The Sleepwalkers (71 page)

“He doesn’t mean it like that,” said Frau Esch appeasingly, “the food will grow quite cold if you two quarrel.”

Esch sat in silence and accepted his portion of tart.

“Oh, I’ve often sat at table with a silent parson,” said Huguenau.

Esch still made no reply, and Huguenau challenged him again:

“Well, what about this reign of the Redeemer, then?”

Frau Esch assumed an expectant look:

“Tell him.”

“It’s a symbol,” growled Esch.

“Interesting,” said Huguenau, “do you mean the priests are to reign?”

“God in Heaven … it’s hopeless to get anything into your head … the sovereignty of the Church is something you never heard of, I suppose … and yet you call yourself an editor.”

Now Huguenau on his side was honestly indignant:

“So that’s what your communism is … if that’s what it really is … you want to hand everything over to the priests. That’s why you want to go into a monastery … so that the priests may live still better … then there won’t be even stale cabbage for us … to throw the hard-earned money of this company into the maw of these gentry … no, I much prefer my honest business to your communism in that case.”

“Devil take it, then go about your business! but if you refuse to learn anything you shouldn’t persist in wanting to run a paper with your narrow-minded—yes, I repeat, narrow-minded views. It can’t be done.”

Whereupon Huguenau triumphantly retorted that Esch should be jolly glad to have found him; the advertising side of the paper, as a certain Herr Esch had run it, would have brought the
Herald
to ruin within a year, anybody could prove that in his sleep. And he blinked expectantly at Frau Esch, assuming that she would give him support on this practical question. But Frau Esch was clearing the table and seemed in a softened mood: once more Huguenau was forced to note with disapproval that she had laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder; she did not listen to what was said, but simply stated that there were things which you and me, dear Herr Huguenau, find it difficult to grasp. And Esch, rising from the table in apotheosis, closed the discussion:

“You must learn, young man; learn to open your eyes.”

Huguenau left the room. Priests’ gabble, he thought.
Haïssez les ennemis de la sainte religion.
Oh, yes, merde, blagueurs, he was willing enough to hate, but he refused to have it laid down for him whom he
was to hate. D’ailleurs je m’en fous. The clattering sound of washed plates and the stale smell of dishwater accompanied him down the wooden stairs and reminded him with strange vividness of his parents’ house and his mother in her kitchen.

With reference to the conversation which I was privileged to have with you regarding above, I respectfully beg to report that I was present yesterday at a meeting between the said Herr Esch and several suspicious elements. As already mentioned, Herr Esch meets certain subversive elements several times every week in the Palatine Tavern, and yesterday he kindly invited me to accompany him. In addition to a foreman in the paper factory, a certain Liebel, there were present a worker in the aforesaid factory whose name was uttered with intentional indistinctness so that I did not catch it, also two inmates of the military hospital who had been given leave to go out—viz.: a corporal of the name of Bauer and an artilleryman with a Polish name. Somewhat later there arrived a volunteer belonging to a bomb-throwing section. He was called Betge, Betzge, or something resembling that, and was addressed by the aforesaid Herr E. as “Herr Doctor.” The conversation soon switched on to the war even without my suggesting it, and a great deal was said especially about the possibility of the war ending. The aforesaid volunteer in particular asserted that the war was nearing its end, because the Austrians were slackening. He had heard from some of our allies passing through in an armoured train that a great munition factory near Vienna had been blown into the air by Italian fliers or by treachery, and that the Austrian fleet had gone over to the enemy after murdering their officers, and that they were only prevented from doing this by German submarines. The artilleryman replied that he could not believe this, because the German sailors too were sick of the war. When asked by me who had informed him of that he said that he had learned it from a girl in the town brothel, who had been told it by a naval paymaster here on leave. After the glorious Skagerrak sea-fight she said, as reported afterwards by the
artilleryman, the sailors had refused to obey further orders, claiming also that the men’s food was bad. Every one agreed thereupon that an end must be made of the war. In this connection the works foreman maintained that the war brought profit to nobody except the big capitalists, and that the Russians had been the first to recognize this. These subversive ideas were also advocated by E., who drew his support in doing so from the Bible, but from my experiences with Herr E., I think I can say with certainty that he is pursuing hypocritical ends by such means, and that the properties of the Church are a thorn in his flesh. Obviously to serve as a cloak for the plot that is being hatched, he proposed that a Bible Society should be founded, but all the same this was greeted with scorn by most of those present. So as to learn more of him on the one hand, and of the paymaster on the other, we visited the brothel at my suggestion after the two inmates of the hospital and the factory worker had left. I could not gather much information, however, about the paymaster at the brothel, but on the other hand the conduct of Herr E. seemed more and more suspicious to me. For the “Doctor,” who beyond doubt is a regular customer of the house, introduced me with the words: “This is a gentleman from the Government, you must treat him gratis,” from which I deduced that E. had certain suspicions regarding me, and accordingly had warned his accomplices to be cautious in my presence. Consequently I was unsuccessful in my attempt to induce Herr E. to drop his reserve, and although he drank a great deal at my invitation and my expense, he refused in spite of every encouragement to go upstairs, but remained apparently quite sober, which state he employed to make noisy harangues in the waiting-room on the un-Christian and blasphemous nature of such establishments. Only when the volunteer “Doctor” explained to him that these houses were allotted to the army on sanitary grounds by the military authorities, and consequently must be regarded as military institutions, did he give up his antagonistic standpoint, which he once more took up, however, on the way home.

As I have nothing further to report to-day, I beg to send you my profoundest respects and to declare myself eagerly willing for further service.

Yours respectfully
,

W
ILH.
H
UGUENAU.

P.S.—
I beg respectfully to add that during our conversation in the Palatine Tavern Herr Esch made mention of the fact that in the prison in this town one or more deserters are lying at present, preparatory to their being shot. Thereupon everyone, including Herr Esch, loudly expressed the
opinion that there was no object in shooting deserters now that the war is nearing its end (which these people seem to count on), seeing that enough blood had already been shed without that. Herr Esch was of the opinion that steps should be taken for this purpose. Whether by this he meant violent or other steps he did not say. I should like once more to respectfully insist that I consider the said E. as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, who conceals his subversive aims behind pious phrases. Once more with profoundest respects
,

W. H.

After concluding this report Huguenau gazed into the mirror to see whether he could bring off an ironical grimace like that which had so often exasperated him in Esch. Yes, his letter was a masterly achievement; it did one good to put a spoke in Esch’s wheel, and Huguenau was so delighted with this pleasant thought that he could not help picturing the satisfaction which the Major would feel on receiving the letter. He considered whether he should deliver it personally, but then it seemed more fitting to him that it should reach the Major’s hands by the official postal delivery. So he sent it by registered post, not however without first writing in huge letters on the envelope “Personal,” and underlining it thrice.

Huguenau had deceived himself, however; the Major was by no means pleased when he found the letter among the correspondence lying on his desk. It was a dull thundery morning, the rain poured down the window panes of his office and the air smelt of sulphur or of soot. Something ugly and violent was concealed behind this letter, something subterranean, and even though the Major did not know, and even though it was not his duty to know, that there must always be violence and violation when one man tries to force his way into the reality of others and to graft his own on to it, yet the word “Night-birds” came into his mind, and it seemed to him that he was called upon to protect himself, to protect his wife and children from something which was not of his world, but belonged to the pit. Hesitatingly he took up the letter again; at bottom one could not blame this man, whose violence was only, so to speak, an insignificant kind of violence, who merely fulfilled his duty as a patriot and made his report, and if he did it in the loathsome and dishonourable manner of an
agent provocateur
, yet one could not take that amiss in an uneducated man. Yet because all this was really incomprehensible and beyond his grasp, the Major felt only a rush of shame at having reposed confidence
in a man of low mind, and his face under his white hair became a little redder with shame. Nevertheless the Town Commandant could not consider himself justified in simply relegating the communication to the wastepaper-basket; rather did his office oblige him to continue to regard the suspicious Herr Esch with due mistrust, to keep watch on him, so to speak, from the distance, so that any danger that might possibly threaten the Fatherland from Herr Esch’s activities might be prevented.

Surgeon-Major Kühlenbeck rang up Dr Kessel on the telephone:

“Can you come at three this afternoon to operate, a small bullet extraction …?”

Dr Kessel thought he could hardly manage it, his time was so taken up.

“Too simple for you, I suppose, fishing out a bullet, for me too … but one mustn’t ask too much … this isn’t a life or the type of work a man can stand for long, I admit, and I’ll throw it up some day or other, too … but to-day there’s no help for it.… I order you to come. I’ll send a car for you, it won’t take longer than half-an-hour.”

Kühlenbeck put back the receiver and laughed:

“Well, that’s two hours of his time accounted for.”

Flurschütz was sitting beside him:

“I had been wondering, I must admit, why you asked Kessel to come for such a trifle.”

“Poor old Kessel is always trying to give me the slip. We’ll take out Kneese’s appendix at the same time.”

“You really intend to operate on him?”

“Why not? The man must be allowed his pleasures … and me too.”

“Why, does he want to be operated on?”

“Come, Flurschütz, you’re becoming as naive as our old friend Kessel—have I ever asked anybody that? Afterwards they were all thankful enough. And the four weeks’ sick-leave that I get for every one of them … well, just think for yourself.”

Flurschütz made to say something. Kühlenbeck put up his hand:

“Oh, leave me in peace with your secretion theories … my dear chap, if I can look into a man’s belly I have no need of theories … follow my example and become a surgeon … the only way of keeping young.”

“And am I to throw up all the work I’ve done on glands?”

“Throw it up with a good conscience … you operate quite neatly as it is.”

“Something must be done about Jaretzki, sir … the man’s going to pieces.”

“Suppose we try a trepanning operation on him.”

“But you’ve already discharged him … with his nerves in the condition they’re in he should be sent to a special institution.”

“I’ve reported him for Kreuznach, he’ll soon pull himself together there.… You’re a fine generation! a little boozing and you break down and must be sent to an institute for neurotics.… Orderly!”

The orderly appeared in the doorway.

“Tell Sister Carla that we shall operate at three … oh yes, and Murwitz in room two and Kneese in room three are to be given nothing to eat to-day … that’s all … what do you say, Flurschütz, we won’t really need poor old Kessel, we’ll manage quite nicely by ourselves … it’s hardly worth while calling in Kessel, he only complains that his legs are paining him: real sadism of me to drag him out … well, what do you say, Flurschütz?”

“With all respect, sir, I can act for Kessel this time, but this can’t go on indefinitely … and then it won’t be possible any longer simply to order a medical man to operate.”

“Insubordination, Flurschütz?”

“Merely theoretical, sir … yes, it seems to me that in no very long time medicine will have specialized itself so completely that a consultation between a physician and a surgeon or a dermatologist will lead to no result at all, simply because there will be no means of making one specialist understand another.”

“Wrong, quite wrong, Flurschütz, very shortly there will be nothing but surgery … that’s the only thing that will be left of this whole wretched art of medicine … man is a butcher and whatever he may do he remains a butcher, he can’t understand anything else … but he understands that to a T.” And Dr Kühlenbeck regarded his great hairy skilful hands with the nails cut quite short.

Then he said reflectively:

“Do you know, a man who refused to come to terms with that fact might actually go off his head … one must take the matter as it is and get what pleasure one can out of it … so be advised, Flurschütz, swop horses and become a surgeon.”