The Drinker (15 page)

33

But I was unable to get on with any of this for the time being. Other things intervened, which seemed to me more important. On the morning after Dr Husten’s visit, when the warder unlocked our cell and I hurried towards the latrine with my full bucket, I suddenly stopped short in amazement. I could not trust my own ears, and yet there was no deception: from a cell which had just been opened, came a soft, insinuating, whispering voice, a voice that was inextricably bound up with my drunkenness, a voice that I destested from the bottom of my heart—Lobedanz’s voice!

I hazarded a quick glance. Yes, there he stood with his gentle, sallow face, with the dark beard and dark slashed-back hair with its red-gold sheen, there he stood, talking softly to his cell-mate, and pulling at his fingers till they cracked. He was trying to get something out of the other fellow, for sure, the poor honest working-man!

I hurried past the cell as quickly as I could, emptied and cleaned out my bucket, and crept back into my own cell, taking care not to be seen. That morning Duftermann had to do the “outside work” of cell-cleaning; however much he grumbled, he had to fetch the broom and cloth and the clean water; I had no desire to be seen by Lobedanz.

But inwardly I was filled with triumph and malicious joy. They had caught the sly hypocritical Lobedanz, they had put him in gaol, and only one thought still bothered me; whether they had managed to recover the loot, or a substantial part of it, from Lobedanz. But I was not to remain long in uncertainty about that. As usual we went out into the wood-yard, but without Lobedanz, either because he had not volunteered for work, or because the governor knew that we were mixed up in the same affair. In such cases, care is taken not to allow the accomplices to come into contact with each other.

Mordhorst and I placed ourselves at our saw-bench and began our day’s work, this time of a most agreeable kind—soft smooth pine-logs, child’s play for such practised men as we were. The first log was sawn up, and while I was putting the second one into position on one bench, I asked my workmate the question that was repeated every morning: “What’s new about the place?”

“Mhm!” murmured Mordhorst, and set the saw on. Then: “A new arrival. A con man, it seems.”

We began to saw. Then I stopped again. “What has he done?”

“Who? Done what?” asked Mordhorst, whose thoughts were miles away, probably still revolving around that bitter fate by which he had been caught in such a mud-hole, and over such an undignified little job.

“Who? Done what?”

“The new man!” I reminded him.

“Oh, him. What do those fellows have the nerve to do?”

And he tried to start sawing again, but I held tight to the saw-handle. “No, tell me, Mordhorst, it really interests me. I think I saw the fellow this morning.”

“That may be. He’s in your block. What has he done? Robbed a stiff of course, what else would a geezer like that have the pluck for? Just lifted some stuff from some drunken old soak, you know.”

“I know,” answered the drunken old soak, “and had he managed to put his loot away safely?”

“No idea. I suppose so—even he is not so daft!”

“Find out, Mordhorst. I’m very interested to know.”

“Why are you so interested? It seems funny.”

“Not to me. Because I was the drunken old soak the fellow robbed. You remember, Mordhorst, he’s that landlord who did me down when I was drunk. I told you about him.”

“Ah, that’s him,” said Mordhorst, grinning with delight. “There’ll be a fine old rumpus when he finds you’re here, seeing it’s you who got him in chokey.”

“Well, find out, Mordhorst, whether he managed to put the stuff away. He’s got two gold rings and a gold watch of mine, table-silver for twelve people, a cowhide suitcase with some things in it, a leather brief-case, and four thousand marks.”

“Not bad,” grinned Mordhorst. “Far too much for such a lousy rogue. Well, I’ll let you know.” And we went on sawing, silently now—the warder was looking at us.

It was some days before I got to see Lobedanz or heard his voice again. In the mornings, when I went bucketing, his cell-door was always shut, and was only opened after we had finished, a sign that they knew we were concerned with the same case. I heard nothing more from Mordhorst either. Whenever I insisted, he only answered, “Wait a bit, mate, I’ve got to spy around a bit first. Mordhorst never cracks a safe until he has spied around a bit.”

However, at last he was ready.

“He had over six thousand marks on him when the coppers nabbed him,” said Mordhorst. “And that’s straight up. Not only because he says so himself, but I got it from the orderly who cleans the office. They’ve got the money in there.”

“Then he must have sold all my things and I’ll never see them again,” I said, and suddenly I was very sad about the loss of all my gold and silver things. “He only took four thousand in cash from me, no more.”

“He might have had some money of his own,” replied Mordhorst. “It’s not sure that he flogged your stuff. He may have parked it somewhere.”

“That’s possible,” I admitted, “but I can’t quite believe it.”

For a long time we sawed in silence, one beech log after another.

Then Mordhorst suddenly said: “What would you give, mate, if I found out where that fellow has hidden the boodle?”

“Boodle—what’s that?”

“Your stuff, of course. What would you give?”

“What
can
I give, in clink? I haven’t got anything myself.”

“You have outside.”

“But I can’t touch that, my wife won’t let me near it.”

And we went on sawing. Next day, Mordhorst said to me. “You’ll be coming up before the beak soon, and you’ll be questioned about this fellow. You’ll have to say that you claim the stolen money that’s here, as your own.”

“You can rely on me saying that, Mordhorst,” I said grimly.

“And the Public Prosecutor will have to release the money to you, that’s certain,” said Mordhorst.

For a while he was silent again. Then he said: “Would you make out a draft, for five hundred marks payable to bearer, if I find out where he has hidden your stuff?”

I thought it over.

“The whole affair is worth five hundred to me,” I said at last. “But I should have to get everything back, the gold things as well, and I can’t believe that.”

“If you get back less, you’ll only have to pay less. I’m a squaredealer,” replied the incorrigible safebreaker.

“But Mordhorst,” I said, and I pitied his ignorance. “Do you really think they’ll pay out money to you or anyone from the gaol, just because I write out a draft?”

“Let me worry about that,” he replied, quite unmoved. “You’ve got a corn-chandler’s business haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have,” I replied. “How did you come to know that, Mordhorst?”

“I know everything,” he answered, with all the bumptiousness of the little man. “And if someone comes from outside with a bill for grain that he delivered to you three months ago, and asks for his money, and you acknowledge the bill, I’ll bet the fellows in the bank will pay up.”

“Possibly,” I replied. “But who’s going to come from outside with such a bill?”

“Let me take care of that,” answered Mordhorst with equanimity. “The main thing is, I’ve got your word, you’ll acknowledge the bill.”

“That you have,” I said, “and I keep my word.”

“You’d better,” replied Mordhorst, and he began sawing again. “You can be sure I’ll get you if you do the dirty on me, I’ll get you tomorrow or in five years’ time, inside or out, myself or someone I tip off for it.”

That is how the game began, a game such as is only played in prison, underground, with many intermediaries, with the whispering of orderlies at locked doors, with infinite subtlety exercised by many brains during many hours: and the cunning hypocritical Lobedanz was the target.

I was never quite able to see how it was done, I have never understood how Mordhorst, who was particularly closely guarded, was able to maintain constant contact with all the prisoners, even with the outside world. But he could. Sometimes half a word would be dropped, out of which I could construct a whole paragraph. For example, there were four carefully selected prisoners who dragged the wood we cut. through the town and round to the houses, in an outsized handcart, under the supervision of a warder of course. And there was the trusty prison-cook, an old prisoner who was sometimes taken by the governor to dig and hoe and water his garden on the outskirts of town. Perhaps these prisoners were not quite so trustworthy as the prison administration allowed themselves to imagine. And then there were the hatches, the openings in our cell-doors through which our food-bowls were handed in to us. When meals were being taken round there was always a lot of secret whispering and furtive passing of things to and fro at these hatches. As I have said, I know next to nothing about the game they were playing, otherwise I would have more to say about it here. I was a novice, and in particular, in the eyes of the others, I was not a “real criminal” because I had committed no offence against other people’s property.

Mordhorst was careful not to tell me too much about it. I only got to know that pressure was being put on Lobedanz. They managed to cut down his food under the eyes of the warder. They let him starve a bit. And his cell-mate had as much as he could eat and never gave away a mouthful. That was one thing. And the other thing was that Lobedanz really had a wife and children at home, and he had been arrested so unexpectedly that they were left without food or money. It was put to him that a prisoner was going to be released in a few days’ time, who could take the hidden things and dispose of them and give the proceeds to his wife—after the deduction of an appropriate commission, of course. I can well imagine that the cunning and suspicious Lobedanz had a hard struggle with himself, but they softened him up. They put the screws on him, they would slip him alarming messages, and then leave him entirely without any news, and when he asked them, they would say “It’s all off. You wouldn’t do it.” And probably even Lobedanz loved his wife and children and did not want to see them starve and beg. The day came when Mordhorst said to me: “So I’ve got your word?”

“You have. Do you know anything yet?”

“I know everything. Your stuff …” Mordhorst looked at me sharply, “… is in the barn in the first field on the road to Kehne. There’s a few planks broken at the back, and it’s there in the straw. So now you know. Your gold wedding ring is missing, he’s got rid of it, but otherwise everything’s there, just as you said. That’s worth five hundred marks, mate?”

“That’s worth five hundred marks,” I answered. Curious, how illogical the heart is. I was almost delighted that Magda would get her silver back, and yet I hated her with all my heart.

“Yes,” I said, “but what can I do with my knowledge? I can’t very well tell anybody I got it from you.”

“When you get your bread today,” said Mordhorst, “you’ll find a slip of paper inside with what I’ve told you written on it. You show that to the warder and let things take their own course.”

“And who’s suppose to have written this note?”

“You don’t know that. Just somebody you don’t know, who hates Lobedanz and wants to do the dirty on him. Don’t worry your head about that.”

34

It was all thought out with real ingenuity and carried through with endless patience. The only pity was that this affair, like the majority of such affairs conceived in prison—great robberies and hold-ups, blackmail and swindles—turned out otherwise than we had expected, and Magda never got her silver back again.

Everything happened just as Mordhorst had foretold. I found the slip, gave it to the warder when he unlocked the cell, I was taken down to the prison governor and questioned. Then they took me back to my cell and I heard them unlocking another cell-door further up the corridor: they were fetching Lobedanz. I heard no more about the affair that night, nor during the next two days, and this time Mordhorst heard nothing either. Then I was summoned by the governor and informed that the police had searched the barn; the planks at the back were loose but there was nothing under the straw, and in fact nothing was hidden in the barn at all. I went back to my cell deeply disappointed. So Lobedanz had been cleverer than the lot of them, and either he no longer had the things or else he had hidden them in some quite different place. But Mordhorst shook his head at this.

“Just wait,” he said, “there’s more in this than meets the eye, and I’ve already got an idea what it is. Just wait, I’ll get to the bottom of it, and if it’s as I think it is, somebody’s going to have nothing to laugh about.”

He really did find out, at least I believe that what he told me was the truth.

“The fellow who was released had picked it up and sold it. He took it just before the coppers got there—the fools, why couldn’t they move a bit faster! But I tell you, I’ll get the rotten dog, he’ll turn up in clink again, and then he’ll have something to holler about!”

And a name was spread throughout the whole prison, sixty prisoners took note of the name of the man who had turned traitor, and these prisoners would take care that in the course of time the traitor’s name was spread through many other prisons. Everywhere he would be looked on as a common traitor, for even among criminals there is a code of honour of sorts, and he had offended against this code.

But for me, who had played the least part of this game, the immediate consequences were most serious. For one morning when a warder had perhaps been a little sleepy and had not been paying proper attention to his task, I was unsuspectingly taking my bucket along the corridor, and did not notice that, contrary to custom, the door of Lobedanz’s cell was already open, and the gentle fellow leaped out at me like a tiger, knocked me and my bucket to the ground and struck me in the face with both fists so that I lost consciousness almost at once. By now they had told Lobedanz that I was in gaol too, and, prisoner-fashion, had teased and tormented him mercilessly over the loss of his loot. They had probably told him also, that the money that had been taken from him was being kept here at my disposal, and perhaps they had pretended that my stuff had come back into my possession again. Anyhow, Lobedanz was wild with rage, and all these days he had been brooding in his cell, thinking how utterly fruitlessly he had worked on me for weeks, how I had got everything back, and how he was faced with a long prison sentence on my account—and all for nothing! He had seen red, he had been brooding all the time on how he could mark me for life, and his rage and hatred had swept away all his native cowardice and caution. When he saw the cell-door open, he had lain in wait for me, he had got me down, and struck me in the face so that the blood immediately gushed from my nose and mouth. As usual the prisoners watched, unmoved and unconcerned, perhaps a little maliciously; it is not the custom, in prison, to interfere in any scuffle between two inmates. I am convinced that Mordhorst would have stood by me, but Mordhorst was not at hand, he was on the corridor below. And before the warder was able to rush up and pull Lobedanz off, Lobedanz had bent over my face and bitten my nose, so as to mark me for life—oh, he nearly bit half my nose off!

Terrible things happen in gaol, and frequently, and nobody makes any fuss about it. Lobedanz was put in a punishment cell, and later a charge of grievous bodily harm was added to all the rest. They laid me down on the straw-bag in my cell, washed off some of the blood, and waited till the prison doctor, summoned by telephone, arrived. The first thing I heard on regaining consciousness, was Duftermann’s nagging voice, complaining about all this “filth in his cell”, and demanding that I should be put somewhere else; and his voice did not cease to complain about me, as long as he was not asleep, every day that I had to share the cell with him.

In the doctor’s opinion, it was not serious enough for me to be transferred to hospital. He sewed up my nose after a fashion, and declared that everything would be all right in three or four days’ time. But it never did get quite right again; apart from the fact that to this day I cannot bear to look at myself in the mirror, because I am so disfigured and disgusting. No, I cannot smell any more, and I cannot breathe properly through my nose, either. I breathe with my mouth half-open like an idiot, and my sleeping-companions abuse me and jostle me of a night-time because I disturb their sleep with my snoring and groaning. That dog Lobedanz really has marked me for life, and I can never forget him. In fact, Lobedanz made a deeper impression on me than any other human being, even than Magda. Sometimes as I sit here, suddenly the image rises before me of how I stood at the attic-window and saw the town with its red-brown roofs spread at my feet in the evening light, saw the river shining among the green, and beyond, half-hidden in a blueish haze, the roof of my own house, while at my back, Lobedanz was assuring me in a soft whisper that he was a very poor but honest man, and making his joints crack. From the very first moment, I had realised that he was a rogue and a liar, and if I had had a little commonsense and decency I would have left that room there and then, and gone back home to the house in the blue haze. But in my frailty I stayed there and I have paid for it since a thousand times over.