thinking of his brother. But why mention Erich? Father had his own worries and so had Erich; he, Heinz, earlier called Bubi, had the greatest worry of them all. But that was a man's private affair. ‘I'll speak with Professor Degener,' he said. ‘Perhaps I can take the exam earlier. Then you'll be rid of me sooner.' Took his hat and left.

His father watched him go. Then he said to his wife in the kitchen: ‘I was right after all, Mother. Heinz won't be any diff'rent from the rest. But I'm glad about the black horse. Black's a lot better than grey … grey's always getting dirty, but black's black.'

Heinz Hackendahl stood in the street, undecided, his hands in the pocket of his very shabby greatcoat. He could go to the station, or he could go to his friend Irma. He could also do what he told his father he would, and ask Professor Degener about his chance of graduating.

Heinz would have liked to go to the station, but not to his friend Irma, whom he hadn't seen since that fateful evening. However, going to the station would have been unpleasant, and the path to his faithful friend pleasant. But a cunning fox always finds a way out, so Heinz did neither and went to Professor Degener.

The
professor was sitting at his desk. Giving Heinz a thin, blue-veined hand, he looked at him with his bright blue eyes and asked whether he would like a cigarette. ‘We all have tea together later.'

Heinz declined the cigarette and, without wondering what was meant by ‘all', hurriedly mumbled something about illness, absence from school and his examination.

Professor Degener made a vague gesture. ‘We're all ill nowadays. We all attend school irregularly. You know quite well what you need for the examination. The written part will be in February. I'd advise you to show up in class now and again – if only on account of my colleagues, you know.' These remarks were shot forth somewhat contemptuously, as if such matters had no importance, as indeed they had not for Heinz. Splendid! That was settled, then. And, the invitation to tea forgotten, he rose and thanked the professor who, with some hesitation, held out his hand, saying: ‘Oh, what I wanted to ask you was – have you seen any of your schoolfellows recently?'

‘No.'

‘If you'd care to wait a moment you'll be seeing quite a number of them. We have a kind of tea session here every day.'

Heinz, however, really had no time to spare … He didn't know which way to turn. ‘Of course! By the way, have you heard about what's going on in Cologne – the Workers' and Soldiers' Councils?'

An incredible situation had occurred in Cologne. The town had been completely overwhelmed within three days, flooded with lawless soldiers fleeing in waves from the western part of the Rhine region. All were bristling with weapons, and lacking food and drink. A minority took the ascendant and wanted rapine and plunder. Then this Workers' and Soldiers' Council sprang up, formed human chains, disarmed people, gave them food and drink, helped them.

‘All free and gratis, if you will, Hackendahl. Because when everything's finished …'

Heinz Hackendahl was silent. He'd forgotten he was in a hurry. But he was anyway not all there. He was like a traveller waiting between two trains. He had time, but no time to do anything with it. In his thoughts he was already travelling elsewhere.

The professor looked at him and said, raising his voice: ‘If blood is infected, the healthy corpuscles attack the invaders. A battle
follows. If the invaders are stronger, the person dies. But if the healthy corpuscles prevail, the person is restored to health.'

He reflected and thought: ‘I could imagine that such a battle was now taking place in Germany. It all depends on each of the healthy corpuscles …'

The teacher fell silent. Then, after a while, Heinz Hackendahl began to talk about the officer in the corridor of the Reichstag – that man who gave orders in the middle of chaos, untouched by the chaos.

Professor Degener nodded. ‘You see, he's an example of one. No, I don't know his name. Someone unknown. You can imagine how the machinations of the profiteers disgust him. But that's why he's for order. He may not be able to do more than guarantee that his people get regular meals – but that doesn't discourage him. He knows that order and cleanliness are good, and disorder and shady dealing bad. He's not put off, if others go to the bad …'

‘But what's going to happen to it all?' asked Heinz.

‘We don't know yet. Only no defeat. Your Reichstag officer and the people in Cologne – they're fighting for something they don't even know. It's sometimes good for people, Hackendahl, when they can only look a short way ahead … Perhaps that officer would despair if he knew how much longer the road is till somewhere is reached. Instead, he looks to the short term, and takes care to see that they have enough to eat and that their footwear is in order. He has nothing to do with disorder.'

Heinz Hackendahl went a little red. Everything Professor Degener had said could be directly applied to himself … It was undeniable that great disorder had come into his own life … and the extent of that disorder was measureless … But it was out of the question that the professor could have any idea of such a thing.

Professor Degener seemed not to notice his pupil's confusion. He chuckled and said, ‘Your classmates will be coming along presently, Hackendahl – some who have gathered round me. We, too, aren't going very regularly to school. I sometimes feel really nervous on entering the classroom. I feel my colleagues look with disfavour on me – that I deserve punishment and should be in detention …' The professor chuckled, and Heinz Hackendahl felt the same ardent love
for this man, who had remained as young as the youngest of his pupils, as had overcome him before.

‘But I have to admit that it's not because we dislike order. However, I'm no more than adviser to your comrades,' exclaimed the professor; ‘I'm not actually suited to the affairs we have in hand.' His smile was at once melancholy and somewhat sly. ‘We're collecting arms, my dear Hackendahl,' he went on. ‘Imagine – instead of harassing my boys with the second aorist I keep them on the run looking for arms. The task's not excessively difficult but it's far from unimportant. Some of the troops coming back home simply lean their guns – do you call them guns, by the way? – against the nearest wall or give them to anyone who asks for them. They've had enough of guns. Then there are the goods depots with wagons filled with machine-guns, trench mortars and field guns – the men are in a hurry to get home, one can understand that – and so the wagons are left there for anybody to open, whether he's for or against order.'

Heinz nodded. It was strange how you couldn't help coming under this man's influence, let him lecture on the garments worn by the women of Ancient Greece or on guns …

‘That is,' said the professor, suddenly quite cheerful, ‘our ambition doesn't reach as far as field guns and trench mortars; up till now our biggest achievement has been a few heavy machine-guns. I often try to find out from your comrades how heavy they are – I don't want them to injure themselves – but they won't divulge it. I suppose you've no idea, Hackendahl, of the approximate weight? I'm really worried at times.'

But Hackendahl had, alas, no idea. Moreover he was convinced that the professor wasn't worried in the slightest but was merely laughing at him – perhaps because this pupil had no share in these things.

‘It's not altogether without danger, you know, Hackendahl. People have such strange prejudices … If a man in any sort of uniform whatever goes about with a gun, that's all right. But a pupil, a schoolboy, a youngster, let alone the parents!' The professor sighed audibly, then pulled himself together. ‘But that's immaterial. The main thing is for the boys to get the better of our chaos and this they are now doing by collecting arms as frequently and as cheaply as possible.'

‘And
why do you collect arms, Herr Professor?'

The teacher's eyes flashed, but he spoke quite calmly. ‘You've rather lost touch with us, haven't you, Hackendahl? Perhaps very different matters occupy you.'

Heinz flushed, confused and indignant.

‘But there is no shame in being in chaos. There is only shame in remaining so, in disorder.'

What a terrible teacher stood before him! Heinz Hackendahl was shocked and wanted to leave. But he wanted to defend himself and stayed.

‘It's odd,' went on the professor, ‘but until now not one boy asked me that question. Perhaps they've told themselves that the fewer weapons there are in unknown hands the less the danger for the community. Or maybe they haven't thought about it at all …'

‘But you, Herr Professor …'

‘Yes, my son, I also see only the famous short term. I tell myself that all the troops now returning are still not the front line. The Front is still out there, Hackendahl. Don't forget that – the Front that's stood for four years against the whole world, the unknown Front, which we in the rear only get to see in individual parts. Now it's coming back to us in closed ranks, and we know nothing about it. Perhaps it needs weapons?'

‘What for? The war's over isn't it?'

He felt he was speaking with his brother's voice. He didn't want to say what he had, but said it all the same.

‘We've now got an armistice. An armistice still isn't peace.'

‘We'll never fight again,' cried Heinz. ‘The war must end! We must finally have peace.'

‘An imposed peace? A peace for slaves?'

‘But we just can't go on!'

‘What do you know of what we can do?' The professor's blue eyes were flashing like a true Prussian. He was angry. ‘Have you ever in your life gone to the limits of what you can do? And you want to speak about, speak
for
, us?'

Heinz thought of that villa in Zehlendorf, and his brother with his clever but unscrupulous talk. Luxury. Wine in crystal glasses, and the beautiful, unbelievably beautiful woman with glittering hair,
every schoolboy's earthly dream, and every man's … And she put her cool white arms around his brother's shoulders, and talked of idealists and egoists. And already all this meant nothing. Because all of us want to hold the earth's dream in our arms, dream it, possess it – ‘Stay a while, you are so beautiful'! And we might want to run around on cold November nights dragging heavy weapons about. But that house is shining bright, with warmth and style. No, that's not it! Not that!