Unknown - Isherwood, Christopher (The Berlin Stories - The Last of Mr Norris - Goodbye to Berlin) (TXT)

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This sounded rather ominous. Perhaps he was on the rocks again. I only hoped that poor Frl. Schroeder wouldn’t have to suffer for it. There she sat, glass in hand, on the sofa, beaming, drinking in every word; her legs were so short that her black velvet shoes dangled an inch above the carpet.

“Just look, Herr Bradshaw,” she extended her wrist, “what Herr Norris gave me for my birthday. I was so delighted, will you believe me, that I started crying?”

It was a handsome-looking gold bracelet which must have cost at least fifty marks. I was really touched:

“How nice of you, Arthur!”

He blushed. He was quite confused.

“A trifling mark of esteem. I can’t tell you what a comfort Frl. Schroeder has been to me. I should like to engage her permanently as my secretary.”

“Oh, Herr Norris, how can you talk such nonsense!”

“I assure you, Frl. Schroeder, I’m quite in earnest.”

“You see how he makes fun of a poor old woman, Herr Bradshaw?”

She was slightly drunk. When Arthur poured her out a second glass of cherry brandy, she upset some of it over her dress. When the commotion which followed this accident had subsided, he said that he must be going out.

“Sorry as I am to break up this festive gathering … duty calls. Yes, I shall hope to see you this evening, William. Shall we have dinner together? Would that be nice?”

“Very nice.”

“Then I’ll say au revoir, till eight o’clock.”

I got up to go and unpack. Frl. Schroeder followed me into my room. She insisted on helping me. She was still tipsy and kept putting things into the wrong places; shirts into the drawer of the writing-table, books in the cupboard with the socks. She couldn’t stop singing Arthur’s praises.

“He came as if Heaven had sent him. I’d got into arrears with the rent, as I haven’t done since the inflation days. The porter’s wife came up to see me about it several times. ‘Frl. Schroeder,’ she said, ‘we know you and we don’t want to be

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hard on you. But we’ve all got to live.’ I declare there were evenings when I was so depressed I’d half a mind to put my head in the oven. And then Herr Norris arrived. I thought he’d just come to pay me a visit, as it were. ‘How much do you charge for the front bedroom?’ he asked. You could have knocked me over with a feather. ‘Fifty,’ I said. I didn’t dare ask more, with the times so bad. I was trembling all over for fear he’d think it was too much. And what do you think he answered? ‘Frl. Schroeder,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t possibly dream of letting you have less than sixty. It would be robbery.’ I tell you, Herr Bradshaw, I could have kissed his hand.”

Tears stood in Frl. Schroeder’s eyes. I was afraid she was going to break down.

“And he pays you regularly?”

“On the moment, Herr Bradshaw. He couldn’t be more punctual if it was you yourself. I’ve never known anybody to be so particular. Why, do you know, he won’t even let me run up a monthly bill for milk? He settles it by the week. 1 don’t like to feel that I owe anyone a pfennig,’ he says. . • . I wish there was more like him.”

That evening, when I suggested eating at the usual restaurant, Arthur, to my surprise, objected:

“It’s so noisy there, dear boy. My sensitive nerves revolt against the thought of an evening of jazz. As for the cooking, it is remarkable, even in this benighted town, for its vileness. Let’s go to the Montmartre.”

“But, my dear Arthur, it’s so terribly expensive.”

“Never mind. Never mind. In this brief life, one cannot always be counting the cost. You’re my guest this evening. Let’s forget the cares of this harsh world for a few hours and enjoy ourselves.”

“It’s very kind of you.”

At the Montmartre, Arthur ordered champagne.

“This is such a peculiarly auspicious event that I feel we may justifiably relax our rigid revolutionary standards.”

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I laughed: “Business seems to be flourishing with you, I must say.”

Arthur squeezed his chin cautiously between finger and thumb.

“I can’t complain, William. At the moment. No. But I fear I see breakers ahead.”

“Are you still importing and exporting?”

“Not exactly that… . No… . Well, in a sense, perhaps.”

“Have you been in Paris all this time?”

“More or less. On and off.”

“What were you doing there?”

Arthur glanced uneasily round the luxurious little restaurant; smiled with great charm:

“That’s a very leading question, my dear William.”

“Were you working for Bayer?”

“Er—partly. Yes.” A vagueness had come into Arthur’s eyes. He was trying to edge away from the subject.

“And you’ve been seeing him since you got back to Berit

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“Of course.” He looked at me with sudden suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. When I saw you last, you didn’t seem very pleased with him, that’s all.”

“Bayer and I are on excellent terms.” Arthur spoke with emphasis, paused and added:

‘Tfou haven’t been telling anybody that I’ve quarrelled with him, have you?”

“No, of course not, Arthur. Who do you suppose I’d tell?”

Arthur was unmistakably relieved.

“I beg your pardon, William. I might have known that I could rely on your admirable discretion. But if, by any chance, the story were to get about that Bayer and I were not friendly, it might be exceedingly awkward for me, you understand?”

I laughed.

“No, Arthur. I don’t understand anything.”

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Smiling, Arthur raised his glass.

“Have patience with me, William. You know, I always like to have my little secrets. No doubt the time will come when I shall be able to give you an explanation.”

“Or to invent one.”

“Ha ha. Ha ha. You’re as cruel as ever, I see … which reminds me that I thoughtlessly made an appointment with Anni for ten o’clock … so that perhaps we ought to be getting on with our dinner.”

“Of course. You mustn’t keep her waiting.”

For the rest of the meal Arthur questioned me about London. The cities of Berlin and Paris were tactfully avoided.

Arthur had certainly transformed the daily routine of life at Frl. Schroeder’s. Because he insisted on a hot bath every morning, she had to get up an hour earlier, in order to stoke the little old-fashioned boiler. She didn’t complain of this. Indeed, she seemed to admire Arthur for the trouble he caused her.

“He’s so particular, Herr Bradshaw. More like a lady than a gentleman. Everything in his room has its place, and I get into trouble if it isn’t all just as he wants it. I must say, though, it’s a pleasure to wait on anybody who takes such care of his things. You ought to see some of his shirts, and his ties. A perfect dream! And his silk underclothes! ‘Herr Norris,’ I said to him once, ‘you should let me wear those; they’re too fine for a man.’ I was only joking, of course. Herr Norris does enjoy a joke. He takes in four daily papers, you know, not to mention the weekly illustrateds, and I’m not allowed to throw any of them away. They must all be piled up in their proper order, according to the dates, if you please, on top of the cupboard. It makes me wild, sometimes, when I think of the dust they’re collecting. And then, every day, before he goes out, Herr Norris gives me a list as long as your arm of messages I’ve got to give to people who ring up or call. I have to remember all their names, and which ones he wants to see, and which he doesn’t. The doorbell’s for ever

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ringing, nowadays, with telegrams for Herr Norris, and express letters and air mail and I don’t know what else. This last fortnight it’s been specially bad. If you ask me, I think the ladies are his little weakness.”