Wolfgang Hilbig - 'I'

We don’t know if the old lady told him anything. . maybe not, she’s not the mother, after all! And we can’t just bump her off. . Feuerbach laughed rather artificially; it was supposed to be a joke.

Still, we’re the ones with more staying power, I’m telling you, even if a whole bunch of people are already scared shitless. Yes, suddenly lots of people are scared shitless. And we don’t know if he. . if Harry told the old lady anything. . The Major’s story was starting to strike me as slightly incoherent.

And what are these documents Harry’s sitting in the Permanent Mission with? I asked.

We may not learn that until it’s too late, until you can read it in the newspapers over there, said Feuerbach. Because I’m telling you, we’ll have to let all of them go, maybe even the ones in Prague and Budapest. Because they’re down there too. . can you picture what’ll happen if that catches on? They’ll have to stew a bit longer, and then batch by batch they’ll all get to leave, what else can we do, we’ve lost that battle. And I’ve lost my rank. . for now! We’ll let them all out and Harry with them. But we have an ace up our sleeves, believe me. . or we’ll have it soon!

I could only stare at him inquiringly; the barkeeper was back at our table.

Don’t you know, Feuerbach whispered, that he’s got his child’s blood on his hands?

Evidently the Hong Kong flu had such a hold on me that I was no longer capable of horror; silent, I asked myself whether something resembling relief had passed through my numb interior.

He must have offed the kid, his son, or his girlfriend’s son, the one who was born in jail. . a veritable repetition compulsion, isn’t it? At any rate the kid has vanished. . without a trace. We don’t have 100 per cent proof yet, we still haven’t found the brat. But we hardly have any time left, we’ve got to find the evidence, or make it up, either way, because once Harry’s over there, he’ll cut and run. But not before he finds a taker for his material. . he’s not dumb, that little Harry. .

Is that the same child I once. . I asked.

Well, well, you’re catching on. . it’s the same child. You signed the paternity form and never paid. The Fatherland footed the bill for you. . oh, so you do have some residual powers of recall. And if you had evidence that Harry had gotten rid of the brat shortly after birth, you wouldn’t even have to pay the burial costs.

But the child was a fabrication, I said, even back when it was supposedly my child. . do you still believe in this lunacy?

You always left it pretty unclear back then. . just like an artist, he added. I know, you’ve never seen the child. . me neither. Still, you signed, and there are the documents from the prison, too. A child can’t just up and vanish in this country. But that doesn’t matter, if we can prove it on Harry Falbe that the child existed, or even better that he got rid of it, that’d be a windfall for us! Can you think how loud we’ll yell, on TV, in the press: the West German Mission is covering for a murderer and smuggling him out! Because that’s how far we have to take it! And as for you. . go on writing your reports, keep at it. . what’s the Berlin Scene’s latest kindergarten called, when’s the next hip riot. But leave out words like riotous assembly, hostile activities, planned provocations . . we’ve got to show our human face for a bit now. .

The barkeeper came to the table and laid down a slip of paper with the tab; it was a pathetically small amount, with no charge for an extra beer. . and then the barkeeper carried his tray around to the other tables and set filled glasses in front of the guests; it was a clear provocation. On his way back he shuffled up again and explicitly stated the sum on the slip of paper. — Excuse me, please. . said Feuerbach, we’d like another round. — We’ve stopped serving, replied the barkeeper, and repeated the requested sum. — We both looked at our watches simultaneously, on mine it was three to twelve, on Feuerbach’s five to twelve. . the first lieutenant had told me quite a bit in the past three quarters of an hour.

All right, he said amicably, then we’ll have another one up at the bar. . And he placed the money on the table, two marks more than necessary. — Forget about it! said the barkeeper, and counted out exact change, down to the last pfennig. We’ve stopped serving. — Vexed, Feuerbach swept up the coins he’d meant for the tip, then said to me: Give me your watch — it’s Harry’s girlfriend’s, right? I’m going to need it.

I refrained from asking where Harry’s girlfriend was, unbuckled the watch from my wrist and handed it to him; he tucked it away in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he emptied his beer in one draught and got to his feet; I left mine half-full as Feuerbach dragged me to the bar. — Two more beers, two schnapps. . please! Feuerbach’s voice had a slight quiver to it.

This ain’t no glee club here, the barkeeper said broadly. For the last time, we’ve stopped serving. . As he spoke he coolly tapped a fresh beer, wiped off the excess foam with care and handed it to an individual leaning on one of the stand-up tables by the bar a foot further down. . These are all just friends and relatives of mine, explained the barkeeper, it’s just family now.

I want another beer immediately! the first lieutenant forced out in that hiss I knew so well. And he made the mistake of slapping down his official ID on the tap fixture. . There! So you know who you’re dealing with. I can have your drinking hole shut down if I feel like it! — Without drying his hands, the barkeeper picked up the document gingerly and held it for an exceedingly long time before his bespectacled eyes, liquid dripping from his reddened hands. He laid it gently back down on the metal: You could be the emperor of China for all I care! You caused a disturbance here, I’m banning you from my pub, effective immediately. . And you too! Lightning-quick he turned his head towards me. He pointed to the door with two parallel outstretched index fingers: Leave my gastronomic facility at once!

Icy silence filled the room, everyone was staring at us; I’d already taken our coats from the rack, and yanked at the Major’s sleeve; outside I felt as though I’d saved his life. — All right, all right, he panted when I kept hanging onto him, I’m only going because of you, another minute and I would’ve strangled that swine!

And so we ended up on Frankfurter Allee after all. . as we walked along the dark street that paralleled it, towards Magdalenenstrasse, Feuerbach trembled all over (instead of putting on his coat, he’d slung it over his shoulder like a sack), not seeming to regain his strength until we turned down Magdalenenstrasse. . as though sensing the great silence of the massive buildings on the right with their barred windows. He walked with a slight, newly confident sway, and the fragments of my report fell out of his trouser pocket; I walked along behind him gathering them up again.

The cafe was closed already, too, but Feuerbach gained us entry by drumming furiously at the door. We stepped inside the smoke-filled room where a few younger men, about our age, sat at the tables, usually by twos, in mutual silence (it was rarely this quiet here at this time of night, just an hour after closing, but that was consistent with the overall state of affairs). We took seats near the bar, where I’d never sat before, the Major ordered, and we fell silent, too. . and now I realized that Feuerbach was completely and utterly drunk. Then he put his arm around my shoulders and begged: Come with me. . let’s go to my place. . let’s have another drink. . but I’d rather go to my place, are you coming? — When I nodded, he said: This place makes me sick. . I can’t stand the sight. . the way they all mope around here, the way they all snooze here. . I just can’t stand the sight any more. .