Walter Kempowski - All for Nothing

‘Who knows what may happen yet?’

Nothing was easy.

The man thanked her and said to himself: let’s see how things go on. First to Mitkau, maybe straight on to Insterburg, and if not then Allenstein. Then back to Elbing as fast as he could go, from there to Danzig and on to Hamburg. And then on again south. But first to get this soup inside him, and he said repeatedly, ‘Ah, delicious!’, rubbing his hands as he kept a good eye on what was being tipped from the ladle and on to his plate. It was quite rich soup, and had a little meat swimming in it too.

It occurred to him, just in time, that it would be usual to say grace in a house like this. His parents had preserved that custom in his childhood. He remembered it to this day.

Busy Auntie, the fair-haired boy, blue-eyed Katharina with her mind elsewhere and a trace of soft down on her upper lip, and the tureen of good rich soup on the table.

Ding-dong, the grandfather clock struck, ding-dong.

The soup was hot. The political economist, who had studied at Göttingen University and lived for a long time in the mountainous Fichtelgebirge district of Bavaria, until he had had the silly idea of travelling in East Prussia, blew on his spoonful of soup, making the oil lamp flicker. He weighed up the soup spoon in his hand and said, ‘So civilized!’ Turning round, he showed the boy the hallmark; he had noticed at once that the spoon was sterling silver. ‘Look, what does that say? Eighty per cent silver!’ And he picked up Peter’s soup spoon as well. ‘Every one of these spoons made of eighty per cent silver! And the ladle, a wonderful piece … What do you think that’s worth, my boy?’

The china, too! ‘But that’s — isn’t that …?’ He could hardly turn the plate over here and now. However, as the soup was gradually spooned up a complete landscape was revealed, painted in blue. The boy hadn’t noticed it before. Trees, a pool with cranes, a boat with a fisherman in it pulling his net out of the water.

Katharina thought of Berlin and Tauentzienstrasse, where she had bought this china during her engagement. The Georgenhof? she had thought. Perhaps they would always be entertaining guests there. Many guests? As far as she knew, people gave large parties on their country estates. In large halls, by candlelight?

So she had bought the dinner service for twenty-four guests. ‘What on earth do you want with all that china?’ her husband had asked when her dowry arrived at the Georgenhof after their wedding.

Katharina came from Berlin, and she had been to East Prussia only once before, to the Baltic seaside resort of Cranz, where she happened to meet Eberhard over coffee and cake. ‘Rise high, O red-winged eagle!’ the band on the beach had played. ‘Hail, land of Brandenburg!’ They had eaten Florentines, and Eberhard had smoked cigarettes in a well-worn meerschaum holder with a man and a woman carved on it. And in the evening they had danced the foxtrot in the seaside dance hall.

Silver? Fine china? The political economist was astonished to find all these precious things still in use, not hidden away long ago, or sent to Berlin or somewhere else. ‘Suppose the Russians come?’ And with all those foreigners just down the road. His nose was running, so he took out something that passed for a handkerchief, and it could be seen that he wore a diamond ring on his little finger.

‘What do you think it’ll be like here if things turn out bad?’

He did not exactly lick his spoon clean, but it was obvious that he would like a second helping, and Auntie picked up the tureen in both hands and poured the rest of its contents, splashing, into his plate.

Katharina laughed a little at that, but she wasn’t sure whether she should. Mightn’t Auntie take her laughter the wrong way?

How could you laugh at such a moment? How could you?

If things turn out bad? What did the man mean by that?

He meant the Russians now stationed on the border. They could strike at any time. ‘And then it will be the worse for us!’

A bowl of apples was placed on the table, and the guest was invited to help himself from that, too. He praised the fragrant aroma of the fruit. Taking more coupons out of his wallet, he handed them over the table.

‘O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is gracious, and his mercy endureth for ever.’ This was the grace at the end of the meal, and he could wholeheartedly agree with it.

Ah, said the man, how he appreciated this! Family life! ‘I suppose your husband is at the front?’ With his well-manicured hands he peeled the apple he had been given. And when he had eaten it, he was given a second.

No, said Katharina, not at the front but far away; her husband was in Italy, and he had sent some lovely things home from there. Whenever he went away he phoned them at home.

‘First he was in the east, now he’s in Italy.’

‘And these fruit plates!’ cried Schünemann. Each was painted with different fruits, pleasingly arranged: bananas with black grapes and almonds; a grapefruit; black- and redcurrants; figs. He showed the boy how carefully the painting was executed, and told him what a pomegranate was.

Again and again, the man marvelled at the carelessness of keeping these plates and the silver cutlery in use — they should pack it all up, for heaven’s sake! Including the fruit knives with their horn handles. That mob down the road weren’t to be trusted an inch.

‘If things turn out bad …’

Who could tell what was going to happen? The Russians? Who knew? At the moment, he said, the front was deep in slumber, but that could change in no time at all. He had a funny feeling. He would be off to Mitkau tomorrow, he said, and then Insterburg, and back again as soon as possible. Perhaps he would visit Allenstein too. He did not say what his business was in Mitkau and Insterburg.

‘Pack it all up!’ he cried, as if he himself would be to blame if they didn’t. Packing it in straw in a crate and burying it would be the best thing to do. Or sending the silver to Berlin, piece by piece, or Bavaria, or even better to Hamburg. Maybe he could ask his cousin, he said, perhaps he could store it all at his place?

Then he put a finger to his lips as if giving away a secret, and whispered that silver would always keep its worth. Send the larger items away, he advised, but maybe it would be better to keep the teaspoons. They could be used like coins. ‘This is cash in hand!’ As a refugee, he said, if you wanted to cross a river you could simply offer the ferryman a teaspoon. Silver! A man like that would grab it with both hands. Who wanted money in times like these?

Katharina rolled herself a cigarette, and Auntie took the dishes out to the kitchen. She had never looked so closely at the plates before. Silver? Send it away? It wasn’t as easy as all that. They’d better wash the fruit plates themselves in future, instead of leaving them to the maids, who might fool around and drop them.

The two Ukrainians, Vera and Sonya, were screeching at each other in the kitchen. They quarrelled all day long, heaven knew what about. Or maybe they weren’t quarrelling, it just sounded like a quarrel in their difficult language.

Or were they fighting over the Romanians in the Forest Lodge? There were strong men among the fellows there, Romanians, Czechs, Italians. You could hear them singing. If you passed their hostel you were bound to hear someone or other singing. And when the maids were in sight they pushed their caps back on their heads. The Italian had even put a feather in his.

Herr Schünemann looked at the portraits hanging in the hall. They were large and dark, pictures of dignified worthies from Potsdam and the Tuchola Forest area. Dignified worthies, even though no one knew for certain who they were.