Iron Gustav (15 page)

‘As I said – it is your heart!'

‘Be quiet! He's noticed that we're looking at him. He's leaving. Let's go after him.'

‘Let's go, Father!'

‘But slowly, Bubi. Don't lose your head. It must look as though we're going for a walk. He mustn't get suspicious.'

‘He's going towards the main road.'

‘Naturally, he wants to get lost among the people …'

‘But we'll catch him, Father.'

‘Did you see, he turned towards us again! He's already worried.'

Father and son were equally on fire – youth and age ablaze! They followed the suspect, and did so unsuspiciously so that they would have given themselves away to the most innocent. They pointed to a lark in the blue sky with outstretched arms, while not letting the man out of their sight for a moment. If he went slowly, they stopped altogether. Bubi picked a flower. Father hummed ‘Gloria, Victoria'. Then they continued, and the man, who turned round to look at them, ran faster …

‘He's losing us, Father!'

‘I can still keep up!'

But Hackendahl was already puffing. It wasn't just his heart, and it wasn't just the heat. It was the excitement: a spy! The main road was very close, and full of people.

‘We can tell a bicyclist,' Hackendahl consoled himself. ‘A bicyclist is bound to overtake him.'

The running man had almost reached the main road. But he didn't run any farther, he stopped one or two men and spoke to them animatedly.

‘Would they be his accomplices?' asked Bubi.

‘We'll soon see,' groaned the breathless Hackendahl, now a blue shade of red.

The men, the wanted man in the middle, stared silently at the two of them.

‘There they are!' cried the man from the willow clump, unnecessarily loudly.

Hackendahl stepped onto the road, and the men crowded closely round him and his son with threatening faces.

‘Gentlemen!' said Hackendahl. ‘This is a—'

‘Listen here,' said a pale-faced young man, ‘what have you just been doing on the railway line?'

‘That man there,' shouted Hackendahl and pointed with his finger, ‘hid himself in a bush and made notes on a military train!'

‘Me?!' shouted the other man. ‘What cheek! He's turning everything upside down. I heard exactly how your young brat counted the wagons – you wretched spy.'

‘You're the spy!' shouted Hackendahl and went redder. ‘My boy saw exactly how you put something in your pocket.'

‘And you?' said the other. ‘Who behaved as if he was picking flowers? Do you look like flower-pickers? You're already quite red from your bad conscience.'

The other men had heard these increasing accusations with bewilderment, and looked uncertainly from one to another, exchanging questioning looks.

‘Perhaps they're both spies,' asked one, ‘and simply don't know of each other.'

‘So why did you hide yourself in a bush?' said a serious man with a beard to the pale one. ‘It does sound very suspicious.'

‘To answer a call of nature,' explained the pale one.

‘What was the white thing he put in his pocket?' shouted Hackendahl.

‘Loo paper!' shouted the other man. ‘I always carry it with me – for all eventualities.'

And he showed some.

‘And why did your youngster count wagons?' asked the serious man with a beard. ‘That sounds very suspicious!'

‘For nothing,' said Hackendahl angrily. ‘Youngsters always do that.'

‘That's no explanation,' countered the other. ‘Come with me and we're sure to find a police constable in the Frankfurter Allee.'

‘But,' shouted Hackendahl, ‘I've got my ID. I've got my papers!' And he hit his pocket. ‘I was here for the horse inspection. I'm the hackney carriage man Hackendahl.'

‘Let me see!' The bearded man looked through the papers. ‘That's all in order – forgive me, please, Herr Hackendahl.'

‘But, but, he's—'

‘Thank you very much, but I have my papers too and am going to the inspection. I am the teacher Krüger.'

Some laughed, others mumbled earnestly.

‘Apologies to you too, teacher Krüger. So neither of you were spies. Shake hands.'

‘Herr Hackendahl, I'm very sorry.'

‘Herr Krüger, you only did your duty.'

‘Let's go back together.'

And they did. All were satisfied, and even a little elated. Only Heinz dragged his feet unhappily behind. It really upset him that it was not a spy after all.

When Hackendahl arrived home he found awaiting him a slip of paper with the message: ‘We leave today at two o'clock from the Anhalter Station. Otto.'

Extremely agitated, his wife was laying the table herself, a thing she hadn't done for years – she wanted them to be ready in time. Eva was busy in the kitchen.

As they were all sitting down to table, in came Erich who had spent the entire morning calling at one barracks after another, where he had waited for hours on end and been everywhere rejected: we can't deal with any more men. Come again in two or three months' time.

‘Good, and in the meantime you'll be able to pass your final examination,' said Hackendahl.

But Erich did not want ever to see the school again. The weeks at the lawyer's had changed him. He felt he'd grown up. It seemed impossible for him to sit on a school bench again. ‘Somebody told me that they're organizing a reserve battalion at the cadet academy in Lichterfelde. I'll try there tomorrow morning.'

‘Don't be in such a hurry, Erich,' begged the mother. ‘Perhaps the war will be over in three months and something might happen to Otto.' This sentence was a little confused but everyone understood. Erich busily hummed a popular song.

‘You shouldn't think of such things, Mother,' expostulated Hackendahl. ‘If a soldier was to think like that he couldn't fight.'

‘I was leaning out of the window this morning at ten o'clock,' she wailed, ‘and when the horses came back, only five out of our thirty-two beauties and the grey's head drooping so miserably again, I couldn't help thinking – that's how all the horses will look when they return. And what about my sons, too?'

There was a moment's embarrassed silence. Then Hackendahl rapped on the table with his knife. ‘Be quiet, Mother! If you get into a state like this we won't take you to the station.'

‘I'm not in a state,' she cried, wiping her eyes. ‘I just couldn't help thinking of it when the horses came back. But I promise I won't cry at the station. Take me with you, Gustav!' And, with a touching attempt to smile, she looked at the others.

‘All right, Mother. But we have to hurry now. Anhalter Station – that means France.'

But at the last minute it turned out that Eva didn't want to go; with tears in her eyes she said she really couldn't, she had a raging headache. She felt ill.

‘Won't do!' said Hackendahl. ‘You'll kindly go to the station when your brother is leaving for the Front. On such an occasion one can't have headaches or be ill.'

Weeping, Eva assured him that she really couldn't go; she'd fall down in the street … But, just as her mother shouldn't have gone to the station because of her tears, Eva had to go despite them.

‘Just you stop that, girl!' Hackendahl, remembering Bubi's remark, had a sudden suspicion. ‘Perhaps there's some fellow, eh? You've been behaving in a very strange manner lately. Wait till we get back and we'll have a word or two.'

Out of humour, the harassed family marched off and Eva saw Eugen waiting at the street corner where she was to meet him; she could do nothing but make a despairing gesture. He seemed to threaten her, and was then lost to sight.

She remembered that the flat was now only under the care of the maid. And Eva would credit Eugen with doing anything – anything! Even breaking into her parents' flat. At best she would like to have gone back, but what good would that have done? If he were really in
the flat, not even her presence would have held him back from stealing. She had no power over him at all, but he had complete power over her.

Meanwhile, time had passed so quickly that they were on Alexanderplatz. They had to go, otherwise they'd miss the train. Erich light-heartedly suggested to his father that they take a motor taxi, and was rudely shouted at for doing so. And when Mother suggested a cab, that was also rejected as too expensive. Fortunately a horse-drawn omnibus came by, with enough room. Jolting and shaking, it got under way.

The town was as full of bustle as on the first day of mobilization. Cars stopped in the street, boys threw bundles of newspapers among the crowds, and passengers boarding omnibuses brought the news that war had been declared on France, and German troops had crossed the Belgian frontier … A momentary hesitation and shock. Belgium? Why Belgium? But this was no time for consideration – people were already starting to sing: ‘Victoriously we will conquer France.' And amid approving laughter old people hummed:

Who's hiding in the undergrowth?

Bonaparte, I take my oath.

What right's he to hang about?

Come on, comrades, chase him out.

The bus could make no headway through the crowds so the Hackendahls descended and pushed forward in a column. The station! They had to get to the station.

‘Pardon me, sir, if I kicked you but my son's going to the Front.'

‘A pleasure, my dear sir.'

Thank God, the station at last! Only another minute …

Through the hall, up the stairs. Crowds on crowds. A brass band somewhere. One minute past two. ‘The train should have left, but as long as the band isn't playing “Muss i denn” it's not too late,' panted Hackendahl.

So large was the crowd that they went through the barriers without taking platform tickets; the collector shouted after them but Hackendahl yelled ‘France! Paris!' and laughed. Many joined in.

How long the train was! Men dressed in field-grey were looking out of the windows; their spiked helmets had field-grey covers with
the regimental number in red. How serious were all their faces! Many women, pale and serious too, were on the platform, with flowers, yes, but flowers in trembling hands. And innumerable children, their faces also serious, some of the smaller ones weeping …

Military music played, but faces remained serious, talk was quiet.

‘Do write, Father!'

‘I'll send you a picture postcard from Paris.' A pitiful little joke saved up for the last moment. A faint smile in reply.

‘And keep well.'

‘You too – and the children.'

‘Don't worry about the children – I'll look after them.'

‘Where's Otto?' They hurried along the train. Suddenly it had become very important to see the unimportant Otto, to shake him by the hand, to tell him to look after himself.

‘Look, there's Gudde, the dressmaker. You know her, Father, she altered my black dress. – With a child! – How long has she had a child? Why, she's a hunchback. – It must be a neighbour's child.'

‘Who are you seeing off, Fräulein Gudde? What's your name, sonnie?'

‘Good afternoon, Frau Hackendahl. There's Otto – I mean Herr Hackendahl.'

They rushed forward – Fräulein Gudde was forgotten. Till the train departed, the despised Otto was the central figure.

‘Good luck, Otto!'

‘Write sometimes, Otto!'

‘I've brought you something to eat, Ottchen.'

‘And if there's trouble, Otto, think of your father. It'd be a proud day if you got the Iron Cross.'

‘Have you heard if there are to be any Iron Crosses in this war?'

Otto was standing at the compartment window, his face greyer than his uniform. He spoke mechanically, he shook hands, he put the parcel of food on the seat where her parcel was … And his eyes were forever seeking hers, the only person he loved with all the tenacity of a faint heart and who loved him with a strength that forgave all. Glowing and tender, she looked at him without reproach and without claim, standing by the pillar holding the boy's hand. ‘Don't cry, Gustäving. Papa's coming back.'

Otto could read from her lips the words he could not hear. ‘Coming back.'

No, he might not come back, but that prospect, strangely, did not alarm him. He was going to war, to battle, to hand-to-hand fighting, wounds and lingering death, but these did not alarm him. I shan't be a coward there, he thought. And yet I'm too cowardly to tell Father about …

He'd like to understand why, but is unable to. He looked at them helplessly, under his compartment window, the old familiar faces, and then he looked quickly over to the pillar, to that dearest, unique face … No, he can't understand.

‘Otto, why, you've got flowers,' called out Bubi. ‘Who gave you them? A girlfriend, eh?'

Everyone laughed at the idea that Otto, the shy Otto, could have a girlfriend. And Otto too screwed up his face into a miserable smile.

‘Where is she, then?' Laughing, they all looked round for Otto's girl. ‘The one in the blue dress? Looks smart but she might be too smart for you. She'd take the very butter off your bread.'

Again Otto smiled miserably.

‘The Gudde woman's still there,' whispered Frau Hackendahl. ‘Who does she belong to, Otto? Have you seen her?'

‘Who?'

‘Fräulein Gudde, our dressmaker. You know!'

‘Yes … I … That's to say I …'

They all looked at him. He turned red. But they were not suspicious.

‘Didn't you see who she's with?'

‘No … no. I saw nobody.'

And now the band began to play ‘Muss i denn', the train gave a jerk and started, handkerchiefs came out, hands were shaken a last time.

The solitary figure beside the pillar pulled out no handkerchief, neither did she wave. She was standing there as if for ever, patiently waiting till he returned. His eyes filled with tears.