XXVIII.
Dr. Povich-Rosetti dropped the study of English. The superintendent who had caught rheumatism in his back, asked the doctor to come and rub his back for him, during which process he informed him that the Englishman was a tailor at Mödling. His name was Smith, and that when he had pulled down the flag and trampled on it, he had been as drunk as a lord.
The Englishman did not appear to notice that he had lost his last pupil. He joined Mr. Fröhlich and Karl in their walking party, paced up and down with them in silence, ate everything that the orderlies pushed into the room on the kneading-board, and seemed to enjoy it thoroughly,—otherwise he did nothing but sleep.
It was in the afternoon. I was sitting on my straw mattress, opposite me behind the table sat Mr. Lamm with hands clenched and his head propped up by his clenched hands, — his little straw hat had slipped back to his neck; he looked at me with his shrewd eyes and said: "Do you call this a life? This is no life. If a man shuts up a dog, he lets him out for a little time now and then; if a man shuts up a man, there is nothing left for him to do but to regret that he is not a dog. I have been cooped up here now for six weeks,—why? I don't know; my wife doesn't know",—(Mr. Lamm did not say "meine Frau", but "meine Fru"),—my children don't know either. But the superintendent declares that I wanted to get my son out of the army. The superintendent is a very wise man, he knows a lot, but he doesn't know everything. I said to the superintendent: "I'm in prison for wanting to get my son out of the army, but my son was taken at the very first levy, he's passed through the volunteer academy, finished up as an ensign, gained the large silver medal,—and the most interesting thing about it is that a Russian bullet smashed his left arm; it had to be cut off at the elbow, they gave him an artificial limb, he wasn't discharged from the army, but was put into an office and did clerical work. And I've been here now for six weeks because they say I wanted to get my son out of the army. And the superintendent smiled and said: That's hard luck on you, but we have proofs. They have proofs,—but it's a certain thing that my son is a cripple and that I'm in jail, and it's a certain thing that I don't understand how the one could have arisen from the other,—Mr. M. you're the most intelligent man in this room, kindly explain it to me."
I asked him whether he had made any attempt to save his son from military service.
"Any attempt, what attempt? Is there anybody who dashes off to join of his own accord? Wouldn't anyone rather stay at home? If that's a punishable offence, then they ought to imprison every father who has a grown-up lad."
"Wait a bit, my dear Mr. Lamm, permit me to ask you just one question. Before the levy, did you speak to anybody on the tribunal?"
"I did. Why shouldn't I speak? One man can speak to another."
"Well let's suppose that you spoke to the regimental doctor, and that you spoke to him about what was going to happen to your boy."
"What else should I talk to the regimental doctor about? I spoke about my son.""And did you slip anything into his hand?"
"Why shouldn't I ? Everybody did it."
"Yes, but you see that this is a punishable offence."
But Mr. Lamm became excited: "A punishable offence? But the lad had to join, he has the silver medal, and his left arm's off—what's a punishable offence? Tell me, what's a punishable offence?"
"You have attempted to corrupt a military official for the benefit of your son, and—"
"But then it is the military official who ought to be here, and not me. As a father it was my duty to do everything possible to protect my son from being crippled,—I felt from the very beginning that he wouldn't get out of it safely, and he didn't,—nebbich,—and is that what I'm to be kept in prison for? I don't understand it."
I explained again and again the principle and reality of the punishable offence,—but in vain; Mr. Lamm did not grasp it and did not understand it. The Polish Jews have their own logic, their own code of morals, their own opinions,—and their own heads. Messrs. Fels, Goldenstein and Wilder, who joined us in the course of the conversation to which they listened, also declared unanimously that Mr. Lamm was right, and that in any other country not he, but only the military official concerned, could and should be in prison.
After all,—what do I know of the paths along which military justice proceeds in other countries! I have made the acquaintance of that prevailing here, and I am so sick of it that I really do not desire to become acquainted with any other.
Dr. Povich-Rosetti returned from the superintendent. He had again driven the rheumatism out of his back. The superintendent promised that he would give us a new orderly. For curious things had been happening; the censorists had lost several shirts from their boxes, Papa Declich missed his cigars, Budi's tobacco-case had disappeared. And it was ascertained that Karl, our orderly, never went out for exercise, but that during this period he was always visited by the artillery-man, our former colleague, who instead of going out for exercise, came into our cell, chatted with Karl and disappeared in good time. It had further been discovered that Karl and the artillery-man had recently been living in a certain state of prosperity; they smoked, drank and evinced satisfaction at labours well performed; Dr. Povich-Rosetti therefore intervened in higher quarters, and now informed us in a whisper that the "landlord from number 58" was coming to be our orderly.
The landlord from number 58 was a good-humoured giant. Cut an elephant into two halves, place the larger portion of its body upon its hind-legs, put on that a large human head with a horrible red scar in place of the left eye, and you will have a faithful replica of our future orderly. His history was a familiar one; he had been in the army, had come home and caught his wife with somebody else,—he had shot both her and himself. He had killed her and severely wounded himself, but had escaped with his life. And he had escaped only to be tried and sentenced to twenty years, and all that was now left to him of life he contemplated with only one eye. His voice was soft and kindly, everybody was fond of him; he walked about without a coat, always wearing a green vest.
Within five minutes Karl had learnt that he was leaving number 60, and who would be his successor.
He was furious. He said he would go to the superintendent, he would find out who had slandered him and how, he would discover whether there was still any fairness and justice in the world. And the "landlord", the "Trampl", he said, took a full hour to stir a limb; the gentlemen would see what the cell would look like; he had kept everything clean and tidy, and he was not going to have any "Katzelmacher" think that he could meddle with everything here and give orders to everybody, even if he were a doctor; besides, who could tell what sort of a doctor he was; today every other person gave himself the title of doctor. He, Karl, would show this doctor that three times three was not ten.
He went to the censorists and explained the injustice which had been committed against him. Messrs. Fels, Goldenstein and Fröhlich listened to him with interest; in that drab world a man was grateful for any incident which distracted him even only a little from the situation in which his own ego was involved. And then,—Karl had become their personal servant. He waited on them at table, in the evening he handed them the bottles, poured out the wine; nobody’s "Karl" sounded so commandingly imperious as theirs when they called him,—so they listened and nodded their heads. And Karl held forth: If anything in the room had been lost, he said, it was not his fault; he did without his exercise and kept watch to prevent any strange person from entering the room; of course, now and then he had to slip off, and, said he, if the gentlemen had boxes, they should lock them,—he had closed boxes which had been left open quite a hundred times; the boxes were always left so that the inside of them could be seen, and after all, he said, we were in jail, there was nothing but thieves and robbers right and left,—Karl spoke with emotion, I was expecting him to burst into tears.
Mr. Fels came to me and remarked that this man was being treated unfairly. On that he would stake his life. Thereupon he went to Dr. Povich-Rosetti, who with a dark look had watched the whole of this scene, and told him the same. The doctor shrugged his shoulders and declared that as long as he lived he would never again interfere in private affairs.
The Polish Jews,—curious people. Sometimes so artful that they amaze you, and sometimes again so simple that they also amaze you.
We went out for exercise. The censorists slipped into the superintendent's office. After a while they came out into the yard, and Mr. Fels said to me: "Karl will remain. We managed it with the superintendent. An innocent man must not suffer."
And Dr. Povich-Rosetti then said to me: "There you are. First of all they egg me on, and when I do as they wanted, they go and make me look foolish."
The engineer had also heard about the change in number 60, and asked how the matter stood. I told him. He thought that Karl was a "Gauner", that the Galicians were fools, and that he himself would have been willing to take over the duties as our orderly. I expressed surprise. Why not, he said. He was not ashamed of work. But his colour heightened a little. And hastily he pointed out to me the new arrival in their room; also a Polish Jew, a distiller, who had entered the army and had climbed to the position of officer's servant to his bookkeeper in Vienna. Of course, he continued to be the master of his military superior, and he carried on in such a way that he fell into the hands of the military police. That day he had been cross-examined, and when he had come back he had told them about it; he did this admirably,—a regular photographer of speech. He replied to every question of the superintendent with another question, and he spoke in such a way that after two hours cross-eximination the superintendent did not know what he was to enter into the report. And all who had been present at the cross-examination had laughed till they cried,—only the Galician had maintained a surprised composure, as if he did not understand how anybody could laugh at such obvious things. Of course, he did laugh,—and very heartily too,—but only in the cell when he told them all about it.
I had a look at the fellow: short, almost shrunken, wearing a golden pince-nez, and on his smart private uniform he had red stripes sewn on,—the badge of an officer's servant; he was conversing confidentially with Messrs. Fels, Goldenstein and Wilder, as if he had known them for at least ten years, saw them daily, and yesterday on the last occasion.
I told the engineer that I felt how all this was ceasing to interest me. I lacked sunshine, air, a broad horizon, liberty. And that after my last cross-examination by Frank, I had expected that something would happen, that either I should be discharged, ar they would sentence me, or would accuse me of something else. I said that this being deposited upon ice was highly repugnant to me.
He smiled knowingly. What did I expect,—this was only two months. When my affairs had been at a deadlock for a year or two, like his, then I might talk about being tired of everything, of an objectionable situation.
Yes, yes, there are days when life is covered by a heavy mist. And when a man thinks that it is impossible to go on living in such a way, that something must happen, a wonder, a miracle, a gigantic change.
And nothing happens, nothing whatever. But he goes on living. And the heavy mist becomes such an ordinary thing that if it were to disappear suddenly, the man would wonder how he could live without it.