Iron Gustav by Hans Fallada Read Free Book Online Page B

counterweight, a brass Easter egg decorated with arabesques; this she took off its hook and unscrewed in the middle. Gleaming, her golden treasure lay in the interior which had probably once been filled with sand or lead.
    She stared at it, breathless with happiness, enraptured by those twelve or fifteen large coins. Her father had a good, solid fortune – partly invested in the business and the house, partly in sound government securities – she reckoned it at rather more than a
hundred thousand marks. But this wealth had no intrinsic value in her eyes. Father belonged to a generation that willingly earned and grudgingly spent. He amassed money and believed that his children also ought first to earn before they spent. But times had changed, or people had changed, or perhaps it was only the old law of ebb and flow operating – low tide after the high. The new generation wasn’t interested in money hoarded up; it was something dead, senseless, ridiculous even. Money was there to be spent; idle money was futile.
    And thus the little hoard in the counterweight of the lamp, accumulated by a thousand shifts and devices, enchanted this prosperous man’s daughter. Leisurely she dropped the ten fresh coins onto the others, and their melodious tinkle enthralled her. More than sight or sound of money, however, was the thought of what it would buy – freedom and a silk dress, amusement and a new hat.
    With a sigh of happiness she replaced the lamp and put on her Florentine straw hat in front of the tiny mirror which was all her father would permit, and went into the kitchen.
    ‘Give me some money, Mother, I want to go shopping.’ Frau Hackendahl was sitting in a big chair before the fire, mechanically stirring a long spoon in a cooking pot. Everything about Mother was pendulous – stomach, breasts and cheeks, even her underlip drooped. At the window stood Otto nervously fingering his moustache.
    ‘What do you want to buy, Evchen? We’ve got everything we need for lunch. But you only want an excuse to go out.’
    ‘Not at all,’ said Eva, and her radiant mood changed to irritation at complaints so often repeated. ‘Not at all. You yourself said, Mother, we want fresh herrings this evening and potatoes cooked in their jackets. If I don’t get the herrings this morning they’ll be sold out.’
    Neither statement was true. Her mother hadn’t thought of having herrings for supper nor would the Berlin market be destitute of them by the afternoon, but Eva had realized for a long time that it did not matter what her mother said – she would always give way if contradicted.
    Nor was it different now. ‘I wasn’t making any objection, Evchen.
For all I care you can go. How much do you want? Is one mark enough? You know your father doesn’t like you running around …’
    ‘Then Father must engage an errand boy.’
    ‘O Lord, Evchen, don’t say that. A strange lad prying about the house! You can’t leave anything about …’ She broke off, looking in embarrassment at the son silent by the window.
    Eva spoke for him. ‘You mean because of Erich? Don’t be so silly. Father’ll look after him. He won’t let him out of the cellar till he gives in.’
    ‘But he can’t do that – it might be days or weeks,’ said the mother helplessly. ‘Do say a word, Ottchen.’
    ‘Did I take the money?’ said Eva and thought herself very clever. ‘We all have to swallow our own medicine. I can’t help him there.’
    ‘You were always like that, Eva,’ complained the mother. ‘You only think of yourself. You say that Erich took the money, but how much do you make out of the shopping?’
    ‘I …’ stammered Eva, thunderstruck at her mother’s not being so stupid as she had supposed.
    But Frau Hackendahl’s slight show of spirit had already died away. ‘I don’t grudge it you, child. Why shouldn’t you have something out of life? But, Evchen,’ her tone became cajoling, ‘if I don’t tell about you, couldn’t you do