Amerika (28 page)

“How do you know the man?” Karl asked.

“Sometimes he comes up here,” said Robinson.

“Up here?” and in his amazement Karl tapped the floor lightly with one hand.

“You've good reason to be amazed,” Robinson continued, “I, too, was amazed when the servant told me. Just imagine: if Brunelda wasn't at home, the man would ask the servant to take him to her rooms, and he always took some little trifle as a keepsake, always leaving something very expensive and elegant for Brunelda, and the servant was strictly forbidden to say who it was from. But once, after he had brought some priceless porcelain object—so the servant said, and I can certainly believe him—Brunelda must somehow have recognized it; she threw it on the floor, stepped on it, spat on it, and did certain other things to it; the servant was so nauseated, he could hardly carry it out.”

“So what had the man done to her?” asked Karl.

“I don't actually know,” said Robinson. “But I don't believe it was anything out of the ordinary, or at least he himself knows of no such thing. I've often spoken with him about this. Every day he waits for me at the street corner, and whenever I go, I must always give him some news, and whenever I can't, he waits half an hour and then goes off. It's been a good sideline for me, since he pays for such news quite handsomely, but ever since Delamarche found out, I've had to hand everything over to him, and so I go less often.”

“But what does the man want?” asked Karl, “What does he really want? After all, he can hear that she doesn't want him.”

“Yes,” sighed Robinson; he lit a cigarette and, swinging his arms about, blew the smoke in the air. Then, apparently changing his mind, he said: “Why should I care? All I know is he'd happily pay a great deal of money just to be able to lie on the balcony like this.”

Karl rose, leaned over the balcony, and gazed down at the street. The moon was already visible, but its beams had not yet pierced through to the depth of the street. The street, so empty during the day, was now packed, especially by the front gates, the mass of people moving slowly and cumbersomely; the shirtsleeves of the men, the bright dresses of the women stood out feebly in the dark; none of them wore a hat. All of the numerous balconies in the vicinity were now occupied: depending on the size of the balcony, the families either sat around a little table in the light cast by an electric lightbulb, or on chairs set up in a row, or at least stuck their heads out from the room. The men sat, legs wide apart and feet stretched out between the bars of the railing, reading newspapers that almost reached the floor, or playing cards without seeming to make any noise, though they slapped the tables with great force; the women had their laps full of knitting and only rarely spared a quick glance for the surroundings or the street; a weak blond woman on the neighboring balcony yawned continually, crossed her eyes as she did so, and kept raising to her mouth the piece of laundry that she was mending; even on the smallest balconies the children managed to chase one another about, much to their parents' irritation. In numerous rooms people had set up gramo phones that blasted out songs or orchestral music; they scarcely heeded the music, aside from the occasional father of a family, who would give a signal, and then someone would hurry into the room to put on a record. At some of the windows one could see utterly motionless couples. One such pair stood upright at a window facing Karl; the young man had his arm around the girl and was squeezing her breast.

“Do you know any of those people next door?” Karl asked Robinson, who had risen too and, since he was shivering, wrapped himself not only in the bedspread but also in Brunelda's blanket.

“Almost nobody. Well, that's the bad thing about my job,” said Robinson, drawing Karl closer so that he could whisper in his ear, “aside from that, though, I can hardly complain at the moment. Brunelda, you see, sold everything she had on account of Delamarche and moved into this suburban apartment with all of her riches so she could devote herself completely to him and so they wouldn't be disturbed, and by the way, that was what Delamarche wanted too.”

“And she dismissed her domestic staff?” asked Karl.

“You're quite right,” said Robinson. “For where could they house the servants? As for those servants, they're certainly a demanding lot. Once at Brunelda's, Delamarche drove one such servant from the room by slapping him repeatedly until he was outside. The other servants naturally took his side and began to make a racket outside the door, then Delamarche came out (though I wasn't a servant then but rather a friend of the house, they put me in with the servants) and asked: ‘What do you want?' The oldest servant, a certain Isidor, said: ‘You cannot say anything to us since it's Madame who's our mistress.' As you've probably noticed, they greatly admired Brunelda. But ignoring them, Brunelda ran over to Delamarche—she was not so heavy yet—hugged him in front of everyone, kissed him, and called him ‘dearest Delamarche.' ‘And do send these apes away at once,' she said at last. Apes—that was what she called the servants; you can imagine their faces when they heard that. Then Brunelda steered Delamarche's hand to the purse she had on her belt, Delamarche reached inside and began to pay off the servants; Brunelda merely stood there with her purse open. Delamarche had to reach inside quite often, for he handed out the money without counting it or checking the servants' claims. At last he said: ‘Well, since you don't want to talk to me, I'll simply say this on behalf of Brunelda: “Clear off at once.” ' That's how the servants were dismissed; there were a few court cases, Delmarche even had to appear in court once, but I don't have any specific information about that. After the servants had left, though, Delamarche said to Brunelda: ‘But now you don't have any servants?' She said: ‘Well, there's always Robinson.' At that Delamarche slapped me on the shoulder and said: ‘So you'll be our servant.' And Brunelda gave me a little tap on the cheek; if you ever have the opportunity, Rossmann, ask her to give you a little tap on the cheek, you'll be amazed how lovely it is.”

“So you became Delamarche's servant?” said Karl, summarizing what Robinson had said.

Overhearing a sympathetic note in the question, Robinson answered: “I'm a servant, but few people notice this. You yourself didn't know, even though you've been with us for a while. You saw how I was dressed at the hotel that night. I wore the finest of the fine—do servants go about dressed like that? I cannot go away often, you see, for I always have to be at hand in this household, there's always something that needs to be done. One person isn't enough for all the work. As you may have noticed, there are still quite a few of our belongings lying about in that room, everything we couldn't sell during the big move we had to take along. Of course, they could have been given away, but Brunelda never gives anything away. Just think how much work it took to carry all those things up the stairs.”

“Robinson, you carried all that upstairs?” cried Karl.

“Who else?” said Robinson. “There was a laborer too, but he was a lazy bum, and I had to do most of the work on my own. Brunelda was below by the car, Delamarche upstairs explaining where everything had to be put, and I was running up and down the entire time. It took two days—that's a long time, isn't it? But you've no idea how many things there are in that room, all the closets are full, and the rest is piled up to the ceiling behind the closets. If they'd hired a couple of people to transport all of that, it would all have been done quickly, but Brunelda wouldn't entrust the task to anyone but me. Well, that was very nice, but now I've ruined my health for the rest of my life, and what did I have other than my health? If I exert myself ever so slightly, I get a pain there and here. If I were healthy, do you think those boys in the hotel, those grass toads—what else would one call them?—could possibly have defeated me. But no matter what's wrong with me, I won't breathe a word to Delamarche and Brunelda; I'll work as long as possible, and until it's not possible anymore, then I'll lie down and die, and only then, when it's too late, will they see that, though I was sick, I was still working, always working, and that I actually worked myself to death in their service. Oh Rossmann,” he concluded, drying his eyes on Karl's shirtsleeves. After a short pause he said: “But don't you feel cold, standing there in your shirt.”

“Come, Robinson,” said Karl, “you're continually crying. I don't believe you're so ill. You look completely healthy, but since you're always lying out here on the balcony, you've just imagined all sorts of things. You may occasionally get a pain in your chest, but then so do I, so does everybody. If everybody cried over every little trifle as you do, then all those people up on all the balconies would be crying too.”

“Well, I certainly know more about that than you do,” said Robinson, wiping his eyes with the tip of his blanket. “The student in the apartment next door, which belongs to the landlady, who also cooks for us, told me last time as I was returning the dishes: ‘Listen here, Robinson, aren't you ill?' I'm not allowed to talk to anybody, so I put down the dishes and wanted to leave. At that moment he came up to me and said: ‘Listen, man, don't run yourself into the ground, you're ill.' ‘So, tell me please, what should I do,' I asked. ‘That's your business,' he said, turning aside. The people sitting at his table laughed, we have enemies everywhere here, so I chose to leave.”

“So you believe those who make a fool of you, but don't believe those who mean well by you.”

“But I must know how I feel,” said Robinson, flaring up only to resume his weeping.

“That's just it, you don't know what's wrong with you; you should find yourself some decent job instead of acting as Delamarche's servant. So far as I can tell from the stories you've told and from what I've seen, this isn't service, it's slavery. No human being could endure this, I believe you. But you think you shouldn't leave Delamarche simply because you're his friend. That's wrong; if he cannot see what a miserable life you're leading, you don't have any further obligation toward him.”

“So, Rossmann, you really think I'll recover if I stop serving here?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Karl.

“Certainly?” asked Robinson.

“Most certainly,” said Karl smiling.

“Then I could certainly start recovering right away,” said Robinson, glancing at Karl.

“What do you mean?” asked Karl.

“Well, since you're meant to take over my work,” answered Robinson.

“But who told you so?” asked Karl.

“It's actually an old plan. They've been talking about it for a number of days. It all began when Brunelda scolded me for not keeping the apartment sufficiently clean. Of course, I promised to tidy everything up at once. But it's very difficult. In my condition I cannot, for instance, crawl in everywhere to wipe away the dust; it's already impossible to move around in the middle of the room, so how can one get in between the furniture and the supplies. And for a thorough cleaning, the furniture has to be pushed aside, and how am I supposed to do that on my own? Besides, it would have to be done very quietly, since Brunelda hardly ever leaves the room and may not be disturbed. So even though I promised to clean everything, I did not actually do any cleaning. When Brunelda noticed, she told Delamarche that this simply couldn't go on and that they'd need to take on another helper. ‘Delamarche,' she said, ‘I don't ever want you to reproach me for not taking good care of the household. I can't overdo it, as you well know, and Robinson is simply inadequate; he was so fresh and at first kept looking about, but now he's always tired and just sits around, most often in a corner. But a room filled with as many objects as ours can't stay tidy on its own.' And so Delamarche began to think about what could be done, for in such a household you cannot simply take on just any person, even on a trial basis, since there are people watching on all sides. Since I'm your good friend, and since Renell told me how you had to slave away at the hotel, I did mention your name. Delamarche agreed right away, in spite of your having been so cheeky toward him back then, and of course I was very pleased I could help you in this way. You see, this position is made for you, you're young, strong, and handy, whereas I'm simply worthless now. But I do want to add that you haven't been taken on yet; if Brunelda doesn't like you, we cannot use you. So do try to be nice to her, and I'll take care of everything else.”

“And what'll you do if I become the servant here?” Karl asked; he felt so free, the initial fright on hearing the news from Robinson had dissipated. So the worst Delamarche had in mind was to make him a servant—if his intentions had been any worse, that blabbermouth Robinson would certainly have divulged them—but if this was indeed actually so, then Karl could risk leaving that night. Nobody can be forced to accept a position. And after being dismissed from the hotel, Karl had worried about whether he would obtain a position that would not only be suitable but, if at all possible, no less unprepossessing than his previous one, and would manage to find one soon enough that he wouldn't go hungry; now, however, when compared with the position assigned to him here, which he found repugnant, every other position was, he now believed, quite tolerable, and he would rather have opted for the misery of unemployment than for this present position. He did not even try to make this clear to Robinson, particularly since the latter's hope that Karl would ease his burden had undoubtedly affected every judgment he made.

“Well then,” said Robinson, accompanying his remarks with complacent gestures—he had propped up his elbows on the balustrade—“first I'll explain everything to you, and then I'll show you the supplies. You're an educated man and must have beautiful handwriting, so you could make a list of everything we have. Brunelda has wanted this done for a long time. If the weather tomorrow is good, we'll ask Brunelda to sit out on the balcony, and then we can work away in the room, quietly and without disturbing her. And that, Rossmann, must be your top priority. Not to disturb Brunelda, above all else. She can hear everything—as a singer she probably has especially sensitive ears. Say you're rolling out the schnapps barrel from behind the closets; since it's heavy, it makes a lot of noise, and because of all those objects lying about everywhere you can't just roll it along. Brunelda is, say, lying quietly on the settee catching flies—she's especially bothered by them. So you think she's paying no notice to you and go on rolling your barrel. But in the blink of an eye, just when you don't expect it and are making the least amount of noise, she suddenly sits up and hits the settee with both hands, with the result that one cannot even see her because of all the dust swirling about—during the entire time we've been here, I've never beaten the settee; there's no way I can, for she's always lying there—and she starts to shout horribly, like a man, and goes on shouting for hours. Her neighbors forbade her to sing, but no one can forbid her to shout; she has to shout, and, by the way, this happens only rarely now—Delamarche and I have become very careful. Besides, that shouting harmed her too. Once she even lost consciousness and—Delamarche happened to be away—I had to send for the student next door; he sprayed her with some liquid from a large bottle, which helped but gave off an unbearable stench, which you can still smell if you put your nose up to the settee. That student is certainly our enemy, like everyone else here; you must be wary of everyone and keep your distance.”