Wolf Among Wolves (21 page)

And suddenly she could see their room, the ugly den gilded by the rays of love.… There they had laughed, slept, talked, read.… Wolf stood brushing his teeth at the wash stand. She said something.…

“I can’t hear,” he shouted. “Talk louder.”

She did.

“Louder.” He went on brushing his teeth. “I can’t hear a word. Louder still.”

She obeyed, he brushed, the soap foamed.

“I said much louder.”

She obeyed and they laughed.

Here they had been together; she had waited for him, never in vain.…

And she saw the street in one quick stab and knew that she was walking along … fairy fountain … Hermannspark … on, still farther on … And now she was in the country, with fields and forests, bridges and bushes … And again towns full of houses with doorways, and again land and water, vast oceans … and distant lands and country and town; unimaginable.… The myriad potentialities of life at every corner in every village … “To thee will I give all the glory of them.” Her brain grew confused. “And I will worship before you if you will give me back our room and the vigil for him within it.”

Slowly the world went dark. Everything was extinguished. The world was obscured. Dark shreds floated away, hiding her.… At one moment she thought she could still see the curtains in the room, yellow-gray, and hanging limp and motionless in the immense sultry heat. Then they too were swallowed up in the night.

The servant Ernst laid his hand on her shoulder and said admonishingly: “Fräulein, please, Fräulein.”

Petra saw him from a long way off and, as if she had been urgently waiting to put the question ever since he had gone, asked at once: “What did they say?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “Where has the young master, gone to?” She hesitated and he said soothingly: “You needn’t feel embarrassed with me. I’m only his aunt’s servant. I needn’t tell her everything.”

“He has gone to get some money.” He couldn’t learn anything worse from her than he had heard upstairs.

“And hasn’t come back?”

“No. Not yet. I’m waiting.”

They were both silent for a while, she waiting for what fate and perhaps this man had in store for her, he undecided whether to go away and report to his mistress. He could guess without difficulty what Frau Major General von Anklam thought of this girl, and what she would say to active help. All the same.…

Ernst stepped slowly through the doorway on to the street to look irresolutely right and left, but the man they expected was nowhere to be seen. For a moment he entertained the thought of simply going away. The girl would not hinder him at all, he believed; it was an easy solution; any other might bring him into difficulties with Her Excellency. Or cost him money—and the less the
value of the small capital which Ernst had for a lifetime saved up, the more firmly he held on to it. In his small room at home he would fill one tea canister after another with notes and their incredible figures.

Nevertheless.…

He looked up and down the street once more, but there was no one.

Hesitatingly, almost a little indignant with himself, he went back to the doorway and asked with reluctance: “And suppose the young master doesn’t bring any money?”

She looked at him with a slight movement of the head—revived by the vague prospect, suggested in the servant’s words, that Wolfgang would still return, even if penniless.

“And suppose he doesn’t come back at all, what will you do then?”

Her head fell forward, her eyelids closed—without uttering a word it was clear enough that she would then be indifferent to everything. “Fräulein,” he, said uncertainly, “a manservant doesn’t earn much. And I’ve lost all my savings, but if you would like to take this …”

He tried to push a note for 50,000 marks into her hand; he had taken it out of his worn, thin pocketbook. And as she withdrew her hand, he went on more insistently: “No, no, you must take it. It’s only for the fare, so that you can go home.” He stopped short and pondered. “You can’t go on standing here like this. Surely you’ve got some relative to go to?”

He broke off again. It struck him that she could not possibly get on a streetcar in such a get-up, legs bare to above the knee, slippers down-at-heel, a man’s miserable overcoat displaying too much of her breast.

He stood there embarrassed, almost angry. He would like to help her but—how could one help her? He couldn’t exactly take her with him, dress her, and then what? “O God, Fräulein,” he said, suddenly downcast. “How could the young master have let things get to this?”

But Petra had understood only one thing. “So you also think that he won’t come back?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “How can I tell? Have you quarreled? Weren’t you going to get married today?”

Marry! Yes. She’s heard the word but hadn’t given it any further thought. “We’re getting married today,” she said, and laughed vaguely. She remembered that today was the day she would be getting rid of the name Ledig, which had always been something like a stain. She remembered it when she woke up, didn’t dare look for his wallet, and was sure of it all the same. It would happen today! Then the first doubts came—his indecisive attitude when she first urged
him, then demanded, then begged.… And how she already felt when the door slammed—Well, it won’t be today after all.

Suddenly (and incomprehensibly, because hunger had caused her burning head even to forget that, though it had happened)—suddenly, in front of the mirror, she realized, she knew that he might well have gone, but that he would still remain with her, in her forever. What had happened next—the humiliating begging in Frau Thumann’s kitchen, the squinting at Ida’s brioche, the expulsion, the endless passive waiting in the corridor—that was all caused by hunger, that crafty enemy of body and brain that had made her forget what she never should have forgotten, that he was in her.

What was the matter? Was she bewitched? So far she had always managed to get along. Her mother may have been as brutal as she could be—a few tears and Petra went on. The fascinating gentlemen with knife-sharp creases to their trousers may have proved vulgar and stingy she had set her teeth and gone on. Wolfgang might return or might not return—that was dreadful, yes. But for twenty-two years she had eaten humble pie for her own sake, and now she was standing there doing nothing, bespoken and not called for, when, for the first time in her life, another being was dependent on her, on her alone—no other woman in the world could replace her. It was absurd.

A stream of thoughts entered her mind, so that she was almost overwhelmed. After hunger had immersed her poor head for a time in dark, vague dreams, it now made it over-active, wide awake and clear—everything seemed simple. She had somebody to look after, and because this somebody was within herself she must first of all look after herself—this was obvious. Everything would then come right again.

And while she was thinking this, she was already thinking about other things. She was already making her plans—the things to be done immediately and the things later. And therefore she said suddenly, clear and decided: “Yes, it’s nice of you to give me the money. I can make good use of it. Many thanks.”

The manservant looked at her dumbfounded. Only the fraction of a minute had passed since he reminded her that today she had intended to marry. Ernst could not guess the train of thought this one remark had evoked, or what she had experienced and planned in these few seconds. He saw only the change in her face, which was no longer vacant but full of life and had even regained some of its color. Instead of a hesitating mutter he heard energetic tones, almost a command. Without any hesitation he put the money in her hand.

“Well, Fräulein,” he said, a little angry, “so you’re alert again. Why? The registry office is closed by now. I really believe you’ve had a drop too much.

“No,” she replied. “An idea has occurred to me, that’s all—I haven’t been drinking. I appear strange to you because I’ve eaten nothing for a long time and that makes one queer in the head.”

“Eaten nothing!” Ernest now waxed really indignant. All his life he had had his meals regularly at the appointed times. “Nothing to eat! The young master oughtn’t to do such things.”

She looked at him with a half-smile. She knew what was passing through his mind, what he was indignantly thinking and feeling, and she had to smile. When the well-trained servant, grown gray in dealings with the upper circles, actually took up her side against the young master, she perceived how widely separated men were. The young master could have ill-treated her, deceived her as much as he liked, jilted her—all this would not have made the servant so angry (nor most of his fellow-beings). But that he should have starved her—no, that was not done.

Ernst was eyeing her attentively. She could guess the big step which he was about to take, and therefore she made it easy for him. “If you would bring me a few rolls,” she said. “Just round the corner is a baker’s shop. And then you needn’t bother about me anymore. As soon as I’ve eaten something I’ll manage all right. I’ve an idea.”

“Of course I’ll fetch you some rolls,” he said eagerly. “And perhaps something to drink. Milk, eh?”

He hurried off, went into three, four shops—butter, bread, rolls, sausages, a few tomatoes.… He no longer thought of his savings.… The fact that a human being was hungry and with nothing to eat had quite confused him. The young master oughtn’t to have done it, he thought again and again. She may be no better than she should be, but to let her go hungry—no!

He hurried, harassing himself and the sleepy shopkeepers; everything had to be done urgently. He would have liked to say: “Please, it’s for somebody who is starving.” But when he returned he was still more perplexed, for she was no longer there. Neither in the doorway, nor in the street, nor in the courtyard. She had gone.

He decided to go up to Frau Thumann once more, certainly not with much pleasure, for she, in her unrestrained scandal-mongering had only too dismal a likeness to Her Excellency Frau Major General Bettina von Anklam. But he encountered no one but Ida, by now dressed half professionally, half in deshabille—who rather frightened him. For the young lady inquired very ungraciously whether he hadn’t a screw loose, because: “That bitch doesn’t
come here again, I’ll see to that. If she rings here, I’ll give it to her. I don’t know what such people imagine!”

Ernst descended again, went through the courtyard, came again to the doorway.

No one stood in the shade there. Shaking his head he went into the street: no one. He couldn’t take these bags of food, this bottle of milk, back to his mistress. Fräulein would be sure to see them, and was certain to tell Her Excellency.

He returned, piled up his purchases in the darkest corner behind the door, and then walked away, not without looking round several times. Only when he was sitting in the subway did he cease to think back and, instead, thought of the future. What should he tell Her Excellency?

After careful consideration he decided to say as little as possible.

Chapter Five
The Storm Breaks

I

About three o’clock the police sergeant, Leo Gubalke, returned from his allotment near the rolling-stock depot of Rummelsburg to his flat in Georgenkirchstrasse. He had ample time to change for duty and for a thorough wash, but not enough for the nap he had hoped to have. His very strenuous spell of duty lasted from four o’clock in the afternoon till two o’clock in the morning, and it was always better if he had a little sleep beforehand; it was good for his work and, above all, for his nerves.

Oberwachtmeister Gubalke was alone in his two-roomed flat. Since morning his wife had been at the allotment (North Pole estate); his two girls had gone there direct from school. Into the kitchen he brought the big tub which his wife used for the washing, and scrubbed himself slowly and carefully from top to toe.

It was an old controversy between them as to how best to wash all over. He himself started at the top and proceeded downwards: head, neck, shoulders, chest and so on, till he arrived at the feet. This was truly methodical and clean, for nothing which had already been cleansed was affected by the washing of the next part. Besides, it was economical, since the soapy water, as it flowed downwards, soaked those parts of the body to be dealt with later.

Frau Gubalke did not wish to grasp this method or, if she did, avoided it. She washed herself unsystematically: now the back, then the feet, now the chest, next the thighs. Oberwachtmeister Gubalke had to deal with hysterical women nearly every day, yet he was firmly convinced that women could be sensible if they wanted to. But, in any case, their sense was quite different from men’s, and to try to convince them of something about which they didn’t want to be convinced was absolutely useless.

She was a marvelously tidy woman, Frau Gubalke. The kitchen was spick and span, and Gubalke knew that in every carefully closed drawer, behind every reliably shut cupboard, each article lay in absolute order. But she would not get any system into the care of her body. Women were like that. Well, then, if that be so, it was no use attempting to alter them, otherwise they easily got
irritated. The father, however, had scored a victory in that both the children washed according to his method.

The Oberwachtmeister was a man in the early forties, ruddy, on the plump side, very orderly, not without benevolence, if it could be afforded. He no longer felt any particular enthusiasm for his calling, although it satisfied his sense of order. Whether he cautioned chauffeurs for driving contrary to the law, or took a drunk and disorderly to the police station, or warned a prostitute off the prohibited Königstrasse, he was keeping Berlin in order and seeing to it that everything was ship-shape in the streets. But public order, naturally, could never rise to the heights of private order as exemplified in his flat, and perhaps it was this which damped his pleasure in his work. He would have preferred to sit among the records and be responsible for registers and card indexes. There, with the aid of pen and paper, and possibly a typewriter, he could almost have attained his ideal of the world. But his superiors had no wish to take him off the streets. This man, cool and collected, perhaps a trifle slow, could hardly, in these difficult and chaotic times, be replaced.