The Lights Go Down [1 ed.]

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Books by Erika Mann SCHOOL FOR BARBARIANS: EDUCATION UNDER THE NAZIS THE

LIGHTS

GO

DOWN

With Klaus Mann

ESCAPE TO LIFE THE

OTHER

GERMANY

LIGHTS GO DOWN by

ERIKA

or

MANN Tt

Translated by

MAURICE

SAMUEL

Illustrated by

JOHN O'HARA COSGRAVE, IL

COPYRIGHT, 1940, PRINTED IN THE BY QUINN & BODEN ALL

BY FARRAR & RINEHART, INC. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA COMPANY, INC., RAHWAY, N. JRIGHTS RESERVED

LABLE

THE

OF CONTENTS

CITY

“IN CONSEQUENCE - CHECKS - HERR

AND

OF

AN

ERROR...

99

BALANCES

HUBER—MANUFACTURER

“JUSTICE IS THAT WHICH SERVES OUR PURPOSE” IN MEMORY

OF A HERO

. A PEASANT FLEES TO THE CITY . COMPANIONS

IN DISASTER

. LAST JOURNEY . DOCTOR’S ORDERS - THE

LIGHTS

GO DOWN

FACTS APPENDIX

384410

Life was going on in our city. The old market place, with its painted houses grouped around the usual equestrian statue, hadn’t changed for centuries; to the casual visitor it was a scene of peaceful enchantment.

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THE

CITY

A STRANGER walked in the city. Among its inhabitants he had not a single acquaintance, and he did not know whither its streets led. Strolling up the narrow Bell Street he came unexpectedly upon the old market place, with its gabled houses and its equestrian statue. He was impressed by its sleepy beauty and by its immense silence, which at that hour, half past nine in the evening, seemed ‘strange to him. Only the red flags which hung from all the windows flapped softly in the wind. Somewhere a dog barked. Or was it a man’s voice coming over a distant loud-speaker? __ The stranger sat down on the pedestal of the statue and looked into the sky. ‘The October night was cold and clear. The multicolored sacred images in the window of the corner shop over the way glimmered silvery in the moonlight. ‘There was little other light in the market ice; the arc lamps had been put out, or perhaps they d not even been lit. The stranger, in whose ears the ult of the journey still resounded, and in whose heart e restlessness of departure and arrival recurred again

Saag drew in deep a

of peace.

| ieic

C, on

the pmeanuc ase

cheinexhaustible en

of this people, which is turning night into day and lifting this land once more to greatness and power out of calamitous defeat. Berlin was bright and tumultuous; the restaurants were filled with laughing people and no one seemed to be worried. There was no sign of fear anywhere. I hate all the chatter—he shook his head angrily— I hate the loose jabbering and twaddling about the “violence of dictatorship.” This Hitler has done great things, and if the sacrifices he has laid on the Germans have not been too heavy for them, we certainly have not felt their burden. How pretty the red flags look. Above that little shop, too, with its sacred images, floats the swastika. I am

happy to be here, and I shall certainly stay two or three days, even though I have nothing to do in the city. ‘The wind is refreshing, as if it came straight from the mountains. As a matter of fact, they aren’t very faraway; you can be there in a couple of hours. And now—people are coming at last, walking in step; are they soldiers, marching by moonlight? Two storm troopers, well-built men in becoming black uniforms, strode down the market street, crossed the square, and approached the stranger. ‘The latter remained calmly seated on the pedestal. “Heil Hitler!” they called, and planted themselves in front of him. “Heil Hitler!” answered the stranger, but he did not lift his arm, for a sudden feeling of shyness held him a . back.

“Stand up to the Hitler greeting!” commanded one : of the men. The stranger rose obediently. “Heil Hitler!” the uniformed troopers cried again

and flung up their arms.

-

And this time the stranger lifted his right arm. “What are you doing here?” asked the one who had addressed him before. “Nothing,” answered the stranger. “Nothing?” repeated the storm trooper, contemptuously. “Don’t pretend to be more stupid than you are. You know very well what I mean. Why aren’t you listening in, that’s what I want to know? Aren’t there enough loud-speakers in the city?” The stranger shrugged his shoulders, bewildered. “Listen in?” he asked. ‘“‘Loud-speaker?”’ Only now did the storm troopers catch his foreign

accent. “I beg your pardon,” said the spokesman. “You are

a foreigner; we did not know it. We’re on duty tonight, watching out for pedestrians who aren’t listening to the Fiihrer. All Germans must and should listen in when the

Fuhrer speaks. With foreigners it’s different, of course. Please excuse us.” : The stranger smiled.

6

“I would most certai1 nly have

listened in,” he said, “if I had only known that Herr Hitler was giving a speech. Tell me, please,” and he turned to the more silent of the two; “supposing I were really a German,

and you'd caught me

perce! to me?”

here, what would

have

:

The storm trooper shrugged his shoulders. “Not very much, at that,” he said. ““We would have

taken you to headquarters. We have a radio there, and you could have listened in. Then you would have been sleased with a warning. That sort of warning is natrally not very pleasant. If the slightest thing should happen after that, say someone suspects you and turns in a

report, then you're through; it’s the concentration camp! And—” The first speaker, who seemed to disapprove of the confiding tone of his younger comrade, broke in and stopped the flood of words with an abrupt gesture. “That’s enough!” he said. ‘““The concentration camp is no business of this gentleman’s. We beg your pardon again. Heil Hitler!” They snapped their heels together in unison, aboutfaced, and strode off. In front of the little shop with the sacred images, they halted briefly. The stranger heard them laughing; their young voices rang out across the market place. Then silence once again swallowed up their marching footsteps. “What a pity!” thought the stranger. “I really would have liked to hear the speech.” Yet something had crept in to disturb his mood. ‘The two lads had been good-looking and courteous. For all that, the encounter had thrown a shadow over his spirits. And why had they laughed when they stood in front of the shop? He walked across and found, stuck to the shopwindow, a notice which was not visible from a distance. “Public nuisance!” it read. ““The Fihrer needs soldiers, not prayer-sisters! Down with the hypocritical enemies of the people! Out with the parsons! Out! Heil Hitler!” The stranger became angry and disgusted as he read. Then he decided that this sort of blackguardism was possible anywhere. All over the world, young people did stupid things. In my country they swallow goldfish, he thought. That isn’t much better. All the same, why

hadn’t the two officers removed the notice? Probably because they too were young, and found the thing amusing.

Anyway, I’m not going to let that notice upset my mood ind spoil my impression of this lovely city. He shivered, ind thought that a cognac would do him good. The little saloon in Bell Street was filled with the oaring from the loud-speaker. A couple of customers, heir beer glasses in front of them, listened in silence to

he words of their Fiihrer. Why does he curse so much? he stranger asked himself. He began to realize that the

peech had to do with the economic expansion of the ‘Third Reich,” a subject which could scarcely provoke uch bitter fury. How many people passed through Gernany’s hotels in the last year? How many rolls of paper vere produced in Germany’s factories? How many mounain outings had been arranged? But every figure was iurled forth by the man at the microphone as if it were ntended to shatter and overwhelm the listeners. Behind the counter, the innkeeper yawned loudly. [he German cognac tasted like perfumed methylated pirits, and the piece of bread that the stranger had asked or was damp, gray and doughy. “Have you got any eggs?’ asked one of the cus-

omers. “No,”

said the innkeeper,

“but you can have the

/olkischer Beobachter!” “Seven - hundred -and-seventy-thousand-eight-hun-

lred-and-forty-one

industrial

workers,’

bellowed

the

oice over the radio. q _ The customer who had been offered the Volkischer

3eobachter instead of eggs stood up, stretched himself, awned, and looked at his watch.

_ “An hour and a half,” he said, “and not even a wor genet our brothers iin Sudeten Germany.”

ce

here seems to feel any real enthusiasm. A stolid lot, these

Bavarians: a thick-skinned, ponderous people; they don't betray their enthusiasms.

In the corner near the stove, a little girl sat writing.

“Tomorrow she'll have a test in school,” said the innkeeper. “So she’s got to take notes and learn them by heart. Otherwise she’ll be punished.” “How many industrial workers was it?” asked the child. No one answered. The stranger heard the speech out to the end. Even when the angry Fihrer had done, and the Horst Wessel -song had died away,

he remained

in his chair by the

counter to see what impression the speech had made and to chat with the innkeeper, who seemed a pleasant, friendly person. The bristly mustache might have adorned a seal, but the clear eyes in the full-blooded face spoke a lively human language. But he was not a talkative man. At the tables, too, little was being said. No allusion whatsoever was made to the Fihrer’s address. ‘Have you seen the church banners?” one woman asked her husband. “I counted at least eight church banners, five of them in Bear Street alone.”

The man nodded. A sly grin appeared on his face “The insolence of it!” he said. “Hanging up church banners where it’s been expressly forbidden!” He hit the table with his hand to emphasize his re sentment. Nevertheless, the stranger had the impressior that the man was delighted. “A great piece of impudence,” he repeated, throw ing a happy glance at the innkeeper. The minutes passed, the guests gradually withdrew 10

The stranger, eager for anything he might still pick up, stayed on in the saloon. “What’s the population of this town?’ he asked the innkeeper, hoping to start a conversation. “One hundred and twenty thousand,” said the innkeeper. “But every fifth family is without a home. We’ve got few homes, and plenty of barracks. Not that it matters,” he added quickly, as the stranger wrinkled his forehead in disapproval. “And it’s only temporary, till we’re finished with our rearmament. It’s only natural that military construction should have the right of way. Politics takes first place, private life comes second.” “Every fifth family?” the stranger asked. “How do you know so exactly?” The innkeeper leaned his heavy body still farther across the counter.

To begin with, he said, his married

son, together with his family, was living here in the house because he could not get a place of his own. | “And then,” he went on, with a friendly glance out of his blue eyes, ‘‘and then, I do read the paper, after all. ‘There are twenty-one thousand families in the city, and only seventeen thousand homes. Whoever doesn’t happen to have a home takes it badly, of course. But that’s selfish and shortsighted; nowadays you've got to be inteHipens and have some insight into political necessities.’ “This is a beautiful place,” said the stranger. “It’s ‘

the first time I’ve been in your city, and I like it a great deal.” . The innkeeper, chewing at his mustache, rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Especially today,” he commented, “with all those

didn’t quite mean what he was saying. The “church banners” stuck in his mind, together with the notice in the window of the Catholic shop. The door opened, and a woman came in. She was stocky, looked about fifty, and wore a military jacket and brown trousers with high rubber boots reaching well above the knee. “Air-raid guard,” said the innkeeper. “‘A glass of tea for the pelos of our fatherland!” he called back into the kitchen. “You'd like a good hot glass of tea, wouldn’t you, Frau Murks?”’ Frau Murks nodded. “T certainly would,” she said, “or else I'll drop dead in this miserable cold.” The woman, whose teeth were already chattering in anticipation of the drill, sat down at the counter, next to the stranger. ‘“‘That’s number

seven, today,” she said. “The sev-

enth air-raid drill this autumn.” The innkeeper slapped her encouragingly on the shoulder. “Congratulations,” he said. ‘““The seventh already. Ten altogether by January first. That leaves three more, and you'll be able to stand those too, Frau Murks.” “Maybe I will and maybe I won't,” answered the woman. “Anyway, it won’t last as long as usual, because the Fiihrer spoke such a long time. We were beginning to hope they’d drop the drill in his honor. But that’s out now. It’s drill all right, even if we don’t begin before midnight.” The stranger asked for the check. Frau Murks threw a suspicious glance at him while she stirred her tea resentfully. 12,

“The gentleman is a foreigner,” said the innkeeper. “This is the first time he’s been in our city. But he likes it here; and of course he came

at the right time, what

with the weather—and all that.” “I see,’ said the woman, and her look was friendlier.

“So you're from the outside?” She became silent, but it seemed that she had some-

thing she wanted to ask or add. ‘The stranger, more than ready to give the woman any information she sought, nodded encouragingly. But Frau Murks had turned again to the innkeeper. “Do you know what happened to my sister-in-law?” she asked. ‘“That woman has a jinx on her. She fell sick; nothing serious, you know, grippe or something like that. But she won’t be able to turn up for drill tonight. There'll be only three of us to drag that heavy hose to the pump; and it’s freezing outside.” It seemed to the stranger that it was she herself, Frau Murks, who had the jinx on her, and not her sister-in-

law, who could lie comfortably in bed while the others had to man the pump. But the innkeeper knew better. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “That is rotten luck! ‘On the seventh drill! Now she has to begin all over again. ‘That’ s terrible.” Frau Murks shook her head dolefully. “On top of all that, my sister-in-law isn’t any too Brose:’ she said. “And she isn’t any too young, either. Fifty-eight next month. And now she has to start those

ten drills all over again; the six she did till now don’t ount, just because of the one she has to miss today. If at

least you could do the job during the day. But there’s no e for that kind of thing during the day. And at night ne ee is enough to make you sick.”

al

The stranger put a bill on the counter. That’s hard, he thought. That’s pretty hard for a fifty-eight-year-old woman. But, after all, it’s a good thing for the population to know exactly what to do in case of war. Anyway, they probably have a good time at the drills. She looks like a jolly soul, this Frau Murks; and often when you go out on hikes it’s just as cold and fatiguing. Frau

Murks,

almost

as

if she

had

guessed

his

thoughts, went on: “‘But just the same, I’m heart and soul in the work. I want you to know that, Herr Schindhuber, and you too—’” turning to the stranger—‘‘you ought to know it, too, for your report.” The stranger started back. “Report?” he said. “I’m not a journalist.” ‘How do I know what you are?” said the woman. “In any case, if you’re making any kind of report, I’m one hundred per cent behind the Fuhrer, and no mistake

about it. Do you have air-raid drills in London?” she asked suddenly. The stranger explained that he was American, and

had not experienced any air-raid drills. So far as he knew, there had been some in London, but he did not think that things were done so rigorously there. “If a fifty-eight-year-old woman happens to take sick in London,

I don’t

think

she’s

punished

with

extra

drills.” At this point, Frau Murks became indignant. “There you are!” she cried. ““There’s absolutely no discipline in the democracies. ‘The other day our propaganda minister said that. the democracies strike him as being a collection of comical old fogies. But I’ve got to say it myself; they’re rotten and corrupt to the marrow. What harm can that bit of air-raid drill do my sister-in14 Sa

PRR

eT

ies gh re rm

a

law? And suppose it does harm her, and she dies of pneumonia, what harm does a death like that do to the folk

community? It’s a soldier’s death, like any other, and those who remain behind can think of it with pride.” It was quite clear to the stranger that now Frau Murks meant what she said. How muddled that poor head of hers is, he thought. The way she keeps switching; now she complains and curses, now she’s “one hundred per cent behind the Fuhrer’. It’s funny. First she watched her step with me, so that I shouldn’t quote her in my “report’’—and then she talked herself into genuine enthusiasm. The innkeeper, too, chimed in now, stroking his mustache. “Tm sorry for you,” he said, turning to the stranger, “but Frau Murks is right. Liberalist democracy is played out. And anyway, the world belongs now to the masterrace.” The stranger, who, all in all, belonged to the same “master-race’”’ as Herr Schindhuber, the innkeeper, and the uniformed Frau Murks, whose broad cheekbones

happened to contain more than a hint of Slavic origins, did not want to begin a dispute, 3 “In any case,” he said, “‘your Fithrer has achieved a great deal. And if he were only ready to give up his ag-

gressive attitude toward the outside world—’ he swallowed back what he was about to add; he would have

liked to bring up, for instance, the cruelties against the Jews—“‘if he only wanted to keep the peace, then cerainly no one would have anything against him.” q Frau Murks, becoming more heated and argumentative, said: ‘““We’re encircled, and we’ve got to be able to

defend ourselves.”

But

the innkeeper, whose face had resumed its sly

expression, leaned over the counter and murmured to the stranger: ‘““Have you seen our new metal works? Yes, I mean that magnificent building on the other side of the river. Do you know what they’re manufacturing there? . Munitions? God forbid! They’re producing peace angels: nothing but nice shiny peace angels.” During the last half hour Herr Schindhuber had been swallowing glass after glass of whisky. ‘The stranger had the impression that he was not quite sober; besides,

it was getting late, and he turned to go. “Heil Hitler!” he said, and lifted his arm hastily. “Heil Hitler!’ cried Frau Murks and sprang up from her stool for the greeting. But Herr Schindhuber said, “I wish you a very pleasant night.” ‘Then he drained another glass. Outside, the sky had become covered; a thin but penetrating rain was falling; the street shone. The trol-

ley-car station on the market place was black with people. A couple of taxis waited at their stands, but apparently no one wanted to make use of them. The stranger decided to go home on the trolley car; in this way he would be able to obtain another impression of the local population. Herr Schindhuber and Frau Murks had confused him. Shivering in the cold, he waited eight or nine minutes. As the trolley car drew up, the crowd threw ee upon it as if in flight from death. Men pushed women i

back; a child whose mother had clambered on while it

a " voy paoaiaed behind, lost in the forest of Jjosthg pee

her to her mother, who was standing on the platform,

wringing her hands. ‘The jammed trolley car rolled away, clusters of people clinging to the hand grips and running board. Should he walk home? But the weather had turned nasty. Besides, he was ill at ease and his thoughts were in

a whirl. ‘The taxi he signaled swung swiftly over. “Reichshof Hotel, please,” said the stranger. “The name used to be the Bavaria Hotel,” said the taxicab’s driver, in a tone which seemed to accuse the stranger of having caused the change. ‘Throughout the journey the taxi driver kept talking over his shoulder; the stranger’s heart was in his mouth as they whirled through the narrow streets. Why doesn’t he concentrate on the wheel, instead of making conversation? he wondered. “Couldn’t you manage to get on the trolley car?’ asked the man, and laughed maliciously. “Well, well, no

great misfortune for you; all you have to do is take a cab to the Bavaria Hotel. But it’s hard on the folks here. We used to have a hundred and twelve trolley cars, and we need that many, too. Today there’s only sixty-two. ‘The

‘old cars had to be taken out of service and there isn’t

material enough for new ones. All raw material must be used for the production of peace angels.” (Again those ‘peace angels!) “Besides that, we haven’t got the men to service the right number of cars. We haven’t enough even for the lousy sixty-two cars. ‘Those that we have are overworked and half-crazy trying to handle the traftic. How do you expect a man to drive a trolley car when he’s iardly got the room to stand in? And especially when e’s something doing, say like a speech by the Fiihrer,

time from the public loud-speakers. The trolley cars are like madhouses. But no one takes a taxi. Only the rich can afford to do that, and they’ve got their own MercedesBenz limousines.” The stranger’s eyebrows went up. “Our New York subways,” he said, “are often overcrowded, but just the same we don’t pull such long faces about it.” The taxi driver stepped on the gas. The street leading to the hotel was wide and straight, but the asphalt was slippery, and the stranger wished he were home in his room. “Faces!” said the man. “Who asks us about our faces? We’re happy as long as war doesn’t come. Do you think there’s going to be one?”’ He looked back over his shoulder while the car sped forward terrifyingly. “Do you believe the English will go to war?” The stranger answered: “No one wants war. And everybody in the world has the highest respect for Germany.” | That was no sort of answer. The taxi driver sighed. “TI have

three

children,’

was

what

he said, “and

every day I expect to be ‘combed out’. ‘Combed out!’ You know what I mean? There are too many of us chauffeurs in the city. There isn’t any gasoline, either. And they need workers for the West Wall. Any day I can be shipped off—faraway from my family—to the fortification work on the West Wall. But I want to stay here at home,

in my own town; I don’t care if things do stink. I belong here, and I belong to my wife and children: I’m not a Prussian and I’m not a fortifications laborer, I’m a Ba-

varian chauffeur!” | The stranger thought: It’s amazing, the openness | 18

with which the man speaks. At least all that talk about fear is unjustified. How can such a man know that I won't report him? Obviously he has nothing to fear from the severity of the authorities.

The

cab pulled up, the

stranger paid and added a handsome tip. “Thanks a lot,” said the taxi driver, “and please don’t repeat it to anybody if I said a bit too much in there. Sometimes you’ve got to get it out of your system, or you'll burst. And if the fare happens to be a foreigner, you aren’t so afraid. Because if you do report me I’m done for, of course. But you won’t tell; I know you won't,

because you wouldn’t get anything out of it if they arrested me and put me away. Of course, with our folk comrades, it’s different; they do get something out of it. They're promoted or rewarded. But a foreigner!” The stranger shook his head reassuringly. “T won’t repeat a word,” he said. “Besides, I don’t

know a soul here I could tell it to. But let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t take it so hard. All this is only temporary. In a couple of years it won’t be needed any more; the discipline, and the close living, and the labor

on the West Wall.” “Do you really think so?” asked the taxi driver, and there was joy as well as fear in his face. ‘Do you really believe that?” The stranger nodded. | “Good luck,” he added, before he passed into the revolving door of the Reichshof Hotel. Upstairs, he stood on his balcony and looked down the wide, main street. Lights still shone in many of the ‘windows. There they were, the inhabitants of this city, and if what this evening had shown the stranger was typical, then what went on in their minds was strange a 7

"= _—_

and confusing. Really extraordinary, thought the stranger. What you read in the German papers is so simple and unequivocal. It is the will of the Fiihrer that the Jews and the communists shall be wiped out. Not a very nice thing, certainly; but if it’s done for the wellbeing of the people, it’s part of the price. Moreover, the nation is united under the sign of love of the fatherland and its rehabilitation. And surely that proud and once humiliated people has had its honor restored. On top of that, unemployment has disappeared; the youth of the country is developing along sound and healthy lines; and the citizen who, under the republic, had shown neither the inclination nor the talent for self-rule,

now feels the strong hand of the triumphant government. The fact that we, in our democratic freedom, find no appeal in the whole picture, isn’t to the point. Besides, the expanding Reich simply happens to threaten our interests. But, as far as they’re concerned,

the Germans

ought to be content; and so they are, on the whole. The rain had stopped. Behind the remnants of the clouds scattered over the sky in dramatic formations, a

few pale stars shone. The city! This beautiful, ancient city, with its mountain winds, its painted houses, its industrious, hopeful, laughing, cursing, joking, decent people! If there were only such a thing as the magician’s cloak of invisibility! If I could put it on and enter all the homes. I’d like to watch the men at their work, the women at their household duties. I wonder whether the little Schindhuber girl is going to please her teacher tomorrow morning with her repetition of the Fihrer’s speech; and whether the manufacturer of the “peace angels’’—he surely isn’t making a fortune from his enterprise—is happy and contented. Tomorrow, before I leave 20

town, I must take another look at the shop where I saw the sacred images and that ugly notice. Yes! I’ll leave tomorrow, in the early morning, if possible. For after all, since I haven’t got the magician’s cloak, I won’t have much luck in my journey of exploration. I could stay here days, weeks, months, and I still wouldn’t know the town. It’s beautiful, no doubt about that. And, all in all,

I like it here in Germany. That is, I like it for the Germans. But we’re not the only ones in the world, and every man should live according to his own light. In his dreams, which moved in motley disarray on many levels, there was the sound of a dog which barked out figures, and was obviously indignant; a fabulously old woman of enormous physical proportions held a fireman’s hose in her hand; and a man in chauffeur’s

‘uniform stood up to the chin in his pit while bullets whistled over his head. An enchanting mountain village, tiny as a child’s toy, lay before his eyes, but a gigantic hand arose and covered it. Out of the red cloth which the hand drew over the village, emerged a black, fat, plastic, tremendous swastika, which changed into a ques-

tion mark. And again the dog barked figures. . . . _. The stranger buried his face in the pillow. He noaned in his sleep.

On one side of the square was.a small shop. In its lighted window a serene Gothic Madonna, her quiet hands uplifted, blessed the passer-by.

\

I. “IN CONSEQUENCE.

OF AN

ERROR...”

MARIE wanted to become a teacher. The parents of the young girl kept a shop in the market square, which displayed for sale Bibles, religious books and sacred images and pictures. But their business did not “‘fit the times’, and they made only a bare living from it. They lived in constant fear of being “‘verboten’’—forbidden to continue—and if not that, then at least of being insulted and perhaps attacked by the young Nazis. The teachers’ training school which Marie planned to attend had just been closed to women until further notice. Then there was a “‘year of duty” to go through, to say nothing of the money required for the study period, which Marie did not have. After long talks with

her parents and with the all-powerful labor bureau, Marie was assigned as domestic servant to the Pfaff family. There were four children to look after, and Marie, who was small and not particularly sturdy, would have preferred a position where she would not have to se so hard for so little pay. ‘There were many such obs. Domestic servants had become a rarity, and Marie sceived a painful shock when the labor bureau relieved r of the list of tempting “Want Advertisements” which e had brought with her, and enrolled her for the Pfaff

__oe

ly as if she were a soldier being enrolled ina regi; mi :

t. Her wages/ would be twenty-two marks a month—’ ye ,

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Py Se

"4 Bs~~ Ngtet al

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NR,

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barely seven dollars. She would be expected to cook, take care of the children, do the family sewing and all the house cleaning. On top of all this there was evening service with the National Socialist Woman’s Organization. “But can’t I go where I like?” asked Marie, as she saw her clippings disappear into a drawer. “I mean, haven’t I got any choice?” The labor bureau official, a big-boned woman

severe “None

but

not

unfriendly

whatsoever,”

features,

she answered,

laughed

with

curtly.

and shoved a news-

paper toward Marie, as if in exchange for the appropriated clippings. Marie read the headline: A PROBLEM CHILD OF THE FIRST ORDER. The first few lines were enough to show that the article was directed at her personally, at Marie, the prospective domestic servant. She glanced up at the name of the newspaper and felt a chill of terror. It was the Schwarze Korps. She knew that whatever was printed in this publication, whatever threats and warnings it issued, carried the weight of unchallengeable authority.

_ The Schwarze Korps, organ of Hitler’s Elite Troops, the

black-uniformed Schutzstaffel, was always and utterly sure of itself. Months before a law was proclaimed or a decree issued, the Schwarze Korps was informed of the impending event. In fact, it was not only informed; it had a hand in the process of events. If a demand ap‘peared in its columns, if a “public disgrace” was “exposed,’ no further assurance

was needed;

the demand

would be met, the “disgrace” removed. “The domestic servant problem,” read Marie, “is intimately linked to those laws and decrees upon whick a 26

depend the success of our populational policy and, ultimately, the future of our people.” “But how?” asked Marie. “What is the connection?” She read on. ‘The situation, according to the article, was somewhat as follows: Servant girls did not want to work at the miserable regulation wages in families with too many children to look after. But if people with many children could not get servant girls, they would refuse (0 have more children and the future of our people was endangered. ‘“Trifling measures are useless,’ wrote the Schwarze Korps, “for we face a national emergency raught with incalculable consequences.” ‘Then followed a second and third headline in thick type: IGNORING THE PROBLEM WILL NOT SOLVE IT and THE TIME HAS COME FOR STRONG MEASURES. ‘The ceaseless educational labors of the state, read Marie, had borne too little fruit. “Eneryetic intervention” was therefore the order of the day. For those “immoral creatures” (Unsittlichen) who, “lacking a sense of responsibility and of duty’, left one posiclon in order to accept another less exhausting and better paid, the recent decision of the Weimar magistrates’ court would serve as a “devastating warning’’. A servant zirl who had maliciously left her job was sentenced to ‘wo months’ imprisonment. “We applaud this sentence, for in ‘the free play of forces’ we must certainly not be allowed to endanger our population policy.”

_ Stunned, Marie returned the newspaper to the bigboned representative of the labor bureau.

“You see, miss?” said the official. “Two months’ imprisonment. It’s a national emergency. Will you go to he Pfaffsr’’ _ Marie nodded. “Yes. I must go, of course.” At home, when she had recovered from the shock,

Marie thought: It won’t do me a harm. I like work, and this year of “practical training’ will be useful in my profession and also in my married life. With regard to the marriage, there were, in fact, concrete plans and prospects. Marie was engaged to a young man, the son of a worker who had risen to the position of foreman. Marie’s young man had ambitions to be a lawyer. He worked evenings in the metal factory where his father was employed and during the day he studied for his preliminary bar examination. Marie admired his industry and she loved the courage, the endur-

ance and the bright optimism of her Peter, who maintained an unfaltering good humor in the face of all cir“cumstances and all chicaneries. It went without saying that Peter belonged to the National Socialist Student Bund. She, on her side, had already left the Bund of German Girls and entered the National Socialist Woman’s Organization. Despite this, they had reason, both of them, to be dissatisfied with the Nazis. So little time was left them to devote to each other or even to those things which really interested them. They always had to be exercising, or learning a “world outlook’, or performing in some duty, when they wantedto be to-

gether, or read, or study. And on the Sundays when they looked forward to a hike into the hills, there would be a “cross-country route march” or some other compulsory assignment of a “‘military-sports’ character. Marie was a good Catholic, and from a child she had loved to gaze at the sacred images and pictures in her parents’ shop, and to listen to her father when he _told HES Bible stories which his es narration made

o the new order, and never felt the impulse to oppose .erself in action or thought to the Nazi state and its comnands. All in all, like her betrothed, she was full of hope or the future. Even Peter, however, had his occasional loubts. ‘The leaders of the Reich student body were ylanning to cut the study period for lawyers from three rears to a single year. “In this matter,’ said Peter, “I’m afraid we are over-

loing things a-bit. When you bear in mind that during he one year you've got to keep up with your official luties in the party, and you’ve got to go through four veeks of camp training, well, it really can’t be done. Of ourse, the examinations are made easy for us National socialists; but if you actually want to be a good lawyer, ou've got to learn a lot. It scares me sometimes to hink—” and as he spoke it seemed to Marie that he was eally frightened—“‘it scares me to think that later on ’m going to be one of those men who make their patriot-

sm a substitute for professional reliability. Well, we'll ret by somehow,” he finished up, and then asked how

Marie was getting on with the Pfaff family. “The Pfaffs aren’t to be envied, either,’ she said. ‘Four children and a monthly income of two hundred narks. But you see, Herr Pfaff is a government official, o he can’t very well have less than four children.” Peter hardened suddenly. “Good God,’ he said. ‘You talk as if you didn’t understand a thing, or as if yur leaders were insisting on larger families as a kind of a oke.”’ Marie,

her arm

around

Peter’s

neck,

passed her

aand softly over the stern, boyish features. “And you,” he said, “‘talk as if you were the Schwarze Korps in per-

son, and not my beloved Peter, who belongs to me and

to nobody else.” Peter drew away from her. “No, no. This is a seri-

ous matter. Besides, you know very well that I don't belong only to you. I also belong, and that before everything else, to our fatherland. And speaking of the Pfaffs,

they're only doing their duty, that’s all. Reichsfihrer Himmler put it very clearly the other day. ‘Every healthy young German,’ he said, ‘is guilty of a serious crime against his people if between his twenty-fifth and thirtyfifth years he does not contribute four or five children to Germany’s future.’ ” Marie smiled. “Did you learn it by heart?’ she -asked.

Peter, who had begun to stride back and forth in the room as if he were lecturing or teaching, answered gravely: “I wrote those words down because they’re almost a law. Don’t forget, I am a lawyer, and I shall also

be a father.” He said this waeboee tenderness, and equally without irony. Marie, touched though she was by the youthful earnestness of her fiancé, felt a slight shiver of gooseflesh ~ pass down her spine. “I didn’t mean any harm,” she said. “I’m only saying that it isn’t easy to do it on two hundred marks a month.” Peter,

who

was

now

almost

angry,

cried:

“ “The

question of children is primarily not an economic problem at all.’ That isn’t my discovery. It’s from the same speech by Reichsfiihrer Himmler, and I did learn it by ‘ heart, whether you like it or not. And he says something

more: ‘Did our forefathers ever ask whether, as the parents of the large families, which in their day were accepted as a matter of OUTS, they would have to deny

hemselves certain pleasures. For that is what all the owardly excuses—to the effect that “one” is unable to eed and bring up four or five children—amount to. Obections like these are not only dishonest and unsocial; hey are the symptoms of an unspeakably filthy (unsdagich schmutzigen) and egotistic outlook that is preoccuied with nothing more than the evasion of responsiyility or the raising of the standard of living; and that in urn only signifies the gobbling up and swilling away of he money that belongs to one’s own children.’ ”’ He kept striding back and forth and reciting. There vere many objections Marie could have raised. Our tandard of living, she might have said, is so low, it has unk so terrifyingly in these last few years, that it cerainly wouldn’t be either “unspeakably filthy” or “egoistic’ or “unsocial’” to want to raise it a little. But do we aise it by the fact that we don’t bring more than two or hree children into the world? No, no. We’re only trying Oo prevent

it from

sinking

still further,

from

being

yushed down into the abyss, by the four or five children vhich Herr Himmler insists we ought to have at the very least. All this she could have answered. As a matter yf fact, however, she didn’t even think anything of this

ind.

For she too was more or less acquainted with the fiews of Herr Himmler which, like every important pro1ouncement, had appeared in the Schwarze Korps. National “traitors” and “‘criminals” were the words Herr Himmler had applied to all those who, “denying the

mperious call of nature’’, refused to have less than four

hildren. And then, curiously enough, he had added: ‘Above all, those Germans who want to be a model of ‘ight thought and action must see to it that the recog-

31

nition of this danger to our national existence does not remain in the realm of phraseology.” Marie sighed and shook her head. ‘They had a short way with national traitors in Germany. Maybe the Pfaffs are right, she thought. Maybe it’s better to have four children and a thousand cares than to “deny the imperious voice of nature’—which is only Reichsfithrer Himmler’s voice. But this too she kept to herself. Peter, sitting down on the arm of a chair, and stretching his long legs before him, relented a little. “All right, don’t worry, Marie,” he

said. ‘After all, what do you care about the Pfaffs? We—” he looked up proudly—“we’ll manage it. Wait till I’m through with my studies, and in the service.”

Marie nodded. “The food’s getting worse and worse,” she said. “Sometimes I just don’t know what to cook.” She laughed. “Would you like to know what happened to me yesterday? I went out shopping. But yesterday was a bad day. There was no butter, there were no eggs, and there was no flour. I asked the storekeeper for butter, then for

eggs, and then for flour, and every time he answered, ‘No.’ Finally he said: “Listen, miss, leave me alone now.

Did you come here to buy or to start a political discussion?’ Then he offered me a new kind of oatmeal grits, supposed to be very good. But I didn’t want any oat-

:

meal.”

__,

Peter was disturbed. “But, really, do be careful,

Marie. You know you oughtn’t to get into political dis: _ cussions in the shops.’ Marie

still laughed. “Listen,” she said, “if that’s what they call a f

politca ae

Peter changed the subject, and asked after the children in the Pfaff family. He also wantedto know whether Marie had already learned enough to be able to bring

up his, Peter’s, sons.

.

“Little Fritz is sick,’ said Marie. “He’s always crying, and there’s always an ugly rash on his face. The doctor says it comes from the margarine. ‘There’s not much you can do about it.” Peter lifted his brows. “Rubbish!” he said. “It can’t come from the margarine. Perhaps you are giving him the wrong things to eat.” They were both in uniform,

Peter and Marie, for

each was on duty that evening. “T’ve got to pull myself together,” said Marie. ‘““The day before yesterday I came in last in two of the longdistance running races. The leader was disgusted with me, I can tell you.” Peter, who was a first-rate sportsman, was in a stern

mood that evening. “Yes, pull yourself together,” he said,

“so that there won’t be any more complaints.” For the last couple of days, Marie had not been feeling well. Her back hurt, and she had no appetite. Besides, it was not particularly pleasant at the Pfaffs. Not only because little Fritz was sick and cried, but be-

cause Herr Pfaff was overworked and irritable, and scolded everyone in the house because of the bad food. Frau Pfaff cried, and yesterday Marie had tried to make an appetizing potato soufflé, and a bread pudding with marmalade sauce instead of meat, because there was no fresh fruit. On top of everything, the Pfaffs were in danger of losing their home. The building was needed for party purposes. So now Herr Pfaff had to run around n the little free time left him to find a new house. He

had been given a list with the names of the Jewish inhabitants of the city. If he found a house or apartment he liked, the Jews would have to get out and the Pfaffs could move in. Herr Pfaff felt wretched about the whole business. “I don’t want to have those people put out in the street, even if they are Jews,” he said. “In any case, what a way to spend one’s time—running from one Jewish house to another, like a peddler!” In Marie’s opinion, Herr Pfaff wasn’t talking sense. Jews were subhuman. Herr Pfaff knew that just as well as Marie. Why should the Jew have a home while the Pfaffs, who were good Germans, had to move out? Just the same, she was in low spirits and did not feel well. That evening was another failure, and the leader scolded her during the broad-jump exercises. She decided to go to the doctor the next day; he would know what to prescribe. The group leader recommended young Dr. Killinger. ‘“He’s a party comrade,”

she said.

“He’s

the first

assistant in the city hospital, but he has his own practice in the afternoon. He’ll help you.” Marie came back from her visit to Party Comrade Killinger more dead than alive. To begin with, she had had to wait two hours. And then the young Nazi doctor had made advances to her and had been very indignant when she had put him off. But the worst—a frightful: worst!—was to come. After a hasty and superficial examination—Marie had only been asked to remove to her waist—he had immediately ‘‘diagnosed” her malady. i “What’s wrong with you?” he had asked, laughing. “Why, nothing at all, miss. You’re pregnant, that’s all!” 34 3

The room swam round Marie; the terror and anxiety that filled her choked back the words. “Tt can’t be—it mustn’t be—it’s absolutely impossible . . .” was all she could get out.

How, in God’s name, was the child to live, since neither she, nor her parents, nor Peter could provide

for it. After a miserable and tearful night she told Peter. | “I simply don’t believe it,” said Peter. And then: “Do you know what? You'll take a trip to Munich. I’ve got an uncle there who has a women’s clinic. I don’t care for him particularly, he’s one of the old-school liberalists, but, as far as I know, he’s a good doctor. ‘This Doctor Killinger hasn’t studied long enough; and anyway, he has far too much to do here in the city, and I’m certain he’s wrong in his diagnosis.” Marie went to Munich. The friendly old gentleman who was Peter’s uncle and “an old-school liberalist’’ examined her with a thoroughness which inspired confilence. | “Absolutely no trace of a child,” he said at last. “But

you are undernourished, young lady; you’re overworked and generally run-down.” He decided to keep her for a few days, in his clinic. He would give her some injections to tone her up, and put her on a good, strengthening diet. She would soon be on her feet again. Marie accepted his offer gratefully The Pfaffs would have to do without her for three days. Of course, the Nazi Women’s Organization leader would be furious at her absence. But Marie reckoned that she would come back well and strong, and make a good mark in athletics, and everything would be all right. _

Peter, calling her on

was jubilant.

the long-distance

telephone,

\

“You see!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t I tell you? ‘That Killinger ought to ask for a refund of his school fees!” Marie did not feel comfortable thinking of Party Comrade Killinger. He undoubtedly hated her now. First she had resisted his attentions, and now she had gone to another doctor, an “old-school liberalist,” who had upset Party Comrade Killinger’s diagnosis. But after all, what can he do to me? she thought, and made up her mind to enjoy the good diet. What could he do, this young and much offended Dr. Killinger? When

Marie,

after a three-day

absence,

appeal

again in the women’s organization for duty, the leader greeted her with black looks. “So you were in Munich?” she said, but it was quite clear that she knew perfectly where Marie had been. Marie nodded. “Let’s hope it won’t end up too badly for you,” the leader gh on. ‘But, after all, Dachau is quite a pre place, too.” Marie, overwhelmed

with terror, could not under-

stand at first what the woman might mean. It was Peter _ who explained the intention of the horrid remark

“She thinks you were pregnant and my uncle a operated on you in Munich.” Days and weeks passed, full of terror, of nightmares _and helpless conversations that led nowhere. “Nothing can happen to us,” said Peter. “We're abaaram | innocent and, as ay there’s my uncle’s stat

and your uncle isn’t. Besides, there’s this much against me—I did stay three days in the clinic.” Peter, deep in his lawbooks, answered,

“Very well,

if Killinger lodges a complaint against my uncle, something may happen. Even then, the truth would come out at the trial.” Marie, who was now being treated in the women’s organization as if she were a criminal, shook her head despairingly. “The truth .. .” she said. “I don’t know—but I’m

afraid the truth isn’t very powerful among

us. I’m

afraid,’ she cried, and burst into tears. “I’m in such mortal terror I simply can’t tell you!” ‘The sweat stood on Peter’s forehead, but he tried to comfort her. “You mustn’t be afraid,” he said, and stroked her hair soothingly. “And above all you mustn’t show them that you're afraid; the moment you show it we're lost.”

. It was frightful to hear Peter, who was always so optimistic and courageous, and who stood so firmly on his own feet, say something that sounded so unreal:

rc, . . we're lost!’ Marie, who was not crying any more, looked at him with wide-open, horrified eyes. She stared — as if Peter had become a ghost.

_

Then it came. One day Frau Pfaff called in her aia and said:

“Marie, I’m sorry to have to do it, and you know I need

u very much but—you'll understand—I’ve heard cerin things, such terrible things, I a) can end up erably Pipes ae Marie answered a a voice a

shook, a voice Pare hg i

The girl, standing in the middle of the room, swayed. Frau Pfaff, clumsy and well-meaning, had no doubt that the girl was lying, but she tried to comfort her. “Better admit it, Marie,” she said. “Think of your parents, of Peter. If it comes to a trial, there’ll be a terri-

ble scandal. And I believe that nowadays they call it high treason, or murder, or something, I don’t know . . .” She jumbled everything up, the good woman, but the words stabbed Marie through and through. She packed her things and left the house. But she could not go home, for fear of the effect on her parents. Nor could

she tell Peter that she had been dismissed ‘“‘without notice”. She checked her baggage at the railroad station. Then she wandered for hours about the city. That evening, in the women’s organization, the same scene, the same shameful accusation. But this time in

the presence of the entire troop, in front of all the whispering, giggling girls and women. Some of them appeared compassionate; more of them malicious. ‘Suspended until further notice!”” was the sentence that the leader read out before the military formation. “That is, until the matter has been thoroughly cleared up—if there’s anything more to clear up!” Marie decided: I'll try to keep it a secret from Peter. Perhaps he won’t learn about it; he talks to hardly any| body nowadays. But she had to go home; she couldn’t get out of that. On the way home she recalled that two days before a notice had been stuck on the window of her parents’ shop; a threatening notice about the sacred pictures and images. That was the work of some overconfident young Nazi boys; the party had, of course, nothing to do with

. But it was horrid, just the same, and extremely dis-

urbing. In the morning her parents had removed the otice, after having shown it to the policeman at the orner. They had asked him if he would not be kind nough to be on the lookout that evening, one never new what might happen. But the policeman, though he bviously did not like the notice, had shaken his head. “Tm

sorry,” he said, “I’m very sorry, but nothing

o the public interest demands that I guard your shop. have my instructions, and I’m liable to be disciplined f I don’t stick to them.” ‘Then the parents had changed the window display.

he picture of the Fiihrer stood now where before there ad been the Holy Virgin in her beautiful blue mantle, nd in place of the Bible there was a copy of Mein campf in the threatened window. Last night nothing had appened. Marie went home on foot—the trolley cars were vercrowded again. She was afraid she might meet ac-

uaintances who would ask uncomfortable questions. “If you show you're afraid,’ Peter had said, “we're one for.” But she was not used to dissimulating, and could not ide the terror that gripped her. ‘The market square was black with people. Somehing must have happened. Perhaps the trolley car had one off the rails—that had happened more than once of ate. Marie’s heartbeat quickened as she drew closer and aw that the crowd was thickest round her parents’ house. Then there was a crunching under her feet—glass spliners. The window display! she thought. They’ve smashed e window in! What a mess there was underfoot! You youldn’t have thought that one window could break into

/

so many fragments. And there lay the ripped and tattered pictures of the saints, among the remains of the smashed crucifix—the old, beautiful, richly carved crucifix, before

which Marie had knelt as a little girl—and the smokeblackened, soaked pages of the Scriptures. Here and

there, the pearls of the ripped rose wreath glittered like tears. The furniture in the shop was broken and charred. It dripped with water which had been pumped into the shop to prevent the fire from spreading. Marie, barely retaining hold on her senses, pushed

her way through the crowd of people, who made a path for her as they recognized her. Had she been in a condition to be aware of anything but the ruins around her and the frightful terror in her heart, she would have noticed that none of the looks directed at her were hostile. On the contrary, they were friendly and full of compassion. Yes, many were angry for her sake, and filled with disgust at what had happened. A young storm troop officer suddenly appeared. The crowd pretended not to see him. He himself drew his shoulders together, as if

a gust of cold rain had fallen on him. Marie said, “Where are my parents?” { The officer, in a voice which sounded almost hum.

ble, answered, ‘Your parents have been taken into pr o-

tective custody. The crowd was all worked up about political Catholicism,

with which your parents were

un-

fortunately mixed up. We wouldn’t have been ableto guarantee their safety. Calm oat miss,’ he added, as Marie appeared about to faint, “protective custody is

no shame; and the life of the arrested person isn’t danger.

ir

It’s a state measure taken in the interests

Ne ae curity, that’s all.”

a

er ayaa some three yards behind the er ss

fficer broke into a sudden, full-throated shout: “You munch of swine! ‘Thugs! Get out of here, right now, you— rou. Nazi—or—" He had no need to finish his threat. The officer, intead of drawing out his whistle to call for reinforcenents and have the man arrested, fled as if the devil were tt his heels. His beautiful black headgear fell to the round as he took tremendous strides away from the rowd. He let it remain there, among the fragments of ‘lass and the ruins. The death’s-heads on the border of he hat glittered like the scattered pearls of the rose vreath. Marie did not know how she found her way to

eter’s room.

Peter, seated at his desk, was staring at a

etter. It was as though he had been sitting there for lours, staring. “The notice!” he said, as Marie entered. ‘““Chey’ve

alled my uncle up for trial; we’ve been summoned, too. EDOK so.” And he held out to Marie the letter in which his mcle, in large, fine, rapid handwriting,

told him

the

1eWs. 3 Marie said, “Our shop has been smashed. My arents have been taken into protective custody—the rucifix ..

.” And only now did she burst into tears, as

f the crucifix, the beautiful, richly carved old crucifix,

vas really the most pitiful part of it all. “The crucifix,” he sobbed and collapsed into a chair, as if someone had truck her over the head. -

Peter,

who

made

no

move

to comfort

her, said,

Phere’s no sense to it; we won’t get out of it; everything © $ against us; my uncle is hated; Killinger is powerful; 1

>

0, OREO PYREO ne Ta

Ts

elt 4h

a |

they’ve already expelled me from the National Socialist Student Body . ...” (And I wanted to keep it a secret from him... thought Marie.) “There’s no sense to it, no sense at all,” he repeated, without lowering his voice. Marie nodded. He did not have to put his thoughts into words; Marie knew what was inevitable now. She only said: “Yes . . . that would be better.” “Come,” said Peter, ‘‘we don’t want to frighten the people in the house. . .” He took his revolver from the drawer and his winter overcoat off the hanger. He can still think of his overcoat, thought Marie, and she felt in the pocket of her

jacket the cool, sharp key which opened the front door of their shop. It was a safety lock, she thought. But now everyone can go in; everyone can walk among the PUUTIS As vy 2 The narrow lane down by the river was deserted at this hour. Peter and Marie leaned against the pillars of the old bridge. Their pale faces were turned to each other. There were no tears in their eyes. ‘There was only an immense, terrified amazement, because it had all come

to this, and nothing, nothing made “‘sense’”’ any more Peter played with the party emblem on Marie’s jacket

Marie said, “I always tried so hard. I wasn’t bad and I wasn’t insubordinate;

Peter, say that I wasn’t

aigh a.e2 Peter put his arm round her ae

| ; |

more, who weren’t bad, and they weren’t insubordinate meuiity.. 5” Marie, her head on his shoulder, said: “Don’t tell

me

when

you

do

it, don’t

tell me,

I don’t

have

to

a

t

}

|

|

SREESeee) il

@

oO

=

Pate : =

==

Sor 5

es

.

il

2)

A

d

Hi

i

|

eI Watcher himself took away a Be halt, ane

much on account of the price. Be happy, and let us hear from you. America is faraway, and Id like it ever so much more if you were at home here, serving on some front,’ rather than out there, on the waves, where-anything may happen. With fondest love and many kisses, from your mother.” It was a long letter, and Frau Murks was quite exhausted by the time she had finished it. Before she closed the envelope she did a little calculating. He starts out next week; that’s the middle of November. So he ought to be back by the beginning of December, or say the middle of December. And then perhaps, perhaps—oh, no, that would be too wonderful—perhaps he'll be home for Christmas, my big boy. Perhaps he’ll get leave for Christmas Eve, if he’s behaved right. She took out the letter and added a postscript expressing this great, burning hope. It’s more than a year since I’ve seen him, she said to herself. It’s time he came home. . . In the evening, when the wind howled around the house, and Friedel had come back weary from “‘service on the front’, mother and son sat together. Frau Murks was busy with some knitting, and Friedel was fiddling with the radio. “Only no foreign stations, siorawerrau Murks said, imploringly. Friedel, who was poking about in the interior of the little set with a piece of wire and a nail file, answered

casually: “Foreign stations? Who wants to hear foreign stations? I’d only like to get Strassburg and London, they're broadcasting in German now.” His ek shook her head helplessly. “Leave it alone, son.’

- “Ahal There!” he exclaimed. “Luxemburg. Swell!” os

The boy looked pale and tired, so the mothe! thought. She did not like those deep lines in his fore head and about the childish mouth. He was eighteen ' How would he look when he was thirty, and had gone through his military service—perhaps through the war ‘The mother sighed.

“It’s stormy outside,” she said. “Is it stormy at sea too?” Friedel, his ear still glued to the radio, did not an

swer. His boyish face, tired and old beyond its years, wa: half-turned toward his mother, who proceeded eagerly - with her occupation. “That old sweater wasn’t fit to be worn anyway,’ she said. “If I unravel all the wool, I can certainly kni

three pairs of stockings with it; one pair for you and twe pairs for the big fellow.” Friedel grinned. “Sure,” he said, mockingly. ““Twe pairs for the big lad, for the sailor darling, and one pait for me. Didn’t I know that was coming?” Frau Murks stood up and passed her hand sooth ingly over his hair.

“Now, now,” she said, “who’s being jealous? With