After Midnight by Irmgard Keun Read Free Book Online

is bigger than Berta herself; it’s like a bouquet of flowers running around the bar carrying a child. Berta is wearing a sky-blue silk dress, already creased and dirty. She is a thin child, and usually a pale one, but at the moment her cheeks are red and her eyes bright. Yesterday evening, Frau Silias dampened her thin, fair hair and plaited it into countless tiny pigtails, it took her at least three hours. She did everything she could for the child. At noon today the pigtails were undone, and Berta has stiff, curly fair hair sticking out from her head.
    Frau Silias is sitting there, very quiet and proud. She is a thin, colourless little woman, and wears cheap nickel-framed glasses because she’s short-sighted.
    “Berta!” calls Frau Silias, and then again, “Berta, do have something to drink—oh, look what you’ve done to your dress! Bed for you in a minute.” Berta is made to drink some hot milk with a little cognac in it. She has a cold, Frau Silias explains. The SS men say she did very well all the same. Everyone makes a fuss of Berta, everyone is talking to her, Herr Kulmbach sits her on his lap. Herr Silias orders another round of beer and kirsch, and cigars and cigarettes.
    Suddenly, Berta begins crying.
    “Hullo, what’s the matter?” says Herr Silias. Then he explains that Berta is upset because the Führer didn’t give her his hand. All present make soothing noises at Berta. Herr Breitwehr buys her some chocolate, and Berta cheers up again. Kurt Pielmann tells her she’ll have her picture in the paper tomorrow, taken with the nice SS gentlemen, and she should be proud of herself.
    “I know a poem too,” says Berta. Herr Silias beams. He says Berta must recite the poem. “You’d like to say it, eh?” He orders another round. Everyone wants Berta to recite the poem. “My husband has a real poetic streak in him,” says Frau Silias, who doesn’t usually say anything much. “It’s high time that child was in bed,” cries Frau Breitwehr, scowling.
    Berta stands on a chair, clutching the bunch of lilac. Her voice is thin and reedy:
    A little German maid you see ,
    My Führer, and I bring to thee
    The fairest flowers of Germany .
    “Quiet!” a couple of SS men tell their friends around the table, who are still talking and haven’t noticed Berta. “Keep your mouths shut. Our little heroine here is saying her poem.”
    You gave us back our Army’s might …
    “Berta!” Herr Silias is listening attentively, much excited. “You’ve left something out, Berta, didn’t you notice?”
    Frau Silias straightens Berta’s dress, rubbing away at the dirty marks. “Drink a little more of your milk, Berta, it’s getting cold.”
    “Write that yourself, did you?” Herr Kulmbach asks Herr Silias. “You’ve got a real gift for it! We had someone in my own family who …”
    “Quiet, please!”
    Berta begins at the beginning again:
    A little German maid you see .
    A German mother I shall be ,
    My Führer, and I bring to thee
    The fairest flowers of Germany .
    You gave us back our Army’s might ,
    Our honour and our will to fight ,
    And taught us children what is right .
    “Bravo!” everyone shouts, clapping hard. “Well done! Heil Hitler! He really ought to have heard that poem, the Führer ought!”
    “We’ll send it to him,” says Frau Silias, “but that’s not all of it. Do hand me that heavy great bouquet, Berta—oh dear, she won’t give it up, will she? Such a stubborn child—I don’t know where she gets it from.”
    No foes we fear: a doughty band
    United shall we Germans stand .
    A German sun shines on our land
    If you, O Führer, on us smile .
    Three cheers!
    Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!
    And Berta goes on shouting, “Sieg Heil!” at the top of her voice, on and on, getting redder and redder in the face. “Sieg Heil!” Everybody laughs, delighted. Herr Silias is pleased and proud and orders yet another round. Frau Breitwehr can scarcely contain her annoyance, and tells