Walter Kempowski - All for Nothing

Dear good Josef! Now at least they had an immediate destination before their eyes, and they knew what to do next. One way and another, they’d never done justice to Josef. He was a good sort really.

‘How could she do this to us?’ Auntie said to Frau Hesse. ‘A Jew! Dragging us all down with her!’ And she said to Peter, ‘We’re not abandoning your mother, you mustn’t think that. She can join us any time if they let her out of prison. On her own she’ll get through more easily. And she’ll want us to go now … Sheltering a Jew, how could she do it? Dragging us all down with her! Now, let’s get a move on or she’ll bring us even more bad luck.’

She had heard of being an accessory after the fact, which was a crime — would that accusation be made now?

Peter wore two pairs of trousers, one on top of the other, shirts and pullovers, two or three of each. He cleaned his shoes, and Vladimir put the two bays between the shafts of the farm cart and harnessed the gelding up to the coach. Auntie was also wearing several layers of clothes. She had drawn money out of the bank in Mitkau weeks ago, gradually, 500 marks at a time, and she stuffed it into her pockets. It represented the working capital of the estate. In the end the bank clerk took to winking at her. He may have been thinking: this woman wasn’t born yesterday.

They left the Georgenhof at midnight; Auntie thought they would make better progress by night. Vladimir agreed with her. Whatever happened they must stick together now. They were sensible people.

Vladimir had a sore finger. Frau Hesse put ointment on it and bandaged it carefully.

One last time, they went from room to room — all clean and neat — and then they left the house.

We go into the world so wide,

We can no longer stay;

With many thousands at our side

We also march away.

Auntie drove the coach; she knew how to handle the gelding. And the gelding hardly looked behind him at all, because he in his turn knew Auntie. It was child’s play for the huge animal to pull such a light vehicle.

She had considered leaving the coach behind. There should be some space left on the big cart. And what would that old-fashioned coach look like among all the farm carts? Perhaps people would laugh: taking to the road in a coach?

But then Auntie decided to drive the coach herself, to get on the box, take the reins and release the brake. She had learnt to drive a carriage in her Silesian childhood. It had been a donkey cart then; a photo showed her and her three sisters, all of them in white, in the donkey cart. They hadn’t driven the donkey up and down the park very often; the animal had had a mind of his own.

She put on a soldier’s cap and wound a scarf round her neck. The gelding shook the reins straight and rolled his eyes; yes, everything was in place. He was a good horse, you could rely on him any time. Auntie had only to say ‘Gee up!’ and click her tongue, and he was moving on.

Auntie didn’t trust herself to drive the heavy cart drawn by two horses; the reins got tangled up, and it wasn’t easy. She couldn’t deal with that. But they had Vladimir to drive the cart, the good-natured Pole who had proved his worth in so many situations.

Vladimir was wearing his square military cap, and Vera sat beside him in her quilted jacket and felt boots, with the wooden suitcase that she had brought from the Ukraine with her; she hadn’t acquired many more possessions in all those years. From now on the two of them would stay together, for ever and a day. After all, something was growing inside her belly.

Sonya had changed her mind and was staying behind. She had braided her hair that day and put on the check jacket. She would rather wait quietly for the Russians, she said. She would look after everything: the dog, the cat, and she would lend the Hesses a hand. Everything else would sort itself out. After all, there was Katharina to be reckoned with, she told Auntie, as if Auntie hadn’t thought of that.

‘Perhaps she’ll appear on the scene again one day,’ said Frau Hesse. ‘Things often don’t turn out as we expect. And it would be terrible for her to come back to an empty house!’

She was impatient because Drygalski still hadn’t brought them a travel permit.

Auntie placed herself and the coach at the head of the family procession, and then they set off into the darkness.

Unfortunately the first thing went wrong as she drove out of the yard. The glass pane in the left-hand door of the coach broke because the door was hanging off its hinges. Why hadn’t they had it repaired? But there was nothing to be done about that now. Peter put a sheaf of straw and a suitcase in front of the window. Now he could see only out of the right-hand side of the coach, but that was enough for him.

The heavy cart followed, creaking and groaning, with all those crates and boxes, and the milk cans filled to the brim with dripping, sugar and flour under the tarpaulin. The feather beds, Katharina’s dresses and Eberhard’s uniforms were also part of the load. They wanted to press on; they ought to make good progress overnight, when the road was almost clear. Vladimir had spread a stout tarpaulin over everything in the farm cart and tied it well down. Vladimir was a capable man in any situation.

You got a reassuring feeling fromVladimir. He could be trusted.

Sonya took a few steps after the little convoy, but then she turned back. Jago followed for a short way as well before turning round. He too had changed his mind. Go off into the unknown? And where was his mistress? She couldn’t be left in the lurch.

There was no sign at all of the cat. The crows didn’t fly up either; they sat in the oak tree, looking as if they were shrugging their shoulders, and the dog went into the house.

Auntie didn’t look back. The road led slightly downhill here and she had to brake a little, not too hard or the coach might fall to pieces … And behind them the Georgenhof disappeared, a dark silhouette in front of the reddish horizon.

Auntie did not look back, and no one watched her go. Even the foreign workers in the Forest Lodge, who usually took an interest in everything, didn’t lift the curtain. They could sleep peacefully all night.

Auntie was well muffled up, with her soldier’s cap on her head and her legs in a driver’s sack to keep them warm, and bundles of straw to right and left. And the gelding was such a good-tempered animal. She took a sip from her flask. But then she felt afraid of the icy wind and the darkness on the road. Thank God the moon was shining, and the snow had settled, so you could get some idea of where you were.

*

Peter burrowed into the straw. The air was cold, but bearable. He had the binoculars round his neck, the air pistol in his belt, his microscope and Auntie’s bags and suitcases beside him. Her lute lay on top of her bags. He had played hide-and-seek in the dark with the Albertsdorf cousins — stay where you are and don’t move! He looked forward to seeing the Albertsdorf cousins.

Auntie was sitting at the very front, and Peter stared through the oval back window of the coach, past the dried-up wreath of flowers and out at the road behind. He saw the two bay horses following, pulling the heavy farm cart, and he could make out the figures of Vladimir and Vera on the box.

The ice-cold sky was full of sparkling stars, and their wheels crunched as they drove over the frozen snow, with the red horizon behind them. The distant rumbling had slackened off slightly during the last few days. Could Mother be coming after all? that was the question. Was she running after the cart shouting stop, stop! Why are you going away without me?

The trees and bushes at the side of the road; the tracks in the snow. They went along at a jog-trot pace. And then they saw someone else’s cart ahead, visible as a black mound against the snow. They had nearly caught up with it and could move into the road behind it. It kept driving straight ahead; they had only to keep an eye on it and nothing could go wrong.