Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

Come in, Flamberg, said Herr Gelding. Come in, take a seat. Let’s see if you and I can reach an agreement. And I’m sure we will reach an agreement. I’ll go straight to the point, because neither of us like to waste time, do we Flamberg? You’re aware that yesterday, and I’m not saying you had any part in it, there was an attempt, let’s call it that, an attempt to strike at the mill. That is, in plain language, an attempt on the part of some workers to abandon their posts. Isn’t that so? Good. And you must be aware that Foreman Körten was verbally and even physically threatened. You must also know that the foreman attempted to reason with the rebellious employees, isn’t that so, Flamberg? To persuade them to go back to their posts, in exchange for overlooking the disturbing incident. And you know that were it not for the intervention of the police, we would be having this discussion at Foreman Körten’s funeral. Good. My first thought, then, is this, Flamberg. Notwithstanding the arduous nature of the work, which no one denies has its problems, like all work, have you ever seen an employee beaten or threatened in this mill, of which I’m proud to be the owner? You needn’t be afraid to answer. Have you ever witnessed such a thing? Good. As you can see I’m not even considering this from my position of authority as the owner, but rather from one of pure and simple logic. Now tell me, do you think that, apart from these crimes of violence, which will be duly dealt with by the law, do you believe that irresponsibly abandoning one’s post is any way to obtain concessions from the company, from me, or for that matter that from Foreman Körten? Excellent. I can see you’re no fool. I thought as much, which is why I summoned you, Flamberg. I like an observant employee. And you, Flamberg, are clearly observant. My next question, Flamberg, for as you see I only summoned you to ask you some questions, is simply this — do you believe in solving problems through dialogue? Tell me, do you? Of course you do! So do I, Flamberg, so do I. And it is precisely because a handful of sensible employees knew how to engage in dialogue like civilised people instead of behaving like animals that the mill has agreed to these wage increases and a week’s annual holiday. Now, pay close attention, Flamberg. If, as you have seen, through civilised dialogue we have achieved these improvements for our employees, for employees like you who do an honest job, and who now receive a bigger wage and more time off, in the midst of an industrial boom, Flamberg! — if all that has been achieved through dialogue and with due respect to the mill authorities, don’t you think the troublemakers deserve to be punished, not by me, not even by Foreman Körten, but by their fellow employees, whose conditions have improved thanks to the very dialogue these troublemakers were attempting to prevent? Think about it. I’m not here to think for you. Who was harming whom? Let’s be clear. And it isn’t, wait, let me finish my question, it isn’t only the employees and the labourers who would have lost out because of this silly mutiny, oh Flamberg! Let’s open our eyes! If this business does well, if our mill thrives, then the families of all its employees will eat. And so will the swarms of children. Do you think I like to see them working the machines, Flamberg? No, neither you nor I like to see them working the machines. But what happens is their mothers come to me begging, insisting, weeping. And I agree to help them, because a mother’s love sways us more than any other consideration. I don’t know about you, you’re still young, but, myself, I’m a family man. And what of the peasants, Flamberg? What will become of them if the wool is not worked on? To whom will they sell it? And the tenant farmers? And the landowners? Do you see that by insisting on protecting two or three rebels, we are putting the lives of hundreds and hundreds of families at risk, what am I saying, those of an entire city? Do you see that? Thousands of people’s lives in our hands, Flamberg! The mere thought is enough to make one shudder, isn’t it? But in order that our mill thrive and we can meet all these people’s needs, you will appreciate that a boss needs trustworthy employees, responsible employees like you, and that he must rid himself of those who do not perform their duties rigorously. Put yourself in my shoes, any boss has the right to assume that today’s troublemakers and idlers will endanger the future of the company. And this cannot be allowed. Which is why, Flamberg, if I knew exactly who these people were who had breached our rules, I would be able to be as just as I would like and punish only the guilty ones. But if I don’t know who they are, Flamberg, and I’m no mind reader — can you read minds, Flamberg? No, neither can I — well, if I don’t know who they are, then I may have to commit an injustice by dismissing one or more employees, or perhaps everyone, simply in order to be sure of dismissing the leaders of yesterday’s mutiny. Do you imagine I want that? I don’t want that. Do you want that? You don’t either. Once more we are in agreement. And so, I put it to you, and this is my last question, wouldn’t it be simpler, far simpler, to remove the two or three rotten apples from the barrel and carry on with the harvest? Or should the innocent pay for the sins of the guilty? Have you read Genesis, Flamberg? I’m glad we had this little chat.

Time to go home, everyone! The church bell has chimed eight, watch over your fire and your lamps, praise be to God! All praise! The nightwatchman’s lantern hovers for a moment at the entrance to Wool Alley, crosses from left to right and carries on down Jesus Lane. Then the masked figure’s brimmed hat appears once more and he continues on his way, like an evil shadow emerging from the wall. Farther ahead, different, more delicate footsteps are heading towards Prayer Street and the lights of the city centre. The masked figure quickens his pace without breaking into a run. The number of paving stones between his resolute steps and the more delicate ones is diminishing. The mud on the street is soft from the afternoon rain. Two, now three, paving stones nearer. Four paving stones closer and the masked figure can make out the folds of his victim’s robe — excellent attire for a party, but not for running. An occasional street lamp lights up a small pair of hands clasping the edges of the dress, trying to lift it off the ground. Five, six paving stones closer and now they are both running. The victim leaps as though over puddles, she is fleeing with a desperate elegance she now curses, forced on her by the corsets and crinoline petticoats beneath her ample skirts. The masked figure, shoulders moving rhythmically, is gaining on his victim without needing to take his hands out of his pockets. In his pockets is a fine pair of gloves, a knife and a piece of rope. The young girl cries for help, no nightwatchman in the surrounding streets will hear her cry after the eight o’clock round. But a passer-by, especially in spring, might. The masked figure is aware of this, and on the final stretch, only a few paving stones away from her, he reaches out a long arm. Almost within his grasp, the young girl turns and sees the mask.

Hey, old man, take a look at this toad, said Reichardt. The organ grinder glanced over to where Reichardt was pointing at an enormous toad. It had a puffed-up throat, sagging gullet and huge back legs. The slimy animal looks like a green cow, said Reichardt. Alerted by the two men’s gestures, Franz immediately went over and stood motionless in front of the toad. The toad croaked, Franz’s hind legs tensed, and Reichardt and the organ grinder burst out laughing. Are you feeling peckish, old man? asked Reichardt. A little, answered the organ grinder, I didn’t have any lunch. Reichardt pressed his toothless mouth close to the organ grinder’s ear: Why don’t we roast it? he said. The organ grinder looked at him aghast, then licked his lips. Have you any more firewood? Reichardt asked. Franz gave a growl that was more wary than aggressive. The toad throbbed, alert as a sumo wrestler.