Walter Kempowski - All for Nothing

‘Good,’ said Sarkander, and the duelling scar on his cheek twitched.

Pastor Brahms, he said, had been taken away. Apparently he had belonged to an underground association. Sarkander lowered his voice to a whisper. An operation on a major scale. He’d probably end up shorter by a head.

‘Oh, don’t say …!’ exclaimed Frau Hesse, cupping her chin in her hand. ‘But Frau von Globig? I mean, she’s innocent really. I’m sure she just slipped into it by accident.’

‘They’ll certainly lean on her hard.’

He would ask Wagner to try to get more supplies to her, said Sarkander, and then he left with his stiff-legged gait.

Drygalski also dropped in. Heil Hitler. It wasn’t news to him that the Globigs had left. They ought to have gone long before, and then none of that business with the Jew would have happened.

He himself had made out a permit for the whole household to leave, days ago, but Auntie wouldn’t hear of going.

What interested him was the fate of all those crates standing in the drawing room. Surely sequestration of property was the penalty for sheltering a Jew? Maybe he had better find out just what was in them.

Was Sonya going to get uppity again? Should he dispose of her?

Quietly going about it, he took a quick look at Katharina’s apartment, just to check up on it, but there was nothing more to find. He crawled into the cubbyhole, but there was no chocolate any more, and the tobacco was gone as well.

He took the shotguns with him to give them to the Volkssturm reservists. However, he couldn’t find any ammunition for them.

At three in the afternoon, ‘the usual time’, as he said, Dr Wagner arrived.

‘What, all of them gone without a word?’ he asked. Hadn’t they left a letter behind? Nothing! ‘After all, we were friends,’ he said.

He sat down with the Hesses up in Peter’s former room. He had talked to the boy so often here. They had read Goethe together — Goethe writing about the moon. Filling woods and vales again with her misty light … No, it hadn’t been a waste of time; they had made the most of it.

He would happily have gone with the Globig party, but he supposed there wouldn’t have been room on their cart for an extra passenger. He’d been literally left standing. Well, they’d all have to wait and see what happened.

He for one hadn’t gone haring off! He hadn’t left the Globigs in the lurch! That was a comfort.

Frau Hesse said, ‘We’ll be leaving too as soon as our permit comes. Somehow or other we’ll get away from here.’ Yes, Drygalski had already told her to start at once, but he hadn’t given her a piece of paper to take with them, that was the snag. If they were stopped and their credentials were checked, then they’d be at a loss.

She had borrowed Katharina’s radio set; she could take it back to her room any time.

I’ll whistle at your window

Tootle-tootle-too,

And softly, softly, softly

Then I’ll creep in with you.

‘What does it say on the news?’ asked Wagner. But when Herr Hesse was about to tell him he waved him away. What kind of news could there be now?

There was nothing to interest him here any more. Where was the telescope? Shouldn’t he take it back? Had he left it in unreliable hands? It had disappeared, it was no use looking for it now.

The Hesse boys had fallen eagerly on Peter’s model railway. They sent the trains speeding round the curved track.

Sonya was standing in the kitchen, the Czech with the leather cap standing in the yard. No, she said when Wagner asked for bread and sausage for him to take for Katharina, no, she couldn’t help him. It was none of her business. The Globigs had taken everything with them. She locked the kitchen door. Katharina wasn’t her responsibility.

The cellar fascinated Herr Hesse. He wouldn’t leave it alone. ‘There’s nothing down there,’ his wife had said, but that couldn’t be true. He summoned all his energy to get to the bottom of the puzzle. After all, as a young man he’d been able to swing round in a circle on the horizontal bar and straddle the horse, hadn’t he? So he roused himself and went down the cellar steps, carrying the electric torch. He took off his shoes and rolled up his trouser legs. Down the spiral staircase, climb into the water, go along the passage — it was vaulted, and longer than he had expected. A date: 1605. Was there wine stored here?

‘Oh, do come back out!’ called his wife. Her voice echoed. ‘I’m sure this isn’t a good idea. All that cold water!’ She kept the boys back when they wanted to investigate the cellar as well. ‘Do you want to catch your death?’

Herr Hesse explored the place thoroughly, but there was nothing there. No wine, not anything at all. Just as his wife had said. The end of the passage was bricked up. An escape route from the old days? Did it lead to the ruins of the castle?

The water here had been stagnant for a long time, the floor of the passage was smooth and slippery — there! Hesse lost his footing and fell into the water. He was about to call to the boys and his wife — ‘Helga!’ But it was all over. Did he think of stocks, hollyhocks and phloxes at this, the last moment of his life? Or all his Stone Age axes and scrapers? His mouth contorted, he gurgled for a moment, a few bubbles rose to the surface, and then all was still and the water extinguished the electric torch.

Next morning Auntie waited in vain for the Pole. Five on the dot, she had said, but there was no sign of Vladimir. Peter went from cart to cart; vehicles were already leaving the football field one by one. He was looking for the Pole. Then he kept a lookout from the coach, standing on the driver’s box, like a general taking the salute at a military parade, up above the murmuring crowd assembled here, with the light of electric torches and stable lanterns flashing over it.

Surely the Pole must come round the corner soon? Auntie too was asking herself that question. Was he taking his time, stringing them along? He’d be sorry for this, no doubt about it — a man who had been so well off with the Globigs! Fancy making them wait now. She sent Peter off in search of him, but he couldn’t find Vladimir. He couldn’t find the cart, he couldn’t find Vladimir, and there was no sign of Vera either.

Perhaps Vladimir had gone to see a doctor about his injured finger? Was the hangnail infected? That could be nasty — but finding a doctor at this early hour?

He asked the woman at the soup kitchen — Heil Hitler! — whether a man wearing a square Polish cap had been there, and he also asked the Party official who made sure everything was in order.

Some children having a snowball fight asked if he wanted to join in. No, they hadn’t seen a Pole with a square cap either.

Perhaps, it was suggested, the Pole hadn’t been allowed on the football field because he was a foreigner?

‘Yes, imagine letting those fellows run around as they like,’ said the Party man. ‘Such people can’t be trusted for a moment.’

It seemed to him strange for anyone from the east to be trusted. In fact he thought he’d have to find out whether that was legal. He’d come back later and look into the matter carefully.

Peter returned to Auntie. ‘I can’t find him anywhere.’

‘This is impossible,’ said Auntie. ‘I’ll go and look for him myself …’ And then the answer occurred to her. ‘Of course, he doesn’t own a watch! He can’t tell when it’s five o’clock!’

But even that got them no further; and after all, you could hear the clock striking in the church tower everywhere. Finally Auntie put on her rubber overshoes and set out herself, and she easily found the third street on the right where Vladimir had left the cart. A pile of horse dung marked the place, and that was all. The cart itself was nowhere to be seen.