Perlefter (7 page)

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I have nothing but time to take some money to Kroj. Incidentally, Frau Kroj is perhaps already dead.'

‘Impossible!' cried Herr Perlefter. ‘To be sure, she's still alive!'

‘But what if she's dead?'

‘Don't even consider it! She can't be dead! One can't die so easily!'

‘Oh yes, one can die easily from pneumonia!'

‘Stop it,' yelled Perlefter. ‘One shouldn't make jokes about such serious matters.'

Then I took the money to Herr Kroj.

Kroj was a cobbler. The Perlefter family let him resole all their old boots. Herr Perlefter often claimed that Kroj demanded too steep a price and the stranger shoemaker in the neighbouring house was significantly cheaper. Nevertheless all the worn-out shoes found their way to this relative, the cobbler Kroj. It was Kroj's lifelong dream to be able personally to make a pair of shoes for Herr Perlefter. Perlefter, however, covered his needs through the Karlsbad firm of Leiduck and Co.

When I arrived at the cobbler's I could smell vinegar, leather and sweat. Behind a partition lay a groaning Frau Kroj. I rang the shop bell, and Kroj came out in slippers.

‘Well, see here,' said Kroj. ‘A visitor.'

‘How's your wife?' I asked.

‘She's already costing me more money than I've got. She's been sick six weeks now!'

‘I thought only two weeks? Didn't you write to our cousin Herr Perlefter two weeks ago?'

‘No, it's been six weeks since I wrote to him. He hasn't helped me.'

‘He's sent you this money!'

‘Oh really? He's a fine man!'

Then I returned to Perlefter's. He stood on the balcony of his house awaiting my return. He shouted to me, ‘Is she still alive?'

‘Yes, she's alive!' I cried back.

When I got inside Perlefter radiated joy. Now he was confident that nothing would happen to him, even if he flew over the ocean in a burning airship. He led me into the parlour. We drank wine, and Perlefter said, ‘That's life!'

But we had not spoken at all about life.

The next morning I went to the airfield. Frau Perlefter was there with all the children along with Dr Nagl, the young man who had not become a pilot and the chauffeur, who placed a fur coat in the aeroplane. Frau Perlefter had red eyes. Herr Perlefter stood near the pilot and looked confusingly similar to the pilot. The other passengers arrived in ordinary clothes. They took Perlefter for the pilot and asked, ‘Is everything in order?'

Herr Perlefter smiled because he recognized all of
them. The gentlemen had met each other somewhere before. They were all honorary members. They wondered about Perlefter's outfit and asked whether he had flown often previously.

‘This is my sixth time,' said Perlefter with conviction.

At ten o'clock the propellers began to spin, and Perlefter's children were thrown to the ground by the wind. The gentlemen climbed in, drew their handkerchiefs and waved. The propellers stopped spinning. Everyone climbed out again. It was embarrassing to both the travellers and their escorts that the aeroplane had not yet taken off. Herr Perlefter kissed his wife once more then gave the chauffeur his hand, for he believed that kindness to others kept one alive. The chauffeur was visibly surprised. Finally the propellers rattled again, and the gentlemen waved conclusively, Perlefter's round face looking out from the window. I will never forget it.

His wife began to sob. She wanted to catch another glimpse of her husband, but he had already ascended to an altitude of three hundred metres. The spectators all craned their necks towards the flying honorary members, but then the large bird vanished behind a red brick wall that restricted their view of the horizon.

Perlefter was flying. Perlefter had flown away.

His family returned home and invited me to lunch ‘so it won't be that lonely'. So we sat and ate scrambled eggs, as the roast on this frightful day was burnt. The young Perlefter boy seemed unwilling to eat any scrambled eggs. He was given a chocolate bar, although
everyone knew that he had a bad stomach through eating too many sweets. Nevertheless they let him, as I said, eat chocolate.

Late in the night came a telegram:
Landed safely. Your father.
The postman received a tip, and we could hear his joyful footfalls upon the steps.

Herr Perlefter stayed away from his loved ones for more than two months. Let us leave him living abroad for the time being while we dedicate ourselves to his house and family.

I have already mentioned that Perlefter controlled his house. He could control nobody else. Not his friends nor his employees. He could dominate only his family members, for they were even weaker, even more anxious, even more weak-willed than Perlefter himself. They lived in a wealthy household – for he earned and had money – and yet it was a poor household, filled with sighs, worries and bills. The family was convinced that Perlefter was overworked, that he did not sleep, that he was constantly struggling to earn his daily bread, that for him every expense brought new worries. Therefore the family spent not a single penny without concern. There was no joy in this house without underlying grief, no celebrations without pain, no birthdays without illness, no wine without bitterness. One cooked and baked, managed the wash and clothes, furniture, rugs and jewellery, but none of these things in sufficient quantity – on the contrary, it was just the bare minimum, never enough for anything. It was never, ever enough. There was fine cake but cut in such thin slices that one could not taste its quality. Good meat was purchased and chopped into tiny portions. A soup was
cooked that would have caused a sensation if only one had the chance actually to taste it. Fourteen guests were invited, but the meal was just enough for twelve. In the ice box were the laughable leftovers, about which one worried as if over the fading life of a dying child. There lay, still and timid, a plate of miserable heaps of butter, yellow and melting into a puddle, awaiting its end. The children's leftovers were rescued from their plates at lunch and the meat chopped up and used to make dinner. Somewhere within closed cabinets dry yellow cake awaited a special occasion. Such an occasion came. It was realized that the cake might endanger the teeth of the guests. Accordingly it was put into the oven to soften, but instead it got charred. It came to the table blackened with a hard carbonized crust. One had to scrape away the crust with a knife. The apples shrank smaller and smaller; they became puckered and the size of cherries. Old oranges grew mouldy and became silvery. The cheapest fruit was purchased. The plums had splits, and their reddish flesh swelled like that of a wounded person. Over the course of time the Emmental lost its moisture and was hard as the wood that Perlefter bought. From twenty different bottles you could gather altogether sixty drops of liquor. In the cigar boxes, which were intended for guests, could be found only one layer of cigars. The curtain ropes were broken for months. One closed the curtains by hand, pulled them together, but they didn't work as desired; they refused. All objects were in a state of permanent opposition. The doors creaked. They had cracks the
width of a finger and let the cold air through. Into the large furnace were placed tiny pieces of coal. The humidifier didn't work. The best carpets lay rolled up in the attic, covered with a bunch of newspapers. Torn linoleum was spread on the tables. The pretty red-velvet chairs were covered in white linen, like furniture corpses eerily awaiting their funeral. The flower vases lacked their bases. The coffee service had only nine cups; the tenth was cracked. Near the crystal fruit bowl lay its broken handle. After being worn down through so much use the knives had thin and flexible blades like fencing foils. They were blunt and had to be sharpened daily in the kitchen on the edge of an earthenware pot. The piano was ever out of tune, for Perlefter had bought the cheapest one – one of the oldest – at half price. It was a bargain. The gramophone was hoarse; the records lay worn and dusty in an old cylindrical case. Two pendulum clocks stood, both missing their weights. The alarm clock rang only once a week and only when one was not expecting it, usually after midnight. The doorbell did not work, and on the door was ever the reminder ‘Knock loudly!' All the family's umbrellas were broken. The locks on all the suitcases had to be opened by force, because every family member had lost his or her key. There was a clothing stand that could not find its balance and constantly swayed, even if it carried no clothes.

In the drawers of the commode lay the children's still, dead pocket watches next to broken hairpins and dusty yellow tobacco residue. In the inkwells the ink
was dry, no more than a black crust. The quills splayed as soon as one put them to paper. There was colourful stationery in all shades; purchased in cheap cigar shops, it was as porous as blotting paper. The postal scale was out of balance. The pencils could not be sharpened, for the lead consisted entirely of fragments and the wood was brittle and fibrous. In the bathroom cold water streamed out of the hot tap and vice versa. The bath towels were frayed. An old mousetrap did not snap shut any more. Inside hung a bait of such a composition that even a hungry rat would be deterred. The laundry cart was missing its right front foot. To steady it a couple of bricks from his son Alfred's set of toy building blocks had been placed underneath. On the mantle stood a plaster ballerina without arms. Under the mirror in the girls' room hung a wreath of pink paper flowers. They didn't throw it out because they felt sorry for it. They liked all broken, defective and useless things. From the proud row of encyclopaedias was missing the volume ‘Buddha to Cologne'.

The baker came but three times a week with fresh bread. They preferred to eat it dry and withered, claiming that fresh bread was harmful to the stomach. Old sardines in open cans were refreshed with lemon juice. Marinated herring, however, they ate too soon, before the flavour had soaked in. Breaded cutlets were made that fell apart on the plates. There was cauliflower soup without the cauliflower. Bunches of radishes lay in the kitchen. Only Perlefter himself was allowed to eat them, as long as they were fresh. For only
Perlefter himself lived in affluence. He ate the best soups, the largest and freshest cakes, the specialities, the fresh bread (even though it was harmful); his liquor filled entire bottles; his inkwells were filled to the top with good, flowing blue ink; his pencils lay secure in a shut drawer and were made of the finest material; his bath towel was given to him every morning from the chest (for he would not use the tattered ones); and upon the sofa where he took his afternoon nap there was no white linen. Perlefter was annoyed with his wife's thrift and the miserly disorder in the house, yet was himself the cause of this frugality. For only out of concern about him and out of fear that he might overwork himself in order to provide new things did they keep the old and broken-down furniture and extend their frugality to such things as useless paper garlands. Perlefter, however, did not sigh over the difficult life. His good wife came to the most natural conclusion. Ah! She didn't know that the only reason he came home was because no place else could he find such willing ears that were fine-tuned to his trials and tribulations. He unloaded all his suffering at home and then became annoyed that his house resembled a mortuary.

Outside of the house Perlefter indulged himself in numerous luxuries. At home he absolutely eschewed all delicacies such as chocolates, figs or crystallized fruit. For he wanted to show that he was ‘not a pig' and he feared that a father who doles out sweets loses authority over his children. On the way home, however, he
happily stopped at the confectioner's and had himself a bite to eat. Sometimes chocolate could be found in his coat pocket in rustling tin foil. This chocolate was usually discovered by his oldest daughter. She came smiling to Perlefter, who then said, ‘Oh dear! I meant to bring this to you! I completely forgot about it! Perhaps, come to think of it, I even ate half!' And she didn't doubt his word.

Only his son, who was known as Fredy, enjoyed as many freedoms as Perlefter. Around the time when Perlefter took off in the aeroplane he began to grow and become healthy. When I had arrived he was a cry-baby. Eventually he grew into a mischievous and stupid boy. I really noticed changes as the years passed. Yes, they passed, and Fredy grew. His voice slid into those depths of melancholy descant to which notes of barbarism and sentimentality lend a manly tone. Fredy developed a gradual inclination towards servant girls and in equal measure developed his muscles. He had friends. They came to the house on Saturday afternoons – young men with slicked-back hair in excellent suits with golden bracelets and silk handkerchiefs in their left jacket pockets; young men with smooth faces and abbreviated foreheads. They played whist, they brought liqueur with them, nothing but sweet liqueurs, and amused themselves with confectionary and smoked cigarettes, inhaling each pull with evident pleasure. I never heard them speak of literature. From the pockets of their coats, which were visible in the corridor, protruded colourful magazines dealing with sports, love and
‘society'. The young men read fashion magazines. They wanted to look like tailors' models, and they succeeded. It was precisely these young men who set the tone of the city. With a magical swiftness they passed the examination that opened the door to admission into the different universities around the country. Were they not so rich one would have to believe that they were brilliant. Together they joined rowing clubs, they played tennis, they did gymnastics and fencing, some had horses, and they all said they had genuine horseman's legs even if they had, actually, been bowed by a combination of nature and birth into the high life. Each wore a badge in his buttonhole. They were the sons of the Moderate Party and consequently had no political convictions. Young people in bad circumstances are radicals, as they blame the political system for their personal misfortunes. These young men, however, had it so good that to them all political viewpoints were the same. They were thus the future of the Moderate Party. It is an error to believe that the moderate parties of all countries have no future. So long as there are those who can afford the luxury of indifference there will also be moderate people. One might have said that these young men were reasonable enough to remain in the middle. It was actually more like satisfied enough. They were protected on all sides, as they had not severed any ties. They were not strong opponents, nor did they have any.