The Drinker

“That’s going too far!” shouted the sergeant, red with rage. “Have you gone raving mad, Sommer? That’s bribery, what you’re trying to do. I ought to charge you on the spot. Come on immediately, or I’ll put you in handcuffs.”

Utterly crushed and intimidated, robbed of my last hope, I followed Herr Schulze. For a while we walked silently side by side, he muttering angrily to himself, I with bowed head and dragging feet.

Then the sergeant said more calmly, “I can’t understand you, Sommer. You used to be a solid and respectable man, and now you get up to tricks like this. Haven’t you had enough of that old drink? Hasn’t it got you into enough trouble? Anyway, I don’t want to put you into a worse plight than you are already. I didn’t hear a thing. But be a good fellow now, Sommer, and pull yourself together. In a few days that boozing fit will be over and you’ll have a clear head again. And you’re going to need a mighty clear head, as you ought to know by what the Public Prosecutor said.”

I heard all this in silence, without answering. I found it most humiliating and offensive that such a simple fellow as Sergeant Schulze should dare to presume to speak to me in such a way. Of course I did not know then that I stood at the beginning of a long road of suffering, and that quite other people, of much lower standing, were to be far more outspoken with me.

We had arrived at the station, and Sergeant Schulze bought two third-class tickets for us.

“Well,” he said, and marched me on to the platform among the waiting people. “Keep your head up, Sommer, and go on talking to me, then nobody will notice anything. They’ll all think we’re old acquaintances who’ve just met by chance. At home, after a game of cards, we used to walk along the Breitestrasse together for a bit, and it never occurred to you or anyone else that we were anything other than acquaintances.…”

He was right there. And since by now I had somewhat recovered from my shock over the schnaps, we really managed to hold quite a sensible conversation, first about the hay harvest which was just starting, then about the harvest prospects in general. Schulze and I were both of the opinion that on the whole the outlook was not bad, but it ought to rain now, the spring had been too dry, and the forage especially, but the mangolds as well could do with a bit of moisture.

The short train journey passed quite quickly, and probably none of the passengers had an inkling that here was a man under arrest for attempted murder. (Sometimes I liked to imagine myself as some real and gloriously villainous criminal.) But when we reached our own station and forced our way through the waiting crowds, into the booking-hall then out into the square in front of the station, I felt quite apprehensive again. For at any moment I might meet a close acquaintance, or one of my own employees even, yes, even my own wife. I tugged at the sergeant’s sleeve, and begged, “Herr Schulze, couldn’t we go round by the back streets a bit, and through the park? I know so many people here, and it would really be most embarrassing.…”

Herr Schulze nodded his head.

“That’s all right as far as I’m concerned. It doesn’t matter whether you get to the police-court a quarter of an hour earlier or later. But I’d like to relieve myself.…” And with that, Herr Schulze accompanied me diagonally across the square to that very edifice I had visited with Lobedanz, coming from another direction some twenty-four hours before. It was a strange feeling, to be standing again in this room with its six basins, to hear the water rushing and to look at the dirty wet asphalt floor. This was where I had wrestled with Lobedanz—it was such a short time ago and yet already it seemed quite incredible. Like a wild dream that is completely convincing while one dreams it, and yet seems absurdly grotesque as soon as one awakes. But I had fought Lobedanz here, it hadn’t been a dream, and no word of honour nor feeling of consideration bound me to that arch-rogue. So when we came out of the public convenience again and were making our way along the edge of town, avoiding all the busier streets, I took heart and told Sergeant Schulze one after the other, all my experiences with Lobedanz, from the time I first appeared in his steam-filled kitchen after my flight from the doctor’s car, to my fight for my suitcase and money in the toilet. In the course of his duty, Sergeant Schulze must have experienced too much of human passions and weaknesses to be very surprised about an affair like this, but during my story he stopped several times, quite moved, and exclaimed, “Good heavens, it’s unbelievable!” “You don’t say! Is that really true, Sommer?” He whistled through his teeth as well. Finally, when I had finished and was waiting for an outburst of indignation against that scoundrel Lobedanz, Sergeant Schulze remained silent for a while and then, looking me full in the face, he said deliberately: “I only know you from playing cards with you. That’s to say, I don’t really know you at all, but I always took you for a sensible clear-headed businessman. That you’re such a—excuse the expression but it’s the truth— such a stupid ox, is something I would never have dreamed of. You can twist and turn it about as you please, but it wasn’t just the booze. You can’t blame such thick-headedness as that on the booze. You must have seen what a scoundrel the fellow was, the very first day. Well, you did see it, and yet you didn’t get out, though you would have been able to soak as you wanted in any little pub around the corner. No, it absolutely served you right that that fellow took you down. It served you right, and I only wish he’d taken that last thousand marks from you as well, then you wouldn’t have been able to get up to mischief in that inn.…”

The sergeant drew breath and looked at me severely. I was most indignant at this quite unexpected effect of my account, and I said crossly, “I didn’t tell you this story so that you could give me a moral lecture, Schulze. …”

“Sergeant Schulze, if you don’t mind, Sommer!” Schulze corrected me severely.

“But I thought,” I continued furiously, “that you might take the trouble to set about catching this scoundrel immediately.”

“That’s good,” laughed the sergeant ironically. “First of all, in your drunken stupor you have to hand over all your goods and chattels to some criminal, and then you yell for the police and expect us to say, ‘Dear, oh dear!’ and break our necks running after a handful of spoons for you. I tell you again, you don’t deserve anything better, and if it wasn’t that your poor wife has to bear all the burden of your stupidity, I wouldn’t lift a finger over this affair. But for your wife’s sake, Sommer—mark that, for your wife’s sake—I will, as soon as I’ve seen you safe in clink and made my report to the inspector. It’s still possible this bird hasn’t flown yet—perhaps he doesn’t expect us so soon. But now get on a bit faster, I’d like to hand you over before you get into any more mischief. One never knows what to expect from you. My God! I’m never going to be taken in again by such a fellow as you, in all my life. I used to marvel at what a clever man you were, but probably your wife did it all. How’s she ever going to forgive you for all the muck-up you’ve made of things?”

With that, we went on, and did not exchange another word until we got to the police-court. Probably Schulze was inwardly busy with his report for the inspector, but I was truly deeply offended at all the unjust things which this low-grade policeman had said so rudely to my face. If the fellow couldn’t see that I had merely been ill, a helpless invalid at the mercy of a rogue, there was no help for him, he was a stupid fool. Anyhow, I certainly wasn’t. I had simply been ill, and still was.…

28

In the course of my business career, I had several times had dealings with the police-court, and I knew the lay-out of the place fairly well. But I had never before been in the part to which Sergeant Schulze was taking me now. We went through the whole building (it adjoins the district court) to a rather narrow inner yard which was shut off on one side by a high wall, and on the other three by tall buildings pitted from top to bottom with small, almost square windows, all protected with strong bars.

“I’m going to live up there for weeks and weeks, perhaps,” I thought, and I was overcome by fear. I would have liked to ask my companion a number of things about the customs and regulations of such a prison, but it was too late for that now. Schulze pressed a bell-push, a huge iron door opened, and a blue-uniformed man greeted Schulze with a handshake and me with a cool searching look.

“A new arrival, Karl,” said Schulze. “The papers will be coming this afternoon from the Public Prosecutor’s office.”

“Stand over there!” said the man in uniform, and I obediently placed myself where he ordered me.

The two policemen whispered, and looked across at me several times. Once I heard the words “attempted murder”—it did not seem to make any special impression.

Then Schulze called to me from some distance, “Well, keep your chin up, Sommer,” and the door closed behind him; he had gone back into freedom, and I felt as if I had lost a friend.

“Come with me,” said the man in uniform carelessly, and led me into an office which was quite