The Collected Stories of Heinrich Boll (97 page)

We must have stood there for a long time. It had been still quite light when suddenly, without a word, we had stopped, as if to mount guard over the deepening melancholy of autumn, a mood caught in the tops of the plane trees as they slowly shed their leaves.

There was no real reason for it, but each time the tram rang its bell at the corner and people came streaming into the avenue towards us and the tram drove on ringing its bell—each time I was convinced that someone was about to come, someone who knew us, who would ask us to join him, whose homeward steps would force our own weary, aimless footsteps to keep up with the tempo of his happy excitement.

The first ones always came singly and walked very fast; then came the groups, in twos or even threes in animated conversation, and finally another trickle of weary individuals passing us with their heavy burdens before dispersing into the houses scattered among gardens and avenues.

It was a constant suspense that held me spellbound, for after the last person had passed by there was only a brief respite before we heard the distant ping-pinging of the next tram at the previous stop—clanking and screeching its way to the corner.

We stood under the branches of an elderberry tree that reached out over the street far beyond the fence of a neglected garden. Rigid with tension, he had his face turned in the direction of the people approaching through the rustling leaves—the face which, mute and set, had been accompanying me for two months, which I had loved, and also hated, for two months …

During the time it took four trams to arrive, the tension and anticipation felt wonderful as we stood there in the steadily deepening melancholy of dusk, in the soft, exquisite, damp decay of autumn; but all of a sudden I knew that no one to whom I might belong would ever come …

“I’m leaving,” I said huskily, for I had been standing there much too long as if rooted to the bottom of some swampy bowl that was about to close imperceptibly over me with a velvety, relentless force.

“Go ahead,” he said without looking at me, and for the first time in two months he forgot to add: “I’ll come with you.”

His eyes narrowed to slits; without moving, he kept his hard, metallic gaze fixed on the deserted avenue where now only a few single leaves were slowly circling to the ground.

All right, I thought, and at that moment something happened to me, something was released, and I felt my face collapsing, felt sharp, bitter lines forming round my mouth. It was almost as if my inner tension had been tightly wound up and was now being released as if by a blow: uncoiling inside me with incredible speed, leaving nothing behind but that hollow, mournful void that had been there two months ago. For at that moment it dawned on me: he was standing here waiting for something quite specific; this spot, this street corner under the spreading branches of the elderberry tree, was his objective, the goal of an arduous flight, of a journey lasting two months, while for me it was just another street corner, one of many thousand.

I watched him for a long time, which I could do undisturbed as he had ceased to notice me. Perhaps he thought I had already left. In his watchful gaze was something resembling hate, while his shallow, rapid breathing shook him like the prelude to an explosion …

If only he would remember, I sighed to myself, to give me one of the two cigarettes and my share of the bread. I was afraid to ask, for now the tram was stopping again at the corner. Then I saw, very briefly, the first and last smile on his face before he rushed forward with a smothered cry. From among a cluster of people, some of whom he had thrust aside, I heard a woman’s gasp breaking the melancholy silence of the autumnal evening, and something like a shadow fell across the astonished void of my heart, for now I knew that I would have to go on inexorably alone, that I would also have to accept the loss of the
cigarette and the bread and of the two months of shared danger and shared hunger …

I turned away, dipped my tired feet into the golden waves of dead leaves and walked out of the town, once again towards that Somewhere. The freshness of the falling light was still permeated by the spicy smell of burning potato plants, the smell of childhood and of longing. The sky was starless and drained of colour. Only the grinning face of the moon hung over the horizon, watching me mockingly as I plodded on under the weight of the darkness, towards that Somewhere …

To tell the truth, I’d never known the meaning of despair. But then, a few days ago, I found out. All of a sudden the whole world seemed grey and wretched; nothing, nothing mattered any more, and I had a bitter lump in my throat, and I thought there was no way out for me, no escape and no help. For I had lost all our ration cards, and at the ration office they would never believe me, they wouldn’t replace them, and we had no more money for the black market, and stealing—I really didn’t like to steal, and anyway I couldn’t steal enough for that many people. For Mother and Father, for Karl and Grete, and for myself, and for our youngest, the baby. And the special mother’s card was gone, and Father’s manual worker’s card—everything, everything was gone, the whole briefcase. I suddenly realized it in the tram, and I didn’t bother to look or even ask. It’s useless, I thought—who’s going to hand over ration cards, and so many, and the mother’s card and Father’s manual worker’s card …

At that moment I knew the meaning of despair. I got off the tram much earlier and walked straight down to the Rhine; I’ll drown myself, I thought. But when I reached the bare, cold avenue and saw the calm, wide, grey river it came to me that it’s not so easy to drown oneself; still, I wanted to do it. It must take a long time to die, I thought, and I would have liked a quick, sudden death. Obviously I couldn’t go home any more. Mother would simply throw up her hands, and Father would give me a good hiding and say it was a disgrace: a big lout like that, almost seventeen, who’s no good for anything anyway, not even for the black market—a big lout like that goes and loses all the ration cards when he’s sent out to queue up for the fat rations! And I didn’t even get the fat. It was all gone after I had been queuing for about three hours. Still, that might not have lasted too long, that trouble with Father and Mother. But we would have nothing to eat, no one would give us anything. At the ration office they would laugh in our faces because once
before we had lost a few coupons; and as for selling or flogging something, we had long ago run out of things, and stealing—you can’t steal for so many.

No, I had to drown myself, since I didn’t have the nerve to throw myself under some big fat American car. There were many cars driving beside the Rhine, but there wasn’t a soul in the avenue. It was bare and cold, and a damp, icy wind blew from the grey, swift-flowing water. I kept walking straight ahead and eventually was surprised at how fast I reached the end of the avenue. The trees seemed to fall away on either side of me, keeling over like poles and disappearing, and I didn’t dare look back. So I very quickly reached the end of the avenue where the Rhine widens out a bit and there is a launching ramp for kayaks and a little farther on the ruined bridge. There wasn’t a soul there either, only over by the launching ramp an American sat staring into the water. It was odd, the way he was crouching there, sitting on his heels; it was probably too cold to sit on the stones, so there he squatted, throwing precious cigarette butts into the water. Each butt, I thought, is almost half a loaf of bread. Perhaps he isn’t smoking at all, but all the Americans just smoke a quarter of a cigarette and throw the rest away. I know it for a fact. He’s lucky, I thought, he’s not hungry and hasn’t lost any coupons, and with every butt he throws three marks and seventy-five pfennigs into the cold grey Rhine. If I were he, I thought, I’d sit down by the stove with a cup of coffee instead of squatting here by the cold Rhine and staring into the dirty water …

I ran on; yes, I believe I did run. My thoughts about the American had been very brief and fleeting; I had envied him no end, it was terrible how I envied him. So I walked on or ran, I forget now, all the way to the ruined bridge, thinking: if you jump off from up there it’s all over, all over in no time. I once read that it is hard to drown yourself by going into the water slowly. You have to plunge in from high up, that’s the best way. So I ran towards the ruined bridge. There were no workmen there. Maybe they were on strike, or it’s impossible to work out there on the bridges in cold weather. I saw nothing more of the American, I never once looked back.

No, I thought, there’s no help and no hope, and no one will replace our ration cards, there are too many of us, Father and Mother, my brother and sister, the baby and I, plus the special mother’s card and
Father’s manual worker’s card. It’s hopeless, drown yourself, then at least there’ll be one less mouth to feed. It was very, very cold, there in the avenue beside the Rhine; the wind whistled, and bare branches fell from the trees that in summertime are so beautiful.

It was difficult to climb onto the ruined bridge; they had knocked out what remained of the paving, and there was only the skeleton left, and along it ran a kind of little railway, probably for hauling away the rubble.

I climbed very carefully, and I was terribly cold and very much afraid of falling off. I can well remember thinking: how stupid to be scared of falling since you want to drown yourself! If you fall off here, onto the street or onto the rubble, you’ll also be dead, and that’ll be all right, that’s what you want. But it’s quite a different thing, I can’t explain it. What I wanted was to throw myself into the water and not smash onto the ground, and I thought of all the pain one might suffer and maybe not even be dead. And I didn’t want to suffer. So I climbed very carefully over the bare bridge right to the end, the very end where the rails stick out in the air. There I stood, looking into the grey, grey murmuring water, there I stood close to the very end. I felt no fear, only despair, and suddenly I knew that despair is beautiful, it is sweet and nothing, it is nothing, and nothing matters any more.

The Rhine was fairly high, and grey and cold, and for a long time I stared into its face. I also saw the American squatting there, and really did see him throw a precious butt into the water. I was surprised to find him so near, much nearer than I had thought. I looked once again along the whole length of the bare avenue, and then suddenly looked down into the Rhine again, and I became terribly dizzy, and then I fell! All I remember is that my last thought was of Mother, and that it might after all be worse for me to be dead than to have lost the ration cards, the whole lot … Father’s and Mother’s and my brother’s and sister’s and the baby’s, plus the special mother’s card and Father’s manual worker’s card, and … yes, yes, my card too, although I’m a useless mouth, no good even for the black market …

I guess I must have sat there for an hour beside the murky Rhine, staring into the water. All I could think of was that blonde broad, Gertrud, who was driving me nuts. Hell, I thought, spitting my cigarette into the Rhine: throw yourself in, into that grey brew, and let it carry you down
to—to Holland, yes, and still farther, say into the Channel, right down to the bottom of the sea! There wasn’t a soul around, and the water was driving me nuts. I know for sure it was the water, and my thinking all the time of that good-looking broad who wouldn’t have me. Nope, she wouldn’t have me, and I knew for sure that I’d never, never get anywhere with her. And the water wouldn’t let go of me, the water was driving me nuts. Hell, I thought, throw yourself in and those goddamn women won’t bother you any more, throw yourself in …

And then I heard someone running along the avenue like a maniac. I’ve never seen anyone run like that. He’s in trouble, I thought, and stared at the water again, but the footsteps in the deserted avenue above made me look up again, and I saw the kid running toward the wrecked bridge, and I thought, I’ll bet they’re after him and I hope he gets away, never mind if he’s been stealing or whatever. A thin, lanky kid, running like a maniac. Again I looked at the water—throw yourself in, a voice kept whispering … You’ll never get her, never, throw yourself in and let the grey brew carry you to Holland, goddammit, and I spat the third cigarette into the water.

For God’s sake, I thought, what are you doing here in this country, in this crazy country, where every living soul can think of nothing but cigarettes? In this crazy country where the bridges are all gone and there’s no colour, no colour anywhere, dammit, only grey. And everyone chasing after God knows what. And that girl, that crazy, long-legged broad, will never be yours, not for a million cigarettes will she be yours, damn it to hell.

But just then I heard that crazy kid crawling around up there on the bridge. The iron skeleton rang hollow under his boots, and the crazy kid climbed right out to the far end, and there he stood, for the longest time, also looking into the dirty grey water, and all of a sudden I knew that no one was chasing him, but that he … Goddammit, I thought, he wants to throw himself into the water! And I got a real shock and couldn’t take my eyes off the spot where that crazy kid was standing, not moving, not making a sound, up there in the gap of the ruined bridge, and he seemed to sway a little …

I automatically spat the fourth cigarette into the Rhine and I couldn’t take my eyes off that figure up there. I turned cold all over, I was terrified. That boy, that young kid, what kind of troubles can he
have, I thought? Girl trouble, and I laughed—at least I think I laughed, I can’t be sure. Can this young kid already have girl trouble, I thought? The water said nothing, and it was so quiet that I thought I could hear that kid’s breathing as he went on standing there, motionless, silent, in the gap of the ruined bridge. Goddammit, I thought, it mustn’t happen, and I was just going to call out when I thought, you’ll scare him and then he’ll fall for sure. The silence was weird, and we two were all alone in the world with this dirty grey water.

And then, for God’s sake, he looked at me, really looked at me, and I was still sitting there, not moving a muscle and Splash! the crazy kid was actually down there in the water!