The Sleepwalkers (29 page)

But then finally the lamp had to be lit, and now the conversation became general, only Ilona remaining silent. And as it was time to leave for the theatre, and they did not want to break up, Gernerth invited his hosts to attend the performance. So they got ready and took a tram to the theatre. The two ladies went inside and the men smoked their cigars on the platform at the back. Cold drops of rain spattered now and then into their heated faces, refreshing them pleasantly.

The name of the tobacconist from whom August Esch usually bought his cheap cigars was Fritz Lohberg. He was a young man about the same age as Esch, and this may have been the reason why Esch, who was always in the company of people older than himself, treated him as if he were a fool. Nevertheless the fool must have had some slight importance for him, and really it should have given Esch himself matter for thought that just in this shop he should feel so much at home as to become a regular customer. True, the shop lay on the way to his work, yet that was no reason why he should feel at home in it so immediately. Certainly it was very spick-and-span, a pleasant place to dawdle in: the light, pure fragrance of tobacco that filled it gave one an agreeable titillation in the nose, and it was nice to run one’s hand over the polished counter, at one end of which, beside the glittering nickel-plated automatic cash register, invariably stood several open sample boxes of light-brown cigars and a little stand containing matches. If one made a purchase one received a box of matches free, a stylishly ample one. Further, there was a huge cigar-cutter which Herr Lohberg always had at hand, and if one wanted to light one’s cigar on the spot, then with a sharp little click he snipped off the end that one held out to him. It was a good place to spend one’s time in, bright and sunny and hospitable behind its plate-glass windows, and during these cold days full of a sort of pleasant smooth warmth that lay on the white floor-tiles and was a welcome change from the dusty, overheated atmosphere of the glass cage in the warehouse. But while that was sufficient reason for liking to come here after one’s work or during the lunch-hour, it had no further
significance. At these times one was full of praise for neatness and order, and grumbled at the filth one had to slave among; yet one did not intend this quite seriously, for Esch knew quite well that the perfect orderliness which he kept in his books and his goods lists couldn’t be imposed on piles of packing-cases and bales and barrels, no matter how good the foreman might be at his job. But here in this shop, on the other hand, a curiously satisfying sense of order, an almost feminine precision, ruled, and this seemed all the stranger to Esch because he could scarcely picture to himself, or only with discomfort, girls selling cigars; in spite of all its cleanliness it was a job for men, a thing suggesting good-fellowship; yes, this was what friendship between men should be like, and not careless and perfunctory like the casual helpfulness of a trade-union secretary. But these were things which Esch really did not bother his mind about; they occurred to him only by the way. On the other hand, it was both funny and curious that Lohberg shouldn’t be content with a job that suited him so well and in which he might have been happy, and still funnier were the grounds that he offered for his dissatisfaction, and in advancing which he showed so clearly that he was a fool. For although he had hung over the automatic cash register a board with the inscription: “Smoking has never harmed anybody”; although his boxes of cigars were accompanied by neat cards which displayed not only his business address and the names of the different brands, but also a little couplet: “Smoke good and pure tobacco every day, And you will have no doctors’ bills to pay,” yet he himself did not believe in these sentiments; indeed he smoked his own cigarettes simply from a sense of duty and because his conscience pricked him, and, in perpetual dread of so-called smoker’s cancer, constantly felt in his stomach, his heart, his throat, all the evil symptoms of nicotine-poisoning. He was a lank little man with a dark shadow of a moustache and lifeless eyes which showed a great deal of white, and his somewhat coy charm and bearing were just as incompatible with his general principles as the business which he carried on and had no thought of exchanging for another; for he was not content to regard tobacco as a popular poison undermining the national well-being, perpetually reiterating that the people must be saved from this virus; no, he was also an advocate of a spacious, natural, genuinely German way of life, and it was a great disappointment to him that he could not live in the open air, a deep-chested, blond giant. For this deprivation, however, he partly compensated himself by
subscribing to anti-alcoholic and vegetarian associations, and so beside the cash register there was always lying a pile of pamphlets on such subjects, most of them sent to him from Switzerland. No doubt about it, he was a pure fool.

Now Esch, who smoked cigars and drank wine and treated himself to huge portions of meat whenever he had the chance, might not have been so deeply impressed by Herr Lohberg’s arguments, in spite of the persuasive phrases about saving the people which always recurred in them, if he had not been struck by a curious parallelism between them and the principles of Mother Hentjen. Of course Mother Hentjen was a sensible woman, even an unusually sensible woman, and so her opinions had nothing in common with Lohberg’s jargon. Yet when Lohberg, true to the Calvinistic convictions which reached him from Switzerland along with his pamphlets, inveighed like a priest against sensual indulgence and in the same breath pleaded like a Socialist orator addressing a Freethinking audience for a free and simple life in the bosom of nature; when in his own modest way he let it be understood that there was something amiss with the world, a glaring error in the books which could only be put right by a wonderful new entry, in all this confusion only one thing was absolutely clear, that Mother Hentjen’s restaurant was in the same case as Lohberg’s tobacconist shop: she had to depend for her living on the men who boozed at her tables, and she too hated her business and her customers. No doubt about it, it was a queer coincidence, and Esch half thought of writing to Frau Hentjen to tell her about it, it would interest her. But he dropped the idea when he reflected that Frau Hentjen might think it odd, perhaps even feel insulted, to be compared with a man who, in spite of all his virtues, was an idiot. So he saved it up until he should see her; in any case he would soon have to go to Cologne on business.

All the same the case of Lohberg was well worth mentioning; and one evening, while Esch was sitting at dinner with Korn and Fräulein Erna, he gave way to his desire to talk about it.

Of course the two Korns knew of Lohberg. Korn had already been in his shop several times, but he had observed none of the man’s peculiarities. “One wouldn’t think it to see him,” he said, after an interval of silent thought, and agreed with Esch that the man was a fool. But Fräulein Erna seemed to be seized with a violent aversion to this spiritual
double of Frau Hentjen, and inquired sharply whether Frau Hentjen perchance was Herr Esch’s long and carefully concealed lady-love. She must be a very virtuous lady, no doubt, but Fräulein Erna thought all the same that she herself was just as good. And as for Herr Lohberg’s virtuous scruples, of course it wasn’t nice when a man made the curtains stink with his perpetual smoking as her brother did. Yet on the other hand one knew at least that there was a man about the house. “A man that does nothing but drink water …” she searched for words, “would sicken me.” And then she inquired, did Herr Lohberg even know what it was to have a woman? “He’s still an innocent, I suppose, the fool,” said Esch, and Korn, foreseeing that there was sport to be had out of him yet, exclaimed: “A pure Joseph!”

Whether for this purpose, or because he wished to keep an eye on his lodger, or simply by pure chance, Korn too now became a regular customer of Lohberg’s, and Lohberg shrank every time that the Herr Customs Inspector noisily entered his shop. His fear was not without cause. A few evenings later the blow fell; shortly before closing time Korn appeared with Esch and commanded: “Make yourself ready, my lad; to-night you’re going to lose your innocence.” Lohberg rolled his eyes helplessly and pointed to a man in the uniform of the Salvation Army who was standing in the shop. “Fancy dress?” said Korn, and Lohberg stammeringly introduced the man: “A friend of mine.” “We’re friends too,” replied Korn, holding out his paw to the Salvation Army soldier. He was a freckled, somewhat pimply, red-haired youth, who had learned that one must be friendly to every soul one meets; he smiled in Korn’s face and rescued Lohberg: “Brother Lohberg has promised to testify in our ranks to-night. I’ve come to fetch him.” “So, you’re going out to testify? Then we’ll come too.” Korn was enthusiastic. “We’re all friends.” “Every friend is welcome,” said the joyful Salvation Army man. Lohberg was not consulted; he had the look of a thief caught in the act, and closed up the shop with a guilty air. Esch had followed the proceedings with great amusement, yet as Korn’s high-handedness annoyed him he clapped Lohberg jovially on the shoulder, reproducing the very gesture that Teltscher had often expended on him.

They made for the Neckar quarter. In Käfertalerstrasse they could already hear the beating of the drums and tambourines, and Korn’s feet, as if remembering their time in the army, fell into step. When they
came to the end of the street they saw the Salvation Army group standing at the corner of the park in the dying twilight. Watery sleet had fallen, and where the group was gathered the snow had melted into black slush which soaked through one’s boots. The Lieutenant was standing on a wooden bench and cried into the falling darkness: “Come to us and be saved, poor wandering sinners, the Saviour is near!” But only a few had answered his call, and when his soldiers, with drums and tambourines beating, sang of the redeeming love and made their chorus resound: “Lord God of Sabaoth save, Oh, save our souls from Hell,” hardly anybody in the crowd standing round joined in, and it was obvious that the majority were merely looking on out of curiosity. And although the honest soldiers sang on lustily, and the two girls struck their tambourines with all their might, the crowd grew thinner and thinner as the light faded, and soon they were left alone with their Lieutenant, their only audience now being Lohberg, Korn and Esch. Yet even now Lohberg was probably ready to join in the hymn, and indeed he would certainly have done so without feeling either embarrassed or intimidated by Esch and Korn if Korn had not kept on digging him in the ribs and saying: “Sing, Lohberg!” It wasn’t a very pleasant situation for Lohberg, and he was glad when a policeman arrived and ordered them to move on. They all set out for the Thomasbräu cellar. And yet it was almost a pity that Lohberg hadn’t joined in the singing, yes, then perhaps a minor miracle might have happened, for it wouldn’t have taken much to make Esch too lift up his voice in praise of the Saviour and His redeeming love; indeed only a slight impetus would have been required, and perhaps the sound of Lohberg’s voice would have provided it. But one can never be sure of those things afterwards.

Esch himself could not make out what had happened to him at the open-air meeting: the two girls had beaten their tambourines when the officer standing on the bench gave the signal, and that had reminded him strangely of the commands which Teltscher gave Ilona on the stage. Perhaps it was the sudden dead silence of the evening that had affected him, for there at the outskirts of the city the sounds of the evening broke off as abruptly as the music in the theatre; perhaps it was the motionlessness of the black trees that gazed up into the darkening sky; and then behind him in the square the arc-lamps had flared out. It was all incomprehensible. The biting coldness of the wet snow had pierced through his shoes; but that was not the only reason why Esch
would have liked to be standing up there on the bench pointing out the way of salvation, for his old strange feeling of orphaned isolation had returned again, and suddenly it had become dreadfully clear to him that some time he would have to die in utter and complete loneliness. A vague and yet unforeseen hope had risen in him that things would go better, far better, with him if he could but stand up there on the bench; and he saw Ilona, Ilona in the Salvation Army uniform, gazing up at him and waiting for his redeeming signal to strike the tambourine and cry “Hallelujah!” But Korn was standing beside him, grinning out from between the great upturned collars of his damp customs cloak, and at the sight of him Esch’s hopes had ignominiously melted away. Esch’s mouth twisted wryly, his expression became contemptuous, and all at once he was almost glad to be orphaned and alone. In any case he too was relieved that the policeman had moved them on.

Lohberg was walking in front with the pimply Salvation Army man and one of the girls. Esch trudged behind. Yes, whether a girl like that beat a tambourine or threw plates, one only had to order her to do it, it was just the same, only the clothes were different. They sang about love in the Salvation Army as in the theatre. “Perfect redeeming love,” Esch had to laugh, and he decided to sound the good Salvation Army girl on this question. When they were nearing the Thomasbräu cellar the girl stopped, planted her foot on a ledge projecting from the wall, bent down, and began to tie the laces of her wet, shapeless boots. As she stood there bent double, her black hat almost touching her knee, she looked lumpish and hardly human, a monstrosity, yet with a certain, as it were, mechanical effectiveness of structure, and Esch, who in other circumstances would have requited such a posture with a clap on the part most saliently exposed, was a little alarmed that no desire to do so awoke in him, and it almost seemed as though another bridge between him and his fellow-creatures had been broken, and he felt homesick for Cologne. That day in the kitchen he had wanted to take hold of Mother Hentjen under the breasts; yes, he would not have been put off had Mother Hentjen bent down and laced her shoes. But as all men have the same thoughts, Korn, who felt on good terms with all the world, now pointed to the girl: “Any chance with her, do you think?” Esch threw him a furious glance, but Korn did not stop: “Among themselves they’re probably hot enough, the soldiers.” Meanwhile they had reached the Thomasbräu cellar, and they walked into the
bright, noisy room, which smelt pleasantly of roast beef, onions and beer.