Blood Brothers by Ernst Haffner Read Free Book Online

twice more, and the brakes start tosqueal. No approach. Willi twists his way up, in the hope of maybe spotting the name of a station. The train has stopped in the middle of nowhere.
    Cautiously Willi peeks through a finger-wide crack in the direction of the brake hut. The door opens, and a hatless head can be seen peering in all directions. There is no sign of any railway personnel. Now the man clambers down from the hut, stops at the bottom to look about him, and then slaps his arms round his ribs to warm up. Willi’s eyes drill into the darkness to try and make out the figure. Slowly, slowly, he can make out a bearded face, a jacket, and a pair of tracksuit bottoms with puttees. No sign of a railwayman’s uniform. Should he call out to the fellow? Perhaps he can tell him where they are. On an impulse, Willi pushes up the tarpaulin and softly calls out: “ Psst , mate, over here!” The form jumps, makes to run off. Willi calls out a second time, and leans out. The tension leaves the man’s body, and he comes closer. Willi pulls up the tarpaulin invitingly, and with a single bound the stranger is up with him. When the tarpaulin has been reattached, the bearded man pulls out a torch and shines it in Willi’s face. What he sees seems to calm him down. “Journeyman?” he asks. “No,” replies Willi, “I’m on my way to Berlin.” The man laughs. “Berlin, eh? By the time it gets light, we’ll be in Cologne!”
    The news comes as a shock to Willi. Cologne? What would he do in Cologne? He doesn’t know a soul there. That means he’s been going in the wrong direction all this time. Would it be best to jump off now, while the train is stopped? No, there’s no point. “Does it have to be Berlin?” asks the stranger. “Yes, I know someone there who’ll help me out,” replies Willi. “There is a way of getting to Berlin quickly and for nomoney,” says the stranger, “but it’s dangerous. I know some who’ve fallen on the tracks and been turned into cat food.” Willi asks what it is. Says he’s ready for everything. Here in the Rhineland, the only alternatives are starving to death and turning himself in to the police. In Berlin he knows the ropes. Things will be better. But he needs to get there quickly. It could take a week or more on a goods train. The stranger shines his torch in Willi’s face again. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll just get my pack out of the brakeman’s hut.”
    No sooner is he back than the locomotive whistles again. The train moves off. Willi and the stranger join forces to heave the bales out of the way, to give themselves more space. The stranger introduces himself to Willi. In spite of his beard, he’s only thirty, is Franz, tramp from conviction, wanting to see Cologne again, where he hails from. Could be that Franz will be in Berlin in another week. Who can know? Willi volunteers that he’s fled from borstal. Franz is busy doing something in the dark. The next time the torch flashes on briefly, Willi sees a bundle of newly rolled cigarettes in Franz’s cap, rolled in the pitch black. Christ, the fellow’s skilled. And then, when the two of them are smoking, Franz comes out with his plan of getting Willi to Berlin in quick time. There’s a little pause for effect, then he says curtly: “The express.” “Get away!” says Willi in his disappointment. “No, I’m serious, the express!” Franz insists. “But what about the inspector, for Christ’s sake!” objects Willi. “You don’t get no inspectors there. They’re all up in the train.” Franz laughs. “You’re underneath the train.” Willi freezes. Under the express, at sixty mph? Never! Where is “there,” anyway? Under the carriages? Where do you hang on to when it’s racing along?
    Franz takes his time. Long before departure, when the train is still in a siding, the stowaway has to climb under the train and hunker over an axle. That’s where he has to hang, a foot or two above the ground. If he drops off,