31
Then I heard from Mordhorst two or three days later (they took their time over my transfer to the institution; in the court they all have plenty of time, except the prisoners for whom time passes so slowly)—well, I heard from Mordhorst that I had behaved like a complete idiot.
“Look,” he said, “how could you act so barmy? The old buzzard was laughing up his sleeve at you when you unpacked one bottle of brandy after another. He was just having you on, kidding to be so friendly. You should have said, you should have sworn blind: I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t drunk at all! I did what I did deliberately, I worked it all out! And why ought you to have said so? Because you run the least risk that way. Look, for homicidal intent you get six months, a year at most. You can do that on your head, and then you’re out, a free man again, and nobody can lay a finger on you. And what’ll happen to you now? First you go for six weeks’ observation in the asylum, to find out the state of your mind. Do you think the asylum is better than gaol? It’s much worse! All the trimmings are the same as here—grub, work, warders. But you’re not with people in their senses, you’re with a pack of loonies! And then the doctor makes his report and you get Paragraph 51 and proceedings against you are stopped. But they’ll declare you insane and dangerous and they’ll order you to be detained in the asylum, and there you’ll stay five years, ten years, twenty years, not a soul will give a damn, and among all those loonies you’ll slowly turn into a loony yourself. That’s probably what they want. From what you tell me, your old woman’s pretty keen on the business; that way she gets the business and everything else belonging to you. And there you are, shut away, just a poor loony, and if they give you a bit of cake and a plug of tobacco at Christmas you can consider yourself lucky. …”
So said Mordhorst, the man of experience, and at his every word a voice within me answered: “yes.” I had acted like an idiot, I had let them entice me on to thin ice and now I was in it up to the neck. From the very first I had guessed what Magda was planning, but I had forgotten it; I had not wanted to think about it any more. I had to some extent deceived myself that she was my wife, she used to love me, she would not betray me.… But she had betrayed me! She had been working to this end for a long time. First she had set the doctors on to me, then she had given this devastating evidence against me, in which she had treated all my drunken talk as something said in dead earnest.
And how had she behaved since I was put in gaol? Had she acted as a real wife should when her husband has met with misfortune? Had she made a single effort to get permission to speak to me, to visit me and so provide an opportunity for discussion and reconciliation? Not at all. I had written to Magda. I had written her a serious friendly letter; I was obliged to write to her, I needed a blanket for my straw mattress, a sheet and a pillow. I also needed a newspaper and something to eat. Oh yes, she sent the things I needed, but there was no food or newspaper in the suitcase. And she did not write a single line!
Now I was in gaol, now she let the mask fall, now she felt herself already the owner of my property, now she thought she’d have me put away for ever in a lunatic asylum!
But she was mistaken about me, I wasn’t giving up the fight yet! No, I was only just starting! I knew what I was doing, I wasn’t a child to be led up the garden by Magda’s “efficiency”, I had Mordhorst to advise me now, and I had the best lawyer in town, Herr Doktor Husten!
32
Herr Doktor Husten, whom I had previously known only by sight, was a man in his late thirties, an already stoutish figure, with the livid wrinkled face of a successful actor. He had not long been in practice in my native town, and had the reputation of being cunning, somewhat rash, and very expensive. In my business dealings, of course, I would never have engaged a lawyer of his kind, but for a criminal case like this he seemed the right man. I was called in from my wood-cutting to find Dr Husten waiting for me in the governor’s office. He had answered the summons of my letter almost at once. Dr Husten shook my hand somewhat emphatically, assured me in a deep voice, with much rolling of the R’s, that he was particularly delighted to make my acquaintance, and then turned to the governor with the playfully-phrased request that we might be shown to some comfortable place where we could have a confidential chat. The governor grinned, and ordered the warder to take us to my cell. The indignant Duftermann was chased out into the yard for a while to take a walk.
“Don’t you dare touch any of my things!” With these words, he went out.
Instead of concerning himself with my case, Dr Husten asked in a whisper who that rude, impressive gentleman was, and he nodded as I briefly informed him. “Ah, that’s who it is! I’ve heard of him. Who’s defending him?—the fellow’s rolling in money. One could make something out of his case.”
I was more interested to know what could be made out of my case, and rather irritated, I reminded Dr Husten of this.
“Ah, your case!” He cried sonorously and in some surprise. “Your case is in splendid shape. I have already examined the documents. You’ll get Paragraph 51 and get off scot-free, just leave that to me, my dear Herr Sommer.”
I asked still more irritably: “And what happens after I get Paragraph 51?”
Surprised again, the lawyer cried: “What happens to you? As far as the criminal court is concerned, your case is absolutely closed. And personally? I suppose you will go to an institution for a little while, but that’s quite desirable for reasons of your health!”
“And how long will that little while in the institution be, Herr Dokter Husten?” I asked maliciously. “Five years? Ten years? For life?”
The lawyer laughed.
“Ah, some fellow-prisoner has been putting ideas into your head! For life! I never heard such nonsense! In your case there’s no question of that. You are a sane man in full possession of your mental faculties …”
“That’s exactly my opinion,” I answered, “and that’s why Paragraph 51 is out of the question for me. No, Herr Doktor Husten, I take full responsibility for everything I have done, and I am ready to bear the consequences.”
“But my dear Herr Sommer,” he cried pleadingly. “You would have to go to prison for twelve months, for at least twelve months. You would come out a dishonoured man. Everybody would point you out!”
“Even so,” I insisted as Mordhorst’s faithful disciple. “Even so, I would far sooner have one year in prison than an unlimited number in an asylum …”
“Unlimited! You’ll have to stay half a year, perhaps a year there, Herr Sommer …”
“Would you give me that in writing, Herr Doktor Husten? Backed by your word as a lawyer … ?”
“Of course I can’t do that, my dear friend,” said the lawyer.
He also seemed rather cross now, and his fingers drummed nervously on the table.
“I’m not a doctor, only a doctor can judge how far your alcoholism has gone, and how much time is necessary for a complete cure without fear of relapse—But my dear Herr Sommer,” he cried, pulling himself together and letting his studied triumphant optimism gain the upper hand once more, “give up this dark mistrust of yours. Put yourself utterly into the doctor’s healing hands. Remember too, that psychologically as well as physically, you are scarcely equipped to meet the demands of a long imprisonment. And I hardly think, moreover, that this solution would be according to the wishes of your dear wife …”
This was the wrong word at the wrong moment!
“Herr Doktor Husten,” I cried, jumping up indignantly. “Whose interests do you represent: mine or my wife’s? How do you know what my wife’s wishes are? Have you been to see her before consulting me?”
I was trembling all over with excitement.
“But my dear Herr Sommer,” he said soothingly, and put his hand on my shoulder, “what are you getting so excited about? Naturally, I’ve been to see your wife. As your lawyer, that was a matter of course. And I can tell you that your wife bears you no grudge, although she is upset. I am convinced that she very much regrets what has happened to you …”
“Yes, she shows her regret very clearly in that statement of hers which is among the papers,” I cried, more and more indignantly. “Haven’t you read her statement, Herr Doktor Husten?—No, I find it simply unforgiveable that you, as my lawyer, should have been talking to the chief witness for the prosecution, without consulting me.”
“But I had to do so, my dear friend,” replied the lawyer, smiling gently at my lack of worldly knowledge, “I had to inform myself about who was to pay my fees. At the moment you are, so to say, without means …”
