Ernst Haffner - Blood Brothers

On the afternoon of the fourth day the director called the staff together. What’s going on here? Yes, what is going on? They were baffled. Under the pretext of getting him to water some of the plants, they called in a boy — their boy, Georg Blaustein — to the director’s room. “Come on, Georg, you’re a sensible boy, tell us what’s going on. You’ve always kept us informed.” Georg Blaustein was haunted by an apparition four nights ago. He was lying there awake, same as everyone else. Suddenly a face loomed over his from the darkness. “If you breathe a word, I’ll break your neck …” With that the face disappeared beneath Georg’s bed, beneath several other beds, back to its own. “I … I don’t … I really don’t know … sir, what …” Of course, the director and all the teachers could tell that Georg knew everything, and that fear was keeping his lips sealed. “All right, Georg, do the plants.” Outcome: we don’t know, but we know! Strict ban on smoking for all boys, no time off, exemplary punishments for all transgressions. Till the return of normality. Report to the supervising authority with a request for instructions.

And what was going on? What had caused the quiet uprising? An almost daily occurrence. Willi Kludas, the twenty-year-old charge, had been given a slap for some infraction by Herr Friedrich, the loathed trainer. It was Willi’s birthday. He had taken it apparently without a murmur. But then in the night he had summoned up the quiet protest. As immediate retaliation. He wanted to get his own back on Herr Friedrich. For the repayment of the slap with interest, Willi had thought of a particular plan, in which he initiated only his six closest friends, whom he needed to put it into effect.

Two evenings later. Between ten and eleven o’clock. The whole dorm can sense that something is about to happen. But only seven boys, Willi and his six friends, know what it is. Half an hour earlier, the face had loomed up beside Georg Blaustein’s bed again, and had uttered terrible warnings … Willi knows that if there’s a commotion now, his friend Friedrich will come. And that’s good. Very good. The seven boys, according to plan, embark on a noisy conversation, which gets louder and louder. Again according to plan, there’s a knock on the door: “Quiet in there!” Herr Friedrich’s voice. Okay. Quiet. For a little while. Not too long. Suddenly the conspirators make a hellish row, the whole of the dorm sits up. Two of Willi’s friends grab a sheet and trot off to the door barefoot. And here comes Herr Friedrich. The door flies open. A light switch clicks. No light. Two forms holding a sheet jump on Friedrich, who is standing in the doorway of the darkened room. Throw the sheet round his body. Four other boys hold the man by the hands and feet, a barely audible gurgling sound emerges from the sheet. Then Willi hurls himself at the white bundle. The whole room is silent, everyone hears the slapping sound of the blows. Then the boys whip the sheet off, and Herr Friedrich is deposited in the corridor. The door falls shut, and the avengers flit back to bed.

Half an hour passes — the sheets are all pressed nice and flat again — then in walk the director and several half-dressed but armed teachers. There is still no light. Two boys have to be roused from deep sleep. They are to fetch ladders and screw in new bulbs. Then at last there is light, and, surprise surprise, everyone is awake, staring at the pyjama-ed staff. The fact is that Herr Friedrich was beaten by several figures in nightshirts, not too badly. But which figures? The whole dorm says with one voice: “I was asleep. The noise woke me.” Georg Blaustein outdoes everyone though. Not only was he not woken by the noise, no, he is so petrified he is still asleep. The investigation is suspended without result. Every one of the boys knows they are in for a collective punishment.

In the morning there are no work gangs. Everyone is confined to quarters for questioning. Notorious evildoers and teachers’ pets are interviewed individually. The rest in small groups. The result of the inquiry is kept secret. Punishments have not yet been announced. It remains a grave case. The supervisory authority is being asked to send a commission of inquiry. Herr Friedrich has called in sick.

Tonight I’m making a break for it, Willi Kludas has decided. In a letter a boy will “discover” tomorrow, Willi will claim sole responsibility. Those who helped him in the assault were press-ganged into it. He alone had beaten Herr Friedrich. The reason, sir? Because of the slap he gave me on my twentieth birthday. At lunch and dinner Willi eats everything he can lay his hands on. Who knows when he’ll next get a meal. He will walk all night to the nearest mainline railway station. Then he will try and get to Berlin with a platform ticket. A ten-hour ride. How he proposes to remain undetected on the train he can’t yet say. He takes discreet leave of his six friends. They give him some of their supper to take with him, and they hand over their spare change. Willi’s cash holdings come to ninety-five pfennigs. An hour before bedtime he takes the decisive step. In an hour’s time they will notice he’s gone; by then he must be a long way away. Now his friends have to do him one last kindness. They stage an argument with no end of shouting and yelling. The now-skittish teachers and even the director himself rush into the day room. While the friends act confused, Willi hops over the wall.

He needs to run to the nearest settlement, which is ten minutes away. And then not through it, but round it. But not too quickly, so that he doesn’t use up all his energy. Wow, does it feel good, running like that! Running and running, in a straight line. Not having to turn, like in the yard of the institution. With the grotty weather there’s no one about, thank God. Willi runs with fists pumping and elbows tucked: “One, two, three, four … one, two, three, four …” Ah, it feels grand. Wonder if they’ve noticed yet? Pray to God they don’t send a teacher after him on a bike … One, two, three, four … hup, hup. Now left along the footpath, the village is on the right. Oh shit, the ground’s boggy, great clumps of it are sticking to his soles. It makes a difference. Now don’t slow. Hup, hup!

He’s left the village far behind him, he’s back on the main road. It’s easier, running here. What about a break? No, another quarter-hour first. He’s starting to get hot. Without stopping, he pulls a piece of bread out of his pocket … Smack, he’s lying down in the roadside ditch. A car speeds past. Luckily, going the other way. On, on. Come on, Willi, come on! But finally he is running out of puff. A five-minute break. Behind the hedge. What I’d give for a cigarette … Am I not near the next village yet? Maybe I’ll take a chance and buy five fags in the bar. Course I will! All right, Willi, let’s go, the sooner you’ll get your cigarette. One, two, three, four …

A girl’s serving in the pub, and Willi gets his cigarettes. He treats himself to a slow walk for the first of them. But as soon as the butt is in the ditch, he breaks into a sprint. A cigarette is an amazing thing, isn’t it, it gives you as much energy as a roast goose. Too bad he can’t run and smoke at the same time. But then he’d be sharing it with the wind. The skinny little thing would burn down in a flash. Hup, hup! They must be onto him by now, back home. Home? Some home! Prison is what it was. He turns off the road, and slows to a walk. Sufficiently far away from the road that he can keep an eye on it. Trotting along, the occasional smoke, thinking about what to do next. How do I get to Berlin? What if they nab me on the train? Then he’ll be back in the institution the next day, and the courts will want to punish him for what he did to old Friedrich.