Iron Gustav (28 page)

‘Go home! What are you standing there for? You're suspended. Such a thing shouldn't have happened.'

‘I didn't do it on purpose.'

‘Who said so? Her? Oh, her! But you should pay more attention. Well, you'd better work as a packer in future. Ten pfennigs less an hour but you should have been more careful. We'll see later on … perhaps in Hall Five. But it'll get about, of course.'

‘Perhaps I did do it on purpose.'

‘Don't talk rubbish! Now don't you start too. Go home and have a good sleep. On purpose? What nonsense!'

The way home was harder and sadder than ever. Why go home, lie in bed and gather new strength if you get no pleasure out of it? Eva Hackendahl walked ever more slowly. It was already almost daylight, the lamps were out, grey figures stood in front of the shops. Other people were next to her and behind her – but they noticed no one,
just as no one took notice of them. A woman in trousers would have been unprecedented in Berlin only two years ago. Times had changed. A well-dressed woman is a sight worth seeing nowadays, at least in this part of town.

In front of Eva Hackendahl was a heavily laden soldier in field-grey, someone on leave going the same way as she. Otto Hackendahl walked slowly, looking about him. When he left Berlin two years ago, the streets had been gay with flags and full of cheerful people; girls wore bright dresses, there were flowers and garlands, cigars and chocolates. And now he was back in a grey, desolate city, and the feet that shuffled over the early-morning pavements were already tired. Faces were grey and desolate too, and shoulders drooped despondently. Not a single laugh had he heard. Yesterday he was disgusted by the false luxury in the rear. Now he saw the crumbling, ruined town of the hinterland – and the bleakness gripped him and drew him in.

In the trenches, when they had spoken of the scarcity at home, many had said: ‘They shouldn't make such a fuss about it. We go hungry for twenty-four hours when we're under fire. They exaggerate.'

But Otto saw at once that everything was much worse, a hundred times worse than they in the trenches had believed. It wasn't only hunger – seeing these hopeless faces one realized how dreadful was the complete joylessness, the lack of everything that really made life worth living, which was hope.

Now he could see their doorway. He hadn't written to her about his leave; he had deprived her of the pleasures of anticipation, and he became anxious. What will she be like? he thought. Will she have changed much? Aren't I already much too late, now that I've changed so much? How will I find her?

A woman in trousers overtook him, glancing indifferently at the bearded face of the soldier on leave. Not till she came to the next doorway did Eva Hackendahl realize that she had looked on the face of her brother Otto – a face with purpose in it, the eyes frank and manly.

Leaning against the wall, she tried to think out what her brother's return would mean for her. Odd that her first thought should be to wonder if Otto, tired from his journey, might want to lie down on
the only bed, the bed standing beside the child's cot. Or would she be allowed to have it herself – at least for this morning?

As if that were important! Nevertheless she couldn't help wondering how they were going to manage during the next few days with only one room and a kitchen, and only one bed, too. How much leave did a soldier get – a week or a fortnight?

He was now entering their doorway. Quickly she hid herself and he passed into the rear courtyard. She followed, watching him. Then our former life would begin again. This echoed in her mind. But what was that old life? Suddenly she understood how provisional it was, infinitely transient, a life lived at a day's notice. One day the war would be over and there would be no more arms factories. One day her brother would come home and want the place for himself – but then what would happen to her?

He had started to walk upstairs. Terrible depression overcame her.

But what did I really imagine? she pondered. Did I think it could go on for ever, night shift and shared bed, for a lifetime, a whole lifetime? Of course, it's all rubbish – I did it on purpose. She ought to have taken her paw away quicker, the silly bitch. I suppose I hoped they'd chuck me out. Well, if I must I must – there's no way out once it's written that you're to go to the bad.

Otto was now outside his flat. What he carried with him was nothing. He ran like a youngster, came out of the courtyard. Eva, as he touched the bell push, passed behind him and went a floor higher. She wasn't going to stand there beside her brother; nor would she open the door for him, although she had the key in her pocket. She had thought of this place as her home, but that was another piece of rubbish – it was his, alone – she had no home, that was the position.

She sat down on the stairs – homeless. She would see what happened, she had time! When you purposely injure someone's hand in your machine you can still deceive others and yourself about it. But when heaven sends your brother home that same morning, to drive you out of your bed and your sleep – your sole prospect of blessed oblivion – then it means you are inevitably destined for the mire.

But if that is the situation – which it is – you don't make a fuss about it. You settle down on the last step before the door to the attic and wait for what comes next. Mud will find mud. There's no hurry!

Otto
had watched the working woman in trousers in astonishment. What does she want up there? There's only the attic. But he forgets that immediately, because in reply to his ringing, a voice calls through the door: ‘Mummy's not here!'

‘Where is Mummy then, Gustäving?' asked the father, putting his ear to the door and trying to realize that this was his son, now no longer two, but four years old.

‘Fetching coal,' said the shrill little voice within. ‘Who are you? What do you want?'

‘To see you, Gustäving.'

‘Who are you? How do you know my name? What's yours?'

Otto Hackendahl pondered for a moment. He would have liked to say ‘I'm your father', but somehow he could not. A door divided them – and he had to wait.

‘Where does Mummy fetch coal, Gustäving?' he asked. ‘Still from Tiedemann's?'

‘From Tiedemann's?' questioned the voice. And a great light must have flashed on the child's mind, for suddenly hands were drumming against the door: ‘Open it! I know who you are – you're my papa. Open the door, please – Mummy's always saying that you're coming soon. I want to see you, Papa.'

‘Yes, Gustäving. But be quiet. I'm your papa, yes. Listen, Gustäving, I haven't got a key so we'll have to wait till Mummy comes. You won't recognize me, you know, Gustäving.'

‘Yes, I will. You're my papa.'

‘Because I've got a long, long yellow beard.'

‘I don't believe it – my papa hasn't a beard.'

‘I grew it at the Front, Gustäving.'

‘Open the door, Papa! I want to see it!'

‘But I've got no key, Gustäving. We must wait till Mummy comes.'

A brief silence for thought.

The girl on the stairs above was also thinking. Yes, that's home and homecoming. But there's nothing like that for me. And why not? I'm much prettier and at any rate as intelligent as Tutti. And nobody
was more of a milksop than Otto. But they get it and I get nothing. And Erich has got on, too, and Sophie's been made a sister and has a Red Cross Medal. Only I …

Below it went on and on: ‘I know, Papa, go down into the courtyard. Stand there and I'll look out of the window. Then I'll see whether you're my papa or not.'

‘But you'll fall out, Gustäving!'

‘No, I won't. Go on, Papa!'

‘Wait a bit. Mummy may be coming any moment now.'

‘Oh, do go, Papa. Go on.'

‘You won't recognize me in my beard.'

‘Yes, I will, I'll recognize you! Not recognize my own papa!'

‘And you promise not to open the window?'

‘Of course, Papa, I promise. I'll look through the glass. Hurry up!'

‘But it'll take some time to get downstairs.'

‘As if I didn't know, Papa! Five floors. Are you always so slow, Papa?'

‘I'm going, Gustäving.'

‘Well, hurry up then!'

Otto Hackendahl, bag and baggage, went downstairs.

The courtyard was narrow, not much more than an airshaft with, to make it worse, a criss-cross of washing lines overhead. He had to push his way among dustbins and, since the view of himself promised not to be very good, he climbed upon them, pulled off his field cap and waved it. He could see nothing himself, but roared lustily: ‘Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!'

Women looked out of their windows.

‘A screw loose, eh?'

‘Pretending to be loony, so he won't have to go back to the Front.'

But Otto Hackendahl had already climbed down from the bins and was running upstairs again to find that a miracle had happened – the door stood wide open and in the doorway was a boy, a very thin child with a large head …

‘Gustäving! You see I am your papa! Who opened the door? Gustäving, are you pleased, too?'

‘I said at once you were my papa. Your beard's not as long as you said. Have you brought me something to eat? I'm very, very hungry.'

The
door, which had been opened after so much action, closed again behind them. They no longer puzzled their heads over what had happened. The girl above sat for a while, her shoulders shaking. She felt the same as she had not long before, standing on the little wet platform. Eventually she stood up and went slowly down the steps. Downstairs she met her sister-in-law, Gertrud Gudde.

The little cripple stood panting beside a bag of coal, only half a hundredweight, but much too heavy for such a fragile creature. Her hair hung down in wisps and the soft eyes looked anxious. But they lit up at once when they saw Eva. ‘Oh, Eva, how kind you are, waiting for me. I was so afraid of all those stairs.'

Eva had originally intended to pass Tutti without a word, but now she stopped. What do I care about Tutti? I've got my own troubles to bear. Unprotesting, she shouldered the sack and carried it upstairs, all the while thinking that, without the mishap in the factory and her brother's return, she would long ago have been lying comfortably asleep in bed. She had never yet thought of helping her sister-in-law with the housework. Had she done so, how often might she not have seen this radiant gratitude?

They arrived at the flat. Gertrud, so that Eva need not put down the sack, had the key ready. But Eva barred the way.

‘Here's your coal, Tutti,' she said with a strange expression on her face. ‘Tidy yourself up a bit, you look all of a mess.'

Gertrud stared at her – Eva was so odd. Tidy herself up on the landing? No one had cared for years what she looked like. Under Eva's gaze she became quite confused, put a hand to her hair and tucked in a stray lock …

Suddenly she heard something – listened – trembled. In the flat she heard her child laugh, and a man's voice …

She looked at Eva.

‘Yes,' said Eva in a changed voice. ‘Yes, there you are! Tidy yourself quickly, Otto's home!' Leaning over the coal bag, she thought: you ugly old hunchback, you've got all the luck. What about me? I ought to hate you.

But she tidied Gertrud's hair and smoothed out with trembling hands the collar and neck of her dress. ‘Yes, Tutti. Yes. Yes … Otto's there … and perfectly well.'

Two
arms went round her neck. ‘Oh, I'm so happy … My heart, my heart!' And, quickly releasing herself, Gertrud said: ‘Do I look awful, Evchen?'

‘You look wonderful.' (Hunchback!) ‘You look splendid.' (Hunchback!) ‘You've got a nice colour in your cheeks.' (Hunchback!) ‘Now go in to him!'

And she, Eva, opened the door and pushed Tutti in. She, Eva – pretty Eva, Father's favourite – stood in her ugly overalls beside the sack of coal and listened to the cry of joy within … and the deep, warm voice saying, ‘Yes, my good one, my sweetie, my beauty – here I am with you …'

Eva dragged the sack of coal into the dark corridor before she gently closed the door and left. She climbed slowly down the steps. Her tears flowed, and she kept on thinking, ‘Why her? Why not me?'

She crossed the courtyards, went out of the house and came out onto the street.

The fact that Otto Hackendahl went to look for his father already on the afternoon of the first day of the holiday was not only because he wanted to get his talk with him over as quickly as possible, but also because Tutti and Otto had waited for Eva with mounting alarm; but she had not come.

‘I'll see her at my parents', no doubt,' said Otto. ‘Where else could she have gone to?'

Indeed, where else could she have gone? Tutti remembered one morning when she helped to undress a half-frozen Eva, when one of her legs was drenched through up to her calf, but she hadn't said a word.

Otto went along the Frankfurter Allee, the old, familiar way known to him from a thousand walks. In his mind's eye he already saw the wooden fence and the sign: ‘Conveyances for Hire. Gustav Hackendahl.'

As in a dream, where everything is the same and yet different, so
Otto next stood before this fence and read on the signboard: ‘Hay and Forage Merchant. Hans Bartenfeld.'

Like a man who is lost he gazed up and down the street along which he had walked so often. And when he looked closer he saw that the board was new. It was a very recent alteration, then, which explained why he hadn't yet heard about it. Father would have carried out the sale secretly, holding it to be entirely his own concern – ‘a man's affair' – and Mother wouldn't have been told till the last moment.

It was the same old yard but there were different curtains on the first-floor windows and another woman's face, not Mother's, looked out at him. Otto's heart contracted painfully. The son who had gone abroad, who had marched into war – the weak-willed son – had changed, become harder, more resolute. And with every day he had shed something of the home, had ceased gradually to be a son. Now that with his own eyes he saw how, both symbolically and actually, the old home existed no longer, the last link in the chain that had bound him snapped, and he was free.