Iron Gustav (70 page)

Then came an afternoon when Herr Doctor Hoppe seemed quite changed. Restlessly he wandered through the bank, not hearing the questions addressed to him, vanishing hurriedly into his holy of holies, dashing out again immediately for no apparent reason – good-humoured, noisy, buttonholing everybody, spluttering his ‘Ha ha' into each face – then abruptly gloomy, taciturn, almost bad-tempered. One might have thought he had had a drop too much, but it wasn't that.

‘Today I accept no deposits,' he shouted suddenly. ‘Gentlemen, decline all custom. No more money.'

The employees stared at each other, perplexed.

‘But what are we to tell the clients?' whispered one.

‘Never mind what you tell them,' shouted Dr Hoppe. ‘I've had enough of it. I don't want any more money. Tell them,' he said, suddenly calmer, ‘that at the moment we have no profitable investment. Perhaps tomorrow.' And he vanished into his office.

‘Cracked!' whispered Erich Menz.

The doubtful Heinz shook his head. And, doing so, saw a man
come in through the revolving door. Heinz ducked and almost disappeared behind his desk.

The man spoke in an undertone with a clerk at the barrier, who looked hesitatingly towards the private office. Then the visitor whispered something soothing and the clerk let him through.

Heinz, as mentioned, had hidden himself. It wouldn't have been pleasant to be recognized by his brother Erich – Erich, fat and puffy but very elegant, almost too elegant in his top hat.

After a quarter of an hour Herr Hoppe came out, escorting his visitor to the door. This time Erich was carrying one of the bank's attaché cases.

And as he came back to the counter Herr Hoppe remarked cheerfully: ‘I've received good news. Three more borings have struck lucky. Gentlemen, we accept deposits again!'

From the moment Heinz Hackendahl saw his brother Erich in the main hall of the bank, leaving with an attaché case belonging to the boss, his suspicions almost crystallized into a certainty. Hoppe & Co. was a shady business! Erich was involved, and up till now he had only known Erich to be involved in businesses that were shady. The business must be shady if Erich was in it.

It wasn't a thing he could talk about to Menz – he didn't want Menz to know he had a brother like that; while with Irma, who certainly didn't think any better of Erich than he did, he didn't want to talk about it – the baby would be coming in barely a fortnight. He had to decide for himself and shoulder the responsibility. What am I to do? he thought. If I give up the job of my own accord I won't be entitled to the dole. Shall I go to the police? I haven't a shred of evidence. And Irma and I have nothing to fall back on – a hundred marks at the most. What on earth should I do? He thought again. Yes, I must give up the job. I won't have a hand in anything dirty. But Irma – Irma will reproach me. And with a child coming, and no job …

Such thoughts ran through his head, but didn't stay there. There
were future worries, too – but those of the present were more urgent. Gloomy-faced he sat at his desk. Of course it was insane to be paying thirty-six per cent interest! It must be a fraud. He'd been blind not to have seen through it from the first. Everybody had been taken in. They were so suspicious and greedy; their thirst for money, their desire to win the lost war in their own case at least, to do a little fleecing on their own account and let the others die like dogs, cried to heaven. This Lemke was a perfect example. When Hoppe made him a present of money by paying interest to which the man was not entitled – that is, did the most bewildering thing a businessman could do – then Lemke became trustful. Just when he was really being cheated.

Yes, one must get out of this rotten joint! I've been a fool, thought Heinz. I've sworn never to have anything to do with Erich again. And he started looking in the newspapers for vacancies. How few there were; only now did it come home to him how really very few there were. And he always arrived too late. ‘Sorry, filled long ago. You must get up a bit earlier, young man.'

It was a miserable atmosphere that one took from such job applications. But it couldn't be helped – miserable or not, job or no job – it was a dirty business, and he wouldn't put up with it.

Each morning as he took leave of Irma – now very heavy indeed – to rush to the office, he cursed himself for his cowardice. He ought not to go. He was a coward. The same thing had happened with Erich and Tinette. No, he could never forget Erich; everything brought him back to mind. In those days he had vowed a hundred times never to return to her luxurious villa, and yet he had gone, as he did now to the office every morning. He had been a coward for so long, he had reached rock bottom – humiliation and ignominious defeat. That couldn't happen again. He must give up the job … Yes, if it weren't for Irma and the baby he'd have the courage to do so. However, making plans about everything you would and would not do, if and when, was merely a cowardly excuse. If only Herr Hoppe would give him notice! Then he'd be entitled to the dole. (Yet another ‘if and when'.)

Heinz became irritable and taciturn. He answered enquiries vaguely, sat openly chewing his pen when there was plenty to do,
said ‘Herr Hoppe' instead of ‘Herr Doctor Hoppe', and sported a tie with a good deal of red in it. It was all very childish, he knew, and he was being a horrible coward in thus throwing the decision as to his fate onto another person, but he did it nevertheless, persevering in it, shirking the issue. One must be practical, he consoled himself, be a realist. You are not to throw away dirty water till you've got some clean, that's proverbial.

And then it was all over much more quickly than he would have thought possible. Indeed someone else did take the decision out of Heinz Hackendahl's hands; for, as he was rushing off to the post office with some letters one day, a man entered the bank and, looking through the glass of the revolving door, saw Heinz going out. Both were pushing energetically; Heinz pushed Erich into the bank with no less determination than Erich pushed Heinz out, and while they did this the two glanced at each other through the glass. Heinz looked furious yet embarrassed; Erich seemed calmly to take in the situation – the letters in his brother's hand, the fact that he was without an overcoat …

Heinz came to a stop outside – impossible not to. In there, in the hall, he could see his brother watching him through the glass. Erich made no sign of recognition, showed no intention of speaking. For a moment the two enemy brothers stared at each other. Heinz thought of something quite superficial. He's got his top hat on again, the idiot – but he always was an idiot. As if he hadn't got anything worse against his brother than this idiocy! Then others pushed in between them and Erich vanished. Very slowly and thoughtfully, Heinz went to the post office with his express letters. Whatever happens I'll end it today, he said to himself. I'm a miserable cur, and a coward. I'll give notice, dole or no dole.

But he didn't give notice after all, because it was he who received it. Brother Erich had few scruples; it was enough for him to have seen Heinz there.

‘Tell me,' said Herr Hoppe throatily, ‘tell me – I hear your name is Hackendahl?'

‘Yes, Herr Hoppe.'

‘Why do you call yourself Dahlhacke? Tell me!'

‘Never have called myself so,' said Heinz. ‘You called me it.'

‘Very odd! Why should I call you Dahlhacke if your name's Hackendahl? Perhaps you'll kindly explain that to me.'

‘Evidently you misunderstood my name.'

‘Oh, indeed. And obviously you didn't correct me because you didn't want me to make enquiries about you, what?'

‘And now you've made them – from Herr Hackendahl.'

‘Do you know to whom you're speaking, young man? I'm your boss … you wouldn't live without me.'

‘I always thought it was my father …'

‘Young man!'

‘Hackendahl's my name.'

‘Well,' said Herr Hoppe after a moment's thought, ‘I've no more use for you. With me every day's the end of the month. You're given notice as from today, and dismissed; here is your month's salary. Tiedtke, or whoever has time, will complete your papers. And now clear out!'

‘Good day, Herr Hoppe,' said Heinz, unbelievably relieved. It had happened; he had survived. He was ready for anything. Erich was good for one thing: he was an excellent cure for cowardice.

One evening two days later, Irma put aside her half-finished baby trousers, sighed lightly, and said: ‘I think it's time, Heinz.'

‘Then let's go,' said Heinz. ‘But will you still be able to walk?'

‘Of course I will!' – and they walked in peace to the hospital.

‘Go gently with the young mother,' said Irma. ‘I must first be sure that it really is time. What I've got is hardly more than strong stomach pains.'

She then told him once again the embarrassing story of her friend who had herself driven to the hospital with the most terrible pains, with husband, mother and chauffeur in a veritable panic, thinking that it could happen in the car. Into the hospital they went, waited a night, one day, a week, two weeks. Went home because it was nothing like time – and, hardly reaching home, gave birth.

‘I'd die of shame! No. Let's wait another half an hour.'

For that half an hour, which lasted two hours of the night, they walked up and down in front of the hospital. Sometimes Irma held fast to the railings, sometimes to the lamp-post, sometimes to her husband. ‘It's stupid that we've no experience, Heinz,' she complained. ‘We could easily have stayed at home another hour.'

‘The first time's the first time,' said Heinz sagely. ‘You'll know all about it next time.'

‘But I could have finished the baby's trousers, and then everything would have been proper.' Irma was in ignorance that not everything would have been proper even so, to wit, the main thing – his job. She didn't know yet that Heinz was unemployed. He hadn't told her that the last two days he had gone to the unemployment office instead of to the bank – astounding how many documents you had to produce proving you were unemployed, unemployed through no fault of your own and willing to accept work at any time since it wasn't the desire for a settled income which had made you prefer the dole to a decent salary.

Married women must have something like clairvoyance. ‘Heinz,' asked Irma suddenly, ‘is your job all right?'

‘Of course,' he lied boldly. ‘Why shouldn't it be?'

She looked at him with suspicion. ‘You've seemed so cheerful the last few days.'

‘Excuse me, but do you think I'd be happy if I was out of a job?'

‘Heinz, don't do anything silly while I'm in hospital.'

‘Lord, no. But I think we'd better go in now.'

‘Give me five more minutes. I don't want to make a fool of myself.'

And she managed it so that she was rushed from the reception room without any of the usual formalities, and the last Heinz heard from her was: ‘You see, Heinz, I didn't come too early.'

‘Well, young man,' said the senior nurse in the reception room, ‘couldn't you have come a bit earlier? Grudged the fares, I suppose, eh?'

However, Irma's way of doing things spared Heinz a sleepless night, for the various papers were not completed when a nurse entered: ‘It's all over, young father. Congratulations.'

‘Well, I never,' he said surprised. ‘That's quick work. What is it?'

‘The young mother will tell you herself tomorrow. Now you'd better make yourself scarce. It's already past midnight.'

However, although it was past midnight, Heinz did not go home. He found the weather just right for a long walk. Spring was approaching, which generally means particularly unpleasant weather. A biting wind soon brought snow, then rain, in his face. Nevertheless, a very relaxed Heinz reached the little stationery shop, and gave Widow Quaas a nearly lethal shock by drumming on the window pane.

Then, when she was sure he was not a thief, but merely her son-in-law, she received another shock when she learned that she was now a grandmother. She fiddled about, hands shaking, with her dressing gown, while he stood outside. He was supposed to go in, but did not want to.

‘Oh, goodness me, you're such a sight, Heinz,' she complained. ‘There's nothing wrong with Irma, is there? At least have a coffee! When did it happen?'

‘After twelve, Quaasi,' said Heinz. ‘And it nearly happened on the street!'

‘Oh, my goodness! But do come in and have a coffee. You'll catch your death in that wind. Oh dear! I didn't even ask – boy or girl?'

‘They don't know yet, mother-in-law,' shouted Heinz out of the dark, stormy night. ‘They're waiting for the doctor. They'll know by midday tomorrow – no, today.'

And he ran off into the dark. For a long time he thought he could hear her moaning, but it must just have been the wind whistling in all the joints, cracks and keyholes of the buildings.

In Wexstrasse he didn't even need to go upstairs. A light was already on in the stable. His father, sitting by his horse, slowly turned his head towards his son as he came in and listened wordlessly to what he had to say.

He also asked: ‘A boy?', but was told that his son did not yet know.

‘What does it matter?' said his father. ‘It won't have to go into the army any more – whether boy or a girl. It's all the same now! Are you pleased?'

‘Of course!'

‘Of course! Funny, when you consider how pleased I was with all of you. You can't possibly understand how stupid one felt.'

‘That's probably why I'm so pleased now.'

‘Naturally, because you think you'll be a completely different kind of father. Well, let's leave it at that. I don't want to annoy you. I only hope that your child doesn't hurt you as much as you hurt me. Then you can be happy.'