it.”
The landlady turns on me: “Your wife’ll have something better to do than pay a drunkard’s bills! Turn his pockets out, sergeant. Perhaps he’s still got something on him.…”
“I haven’t,” I say, “but I’ve got a brief-case outside, sergeant. Can I go and fetch it?”
We fetch the brief-case, containing the purchases I had made at the little health resort. I spread out my purchases: my two suits of parrot-coloured pyjamas, the elegant toilet-set, the French perfume … how long ago is it, since I, with my man-of-the-world jokes, had bought them all from those young girls? Now I’ll never use them! How long ago is it since, on that terrace by the lake, I dined off green eels and burgundy and reflected on what a comfortable life I would lead as a retired businessman? How long? Just a bare twelve hours. And now I’ll never lead that comfortable life! Now I have a chain about my wrist and I am being taken into custody by the police as a common criminal. Oh, farewell, good life!
“What am I supposed to do with these fine knick-nacks?” the landlady bellows. “Seven pairs of cuticle and nail scissors alone! I can’t use them! I want my money! And these common-looking pyjamas!”
But one can tell from her voice that this is only a rearguard action; her greed has been awakened.
“I paid about a hundred marks for it,” I say. “And there’s two bottles of plum-brandy and a bottle of schnaps outside. You can have them as well. Now are you satisfied?”
She goes on grumbling for a while, but then she calms down.
“But I’d like to give this bottle of scent to your girl for a tip,” I say, taking it.
“She can have it, for aught I care,” says the landlady. “I don’t want to stink myself up with that whore’s stuff.”
But she holds up the gaudy pyjamas to see if they are long enough for her.
“Elinor!” I call through the bar-room again. I cannot get away from the sergeant because of the chain. “I’ve got a bottle of real French perfume for you here. Come along!”
“Oh, leave me alone,” she calls back sullenly. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you take him away, sergeant? I want to get to bed.”
Her brutal lack of consideration for me, now that she has got what she wants, almost takes my breath away. I call sharply across the bar-room, “Aren’t you relying a bit too much on my decency, Elinor?”
“Take that drunken fool away, sergeant,” she shouts. “I don’t want any more of his gab. He always did make me sick. I hope you keep him in jug for ever!”
I understood, in a moment I understood. Now my money was safe for her. I had denied possession of it myself. And she no doubt did not have it about her any more, she had hidden it somewhere behind the bar. Now she let the mask fall. I was a disgusting idiot. True enough, I really was. A good thing I still had a bottle of schnaps in my pocket, as a consolation! Supposing the schnaps were to desert me now, as well?
“Well, come on,” said the sergeant, and pulled at the little chain.
I followed him without a word. The policeman mounted his bicycle and rode off, slowly for a cyclist, rather quickly for a pedestrian. I trotted beside him. He handed me over at the lock-up in a large village nearby, the same place where I had arrived by train that evening.
25
I have moved my bed under the little window and pulled myself up by the iron bars. I see a peaceful sunny country, with meadows, ploughed fields, grazing cattle, and strips of woodland on the horizon. Directly below me is a vegetable garden with a paling fence. An old man is walking along a path, picking green stuff for goats and rabbits and putting it into a sack. He can go where he likes. And I, I am a prisoner! Yesterday all this belonged to me, I could do as I wished with my life. Today, others hold my life in their hands, and I must wait to see what they decide to do with it.
I let myself fall on the bed. I feel very sick. My head aches. The effect of the few mouthfuls of drink I had just now has gone already. I am thirsty—but whenever shall I be able to quench my thirst again? Today, I tell myself soothingly, today for sure. Today they will let you go again. They only wanted to frighten you. That’s what they do. They put drunkards into a cell for the night, so they can sleep it off and sober up, and then they set them free again. That’s what they’re doing with you too. I don’t bear them any grudge. After all, they’re acting properly enough. I really went too far in that country inn; this warning example, this shot in the air, is quite good for me. Soon the key will turn in the lock and that nice sergeant of last night will come in and say: “Well, Herr Sommer, had a good sleep? Then get out of here—and don’t get into mischief again!”
And I go out into freedom again, into that fresh green sunny morning where an old man with a sack can gather green stuff along the roadside wherever he will. I am free again. If it had been a really serious matter, would the sergeant have put a bottle of schnaps into the cell with me?
So I pacify myself, and when any recollection of that scene in the night with Magda tries to sneak up on me, I firmly ward it off. Magda is my wife. In spite of all our differences lately, we’ve been together for so long, she will forgive me, she has already forgiven me. She understands that I was ill. But this warning example has sobered me. I’ll never drink again. Not a drop.
I jump up and pace about my cell. No, I want to be honest now, I don’t want to lie to myself any more: when I’m released from here, I shan’t be able to give up the drink immediately. I am terribly tortured by thirst already. It is like a voracious longing in my body, a greed that seems to want to kill me if it is not satisfied. My limbs tremble, one fit of sweating follows another, my stomach is in revolt.
Suddenly I remember that before I left the inn, I had paid for a whole bottle of kirsch, which had remained only half-emptied, on the table. I should have asked the sergeant to let me finish it. He would have allowed me, and then I would have had more alcohol in me, and I wouldn’t have had all this terrible trouble now!
Well then, I want to be honest with myself: I cannot entirely give up alcohol at once, but from now on I shall drink only very moderately, perhaps a mere half bottle a day, or only a third, I could even manage with a third already. Just now, one single little schnaps would make me happy, a tiny glass, barely a mouthful of schnaps, in the state I’m in at present.
When I am let out of here shortly, I’ll treat myself to a little glass in the village, just the one, only, and then I’ll go home on foot, and never drink again. I haven’t any more money on me, but I’ve got my blueish spring coat. I’ll leave it with the landlord as security. He’ll give me a bottle of schnaps on it, perhaps two, and then I’ll be provided for, for three or four days. Certainly for three days, anyway! And in three days I’ll have Magda around, I shall be very friendly and loving with her, I’ll get money from her again.… For a moment I shut my eyes: I have just thought of that five thousand marks I drew from the bank about this time yesterday. It must have been a heavy blow for the business. It might not be such a simple matter to pacify Magda … but I quickly assure myself, I can mortgage our house, it’s free of debt so far; I’m sure to raise five thousand marks on the house. Then Magda would be placated. And of course I’m not going to let Lobedanz get away with his robbery unpunished. I’ll go and see him today and he’ll have to give back my things and the silver and jewellery, at least. I’ll let him keep two thousand marks of the money. And if he won’t come to terms, I’ll prosecute him, and then good gentle hypocritical Lobedanz goes to prison instead of me.
So my thoughts run on. Despite occasional uneasy moments, they are on the whole optimistic. I’ll get by, all right. After all, I’m a respected citizen. They’ll take care not to treat me too harshly!
In between times I stare almost unconsciously at the inscriptions on the cell walls. Some are written in pencil, some are scratched in the whitewash with a nail. Mostly, a name is written above, and below are two dates—the date of entry and of release. I find it very reassuring that all these dates are so close together. According to the inscriptions the man who occupied this cell for the longest time was here for ten days. Another proof that they have no bad intentions towards me. Ten days—well, ten days are quite out of the question for me. With my hunger for alcohol, I’d never be able to bear it. But I, of course, I shall be released in a few minutes. And besides, what about breakfast? Prisoners have to have breakfast don’t they? Probably dry bread and water, but still breakfast. It is at least half-past nine now, to go by the sun, and nobody has brought me any breakfast. Of course, that’s another sign they don’t mean badly by me. They intend to let me out so quickly that they don’t want to waste a breakfast on me. The sergeant saves that much. I can buy myself breakfast outside! That’s as clear as day.
Completely reassured for the moment, I throw myself on to my straw mattress again, and try to go to sleep. I think of Elinor. I try to recall the sweetness of the moment when she gave me schnaps to drink out of her mouth,
