Read Online Little Man, What Now? by Hans Fallada - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hans Fallada
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it, and I’d never forgive you for it.’
‘No, no, I won’t ask you to do it, and we’ll manage. But don’t you believe it will come out, however careful we are?’
‘It mustn’t come out. It must not! I did everything so secretly, and now we’re living out here, no one will ever see us together in town, and if we do ever meet on the street, we won’t greet each other.’
Lammchen was quiet for a while, but finally she spoke: ‘But we can’t stay here, Sonny, you must see that?’
‘Just try it, Lammchen,’ he begged. ‘Just for the fortnight till the first of the month. We can’t give notice before then anyhow.’
She reflected for a while before she agreed. She glanced sideways at the bridle path track but could distinguish nothing. It was too dark. Then she sighed: ‘Very well, I’ll try, Sonny. But you know yourself that it can’t go on. We could never be happy here, never.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you. And the rest will work out all right; it must. I have to keep my job, at all costs.’
‘At all costs,’ she echoed.
And then they took one more look at the country, the quiet, moonlit country, and went to bed. They didn’t have to close the curtains; there was no one to overlook them here. And as they were falling asleep, they seemed to catch the distant rippling of the Strela.
WHAT SHALL WE EAT? WHO MAY WE DANCE WITH? MUST WE GET MARRIED NOW?
On Monday morning the Pinnebergs were at the breakfast table, and Lammchen’s eyes were fairly sparkling: ‘Today’s the day it all begins!’ And with a glance at the chamber of horrors: ‘I’m going to clear up this tip.’ And, glancing into her cup: ‘How do you find the coffee? Twenty-five per cent beans!’
‘Well, since you ask …’
‘Yes, Sonny, if we want to save …’
Whereupon Pinneberg pointed out to her how he had always managed to afford ‘real’ coffee every morning. And she explained to him that two people cost more than one. And he said he had always heard that it was cheaper to be married; that it was cheaper for two to eat at home than for one to eat out.
A long debate was setting in, when he said, ‘Good grief, I’ve got to go! And fast!’
They said their goodbyes at the door. He was half-way down the stairs when she called, ‘Sonny love, wait! What on earth are we going to eat today?’
‘Don’t mind,’ echoed back the answer.
‘Tell me, please tell me! I’ve no idea …’
‘Neither have I!’ And the door below slammed.
She rushed to the window. There he was on his way already, waving first with his hand then with a handkerchief. She stayed at the window until he had passed the lamp-post and finally disappeared behind a yellowish house-wall. And now, for the first time in her twenty-three years, Lammchen had a whole morning to herself, a flat to herself, and a shopping list to make out all on her own. She went to work.
Pinneberg, however, met the town clerk Kranz on the corner of Main Street and greeted him politely. Then something occurred to him. He had waved to him with his right hand, and on his right hand was the ring. He hoped Kranz hadn’t seen it. Pinneberg took the ring off and placed it carefully in the ‘secret compartment’ of his wallet; it stuck in his throat, but what must be, must be …
Meanwhile, Emil Kleinholz, dispenser of Pinneberg’s daily bread, was up and about with his family … It was never a pleasant moment, because they were all in a bad mood straight out of bed and apt to tell each other home truths. But Monday morning was in general particularly bad, for on Sunday night Father was inclined to escapades, for which the moment of awakening brought revenge.
For Mrs Emilie Kleinholz was not a gentle woman; in so far as one can tame a man, she had tamed her Emil. And indeed on one or two Sundays of late things had passed off very well. Emilie had quite simply locked the front door on Sunday evening, treated her husband to a flagon of beer with
‘No, no, I won’t ask you to do it, and we’ll manage. But don’t you believe it will come out, however careful we are?’
‘It mustn’t come out. It must not! I did everything so secretly, and now we’re living out here, no one will ever see us together in town, and if we do ever meet on the street, we won’t greet each other.’
Lammchen was quiet for a while, but finally she spoke: ‘But we can’t stay here, Sonny, you must see that?’
‘Just try it, Lammchen,’ he begged. ‘Just for the fortnight till the first of the month. We can’t give notice before then anyhow.’
She reflected for a while before she agreed. She glanced sideways at the bridle path track but could distinguish nothing. It was too dark. Then she sighed: ‘Very well, I’ll try, Sonny. But you know yourself that it can’t go on. We could never be happy here, never.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you. And the rest will work out all right; it must. I have to keep my job, at all costs.’
‘At all costs,’ she echoed.
And then they took one more look at the country, the quiet, moonlit country, and went to bed. They didn’t have to close the curtains; there was no one to overlook them here. And as they were falling asleep, they seemed to catch the distant rippling of the Strela.
WHAT SHALL WE EAT? WHO MAY WE DANCE WITH? MUST WE GET MARRIED NOW?
On Monday morning the Pinnebergs were at the breakfast table, and Lammchen’s eyes were fairly sparkling: ‘Today’s the day it all begins!’ And with a glance at the chamber of horrors: ‘I’m going to clear up this tip.’ And, glancing into her cup: ‘How do you find the coffee? Twenty-five per cent beans!’
‘Well, since you ask …’
‘Yes, Sonny, if we want to save …’
Whereupon Pinneberg pointed out to her how he had always managed to afford ‘real’ coffee every morning. And she explained to him that two people cost more than one. And he said he had always heard that it was cheaper to be married; that it was cheaper for two to eat at home than for one to eat out.
A long debate was setting in, when he said, ‘Good grief, I’ve got to go! And fast!’
They said their goodbyes at the door. He was half-way down the stairs when she called, ‘Sonny love, wait! What on earth are we going to eat today?’
‘Don’t mind,’ echoed back the answer.
‘Tell me, please tell me! I’ve no idea …’
‘Neither have I!’ And the door below slammed.
She rushed to the window. There he was on his way already, waving first with his hand then with a handkerchief. She stayed at the window until he had passed the lamp-post and finally disappeared behind a yellowish house-wall. And now, for the first time in her twenty-three years, Lammchen had a whole morning to herself, a flat to herself, and a shopping list to make out all on her own. She went to work.
Pinneberg, however, met the town clerk Kranz on the corner of Main Street and greeted him politely. Then something occurred to him. He had waved to him with his right hand, and on his right hand was the ring. He hoped Kranz hadn’t seen it. Pinneberg took the ring off and placed it carefully in the ‘secret compartment’ of his wallet; it stuck in his throat, but what must be, must be …
Meanwhile, Emil Kleinholz, dispenser of Pinneberg’s daily bread, was up and about with his family … It was never a pleasant moment, because they were all in a bad mood straight out of bed and apt to tell each other home truths. But Monday morning was in general particularly bad, for on Sunday night Father was inclined to escapades, for which the moment of awakening brought revenge.
For Mrs Emilie Kleinholz was not a gentle woman; in so far as one can tame a man, she had tamed her Emil. And indeed on one or two Sundays of late things had passed off very well. Emilie had quite simply locked the front door on Sunday evening, treated her husband to a flagon of beer with
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