Iron Gustav (30 page)

For she was happy – almost. Only occasionally did anxieties and doubts arise in her mind. Once she had the courage to say to him in the darkness before sleep: ‘I used to be able to help you and make things easier. But what can I do now?'

He knew she was thinking of her deformed body and her little, sharp-featured face. After a moment he took her hand. ‘In the trenches, whenever we spoke about home I thought of you.'

She said nothing in reply, but her heart beat quicker. And she felt a sensation of happiness pass right through her.

‘When you think of home you don't ask what it is or what it gives – home is home,' he added.

She had felt like begging him to say no more – this happiness was too much. Or of saying: go on. Why are you silent? Go on speaking – I have never been so happy.

But she, as he, was silent. That moment might vanish, its emotion never.

One day Heinz visited the two of them – or rather the three, for Gustäving was inseparable from his father. During Otto's two years of absence Heinz had shot up unbelievably; his limbs were overlong, a crooked nose jutted out of a pale face and he spoke in a ridiculously deep bass.

‘Well, Defender of the Fatherland,' he growled, ‘Corporal and holder of the Iron Cross Second Class, when are you getting the First Class?'

‘Probably never,' smiled Otto.

‘Disgusting! I don't count at school now. Two brothers and neither of them with the Iron Cross First Class! Just don't take it badly, Otto. I was only joking. So you're my nephew Gustav, eh?' And to hide embarrassment he laid his hand in a fatherly way on the child's head and from his enormous height regarded him as though he were some sort of ant.

‘Too pale and thin,' he decided. ‘Yes, yes, beloved brother, war kills the strong and spares the weak. I'm saying that quite impersonally, you understand?'

Otto nodded with pleasure.

‘So at school we decided to despise war. We rejected it root and branch, because it gave the wrong options. What do you think? What's your opinion?'

‘Weak in the head,' replied Otto gently.

‘Why? What do you mean “Weak in the head”? Our decision is naturally only valid when we've won this war. That's obvious. We'll see it through.' And he went on patronizingly: ‘And how are the works on the Western Front? Air not too healthy, eh? I can well believe it.'

‘Middling,' said Otto, grinning. ‘We're only waiting for you to help us.'

‘What rubbish! The war'll be over this winter. Definitely! You can take it from me – I had it from someone who's in touch with Hindenburg's staff. Vigorous old boy, what?'

‘Listen,' said Otto, having acknowledged that Hindenburg was indeed a vigorous old boy and moreover understood his business, ‘listen. Have you seen or heard anything of Eva at home?'

‘Eva?' The lad's face clouded; he became reticent. ‘No. Nothing.'

‘Do you know anything about her? Don't look down your nose, Heinz – we're a bit worried. It might help if you told us what you know.'

‘I only know she had a terrible row with Father. Mother told me – I know nothing otherwise. Wait – I saw her in the street once with a swell. Proper swell. Of course I didn't acknowledge her.'

‘When was that?'

But it emerged that this had been when Eva had still been living with her parents. ‘And I don't want to hear anything more about her. When she went Mother found a whole pile of pawn tickets for articles she had popped on the sly. Tablecloths, sheets – Mother still cries her eyes out when she thinks about it. I consider that's low, Otto.'

‘I, too, Heinz, believe me. All the same we can't leave her in the lurch. That chap you saw, he'll be to blame. Eva was seduced, and that's the truth.'

‘Seduced!' Heinz turned crimson and threw a glance at his sister-in-law. ‘Does it mean anything, that word? Some of us at school have been reading a book by Wegener called
We Young Men
,
enormously frank but utterly clean. Well, we've made a resolution to remain clean ourselves. You understand, Otto! Before marriage – nothing! That's the only clean thing.' At this point his eye fell on Gustäving and he turned a still-deeper crimson. ‘Well, you know what I mean, as a principle. Naturally there are always exceptions.' He was silent for a while. ‘Otto, let me tell you I'm sometimes afraid we are a decadent family.'

‘A what?' asked Otto, amazed.

‘Well, decadent … You don't know what I mean? If a family … Well, it's difficult to explain … But you know what happened with Erich. And now with Eva. Sophie's also a bit queer. And sometimes I can hardly sleep for thinking of what's going on in myself.' In a low voice: ‘You'll hardly believe it, Otto, but sometimes I downright hate Father.'

‘And that's decadent?'

‘Well, it's just an example. If the family disintegrates, well, the family is the pillar of the State and if nobody achieves anything worthwhile, if everybody's rotten … What do you think?'

‘I don't know if we're rotten or not. Perhaps the times in which we lived were rotten too, and infected us. Can't something that's healthy also be infected by a rotten environment? I at least became quite healthy again at the Front.'

‘Absolutely. I can see it immediately. It's made you look terrific. Well, we won't lose hope, Otto. It's done me a lot of good, this talk with you. But I must be off now. You've no idea how hard I have to work. Simply colossal. You can't imagine it. Auf Wiedersehen, sister-in-law. Good luck, Otto. I don't know whether I'll see you before you go.'

‘Don't forget your parcel, Heinz,' Gertrud reminded him.

‘Parcel?' Heinz slapped his forehead. ‘What a fabulous fool I am. Simply phenomenal. That's why I came round, because of the parcel. Mother sent it because she couldn't be present at the wedding. By the way, my hearty congratulations. I also was prevented from coming as you may have noticed – school, you understand.'

‘Many thanks,' said Otto, while Tutti opened the parcel. ‘It was only at a register office – over in five minutes.'

‘I understand. What's your attitude towards the Church, Otto? We at school …'

But he got no further, for Tutti had unpacked six silver tablespoons, six forks, six knives, six teaspoons, a couple of tablecloths, some sheets and pillowcases … ‘But it's too much,' she cried. ‘Your mother is robbing herself.'

‘That stuff?' Heinz snorted. ‘We don't need it – there are only three of us now, and Father rarely comes home for meals. Mother's keeping the other half of each dozen for herself.'

‘We can't take them,' said Tutti, but her eyes shone. ‘You tell him, Otto.'

‘What's he to tell me?' growled Heinz. ‘He should say “Thank you”. It makes Mother happy to be able to give you a wedding present at least. She would have come to see you long ago, only the distance, you know, and her legs … And then Father …' He looked at both of them questioningly. Then he thought aloud: ‘I won't permit criticism of my creator. Only say: if I were a father I would do it differently. Wouldn't you, Otto?'

‘There,' said Otto and threw his laughing little boy into the air. ‘That's what I'd do.'

‘Well,' said Bubi. ‘It wouldn't be very easy for Father to do that with me. Well, cheerio. I'll come back, Gertrud, but perhaps not for a while. You know – school!' And with a dignified nod he went. But almost immediately his head appeared in the doorway again. ‘One more question, Otto. Blade or cut-throat?'

‘What?'

‘I'm always quarrelling with Father about shaving. Well, safety razor or otherwise? Father of course swears by the cut-throat.'

‘But you don't need to shave yet, Heinz.'

‘Have you no idea? A beard like King Barbarossa!'

‘Let it grow.'

‘All right – safety razor! I'll tell Father from you. Many thanks.'

And this time Heinz – so justifiably called Bubi – disappeared for good.

As happy as this visit by the youngest Hackendahl had been, it had not thrown any light on the whereabouts of Eva. During the next few days Otto, acting on Gertrud's suggestion, made many calls. He even dared to visit Police Headquarters at Alexanderplatz towards which he had the good Berliner's attitude of respect mingled with fear. But he learned nothing, they had too many Eugens on record, and Eva Hackendahl was – thank God – absolutely unknown to them. And waiting about in the Andreasstrasse and the Lange Strasse proved just as unsuccessful. In the end Otto overcame himself so far as to go to the last address Gertrud knew of – the Oriental Hotel. But there he was met by Frau Pauli, who was not disposed to give any information about her clients. She knew neither a Herr Eugen nor a Fräulein Eva. No, she was sorry, but the gentleman must have made a mistake – some confusion in identity perhaps. There were so many hotels in Berlin, the Adlon for instance, the Kaiserhof, Esplanade, Bristol – perhaps his friends had put up at one of these. And she practically laughed in his face.

A little crushed, Otto reported failure. Tutti was now of the opinion that he had done enough. ‘For you to have gone there at all, Otto! For you to speak with such a woman! No, drop it now. Tomorrow we'll take the train to Strausberg again. They say the villages haven't yet been stripped around Strausberg.'

However, if Tutti thought the villages beyond Strausberg were still unscathed, she was mistaken. Or else the people out there were particularly hard-hearted. All day she and Otto wandered about in an icy wind; unwearyingly they picked out the remotest, most isolated farms, those lying on the worst, the most impassable roads. But when they knocked at the door, when they asked for a drop of milk, a few eggs, even a few potatoes; when on behalf of their child at home they humbled themselves (and this with difficulty); when they had offered double or treble the usual price – all they got was a rude refusal. The door was slammed, and if they did not leave at once they heard the people inside talking about ‘everlasting begging' and
‘hungry rabble'. And yet they had been very moderate; not a word about butter or bacon, the things missed most.

Otto walked on gloomily, without a word. Maybe he was thinking of the hard life in the trenches, of this farm for which he had fought, suffered, been in mortal danger – only to be called a beggar. Maybe he was thinking of Gustäving, who had such thin arms and a belly swollen with eating gruel.

He saw these farmsteads with other children running about in them, children with well-nourished bodies. He saw the rolls in their hands as he went through the village. It was school break and the children stood outside eating. This made him so angry, so desperate. And this was supposed to be a
nation
! Hundreds of deep rifts tore it apart and divided it. There were so many differences – the nobility, the middle class and the workers, and there were conservatives and Socialists, poor and rich, and soldiers at the Front and in the rear, and supporting troops. And now, in addition to all the others, were the ration card-holders and the self-supporters.

In the mouths of ration card-holders the expression ‘self-supporter' had become one of abuse. Self-supporters were people who had any amount of food – fats and bread and potatoes. They ate and ate. They killed pigs, slaughtered calves and lambs, baked good bread from pure flour – and let the others starve. Yes, they let women starve, and children. With a curt refusal they banged their doors and called those a hungry rabble who were hungry only because of what was withheld from them. It was a cursed time. It was more decent in the trenches, God damn it. If you didn't have a good comrade there, you'd better get one otherwise you'd soon go to the dogs.

True, some had excuses. ‘We can't give to everybody. There's been ten here today already.' Otto could understand this. But he had been to forty or fifty places and had received only refusals. Not an egg, not a drop of milk – and the hungry child at home waiting for what they would bring.

Gertrud saw her husband become more and more downcast. She herself felt as bitter as he did, and her worry about the boy was certainly not less than his, but she thought: people are like that. The rich never help the poor. These were laws of nature for her which had to
be accepted. Otto, however, was losing faith in the world, its rules, himself even.

In the trains, returning home, he would sit silently beside those who had been successful. Their sacks of potatoes, their heavy suitcases, their mysteriously bulging knapsacks, filled the large fourth-class carriage. Smoking a stinking tobacco blended with cherry or blackberry leaves, he would listen to their talk.

If he caught the name of some village he would remark that same evening: ‘We'll go there tomorrow.'

‘Oh, Otto, again? It's no use, we're spending all our money on fares.'

But he was determined. ‘We'll have good luck sooner or later, depend on it, Tutti. We'll go tomorrow.'

They went and were indeed lucky this time, getting twenty eggs, a loaf of bread, half a pound of butter. Otto laughed as they set out for the station. ‘You see, they're not all the same, after all. You just mustn't lose faith!'

This time he sat next to her on the return journey. As far as he was concerned, others could have the world – his happiness knew no bounds. It was fine, thought his more practical wife, to be bringing the boy eggs and butter but was it worth it when she lost a whole day's work? This food was only a drop in the ocean. In such things, however, a man was like a child. Well, at all events they had got bread, butter and eggs.

But they were mistaken …

At Alexanderplatz, as people tried to leave the platform, police engaged in a large-scale search for hoarded food confronted them. They were letting nobody through; every suitcase had to be opened, every bag undone – all foodstuffs were confiscated.