Even now, with the end of the black market trade, he, the brother-in-law, goes around on the road with his wares every so often.
At first Mick went with him. Now he sometimes goes on the road selling stuff himself. But only occasionally.
He much prefers working on the land as a casual laborer, finding out about the farmers and their properties.
Late last summer he worked as a picker during the hop harvest for a while. The pay wasn’t bad and neither was the food. Even the pickers’ sleeping quarters in a barn had been to his liking.
In autumn he went from house to house as a peddler for a short time. He even passed Tannöd, but he didn’t let them see him at Danner’s farm. He didn’t want to be spotted, because the Tannöd folk were still on his list. For a rainy day. Something in reserve, you might say.
There are no flies on Mick. You want to save up some of your best opportunities for times of need, like keeping your savings in a sock. And Danner is a nice fat sock full of savings, Mick knows that for certain.
November didn’t go so well for him. He and his brother-in-law were planning to sell some copper wire.
Copper was still in great demand, always had been; fetched a good price if you knew the right dealers. His brother-in-law knew a couple of guys who cut the overhead wires of telephone lines. Then the wires could be sold. The two guys weren’t all that bright, the whole plan flopped, and for the first time ever Mick found himself spending a few weeks in jail for receiving and a few other minor offenses.
Not a lengthy sentence, but it was three months all the same. He hasn’t been free all that long yet. He can’t go to his sister’s. His brother-in-law is still in jail, and his sister can’t handle another mouth to feed. So this is the right time to go to his sock full of savings. The Tannöd farmer is ripe for the plucking.
He knows the farm well from his previous visits. Old Danner once took him around the whole house and farm. It was pure joy to hear him showing off about “his place.”
The old fool had even told him about his money, adding that he “didn’t put it all in the bank,” not he. He always had something in the house, he said, plenty to be going on with. They’d been great cronies back then. He knew just how to cozy up to Danner.
The old man was crafty, but Mick could handle him. Danner boasted of how he’d outwitted his neighbors, of the times he’d taken them for a ride.
He talked and talked, and soon Mick had the farmer where he wanted him. That’s why he’s on his way to the farm now, in the middle of the night. He wasn’t reckoning on such lousy weather, though. He’s already drenched to the skin when he finally reaches the farm. He knows his way around the property. Even the dog is no problem. When he was on the road he once lodged with a shepherd who taught him how to handle dogs. And the animal still knows him from his time at the farm.
He gets into the barn from the old machinery shed and then up into the loft. Dead easy. Everything went without a hitch. No one saw him in the darkness. The dog knew him and didn’t start barking. He fastens a rope to a beam in the suspended ceiling of the barn as an emergency exit. Better safe than sorry. After that he puts straw on the floorboards above the suspended ceiling to muffle his footsteps. He doesn’t want to wake the sleeping family in the house below. He doesn’t want anyone to notice his presence. This is Friday. The sun will rise in a few hours’ time. From up here he can watch the farmyard, seize his moment to get into the house, and plunder the piggybank. He’s satisfied. Moving fast is always a bad idea in his line of work. Haste makes waste, as they say. No one will find him up here. From inside the loft he can push the roof tiles a little bit apart to get a view of the whole farmyard. He can wait. He has plenty of time.
Georg Hauer, farmer, age 49
Friday March the eighteenth, that’s when I last saw Danner.
I was planning to go over to Einhausen that day.
Had to fetch something from the hardware store there. I’m going to rebuild my barn this year, that’s why I took the cart and drove.
On foot it takes you a good hour, I’d say.
When I’m just past Danner’s property—the road there runs by the farm—the old man waves to me. He was some way off.
Since that business with Barbara, I’ve always tended to avoid Danner. We haven’t talked to each other much since. But I stopped the cart all the same. Reluctantly.
“Hold on a minute there! I want to ask you something,” the old man called.
First he just hemmed and hawed. I was starting to wish I hadn’t stopped at all. Suddenly he asks me if I’d seen anything, if I’d noticed anything.
“What was there to notice? I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.” I was getting really annoyed with myself for stopping by now.
If he was going on at me like that, it meant he had something or other in mind. A sly fox, old Danner was. You had to watch your step with him. So I was surprised when all he asked was had anyone met me, had I seen anyone?
“Why?” I asked back.
“There was someone tried to break in to our house last night. Nothing stolen, but the lock’s been wrenched off the machinery shed.”
“Better call the police,” I told him.
But he wouldn’t have the police in the house, he told me.
“Don’t want nothing to do with the cops.”
He’d searched the whole place, he said. Went up to the loft, too, took a lamp and shone it in all the corners, but he didn’t find anything.
All the same, he said, all last night he thought he heard someone in the loft. So he went up there first thing in the morning. But he didn’t find anything, and nothing was missing.
I asked him if he’d like me to help him search. Pig-headed like he was, all he said was the fellow would have made off by now. Only he didn’t know how, because all the footprints you could see just led to the house and not away.
Fresh snow had fallen overnight. Not much, just a thin covering. But he’d been able to make out some of the footprints well enough.
“Want me to bring my revolver?” I asked. I still have one at home, left over from the war.
But Danner wouldn’t have that.
“No need. I’ve got a gun myself and a good stout stick. I’ll soon send the fellow packing.”
I offered again to look in at his place on my way home, help him search the farmyard again.
But the stubborn old goat said no.
Then, just as I’m about to leave, the old man turns around again and says, “And the stupid thing is I misplaced the front-door key yesterday. If you find a key on the road, a key that long”—and he showed me the length of the key with his hands—“then it’s mine.”
That was the end of the conversation, and I continued on. I really did mean to look in on Danner again on my way back.
But the weather got worse, it was raining, there was even a bit of snow, so I went straight home.
There was a frost that night too. Spring just didn’t want to come this year.
I noticed none of the Danners were at church on Sunday, but I thought nothing much of that.
Then on Monday I was out in the fields near the woods. My fields there march side by side with Danner’s land. I was plowing. Didn’t see any of the Danners the whole time, though.
But Tuesday, my sister-in-law Anna sent young Hansl up to their farm to take a look around. It wasn’t till then I remembered all that about the break-in and the missing front-door key. And you know the rest of it.