The Drinker

shed roof. I heard a furious cry behind me, but I was already letting myself drop into the garden.

“Drunken old fool!” she called from above, and then the window banged.

I stood among bushes. I smelt the scent of lilac. The spring night was perfect in its purity. I put the bottle to my mouth and drank deeply.

7

I walk and walk. I walk along, singing to myself one of those Wanderlieder that I used to sing when hiking with Magda. Then for long stretches I limp on aching feet. I have stubbed my toe against a stone, it is bad going for my shoeless feet. My socks have long since been torn to ribbons. I come to a stream, clamber down the bank, sit on a stone and put my feet in the water, which shocks me for a moment with its icy coldness. Then it feels good, and sitting on the stone I fall asleep. I wake up shivering, icy. I have fallen from my seat, I walk on. The faster I walk, the longer the road seems to become. The fruit trees along the roadside positively fly past me, yet I seem to be no further on. I don’t know where I am, only that I’m a long way from home. I don’t know what time it is, only that it’s still night. The moon is some two handsbreadths above the horizon. And I walk on. I walk through a sleeping village. Not a light anywhere, everyone asleep, I am the only one abroad. Erwin Sommer, proprietor of a wholesale market produce business. Not now, not now, that was before. The one who is walking through this moonlit night, who is he? Once he was someone—long ago he was. Down and out now, finished, almost forgotten.… At my shuffling step, a dog wakes up in his kennel and starts to bark. Other dogs awaken and now the whole village is barking and I shuffle through it on sore feet, a tramp, and yesterday I was still … oh, shut up! And I stop in the shadow of the wooden church spire and raise the bottle to my mouth again and drink. That stills the questions, soothes the pain, that is a whip for the next half hour on the road. But there is not much left in the bottle. I’ll have to go easy with the precious stuff. I’ll swallow the last mouthful—and it must be a big one—on my own doorstep, before I face Magda. But Magda is asleep. I shall lie down very quietly on the sofa, there won’t be any argument tonight. And tomorrow? Tomorrow is a long way off. By tomorrow I shall have had a deep, deep sleep, I shall have forgotten everything that happened today, I shall be the head of the firm again, who had committed a small blunder, it’s true, but who is perfectly capable of making amends.…

I have hidden the empty bottle in the garden bushes, and now, very quietly, on my bare feet, I mount the steps to the front door. I manage to unlock the door without a sound. I am not a bit drunk now, though I have only just taken one or two long swigs of brandy—there was more left in the bottle than I had thought. So much the better. I am all the more clear-headed and certain. I shan’t make any mistake, I shan’t wake anyone up. How cunning I am. I am tempted to go into the bathroom to bathe my sore feet, but my clear head reminds me that the noise of the taps would awaken Magda, so I sneak into the kitchen. I can wash in the kitchen. Only little Else sleeps next to the kitchen. She’s good to me, she comforted me, she’s not hard and efficient like Magda. I switch on the light, I look round the kitchen. I choose a large enamel basin, and I think to look into the boiler by the stove, to see if there is any warm water. The water is actually luke-warm still. I am proud of my cleverness. I get the washing soap, the hand-towel, kitchen cloths, a brush. I sit on a chair and put my feet into the water. Oh, how good it feels, how soothing that gentle caress is! I lean back, I close my eyes—if only I had something to drink now, I would be absolutely happy.

There’s always something lacking for human happiness, we can never be perfectly content. I’ve drunk all the red wine, and there’s nothing else to drink in the house. Tomorrow I must start a wine-cellar, and there must be a few bottles of schnaps in it, too. Schnaps is a very good thing—a pity I’ve wasted so many years of my life when I might have been drinking schnaps—in all moderation of course. I lean back still further, enjoying the bath, feeling the burning pain recede … and suddenly I jump up! The water slops out of the basin and floods over the tiled floor. But I take no notice of that. I have had a revelation. Of course we have something to drink in the house! Didn’t Magda get some Madeira for certain kinds of soup, ox-tail for instance? And doesn’t she use rum for her preserves? I know that from her housekeeping accounts. And I run on my bare feet into the larder, I search, I sniff at bottles, I smell vinegar and oil—and here, here it is: “Fine old Sherry,” and here’s port wine, no less, the bottle three-parts- full, and rum, half-full—oh, how beautiful life is! Intoxication, forget-fulness, to float along on the stream of forgetfulness, into the twilight, deep into the darkness where there is neither failure nor regret … good alcohol, I salute you. La reine Elsabe, I have rested on your naked breast, I have breathed the scent of your hair and your flesh!

I have filled the basin again, I have set the three uncorked bottles before me, I have taken a long pull from the rum bottle. At first it repels me after the gentler, purer taste of the brandy. The rum tastes sharper, more burning, it is adulterated and all the more fiery on that account. I feel it spreading in my blood like dark-red clouds, it stimulates my imagination, it makes me more wide-awake, more watchful, more cunning.… I know I must tidy up the kitchen properly, wipe the flood off the floor, carefully cork the bottles and put them away again. Nobody must notice anything, not even Else. Good little Else, she’s fast asleep, she’s young still, she sleeps the sleep of youth, but I, her master, I sit here in the kitchen and watch over her sleep. If a burglar were to come now … but where did I leave the corks? I don’t see them anywhere, I haven’t got them in my pockets either—perhaps they’re still in the larder? I must go and look, I must put the bottles away properly corked. But the water is so gentle to my feet, and I am getting so tired, I would like to sleep, just for a brief moment, then I’ll tidy up, I’ll put everything in perfect order, and I’ll find the corks too.…

Who’s coming? Who is disturbing me again? Oh, it’s only Magda, efficient Magda. In the middle of the night, no, rather towards morning, there she stands in the kitchen door-way looking spick-and-span, fully dressed anyway, and stares silently at me with a pale startled face. I half straighten up, make a gesture of greeting, nod to her and say cheerfully: “Here I am again, Magda! I just made a little trip, a little excursion into the springtime. Have you heard the larks sing yet this year? Tomorrow we’ll go together. You’ll see how lovely and green the birches are, and you can make the acquaintance of the Queen of Schnaps, la reine d’alcool, I’ve christened her Elsabe.… You’re so clever, Magda, I saw you at the books with Hinzpeter, in the office. You’ve been through the books, you’ve a clear view of things now. I’ve always been afraid of that clear view! I drink to you, Magda, and again and again! I know it’s your rum, but I’ll replace it, I’ll replace everything. We’ve still got money. I can sell the business. It belongs to me, I’m the boss, I can do what I like! Or have you got something to say against it?”

She said nothing. She looked silently at me, then at my bleeding feet. She was very pale. Two tears welled up in her eyes and ran slowly down her pale cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away. Intently I followed their course with my eyes, until they fell on her dress. Those tears didn’t upset me; on the contrary it pleased me that she wept, it was a sweet feeling to me, that she could still suffer on my account.

I drank again.

“You’re so mercilessly efficient. Yes, I didn’t get the prison contract, but you’ll put that right somehow. I’ve always lived in your shadow; you never let me feel your superiority, but I could never reach as high as you, and now I’m right down. But one can live below the surface as well. I met a curious girl who is right down, too, but she can feel pain and happiness. One can feel joy and sorrow down below, Magda, it’s just like being up above, it’s all the same whether you live up or down. Perhaps the most beautiful thing is to let yourself fall, to shut your eyes and plunge into nothingness, deeper and deeper into nothingness. One can go on falling endlessly Magda. I haven’t reached the end, I haven’t touched bottom yet. All my limbs are still intact.”

“Erwin,” she pleaded, “Erwin, don’t say any more. Stop drinking now. You’re ill, Erwin. Come, go to bed. I’ll bandage your feet. They look terrible. I’ll bandage your feet.”

“You see,” I cried, and drank again, “you begrudge me even these few mouthfuls. They’re your bottles, of course, but I’ll pay for them. I’ll pay you in cash or kind. That’s fair dealing, you can’t say anything against that. You ask about my feet. I’ve been on a trip in the country, while the efficient mistress is at work, surely the master can have some relaxation, once in a while. I walked barefoot, walking barefoot is supposed to be healthy.…”

She let me go on talking. She had quickly left the kitchen and returned with a large sponge, a jar of ointment, and some bandages. She knelt beside me, and while I went on talking over her head, more and more thickly and incoherently, she washed my feet, washed the dirt of the road out of my wounds, wiped them gently, applied the ointment, and bandaged them up.

“Good, good,” I said, “you’re really good to me, Magda. If only you weren’t so damned efficient!”