She heard the water tap flowing in the kitchen. Minna probably wanted to bring some ice-cold water. Quickly she went to the sofa and lay down, covering herself with a blanket.
“You could have brought me the water five minutes ago, Minna. You know that I’m lying here with a frightful headache.”
She looked angrily at the old servant. But Minna wore her most wooden expression; you couldn’t read her thoughts if she didn’t want you to.
“All right then, Minna. And be very quiet in the kitchen-I want to sleep a little. You can have your afternoon off today. You may leave once you’ve finished the dishes. Leave the window cleaning till tomorrow; you’re bound to make a noise. You’ll make such a clatter with the pails that I shan’t be able to sleep.”
“Good-by, madam,” said Minna and went, closing the door very softly, avoiding any clatter. Silly woman, thought Frau Pagel. How she stared at me—just like an old owl! I’ll wait till she goes, then I’ll hurry along to Betty’s. Perhaps she was at the registry office or sent somebody there—no one’s so inquisitive as Betty. And I’ll be back before Minna-no need for her to know everything.
Frau Pagel glanced once again at the painting on the wall. The Woman in the Window was looking away from her. Seen thus, the dark shadows behind her head made it seem as if a man’s lips were approaching the nape. Frau Pagel had seen it often like that; today it annoyed her.
This damned sensuality, she thought. It spoils everything for the young people. They are always taken in by it.
It occurred to her that, since the couple were married, half of the picture belonged to the young wife. Was it not so?
But only let her come! I wish she would. I slapped her once and there is more waiting for her.…
Almost smiling she turned over, to fall asleep the next minute.
Chapter Four
An Oppressive Afternoon in Town and Country
I
“Listen,” said the Governor, Dr. Klotzsche, to the journalist Kastner, who had chosen that day of all days to visit Meienburg Penitentiary during his tour through Prussia’s strongholds. “Listen. You need attach no importance to the gossip you hear from the townsfolk. If ten prisoners make a noise, in this reinforced concrete building it sounds as if it were a thousand.”
“But you telephoned for the Reichswehr,” the journalist pointed out. “It’s unbelievable!” Governor Klotzsche was about to fly into a rage over Press spying, which went as far as listening-in to trunk calls, when he remembered that this Herr Kastner carried a letter of introduction from the Minister of Justice. Besides, although Cuno was Reich Chancellor, his position according to rumor was shaky, and it was therefore wiser not to be on bad terms with the Social Democratic Party whose Press Herr Kastner represented. “It is unbelievable,” he continued, but in noticeably more moderate tones, “how gossip in this town exaggerates the putting into force of a regulation. If there is unrest in the penitentiary, I have as a precautionary measure to inform the police and Reichswehr. Within a very short time I was able to cancel the warning. You see, Herr Doctor—”
But even that title did not soften this man. “Still, in your opinion there was a possibility of serious unrest. Why?”
The Governor was extremely annoyed, but it didn’t help. “It was on account of the bread,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t good enough for one of the convicts, and he shouted. And when they heard him, twenty others joined in.”
“Twenty, not ten then,” corrected the journalist.
“A hundred for all I care,” cried the Governor, whose gall was overflowing. “For all I care, sir, a thousand, all of them! I can’t alter it; the bread’s not good, but what am I to do? Our food appropriations are four weeks behind the mark devaluation. I can’t buy the best flour—what am I to do?”
“Deliver decent bread. Make a row with the Ministry. Incur debts on behalf of the administration and don’t worry. The men are to be fed according to the regulations.”
“Certainly,” said the Governor. “I’m to risk my neck so that my gentlemen get the best of food. And the unpunished population starves outside, what?”
But Herr Kastner was not accessible to irony and bitterness. Seeing a man in convict garb polishing the corridor floor, he called to him, suddenly very amiable. “You there. Your name, please?”
“Liebschner.”
“Herr Liebschner, tell me quite honestly—how do you find the food, in particular the bread?”
The prisoner glanced swiftly from the Governor to the gentleman in mufti, uncertain of what they wanted to hear. You couldn’t tell; the stranger might be from the Public Prosecutor, and if you opened your mouth too wide you fell in the soup. He plumped for caution. “The food? I like it.”
“Ah, Herr Liebschner,” said the journalist, who was not speaking with a prisoner for the first time, “I’m from the Press. You needn’t be afraid of me. You will come to no harm if you speak frankly. We shall keep an eye on you. What was wrong with the bread early this morning?”
“I beg your pardon,” cried the Governor, pale with fury. “This borders on instigation …”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Herr Kastner barked. “If I’m asking this man to speak the truth, is that instigation? Speak freely—I am Kastner from the Social Democratic Press Combine. You can always write to me.”
But the prisoner had made his decision. “Some will always grumble,” said he and looked frankly at the journalist. “The bread is the same as it ever was and I like it. Those here who complain the loudest go shortest when they’re outside and haven’t a whole pair of trousers to their behinds.”
“So,” frowned the journalist, visibly dissatisfied, while the Governor breathed more easily. “So! What have you been sentenced for?”
“Fraud,” replied Herr Liebschner. “And then they say harvest crews are to go out; tobacco and meat as much as you like.”
“Thanks,” said the journalist curtly, and turned to the Governor. “Shall we continue? I should like to see a cell. Besides, I don’t set much store by an orderly’s gossip; they’re all afraid of losing their jobs. And fraud! Frauds and bullies are the most untrustworthy people in the world.”
“But at first you seemed to attach importance to this swindler’s evidence.” Behind his fair beard the Governor smiled.
The journalist paid no attention. “And then harvest crews. To do work for the big agrarians which even the Poles consider themselves a cut above. And for wretched wages. Is that an arrangement of your own?”
“No, not at all,” said the Governor pleasantly. “It’s a decree of your Party comrade in the Prussian Ministry of Justice, Herr Kastner.”
II
“Frau Thumann,” said Petra, firmly buttoned up from top to toe in the shabby summer overcoat, and without taking any notice of the lodger from the room opposite, the jaunty but debauched Ida of Alexanderplatz, who sat at the landlady’s kitchen table soaking delicious glazed brioche in her milky coffee, “Frau Thumann, haven’t you anything for me to do?”
“Lor’, girl,” groaned Madam Po at the sink. “What do you mean by something to do? D’you want to watch the clock to see if he’s coming, or do you want some grub?”