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

“How long will he stay there, do you think?” Arthur asked me anxiously.

“The whole night, probably.”

“Oh dear, I do hope not. If he does, I shan’t be able to sleep a wink.”

“Perhaps if you appear at your window in pyjamas, he’ll go away.”

167

“Really, William, I hardly think I could do anything so immodest.” Arthur stifled a yawn.

“Well,” I said, a bit awkwardly, “I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“Just what I was going to suggest myself, dear boy.” Holding his chin absently between his finger and thumb, Arthur looked vaguely round the room; added, with a simplicity which excluded all hint of irony:

“We’ve both had a tiring day.”

Next morning, at any rate, there was no time to feel embarrassed. We had too much to do. No sooner was Arthur’s head free from the barber’s hands than I came into his room, in my dressing-gown, to hold a conference. The smaller detective in the overcoat was now on duty. Arthur had to admit that he had no idea if either of them had spent the night outside the house. Compassion hadn’t, after all, disturbed his sleep.

The first problem was, of course, to decide on Arthur’s destination. Inquiries must be made at the nearest travel bureau as to possible ships and routes. Arthur had already decided finally against Europe.

“I feel I need a complete change of scene, hard as it is to tear oneself away. One’s so confined here, so restricted. As you get older, William, you’ll feel that the world gets smaller. The frontiers seem to close in, until there’s scarcely room to breathe.”

“What an unpleasant sensation that must be.”

“It is.” Arthur sighed. “It is indeed. I may be a little overwrought at the present moment, but I must confess that, to me, the countries of Europe are nothing more or less than a collection of mouse-traps. In some of them, the cheese is of a superior quality, that is the only difference.”

We next discussed which of us should go out and make the inquiries. Arthur was most unwilling to do this.

“But, William, if I go myself, our friend below will most certainly follow me.”

168

“Of course he will. That’s just what we want. As soon as you’ve let the authorities know that you mean to clear out, you’ll have set their minds at rest. I’m sure they ask nothing better than to see your back.”

“Well, you may be right… .”

But Arthur didn’t like it. Such tactics revolted all his secretive instincts. “It seems positively indecent,” he added.

“Look here,” I said, cunningly. “I’ll go if you really want me to. But only on condition that you break the news to Frl. Schroeder yourself while I’m away.”

“Really, dear boy … No. I couldn’t possibly do that. Very well, have it your own way… .”

From my window, half an hour later, I watched him emerge into the street. The detective took, apparently, not the faintest notice of his exit; he was engaged in reading the nameplates within the doorway of the opposite house. Arthur set off briskly, looking neither to left nor right. He reminded me of the man in the poem who fears to catch a glimpse of the demon which is treading in his footsteps. The detective continued to study the nameplates with extreme interest. Then at last, when I had begun to get positively exasperated at his apparent blindness, he straightened himself, pulled out his watch, regarded it with evident surprise, hesitated, appeared to consider, and finally walked away with quick, impatient strides, like a man who has been kept waiting too long. I watched his small figure out of sight in amused admiration. He was an artist.

Meanwhile, I had my own, unpleasant task. I found Frl. Schroeder in the living-room, laying cards, as she did every morning of her life, to discover what would happen during the day. It was no use beating about the bush.

“Frl. Schroeder, Herr Morris has just had some bad news. He’ll have to leave Berlin at once. He asked me to tell you …”

I stopped, feeling horribly uncomfortable, swallowed, blurted out:

“He asked me to tell you that … he’d like to pay for his

169

room for January and the whole of February as well …”

Frl. Schroeder was silent. I concluded, lamely—

“Because of his having to go off at such short notice, you see …”

She didn’t look up. There was a muffled sound, and a large tear fell on to the face of a card on the table before her. I felt like crying, too.

“Perhaps …” I was cowardly. “It’ll only be for a few months. He may be coming back… .”

But Frl. Schroeder either didn’t hear or didn’t believe this. Her sobs redoubled; she did not attempt to restrain them. Perhaps Arthur’s departure was merely the last straw; once started, she had plenty to cry about. The rent and taxes in arrears, the bills she couldn’t pay, the rudeness of the coalman, her pains in the back, her boils, her poverty, her loneliness, her gradually approaching death. It was dreadful to hear her. I began wandering about the room, nervously touching the furniture, in an ecstasy of discomfort.

“Frl. Schroeder … it’s all right, really, it is … don’t … please… .”

She got over it at last. Mopping her eyes on a corner of the table-cloth, she deeply sighed. Sadly, her inflamed glance moved over the array of cards. She exclaimed, with a kind of mournful triumph:

“Well, I never! Just look at that, Herr Bradshaw. The ace of spades … upside downl I might have known something like this would happen. The cards are never wrong.”

Arthur arrived back from the travel bureau in a taxi, about an hour later. His hands were full of papers and illustrated brochures. He seemed tired and depressed.

“How did you get on?” I asked.

“Give me time, William. Give me time … I’m a little out of breath… .”

Collapsing heavily into a chair, he fanned himself with his hat. I strolled over to the window. The detective wasn’t at his usual post. Turning my head to the left, I saw him,

170

however, some way farther down the street, examining the contents of the grocer’s shop.

“Is he back already?” Arthur inquired.

I nodded.

“Really? To give the devil his due, that young man will go far in his unsavoury profession… . Do you know, William, he had the effrontery to come right into the office and stand beside me at the counter? I even heard him making inquiries about a trip to the Harz.”

“Perhaps he really wanted to go there; you never know. He may be having his holidays soon.”

“Well, well … at all events, it was most upsetting … I had the greatest difficulty in arriving at the extremely grave decision I had to make.”

“And what’s the verdict?”

“I much regret to say,” Arthur regarded the buttons on his boot despondently, “that it will have to be Mexico.”

“Good God!”

“You see, dear boy, the possibilities, at such short notice, are very limited … I should have greatly preferred Rio, of course, or the Argentine. I even toyed with China. But everywhere, nowadays, there are such absurd formalities. All kinds of stupid and impertinent questions are asked. When I was young, it was very different… . An English gentleman was welcome everywhere, especially with a first-class ticket.”

“And when do you leave?”

“There’s a boat at midday tomorrow. I think I shall go to Hamburg to-day, on the evening train. It’s more comfortable, and, perhaps, on the whole, wiser; don’t you agree?”

“I daire say. Yes… . This seems a tremendous step to take, all of a sudden. Have you any friends in Mexico?”

Arthur giggled. “I have friends everywhere, William, or shall I say accomplices?”

“And what shall you do, when you arrive?”