Ernst Haffner - Blood Brothers

When they wake up from their nap, light is seeping through cracks in the tarpaulin. Franz pushes his way through to find out where they are. “It’s almost time, laddie. As soon as the train starts to slow, we’ll hop off. How are you feeling about Cologne — Berlin now?” Franz alludes to their earlier conversation. “My mind’s made up,” replies Willi. The locomotive whistles and starts to brake. There’s still no trace of Cologne, they’re just going through a little wood. Franz gives Willi instructions on how to jump off a train. Throw yourself down as soon as you land, so that the brakemen don’t notice. The train slows further. Franz jumps first, and throws himself to the ground. Willi comes after. But he doesn’t even need to throw himself to the ground, the impetus does it for him, he doesn’t have much say in the matter. They set off across the fields, and before long they hit a tree-lined road. After a good hour or so, they reach the end of one of the tramlines, and not long after they’re in the city.

Willi isn’t especially interested in Cologne or the Rhine. He wants to get to Berlin. Franz, however, is full of the joys of coming home. Though Franz knows Willi is probably down to his last fifty pfennigs, he takes him along to his old hostel. Comradeship is a given among kings of the road. In the hostel they are shown to a niche with two field beds in it, and in the dining room there is a huge bowl of bean soup with pork belly. Willi starts to object again. “Eat,” replies Franz, and divvies the meat up. When they are both full, Franz returns to the subject of Willi’s trip. “First you need to be well-rested. Otherwise you won’t last an hour before you’re ground up.” On Franz’s advice, Willi decides not to go till tomorrow night. Then they repair to their beds, to catch up on their sleep.

Willi sleeps through till noon the next day. He’s planning to leave in the evening. After eating, they go back upstairs to prepare for the journey. In just five hours, he’ll be lying on the axle. Franz has got hold of an old threadbare blanket, which he cuts up into pieces. Willi stands there, shaking his head. What’s Franz doing, cutting up these yards and yards of footcloths? And that bag he’s sewing? Franz drapes the bag over Willi’s head, and marks the places for his eyes. Takes it off him again, and cuts a couple of peepholes in it. Two strips are sewn on to the bottom end. Finally Franz explains: “You have to keep this bag over your head right through the journey. First, it’ll keep you warm. Second, if you didn’t have it, you’d arrive in Berlin with grime on your face an inch thick, and that would give you away.” Willi can imagine what a pair of heavy mittens would be for. But all those strips of material? Franz goes on to explain that in addition to his face his clothes will be filthy. So he needs to wear his anorak inside out, same with his trousers. In Berlin he’ll just turn them right way round so he doesn’t catch people’s attention from the outset.

The strips of material are to be wrapped round legs, thighs and torso. On account of the cold, laddie! The cold times a sixty-mph wind. With your thin undergarments you’d be stiff as a board in no time, no feeling in your limbs, and the train wheels would grind you up. Obediently Willi takes off his outer garments, and allows himself to be wound about with the strips of blanket. Not too tight, mind, so that the blood can flow, but not so loose that they slip. Puts his trousers back on inside out, weskit and jacket over them, and then his anorak, again inside out. It barely fits over his jacket. Just before they head off for the shunting yard, Willi has to down a few glasses of schnapps. Their purpose is to keep his courage up and his blood going round.

It takes minute knowledge of the terrain to approach the already-prepared Cologne-Berlin train without being seen. As long as they’re not on the actual rails, the wintry dusk keeps them from sight. But thereafter, they have to creep, crawl, slither and leap, taking advantage of every inch of shadow. Done it, thank God! They scurry along the side of the carriages. Not too near the back, there’s too much lateral movement. But not too close to the front either, otherwise the locomotive might spew glowing ashes over the hapless bundle cowering under the carriage. Franz stops at a second-class carriage. Nothing but the best, Willi thinks to himself. They creep right up to it, and Franz demonstrates the way he has to hunker over the broad axle. Then he pulls out two short ropes from his pocket, and attaches them to a couple of bars. Now Willi has a couple of handholds. Once again, Franz does the demonstration, and Willi shows him he can do it. With the train standing still, it looks straightforward. Once he’s in Berlin, Franz continues, best to hop off in some suburb, when the train’s waiting for the track to clear. On no account go into a station, that’s far too risky. Otherwise, wait till the passengers have all got off and the train is being put by. “All right then, sunshine, best of luck!” Willi gets into his crouch, and gives his friend a firm handshake. Franz slopes off.

For a long time nothing happens to suggest the train is due for imminent departure. But then a huge express locomotive passes by, and is coupled to the front of the train. Willi feels the jolt run through the line of carriages. Soon after, some people walk by, the train crew. And then, with restrained power, the train moves off. The station is close. From the echoing sound of voices and rapid footfall, Willi Kludas can tell that they’re in the station hall. He can’t see anything, except if he lowers his head to the level of the axle and looks diagonally up. Feet going by, feet and legs about to climb into his carriage.

Willi becomes aware of a series of chimes. He sidles across to the far side of his axle. It’s the guard walking alongside the train, striking the wheels with a hammer, checking for any flaws that might give rise to a disaster at high speed. Suddenly Willi can feel himself praying for something. If they get you now, you’ll be in a prison cell within an hour. Maybe not that alluring, but if they don’t spot you, you could be a nasty mess on the tracks instead. An icy shudder goes through him. He has to press his trembling hands hard to the cold iron to master his fear. A couple of feet away, there are people in idle conversation, sending regards to Uncle and Auntie. A warm soft woman’s voice implores her “sweetheart” for goodness’ sake not to sit in the draft and catch his death of cold. Willi sees a pair of ladies’ shoes, and shapely calves. Boy oh boy, if she knew someone was looking up her skirts … He has to laugh, and that gets rid of the fear. He feels a little impatient. Come on now, let’s get the show on the road! It’s getting boring here.

“All aboard!.. All aboard, ladies and gentlemen!” The train crew rush from carriage to carriage, banging on the doors. The stockinged legs get up on tiptoe for a farewell kiss. Willi adjusts his position. Tomorrow morning you’ll be in Berlin. That’s all there is to it. Gently the train moves off. Slowly it glides out of the station hall. Now there are points, lots of sets of points. Each one is a little jolt. The train is still going slowly, but Willi understands that, as soon as the suburbs are left behind, it will start racing. With considerable difficulty, he has managed to light a cigarette. It took half a box of matches before he could get the cigarette alight in the lee of his open anorak. All right, now. Let’s go! And they’re off. The glittering spokes of the wheels are flying round … then there’s no more spokes, just whirling disks. Ouch! A pebble flew up and struck him. Time for Willi to pull the blanket bag over his head.

The train has a clear track ahead and is flying along. Willi feels mild shocks, more in the nature of a rocking motion. Hands in the swinging handholds, legs pressed fast to the rods. By and by, Willi starts to feel the penetrating cold, the knife of the whistling wind. Thick dust comes in through his eyeholes. Turn the bag round, so the holes are at the back. Now Willi can’t see a thing. What would be the point? He knows how to cling on. It’s all he can do. Sit there and wait it out, just wait it out. Keep telling himself, tomorrow morning you’ll be in Berlin. Keep telling himself something. Count from one to ten thousand. Or recite a poem, for Chrissakes. Only don’t drop off, otherwise he’ll have had his chips. A slight movement to one side or the other and he’s a goner!