Little Man, What Now? (18 page)

And he said, bowing low: ‘Ladies. Gentlemen! How can I help you?’ allowing his gaze to rest an exactly equal length of time upon all the four faces, so that none got short measure.

One of the ladies said crossly: ‘My husband would like an evening suit. Please, Franz, you tell the salesman what you’d like.’

‘I would like …’ began the gentleman.

‘But they don’t seem to have anything really high-class,’ said the second lady in her thirties.

‘I told you not to go to Mandels,’ said the older one. ‘Obermeyers is the place for that.’

‘… to have an evening suit,’ concluded the gentleman with the pale blue, bulging eyes.

‘A dinner-jacket?’ inquired Pinneberg cautiously. He tried to distribute the question equally among the three ladies, without neglecting the gentleman, because even worms like him were capable of upsetting a sale.

‘A dinner-jacket!’ exclaimed the ladies indignantly.

The straw-blonde said: ‘My husband has of course already got a dinner-jacket. We want an evening suit.’

‘A dark jacket,’ said the gentleman.

‘With striped trousers,’ said the dark-haired lady, who was apparently the sister-in-law of the blonde lady, her status as the man’s sister conferring even older rights over him than the wife’s.

‘Very good,’ said Pinneberg.

‘We’d already have found exactly the right thing at Obermeyers,’ said the older lady.

Pinneberg produced a jacket. ‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ said the wife.

‘What could you expect here?’

‘Well, we can have a look at any rate. It costs nothing to look. Let me see something else, young man.’

‘Try that on, Franz!’

‘Oh, Else, for pity’s sake! That jacket …’

‘What do you think, mother?’

‘I shan’t say anything. Don’t ask me. I shan’t say anything. Afterwards you’ll say it was me who chose it.’

‘If the gentleman could please straighten his shoulders a little?’

‘Don’t straighten your shoulders on any account, Franz! My husband is always round-shouldered, it has to fit him as he is.’

‘Turn round, Franz.’

‘No, I think this one’s out of the question.’

‘Please, Franz, move around a bit. You’re standing there as stiff as a poker.’

‘Perhaps this one would be better.’

‘I don’t know why you’re going through all this at Mandels anyway.’

‘Do you want my husband to run around in the same jacket all the time? If we’re not going to be served here …’

‘If we could perhaps try on this jacket …’

‘Please, Franz.’

‘No, I don’t want that one. I don’t like it.’

‘Why don’t you like it? I think it’s very nice!’

‘Fifty-five marks.’

‘I don’t like it. The shoulders are too padded.’

‘You’re so round-shouldered, you need it.’

‘The Saligers got a lovely evening suit for forty marks. And here, just for the jacket …’

‘The suit has to be impressive, you understand, young man. If we’re going to pay out a hundred marks, we might as well get it made to measure.’

‘Now do please show us a suitable jacket.’

‘How do you like this one, Madam?’

‘That material seems a bit light.’

‘Madam notices everything. It does make up rather light. What about this one?’

‘That’s a bit better. Is it pure wool?’

‘Pure wool, madam. And a quilted lining, as you see.’

‘I like that one.’

‘Oh, Else, how can you? What do you say, Franz?’

‘You can see they’ve got nothing here. No one goes to Mandels.’

‘Just try on this one, Franz.’

‘No, I’m not trying on anything more. You’re just making me look a fright.’

‘Now what are you saying? Did you want an evening suit or did I?’

‘It was you!’

‘No, you wanted one.’

‘You said that Saliger had one and that I was making myself a laughing-stock with my everlasting dinner-jacket.’

‘Would Madam kindly look at this one? Very discreet. Very distinguished.’ Pinneberg had decided to place his bet on the strawblond, Elsa.

‘That one’s really quite nice. How much does it cost?’

‘Well, this one is sixty. But it’s very exclusive. Not for the ordinary customer.’

‘Very expensive.’

‘Else, you’d fall for anything. He’s shown us that one already.’

‘My dear child, I know that as well as you do. Now Franz, please, try it on once more.’

‘No,’ said the bald head angrily. ‘I don’t want a suit. It’s you who said I wanted one.’

‘Please, Franz …’

‘In this time we could have got ten suits at Obermeyers.’

‘Come on, Franz, try on the jacket.’

‘He’s had it on already.’

‘Not this one!’

‘Yes, he has.’

‘If you’re going to quarrel, I’m off.’

‘I’m off too. Else always wants her own way at any price.’

Pandemonium. Snide remarks, and jackets, were thrown hither and thither.

‘At Obermeyers …’

‘Mother,
please!’

‘Well, let’s go to Obermeyers then.’

‘Just don’t say I dragged you there!’

‘You did.’

‘No, I …’

Pinneberg was unable to get a word in edgeways. In his extremity he looked all around him, and his eyes met Heilbutt’s in a
mute cry for help.

And at the same moment he did something desperate. He said to the egg-headed man: ‘Your jacket, sir!’

And he helped the man into the disputed sixty-mark jacket, then, almost before it was on his back, said ‘Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake,’ Then he cried out, in astonished pleasure: ‘How well that suits you!’

‘Yes, Else, if you like it …’

‘I always said that jacket …’

‘What do you say, Franz?’

‘What’s the price?’

‘Sixty, Madam.’

‘Sixty for that? It’s madness. Sixty, in these times? And especially at a shop like Mandels …’

A quiet but firm voice next to Pinneberg said: ‘You’ve found what you were looking for? Ah, our smartest evening jacket.’

Silence.

The ladies looked at Mr Heilbutt. Mr Heilbutt stood there: tall, dark, brown-haired, elegant.

‘A fine-quality garment,’ said Mr Heilbutt after a pause. And then he bowed and passed on his mysterious way somewhere behind the coat stands; perhaps it was Mr Mandel himself, passing through the shop.

‘Well, you have a right to expect something for sixty marks,’ said the discontented voice of the old lady, but not quite as discontented as before.

‘Do you like it too, Franz?’ asked the blonde Else. ‘You’re the one it’s for, after all.’

‘I suppose so …,’ said Franz.

‘Now, the trousers to go with it …,’ began the sister-in-law.

Buying the trousers wasn’t nearly such a performance. Agreement was reached quickly; even to the extent of choosing an expensive pair. The total on the cash register amounted to over
ninety-five marks. The old lady said once more: ‘I tell you, at Obermeyers …’, but no one was listening.

Pinneberg bowed again at the cash desk, an extra bow. Then he returned to his post, as proud as a general after a victory in the field and as worn-out as a soldier. Next to the trousers stood Heilbutt, looking across at him.

‘Thank you,’ said Pinneberg. ‘You saved the day, Heilbutt.’

‘It wasn’t me, Pinneberg,’ said Heilbutt. ‘You wouldn’t have lost that sale. Not you. You’re a born salesman, Pinneberg.’

ON THE THREE TYPES OF SALESMAN AND WHICH TYPE IS PREFERRED BY UNDER-MANAGER JÄNECKE. INVITATION TO A SNACK

Pinneberg’s heart swelled with happiness. ‘D’ you really think so, Heilbutt? D’you really think I’m a born salesman?’

‘But you know that yourself, Pinneberg. You enjoy selling.’

‘I enjoy dealing with people,’ said Pinneberg. ‘I like working out who they are and what angle you have to take to make them buy.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I very seldom lose a sale.’

‘I’ve noticed that, Pinneberg.’

‘Except that there are impossible ones who don’t really want to buy, just haggle and talk.’

‘No one sells anything to them.’

‘You do,’ said Pinneberg. ‘You do.’

‘Perhaps. No. Well perhaps I do sometimes, because people are frightened of me.’

‘You’re so terribly imposing, Heilbutt. People don’t have the nerve to put on airs, however much they’d like to.’ He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t look imposing to a flea. I have to get under people’s skins and guess what they want. Which is why I know how furious they’re going to be at having bought that expensive suit. They’ll all
be angry with each other but no one will know exactly why they did it.’

‘So why did they buy it, in your opinion, Pinneberg?’

Pinneberg couldn’t think; he racked his brains. ‘Now I don’t know either … They were all talking at once …’

Heilbutt smiled.

‘There you are you see, you’re laughing, Heilbutt, you’re laughing at me. But I know why it was, it was because you impressed them so.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Heilbutt. ‘Complete nonsense, Pinneberg. You know nobody buys anything for that reason. All I may have done is speeded things up a bit …’

‘A lot!’

‘No, the deciding factor was that you never got offended. Some of our colleagues …’ and Heilbutt’s dark eyes swept the room until they lighted on the person he was seeking … ‘get offended straight away. If they say: this is a very exclusive model, and the customers says: but I don’t like it, then they snap back with: well, tastes differ, or else they’re so hurt they say nothing at all. You’re not like that, Pinneberg …’

‘What’s this, gentlemen?’ said the under-manager, Mr Jänecke, ‘A little chin-wag? Been busy selling already? Have to keep busy. Times are hard and it takes a lot of sales to make up a salesman’s salary.’

‘We were just talking, Mr Jänecke,’ said Heilbutt, discreetly restraining Pinneberg by the elbow, ‘about the different types of salesmen there are. We found there were three: the imposing, who sell by inspiring respect, the good guessers, who sell by finding what people want, and the others, who sell purely by chance. What’s your opinion, Mr Jänecke?’

‘Very interesting as a theory, gentlemen,’ said Mr Jänecke, smiling. ‘I only know one kind of salesman. The kind who has big figures on his sales record at the end of the day. I know there are
still some with low figures, but they aren’t going to be here much longer if I can help it.’

And with that Mr Jänecke hurried off to spur on someone else, and Heilbutt looked after him and said not at all quietly: ‘Swine.’

Pinneberg thought it was splendid, just to say ‘Swine’ like that, regardless of the consequences, but it also struck him as a bit risky. Heilbutt was just about to go away, saying, with a nod of the head: ‘Well, Pinneberg …’ when he suddenly asked him: ‘Would you do me a great favour, Heilbutt?’

Heilbutt was rather taken aback: ‘Eh? Of course, Pinneberg.’

‘Would you visit us some time?’ He was even more taken aback. ‘I’ve told my wife so much about you, and she’d love to meet you. If you had the time one day. Just for a snack.’

Heilbutt smiled again, but it was a delightful smile, out of the corner of his eyes. ‘Of course, Pinneberg. I had no idea you’d like that. I shall be glad to come some time.’

Pinneberg asked hurriedly: ‘Would it … would it be all right for this evening?’

‘This evening?’ Heilbutt thought about it. ‘I’ll just have a look.’ He took a leather-bound notebook out of his pocket. ‘Wait a bit. Tomorrow there’s a lecture on Greek sculpture at the Adult Education Centre. You know about that …’

Pinneberg nodded.

‘And the day after tomorrow it’s my naturist evening. You know I belong to a naturist club … And the next evening I’ve promised to see my girlfriend. So far as I can see, Pinneberg, I’m free tonight.’

‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Pinneberg, quite breathless with joy. ‘That suits me down to the ground. If you want to take down my address; it’s 92 Spenerstrasse, second floor.’

‘Mr and Mrs Pinneberg,’ noted Heilbutt. ’92 Spenerstrasse. Second floor. The best station for me would be Bellevue. What time?’

‘Would eight o’clock do? I’m leaving earlier. I’m free at four, but I’ve got something to do.’

‘Well, eight o’clock it is, Pinneberg. I’ll come a bit earlier so the downstairs door isn’t locked.’

PINNEBERG RECEIVES HIS WAGES, BEHAVES BADLY TO A SALESMAN AND BECOMES THE OWNER OF A DRESSING-TABLE

Pinneberg stood in front of the door of Mandels department store, one hand clutching the wage-packet in his pocket. He had been working there a month, but all that time he had no idea how much pay he was going to get. When Mr Lehmann had hired him, he had been so pleased to get the job that he hadn’t asked.

He hadn’t asked his colleagues either.

‘If I’d been in Breslau I’d know what Mandels paid,’ he had replied when Lammchen had once pressed for clarity on this point.

‘Well, go to the Association.’

‘They’re only polite when they want money off you.’

‘But they must know, Sonny.’

‘We’ll see at the end of the month, Lammchen. They can’t pay under the agreed rate. And the agreed rate for Berlin can’t be bad.’

So now he had his agreed wage for Berlin, which couldn’t be bad. It was exactly a hundred and seventy marks net! Eighty marks less than Lammchen had expected, sixty marks less than his most pessimistic calculations.

Robbers! Do they ever once worry their heads about how we’re going to manage? All they ever think is that other people manage with less. And we have to creep and crawl to get it. One hundred and seventy marks net. No joke in Berlin. Mama will have to wait a bit for the rent. A hundred marks, she’s batty, Jachmann was right there. The question was, how he and Lammchen were
ever going to get any household goods. They would have to give something to Mama; she was very persistent.

A hundred and seventy marks, and he had had such a lovely plan. He had wanted to give Lammchen a surprise.

It had begun one evening with Lammchen pointing at an empty corner in the regal bedroom and saying: ‘A dressing-table would go nicely in there.’

‘Do we need one?’ he had asked, surprised. He’d thought no further than beds, a leather armchair, and an oak desk.

‘Of course not. It’d just be nice. I’d love to do my hair at a dressing-table. Oh, don’t look like that, Sonny love. It’s only a dream.’