The Sleepwalkers (96 page)

Huguenau stood beside the fallen man. His foot touched Esch’s hand, which lay across a wheel-track in the sticky mire. Should he stamp on it? no doubt about it, the man was dead. Huguenau felt grateful to him—all was well now! he crouched down and looked into the sidewards-turned face with its unshaven stubble of hair. When he failed to find in it the jeering expression that he feared he was satisfied and clapped the dead man benevolently, almost tenderly, on the shoulder.

All was well.

He exchanged the rifles, leaving his own bloodstained one with the dead man, assuredly a superfluous piece of caution on such a day, but he liked to do everything methodically and in order. And after that he set out on his return journey. The town wall was brilliantly lighted up by the burning buildings, the shadows of the trees were outlined on it, a last orange-yellow shower of sparks shot up from the roof—Huguenau could not help remembering the man in the picture in Colmar soaring up into the opening heaven, and would have liked to shake him by the uplifted right hand, so light and happy did he feel—then the Town Hall tower crashed in and the conflagration ebbed to a brownish smoky red.

“Rose Cottage,” half-wrecked, still lay dark and silent in the night breeze which blew up there.

In the kitchen nothing had changed. In rigid immobility the six people still sat petrified in their places, still sat there motionless, more motionless
perhaps even than before, as if bound and fettered in the stretched wires of expectation. They neither slept nor watched, nor did they know how long this state had already lasted. Only the child slept. The quilt had slipped from Hanna’s shoulder, but she did not feel cold. Once she said into the silence: “We must wait for it to end,” but the others probably did not even hear. And yet they listened, listened into vacancy, listened for the voices which came to them from outside. And though in Hanna’s ear the words “The invasion from below” kept perpetually repeating themselves, and though she could no longer attach any meaning to them, meaningless words, meaningless sounds, yet she listened to see whether it was not these meaningless words that people were shouting outside there. The water-tap dripped monotonously. None of the six moved. Perhaps the others also heard the words she was listening to, for in spite of the wide social differences between them, in spite of their isolation and estrangement, they had all become a unified whole; a magic ring was cast round them, a chain whose links were themselves and which could not be broken through without grave injury. And in this enchantment, in this collective state of trance, it is comprehensible enough that for Hanna the cry of invasion should become more and more distinct, more distinct than she could ever have apprehended it with her physical hearing; the cry came to her as though winged by the power of their collective listening, it was borne on the current of that power, which was nevertheless a powerless power, power merely to accept and to hear, and the cry was very loud, the voice grew mightier and mightier and was like a rushing wind sweeping through the world. The dog whined in the garden and several times started barking. Then the dog too fell silent, and she heard nothing more save the voice. And at the voice’s command she stood up; the others did not seem to notice it, not even when she opened the door and left the room; she went in her bare feet, but she did not know it. Her bare soles went over a stretch of concrete, that was the passage, they went up five stone steps, went over linoleum, that was the office, went over parquet-flooring and carpeting, that was the hall, went over very dry coconut-matting, over splintered tiles, over the paving of a garden-path. In such an undeviating advance as this, which may almost be called a march, only the footsoles know the way, for the eyes see only the goal—and as she stepped out of the door she saw it, she saw the goal! at the end of the endlessly stretching paved path, stretching like a long bridge, there, with one leg swung over the garden fence, was the invader,
the housebreaker, there, clambering over the parapet of the bridge—a man in grey convict’s clothes; like a grey block of stone he clung there. And did not move. With her hands outstretched before her she stepped on to the bridge, she let the quilt fall, her nightgown billowed in the wind, and thus she strode towards the motionless man. But whether it was that the others in the kitchen had after all noticed her leaving, or that they were drawn in a magical chain after her, the gardener appeared, followed by the housemaid, followed by the cook, followed by the gardener’s wife, and, though in faint and subdued voices, they called now to their mistress.

It was no doubt the weirdness of this procession led by the white lady with the ghostly robes that made the hair bristle on the housebreaker’s head and paralysed him so completely that he was scarcely capable of swinging his leg back over the fence again. And when he had done so he gaped for a while longer at the spectral apparition, and then he ran from the place and vanished in the darkness.

Meanwhile Hanna went on her way, and when she reached the fence she stuck her hand through the railings as through the bars of a window, and seemed to be waving good-bye to someone. From the town came the glare of the conflagration, but the explosions had ceased and the spell was broken. And even the wind had fallen. She sank to sleep against the bars of the fence and was carried back into the house by the gardener and the cook, where they prepared a bed for her in the storeroom next to the kitchen.

(There next day Hanna Wendling succumbed to a severe attack of influenza complicated by pneumonia.)

Huguenau marched back. Before a house a sobbing child was standing, it was certainly not more than three at most. Where could Marguerite be hiding? he wondered. He lifted up the child, pointed out to it the beautiful fireworks sending their light over from the market-place; and he imitated the crackling and hissing of the flames and the crashing of the falling beams, his-s-ss whish-sh-sh-sh bang! until he made the child laugh. Then he carried it into the house and informed the mother that she shouldn’t leave a small child out in the street in times such as these without someone to look after it.

When he reached the house he leant his rifle against the wall of the entrance hall just as Esch had done, then lifted the trap-door and climbed down to the Major.

Since Esch left the Major had not changed his position; he was still lying on the heap of potatoes, the note between his fingers; but his blue eyes were open and staring at the flame of the cellar lamp. Nor did he turn his eyes away from it when Huguenau entered. Huguenau cleared his throat, and when the Major gave no sign he felt offended. This wasn’t a time to continue keeping up a childish quarrel. He pulled in the stool which Frau Esch used when she picked the potatoes, and with a polite bow seated himself opposite the Major:

“Herr Major, I can understand of course that you have reasons for not wanting to see me, but that’s ancient history by now, and besides events have ended by justifying me, and I can’t keep silent about the fact that you have seen me in a quite false light; don’t forget, Herr Major, that I have been the victim of a miserable intrigue, one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but only think of the contempt that that canting parson treated me with from the very beginning, Herr Major. And never a word of thanks! Has the Herr Major ever given me a word of recognition for all the functions I’ve arranged in honour of the Herr Major? no, never more than ‘ I thank you ’—but for the rest: you keep your distance and I’ll keep mine. But I don’t want to be unjust, once you did give me your hand quite spontaneously, that time the Iron Bismarck was unveiled: you see, Herr Major, that I’ve cherished in my memory every act of kindness you’ve shown me, but even then the Herr Major’s lips had an ironical expression on them. If you only knew how I hated it when Esch put on that expression. I was always shut out, if I may be permitted to say so. And why? simply because I didn’t happen to belong to the town from the beginning … a foreigner, so to speak, an interloper, as Esch so kindly put it. That was no reason for jeering at me and slighting me; I had always to decrease, that was another of his expressions—I had always to decrease, so that our Reverend Parson might increase and cut a great figure before the Herr Major. I saw that all right, and I can assure Herr Major that that hurts a man’s feelings; and the insinuations you used to throw out about ‘evil,’ all pointing at me, ah yes, I understood them quite well too, just try and remember, Herr Major, for a whole evening you talked about evil, no wonder if a man who gets such things said to him should end by becoming really evil. I admit too that the facts seemed to support it, and that the Herr Major would perhaps call me a blackmailer or a murderer to-day. And yet it’s only a matter of appearance, in reality it’s all quite different,
only one can’t express it exactly, so to speak; besides, it looks as though you haven’t the slightest desire to know what it really is. Yes, Herr Major, you talked a great deal about love that evening too, and Esch has been drivelling about love ever since—his drivel always made me sick, in any case, but when one is continually talking about love one might at least try to understand a fellow-creature. Oh, Herr Major, I know of course that I can’t ask for that, and that a man in Herr Major’s position would never condescend to have such feelings for a man like me, after all nothing better than a common deserter, though I would like to be allowed to say that Esch wasn’t such a great deal better than myself.… I don’t know whether the Herr Major quite understands what I mean, but I beg the Herr Major to have patience.…”

Polishing his eyeglasses he gazed at the Major, from whom there still proceeded neither movement nor sound:

“I beg the Herr Major most urgently not to imagine that I am keeping him imprisoned in this cellar for the purpose of forcing him to listen to me; frightful things are happening out there in the town, and if the Herr Major were to go out the Herr Major would be strung up to a lamp-post. The Herr Major will be able to convince himself of that to-morrow with his own eyes; for God’s sake, put some trust in me for once.…”

So Huguenau spoke on to the living and motionless puppet, until he saw at last that the Major did not hear him. But even then he did not want to believe it:

“I beg pardon, the Herr Major is exhausted and here I am talking. I’ll fetch something to eat.”

He hastily rushed upstairs. Frau Esch sat humped together on one of the kitchen chairs, sobbing to herself, her body shaking convulsively. When he entered she started up:

“Where is my man?”

“He’s all right, he’ll be here presently. Have you anything to eat? I need it for a wounded man.”

“Is my man wounded?”

“No, I told you he’ll be here presently. Give me something to eat. Could you make an omelette? No, that would take too long.…”

He went into the living-room; a plate with a slice of sausage stood on the table. Without asking he seized it and stuck it between two slices of bread. Frau Esch had followed him and in a voice shrill with anxiety cried:

“Let that be, that belongs to my man.”

Huguenau had the uncomfortable feeling that one dared take nothing belonging to the dead; perhaps too it would bring the Major ill luck if he ate the food of the dead. Besides, sausage wasn’t the right sort of thing for him in any case. He reflected for a moment:

“Right, but surely you must have some milk … you always have milk in the house.”

Yes, she had some milk. He filled a milk-jug and carried it carefully down to the cellar.

“Herr Major, here’s milk, lovely rich new milk!” he cried in a brisk voice.

The Major did not move. Obviously milk wasn’t the right thing either; Huguenau was annoyed at his mistake: perhaps I should have brought him wine instead? that would have roused and strengthened him … still he seems to be very feeble … well, now we’ll try him with it all the same! And Huguenau bent down and lifted the old man’s head, and the Major let him do it without making any resistance and even obediently opened his lips when Huguenau put the beak of the milk-jug to them. And when the Major accepted and swallowed the slowly trickling milk Huguenau felt happy. He ran upstairs to fetch a second jugful; at the door he glanced back, saw that the Major had turned his head to see where he was going, and nodding back kindly he waved a hand: “I’ll be back at once.” And when he descended once more the Major was still gazing at the cellar door and greeted him with a little smile, indeed it was more like a faint laugh. But he drank only a few drops more. Holding Huguenau by the finger he had fallen asleep.

With his finger in the Major’s hand Huguenau sat on. He read the note which was still lying on the Major’s breast and put this piece of evidence in his pocket. Of course he wouldn’t need it, for if he found himself in a tight corner he would say in any case that the Major had been given into his keeping by Esch: all the same, best to make doubly sure. From time to time he tried cautiously to free his finger, but then the Major wakened, smiled vaguely and without releasing the finger fell asleep again. The stool was very hard and uncomfortable. Thus they passed the rest of the night.

Towards morning Huguenau managed to free himself. No joke to sit all night on a stool. He climbed out to the street. It was still dark.
The town seemed to be quiet. He went across to the market-place. The Town Hall, gutted to the very ground, was smouldering and smoking. The military and the fire brigade had set sentries round it. Two houses in the market-place had also caught fire, and house furniture lay piled up in confusion in front of them. Now and then the hose was again set in action to damp down some new smouldering outbreak. Huguenau was struck by the fact that men in convict uniform were also helping to work the hose and eagerly taking part in the work of clearing up the mess. He spoke to a man who like himself was wearing a green armlet, and asked what had happened since last evening, for he himself had been occupied elsewhere. The man was glad to talk: the collapse of the Town Hall, he said, had really finished the whole business. After that they had all stood round the fire looking pretty foolish, friend and foe alike, and had their work cut out to save the neighbouring houses. A few ruffians, it was true, had tried to force their way into the houses, but when their own comrades heard the women screaming they had fallen on the looters. One or two of them had got their skulls caved in, and that was all to the good, for after that nobody had thought of looting any more. Just a few minutes ago the wounded had been taken over to the hospital—it was high time too, for their shrieks and groans were almost past endurance. Of course the authorities in Trier had been rung up straight away, but there was chaos and rioting there too, naturally, and two car-loads of soldiers had only arrived a little while ago, when all was over. It was said too that the Town Commandant was missing.…