“That’s right. And if at the same time you’d take pity on my food and laundry! They’ve looked somewhat woeful of late.”
“Black Minna …”
“Black Minna has to help in the kitchen at the Villa, besides which she’s the only one of the women who’s not afraid of the Rittmeister. The attendant has to take the air sometimes, and she takes his place.”
“As it should be!” said Amanda, deeply satisfied. “That’s what suits her. She afraid of men! She’s never been afraid enough of men, and you can hear any day you pass the almshouse, Herr Pagel, the squealing that comes from too little fear.”
“You’ve a scandalous gift of gab, Amanda,” Pagel said, half laughing. “The dangerously ill Rittmeister and Black Minna! No, I really don’t know if the two of us will get on well for long.”
“I’ll let you talk and you let me talk,” Amanda had replied, very contented. “That’s simple enough. Why shouldn’t we get on well, Herr Pagel?”
II
The bloated woman, who had no other job in life but to eat, was ladling soup from a tureen when Kowalewski came home tired and wet through. He looked into the tureen, knitted his brows, but restrained himself. Spreading lard on a crust of bread, he began to eat.
The woman, chewing, gave him a malicious look from her small eyes. In her case it was gluttony which kept her from talking. So the two old people sat silent, both eating; he the bread, she the chicken soup.
Only when her hunger was stilled did she open her mouth. “A fine fool you are!” she scolded. “The good chicken soup! It won’t make it any different you not touching a morsel.” She dipped the ladle in the soup and found a leg, at which she almost forgot to be angry. “What a fat hen it was, this! Yes, the Haases feed them well. It weighed over five pounds; and the beautiful pure yellow fat, that makes a rich soup!” She smacked her lips.
“Is our Sophie upstairs?” asked the dejected old man.
“Where should she be? They’re still sleeping.” Satiated, she was already luxuriating in the prospect of further meals. “Tonight we’re going to have a joint of venison. I’m fond of venison when it’s well done. And he’s also going to bring us a fat pig.”
“I don’t need a pig, I won’t have it!” cried old Kowalewski in despair. “We’ve always been honest. But now! Thieves and associates of thieves! We can’t look people in the face anymore.”
“Don’t excite yourself,” said his wife indifferently. “You know that he won’t put up with anything from you. Thieves! It’s only theft if one’s caught; he’s too clever for that. He’s ten times cleverer than you. A hundred times!”
“I don’t want him here anymore,” he mumbled.
“Yes, that’s like you!” shouted the glutton. “Someone at last who provides for us—and you want him to leave! But I tell you, if you start a row with him, I—” She waved the ladle, not knowing with what she should threaten him, while her little eyes, drowned in fat, searched the room. “I’ll eat up everything, and you can starve!” This was the worst threat she could contrive.
Her husband looked at her gloomily. Like mother, like daughter, he thought. Selfish and greedy. Greedy!
He turned across the room to the stairs.
“Don’t you go up! Don’t start a row!” she screamed after him.
Kowalewski was already climbing the stairs. For a moment he stood breathing quickly outside his daughter’s room, and almost lost his courage. Then he knocked.
“Who’s there?” asked Sophie’s angry voice after a while.
“Me—father!” he murmured.
There was whispering inside; the door was unlocked. Sophie looked into her father’s face. “What do you want?” she complained. “You know that Hans needs his sleep. First you make such a row downstairs that one can’t get a wink of sleep, then you come up here. What’s the matter?”
“Come in, father-in-law!” shouted a falsely cordial voice. “An enormous pleasure. Sophie, shut up! Company has come. Our respected father-in-law! Sit down, please, old gentleman. Give him a chair, Sophie, so he can sit down. Do excuse us, father-in-law, that we’re still in bed. Had I guessed the honor to be done us, I would have put on my frock coat.” The speaker grinned at the intimidated old man. “That’s to say, looked at strictly, it’s not mine. But it fits me perfectly, Herr Rittmeister’s frock coat. Herr von Prackwitz was so kind as to come to my aid. My wardrobe was a little empty.”
Kowalewski had been so often and so thoroughly mocked and scolded in his life that, although it perhaps never ceased to hurt him, he never let this appear. He stood behind the chair, not looking at the bed or Hans Liebschner. “You, Sophie,” he said in low tones. “Well, what, father? Go on! More grumbling, I suppose, because something’s disappeared! Is Haase making such a row about the few hens that you can’t sleep? He can have something quite different happen!”
“Sophie, Herr Pagel again asked why you weren’t working.”
“Let him ask! Those who ask a lot, get a lot of answers. I’ll answer him all right if he comes to me.”
“But he says if you aren’t digging potatoes tomorrow, he’ll put Black Minna in the attic here.”
“The fellow can—”
“Yes, Hans. Give him one in his cheeky mug so he won’t be able to open his mouth for six weeks. What does the fool think he is?”
“Not for me, thank you, Sophie, that’s not my sort of job. That’s something for Baumer. He’ll finish the chap with pleasure, so that he won’t even know he’s dead.”
“If anything happens to Herr Pagel, I’ll denounce you,” said the old man quietly.
“What does Pagel matter to you, father?” began Sophie. “You’re mad.”
“I’ve held my tongue because you’re my only daughter and because you’ve kept on promising to go away soon. It’s almost broken my heart, to see you here with such a—”
“Drivel on as much as you like, old gentleman!” cried the man in bed. “Don’t put yourself out among relatives. Convict, eh?”
“Yes, convict!” repeated old Kowalewski defiantly. “But it doesn’t mean I think all in prison are as low as you. And the stealing! Always stealing.… Does a man do that merely out of pleasure in doing mischief? You don’t gain anything by it. The money you get in Frankfurt and Ostade for the stolen things is worth nothing.”
“Be patient, old fellow. Times will change again. As soon as I’ve collected the fare and some working funds we’ll dash off. D’you think I’m so fond of your cottage? Or that I can’t bear to part from your whining face?”
“Yes,” cried the old man eagerly. “Go off. Go to Berlin.”
“Father-in-law, you’ve just told me that we’ve got no money. Or will you give me the dowry for your daughter in cash? What, my dear man, go to Berlin without money and be arrested at once! No, thanks. We’ve waited so long that a few days or weeks till we—”
“But what will happen if he really does put Minna in here?” said Sophie angrily. “You’ve let us in for this, father, so as to get rid of us!”
Herr Liebschner whistled and exchanged a glance with the girl, who fell silent.
Kowalewski had noticed this glance. “As true as I stand here, and hope that God will forgive me my weakness—if anything happens to Herr Pagel I’ll bring the gendarmes here myself!” There was such energy in the old man’s outburst that the other two were convinced he would do it.
“And you always pretend you are something like a father!” said the girl contemptuously.
“It’s no good talking, Sophie,” said Liebschner, resigned. “The old fellow’s taken a passion for the lout. There are things like that. Listen, Sophie. You shove off to the young man at once. He’ll be alone now, at midday. Be a little nice to him, Sophie; you know I’m not jealous. Then he’ll give way.… You’ll be able to manage that, eh, Sophie?”
“That lout! He’ll go on his knees if I want it. But the Backs will be there. He’s got her!”
“The fat one with the hens? If you can’t cut out that gawk, you can lose your job with me, too, Sophie.”
“Go away! Please. Better go away before everything is discovered,” pleaded Kowalewski.
“Before you catch on to something, the pastor’s got to preach three times on Sunday, I suppose, eh? Money, I say! You won’t get rid of us sooner. So set your mind at rest, father-in-law; we’ll wangle it. We shall keep on our lodgings; we still like them. And nothing will happen to your young chap—agreed?”
“You should go away,” said the old man obstinately.
