Wolf Among Wolves

“But they say a car from the Commission of Control stopped in front of the artillery barracks, Herr Lieutenant.”

The boots, this insignificant something, one of hundreds, did not remove his glance from a Lieutenant who must not lose his self-possession or show dismay. For a moment only did the young man close his eyes, no more than a blink; then he was again looking at himself and the other in the mirror. Thoughtfully he tapped his comb on the rim of the washbowl. “Well, and what else? Is it still there?” he asked.

“No, sir, it went away again.”

“You see, Friedrich!” explained the Lieutenant, reassuring himself too. “You see! It stopped there and has gone away again, Friedrich. That’s all. The swine have to stick their noses in everything. Obviously they’ve heard something or other. It’s impossible, when thousands know about our affair, for there not to be a little gossip. They were trying to hear something, and they’ve had to go away again. Would they have left if they had really known anything?” He turned round, looking straight at his man. And whether it was the nearness of his glance or the effect of his words, he saw that he had convinced the boots.

“The Lieutenant is quite right. One oughtn’t to listen to what people say. One must just obey,” said the man.

The other secretly grinned. What a rotten business! See, here was one man persuaded out of about three thousand; and Heaven only knew what the others were being told in the meantime. For affairs like this one wanted a regiment of more or less deaf mutes.

“It’s not that I’m afraid, Herr Lieutenant. Only I’m so glad to have a job again at last, and the boss told me he’d throw me out if I joined in the Putsch.” The Lieutenant made a gesture. “But I shall join in, Herr Lieutenant,” Friedrich said hastily. “I’ll bring also the two sporting guns of the boss’s, as commanded. If everything goes all right tomorrow, he can chuck me out. Only, Herr Lieutenant, you’ll understand that if it had been absolutely hopeless … It’s no joke to be out of work.”

“No, no, Friedrich,” laughed the Lieutenant, clapping the man on his shoulder. “It’s O.K. That I guarantee— with my life.” Well, he had said it, he wanted to have said it like that; it was all bloody well the same, especially now. Should he be sorry for this fool? All were trying to cover themselves, the cowards.

“Thank you very much, Herr Lieutenant,” said Friedrich, beaming.

“So you see, comrade,” laughed the Lieutenant graciously, “never say die! Just think how pleased your boss will be the day after tomorrow that you joined in for him.” His tone changed. “Oh, and Friedrich, is my bike ready? I have to make another trip shortly.”

“Yes, of course, Herr Lieutenant. But first you were going to Herr Richter.…”

“That’s right,” said the Lieutenant, and left the room.

He strolled along, smoking. In the lavatory he quickly pushed back the safety catch and saw that there was a cartridge in the barrel. Then, with the pistol ready and gripped inside his trouser pocket, he went to Herr Richter. It was a strange thing; since he had heard about the Entente Commission’s car his mood was a hundred times happier. If all those condemned to death felt as cheerful as he did, then all the drivel about the death penalty was utter nonsense. It was possible that a few minutes at Herr Richter’s and things would explode. He with them!

Everything was quite friendly there, however. A crowd of discharged officers sat around Richter, some in mufti, some in threadbare uniforms without distinguishing marks. The Lieutenant knew them all. With an abrupt greeting he went at once to Richter, who was whispering with the one stranger, a genuine civilian.

Richter himself really looked like a civilian. Tall, dark, the young colts called him “God’s pencil” among themselves; he was always writing everything down—it was certain that the fellow had never smelled powder. The Lieutenant couldn’t bear him; and probably he could just as little bear the Lieutenant. He now signed to him brusquely to wait at a distance and went on whispering with the fat civilian. The Lieutenant turned round and in a bored way contemplated the room.

It was the back room of a public-house, dreary and discolored; and something dreary and discolored also appeared in the men there. It was revolting that he too should have to stand and wait with them. He fingered the pistol in his pocket; Richter’s first words would tell him whether those men knew something about him or not. Two or three words of the fat civilian’s reached his ear. He could not exactly make them out, but one word might have been “Meier” and the other “spy.” To be sure, there were many Meiers in the world, but the Lieutenant was convinced immediately that only one Meier could be intended. The swine had been born to make difficulties for him. Why hadn’t he let him roast in that forest fire which he had started? This was the result of a man’s good deeds! Actually it was stupid to wait any longer. Everything was plain and decided. Out and finish with it! Why let himself be insulted as well?

He considered where the lavatory might be in this place—but that would only make trouble for his comrades. He must go somewhere farther away, somewhere in the wood, in the undergrowth—no, the best place would be where he had promised her. She must not be let off that!

“Herr Lieutenant, please.”

He breathed freely again. Perhaps only a respite, but yet a little time longer to draw breath, to be himself, to have a future. Attentively he listened to Herr Richter explaining that since early that morning every communication with the Reichswehr had been broken. No one could get into the barracks, no one came out; officers were not to be seen on the streets. Telephone calls brought only evasive chatter.…

Ah, it was clear now how uncertain is all preparation. They were a handful of people, the remnants of Freicorps that had long been officially dissolved, together with a Landsturm of a few thousand men—strong if the Reichswehr joined them and, if it opposed them, a ridiculous mob. One had firmly counted on the Reichswehr. Naturally there had been nothing official; one had had the fullest comprehension of the difficulties which the comrades faced. From the debris of the army, from the ruins of revolution, a new army had to be created under the suspicious eyes of late enemies who were still hostile. Those outside were more than willing to take all the risk. The discharged officer had spoken with the one in service; the first had talked, the other had listened. “Yes” had not been said, but neither had “No.” But one had been given the feeling—if we only carry out our job, they will not be against it.

And then, out of the blue sky, a day before the event, this incomprehensible silence, utterly undeserved coldness, emphatic withdrawal, almost refusal. Herr Richter went on to represent urgently that this mystery must be cleared up at once and the shadow dissipated. One couldn’t lead people against the Reichswehr if it was to be hostile. He spoke very forcibly. The Lieutenant would surely understand what was desired?

With grave and attentive face the Lieutenant stood there. In the right places he nodded and said yes, but actually he heard nothing. Savage hatred filled him. Could so great and important a business be endangered through a little love-sick creature? Was everything to be in vain which hundreds of men had prepared for months, for which they had risked honor, life and fortune—all because a bitch like that couldn’t hold her tongue? Impossible! It couldn’t be. Oh, he should have said quite different things to her. He should have taken her by the hair and hit her love-filled face.

(But neither the Lieutenant nor his superior, now talking of treachery, arrived at the thought that a thing must indeed be rotten to be overthrown by the chatter of a fifteen-year-old girl; that it could only be an adventure without any life-giving spark of an idea; that they themselves were all trapped by the glittering and corrupt enchantments of a wicked age, and were thinking of the moment instead of the eternity beyond—even as the bank-note machines in Berlin were working only for the day and the hour.)

Herr Richter was silent. His talk at an end, he was hoping that this shady Lieutenant had understood him. But he merely looked questioningly at God’s Pencil, who therefore had to make up his mind to go further—a disgusting business for a decent person.

“I have heard,” he whispered with a cautious look at the fat civilian who still stood nearby waiting for something, “I have heard that you have the possibility of finding out a few … hmm … secrets. You are supposed to have some sort of connection.…” The disgust in his voice was so obvious that a little crimson crept into the Lieutenant’s cheeks. But he said nothing, only regarded his superior attentively. “Very well, then,” said Herr Richter impatiently, himself flushing. “Why beat about the bush? I ask you in the interests of the cause to make use of your connections, so that we can know where we stand.”

“Now?” The truth was that the Lieutenant wished to ride past the hotel, see if the lordly Horch car was still there, and then go at once to the dump. If it was as he now almost expected it to be, then back to her at once and before her eyes do what he had promised. No, he wouldn’t touch her, but she should carry with her that picture— much worse than any other—throughout her whole life. She was so impressionable, she would never get over it;