He Goes Astray in the Night
I
In the bushes in front of the staff-house Violet von Prackwitz stood on guard; inside the office another girl, Amanda Backs, came out of her hiding place. She did not understand by a long way everything that these two, the Lieutenant and Fräulein Violet, were doing together. But much could be guessed. She had already heard of the Lieutenant who traveled the countryside gathering the people for some revolt; and at that time there was a saying current throughout Germany, darkly threatening: “Traitors will be punished by the secret tribunal, the Vehme!”
It is not pleasant to have to think of one’s lover as a traitor; and though Amanda Backs might be as sturdy a piece of vulgarity as one could imagine, she would never be a traitress. She loved and she hated without restraint, with all her powerful and unbreakable nature; but she could never betray. Therefore she continued to stand by her Hans, despite everything she knew about him. He too was just a man, and one cannot make much show, God knows, of any man—a girl has to take them just as they are.
She stole quickly into the room, knelt down by the bed and shook the sleeper vigorously. But he was not so easily to be shaken from his drunkenness. Amanda had to adopt strong measures, and when the wet face-cloth also failed to work she simply decided to tug at his hair with one hand while cautiously placing the other over his mouth so that he couldn’t make a noise.
And this succeeded—the furious pain woke up little Meier, for she pulled and tugged his hair with all her by no means insignificant strength. Like all men, and especially like Black Meier, he instinctively defended himself, biting the hand over his mouth.
She suppressed a cry and whispered in his ear: “Wake up! Wake up, Hans. It’s me—Amanda!”
“I can feel that,” he grunted angrily. “If you only knew how fed up I am with you women! You can never leave a chap in peace.” Feeling unwell, his head aching abominally, he would have continued his grumbling but she was afraid of the girl spying outside, and again laid her hand firmly over his mouth. Immediately he bit it again.
And now her patience was gone. She tore her hand away from his teeth and struck out blindly in the darkness, not caring where. Her senses, however, guided her well; she found her mark beautifully, thick and fast the blows fell on him, left, right—there, that must have been his nose! And now the mouth.…
And all the time she moaned softly, breathless, carried away by this hitting in the darkness at something which groaned. “Will you be sensible? Will you shut up? Otherwise they’ll kill you!” (She herself was well on the way to achieving this.)
Breathless, almost completely sober, frightened, unable to defend himself, Meier now begged: “But, Mandy! My little Mandy! I’ll do everything you want. But stop it now. Oh, be a bit careful.…”
Her breast heaving, she stopped. “Will you listen to me, you fathead?” she gasped with angry tenderness. “The Lieutenant was here!”
“Where—here?” he asked stupidly.
“Here in your room! He was looking for something—he took a letter out of your jacket.”
“A letter?” He still didn’t understand. But then his memory gradually if incompletely returned. “Oh, that!” he said scornfully. “He can keep that rubbish.”
“But, Hans, do be sensible! Think!” she begged. “You must have been up to something—he was so mad with you! He’s coming again. Tonight.”
“Let him,” he bragged, although an unpleasant feeling crept over him. “I’ve got the monkey where I want him, him and his fine Fräulein von Prackwitz.”
“But, Hans, she was here as well. She looked for the letter with him.”
“Who? Fräulein Vi—the boss’s daughter? In my room? With me lying drunk and naked in bed? Oh, dear, oh, dear.”
“Yes, and now she’s keeping watch outside your window so that you shan’t run away!”
“Me, run away!” he sneered boastfully. He involuntarily lowered his voice, however. “That’s what they’d like, for me to run away. That would please them both! But no fear, I’m staying; I’m going to the Rittmeister tomorrow morning, and I’ll show her up, with her fine Lieutenant.”
“Hans, stop this nonsense! He’s coming again, tonight. He won’t let you go to the Rittmeister tomorrow morning.”
“What can he do? He can’t tie me up!”
“No, he can’t tie you up.…”
“Supposing I tell the Rittmeister about the letter.”
“Oh, shut up about the silly letter! You haven’t got it anymore! He’s got it!”
“But Kniebusch can prove—”
“Nonsense, Hans. All nonsense. What sort of proof will the forester be, if it comes to telling on Fräulein Violet?”
Little Meier was silent for a moment, really beginning to think things over. Rather dejectedly he said: “But he can’t want to do anything to me. He’s up to the neck in it himself!”
“But, Hans, that’s just why! Because he’s up to the neck in it, he wants to settle with you. He’s afraid you’ll talk.”
“What should I talk about? I’ll keep my mouth closed about the silly letter.”
“But it isn’t only the letter, Hans,” she cried in desperation. “It’s the other thing, the Putsch!”
“What Putsch?” he asked bankly.
“Oh, Hans, don’t pretend! You needn’t pretend to me. The Putsch that’s planned—he’s afraid you’ll betray it!”
“But I don’t know anything of his silly Putsch, Mandy. Word of honor! I haven’t the faintest idea what the chaps are planning to do.”
She reflected for a moment. Almost she believed him. But her feeling again told her that all he was saying didn’t matter, that danger threatened him, and that therefore he must get away.
“Hans,” she said very seriously, “it makes no difference whether you really know anything or not. He thinks you do, and that you want to betray him. And he’s mad with you because of the letter. He wants to do something to you, I tell you!”
“What can he do to me?” he said feebly.
“Hans, don’t pretend like that! You know all right. And it was recently in the papers, with a picture, too, showing them all wearing white hoods so they shouldn’t be recognized, and holding a court. Under it was ‘Secret Tribunal.’ Traitors are punished by the Vehme, Hans, that’s what they say!”
“But I’m not a traitor,” he replied. Yet he said it only to say something, said it without any real conviction.
Nor did she accept it. “Hans,” she begged, “why won’t you go away? He’s gone to the village now, to a meeting, and I’ll get her away from the window. You can easily get away now—why won’t you? It isn’t that you think so much of me that you want to stay, seeing that today you were even playing around with Hartig.” (She had not managed to keep completely quiet about it, but already she was sorry.) “And look, the Rittmeister’s coming tomorrow, and you’ve only messed about while he was away, and you also got drunk in the pub during working hours—why don’t you go away of your own accord, seeing that he’ll throw you out, anyhow?”
“I haven’t a penny,” he said. “Where shall I go?”
“Well, I was thinking that you might go to one of the villages around here and put up at a little inn—perhaps in Grünow—there’s a nice inn there, where I’ve danced. And on Sunday when I’m free I’ll come over and see you. I’ve got a little money; I’ll bring it along. And then you can gradually look for a new job; there are always some in the paper. But not too near to—”
“Sunday in Grünow! Nothing doing!” he grumbled. “And I could whistle for the money!”
“But, Hans, don’t be so silly! I don’t need to offer it to you if I’m not coming! Well, then, are you going?”