There was a young engineer in the family, a nice young man who understood nothing of aeroplanes as he had interest only in architecture. Nevertheless he was expected to intervene in all technological matters in Perlefter’s house. He was forced to repair clocks, electric lights and telephones and to check the drains. Perlefter had, in fact, once helped this young man out. The young man’s outstanding virtue was his thanks.
He came over on this occasion. He was given a cup of chocolate. In exchange he gave a lecture on aircraft. He had intended to join the air force during the war. But before he could be trained world peace was achieved. The young man recounted anecdotes of the air officers. It calmed the Perlefter family to see a young man, still alive, healthy and unscathed, drinking chocolate, despite having almost been a pilot.
The family lawyer was also consulted, a walrus-moustached attorney named Dr Nagl who had a fondness for servant girls and thus always entered through the kitchen. He came, explained the airline’s liability provisions and advised — cold and heartless as lawyers are prone to be — that a last will and testament be drawn up. Perlefter’s wife began to sob once again.
Another relative showed up, one who had not been invited, the poor seamstress who had married her carpenter. She dared not ask the reason for all the excitement. Although everyone else was drinking chocolate she was given tea, and they pretended to look for a lemon. But on this evening the lemons were all gone. She drank it all the same, an old stale tea with beads of glistening foam on the rim of the cup.
They paid no attention to the seamstress. Herr Perlefter lay down on the sofa and smoked. He let his ashes fall lustily on to the carpet, and his wife indulged him. Perhaps, she thought, this would be the last time he could recline so comfortably on the sofa.
Perlefter’s thoughts, however, revolved around the immediate future. He envisaged his scattered bones and imagined them being collected and cremated. Perlefter had specified in his will that his remains should be cremated. He was afraid of cemeteries and especially of cemeteries in winter. When he imagined himself as a corpse lying under metres of snow he felt like he was standing outside without a woollen coat. He would rather be burned than to freeze.
Perlefter was also certainly thinking of the hereafter. For he rose suddenly from the sofa, motioned me in the next room and spoke. ‘You could do me a favour. Two weeks ago I heard that the wife of our cousin Kroj is sick with pneumonia. Take this money to him straight away. Have you time?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I have nothing but time to take some money to Kroj. Incidentally, Frau Kroj is perhaps already dead.’
‘Impossible!’ cried Herr Perlefter. ‘To be sure, she’s still alive!’
‘But what if she’s dead?’
‘Don’t even consider it! She can’t be dead! One can’t die so easily!’
‘Oh yes, one can die easily from pneumonia!’
‘Stop it,’ yelled Perlefter. ‘One shouldn’t make jokes about such serious matters.’
Then I took the money to Herr Kroj.
Kroj was a cobbler. The Perlefter family let him resole all their old boots. Herr Perlefter often claimed that Kroj demanded too steep a price and the stranger shoemaker in the neighbouring house was significantly cheaper. Nevertheless all the worn-out shoes found their way to this relative, the cobbler Kroj. It was Kroj’s lifelong dream to be able personally to make a pair of shoes for Herr Perlefter. Perlefter, however, covered his needs through the Karlsbad firm of Leiduck and Co.
When I arrived at the cobbler’s I could smell vinegar, leather and sweat. Behind a partition lay a groaning Frau Kroj. I rang the shop bell, and Kroj came out in slippers.
‘Well, see here,’ said Kroj. ‘A visitor.’
‘How’s your wife?’ I asked.
‘She’s already costing me more money than I’ve got. She’s been sick six weeks now!’
‘I thought only two weeks? Didn’t you write to our cousin Herr Perlefter two weeks ago?’
‘No, it’s been six weeks since I wrote to him. He hasn’t helped me.’
‘He’s sent you this money!’
‘Oh really? He’s a fine man!’
Then I returned to Perlefter’s. He stood on the balcony of his house awaiting my return. He shouted to me, ‘Is she still alive?’
‘Yes, she’s alive!’ I cried back.
When I got inside Perlefter radiated joy. Now he was confident that nothing would happen to him, even if he flew over the ocean in a burning airship. He led me into the parlour. We drank wine, and Perlefter said, ‘That’s life!’
But we had not spoken at all about life.
The next morning I went to the airfield. Frau Perlefter was there with all the children along with Dr Nagl, the young man who had not become a pilot and the chauffeur, who placed a fur coat in the aeroplane. Frau Perlefter had red eyes. Herr Perlefter stood near the pilot and looked confusingly similar to the pilot. The other passengers arrived in ordinary clothes. They took Perlefter for the pilot and asked, ‘Is everything in order?’
Herr Perlefter smiled because he recognized all of them. The gentlemen had met each other somewhere before. They were all honorary members. They wondered about Perlefter’s outfit and asked whether he had flown often previously.
‘This is my sixth time,’ said Perlefter with conviction.
At ten o’clock the propellers began to spin, and Perlefter’s children were thrown to the ground by the wind. The gentlemen climbed in, drew their handkerchiefs and waved. The propellers stopped spinning. Everyone climbed out again. It was embarrassing to both the travellers and their escorts that the aeroplane had not yet taken off. Herr Perlefter kissed his wife once more then gave the chauffeur his hand, for he believed that kindness to others kept one alive. The chauffeur was visibly surprised. Finally the propellers rattled again, and the gentlemen waved conclusively, Perlefter’s round face looking out from the window. I will never forget it.
His wife began to sob. She wanted to catch another glimpse of her husband, but he had already ascended to an altitude of three hundred metres. The spectators all craned their necks towards the flying honorary members, but then the large bird vanished behind a red brick wall that restricted their view of the horizon.
Perlefter was flying. Perlefter had flown away.
His family returned home and invited me to lunch ‘so it won’t be that lonely’. So we sat and ate scrambled eggs, as the roast on this frightful day was burnt. The young Perlefter boy seemed unwilling to eat any scrambled eggs. He was given a chocolate bar, although everyone knew that he had a bad stomach through eating too many sweets. Nevertheless they let him, as I said, eat chocolate.
Late in the night came a telegram: Landed safely. Your father. The postman received a tip, and we could hear his joyful footfalls upon the steps.
Herr Perlefter stayed away from his loved ones for more than two months. Let us leave him living abroad for the time being while we dedicate ourselves to his house and family.
IV
I have already mentioned that Perlefter controlled his house. He could control nobody else. Not his friends nor his employees. He could dominate only his family members, for they were even weaker, even more anxious, even more weak-willed than Perlefter himself. They lived in a wealthy household — for he earned and had money — and yet it was a poor household, filled with sighs, worries and bills. The family was convinced that Perlefter was overworked, that he did not sleep, that he was constantly struggling to earn his daily bread, that for him every expense brought new worries. Therefore the family spent not a single penny without concern. There was no joy in this house without underlying grief, no celebrations without pain, no birthdays without illness, no wine without bitterness. One cooked and baked, managed the wash and clothes, furniture, rugs and jewellery, but none of these things in sufficient quantity — on the contrary, it was just the bare minimum, never enough for anything. It was never, ever enough. There was fine cake but cut in such thin slices that one could not taste its quality. Good meat was purchased and chopped into tiny portions. A soup was cooked that would have caused a sensation if only one had the chance actually to taste it. Fourteen guests were invited, but the meal was just enough for twelve. In the ice box were the laughable leftovers, about which one worried as if over the fading life of a dying child. There lay, still and timid, a plate of miserable heaps of butter, yellow and melting into a puddle, awaiting its end. The children’s leftovers were rescued from their plates at lunch and the meat chopped up and used to make dinner. Somewhere within closed cabinets dry yellow cake awaited a special occasion. Such an occasion came. It was realized that the cake might endanger the teeth of the guests. Accordingly it was put into the oven to soften, but instead it got charred. It came to the table blackened with a hard carbonized crust. One had to scrape away the crust with a knife. The apples shrank smaller and smaller; they became puckered and the size of cherries. Old oranges grew mouldy and became silvery. The cheapest fruit was purchased. The plums had splits, and their reddish flesh swelled like that of a wounded person. Over the course of time the Emmental lost its moisture and was hard as the wood that Perlefter bought. From twenty different bottles you could gather altogether sixty drops of liquor. In the cigar boxes, which were intended for guests, could be found only one layer of cigars. The curtain ropes were broken for months. One closed the curtains by hand, pulled them together, but they didn’t work as desired; they refused. All objects were in a state of permanent opposition. The doors creaked. They had cracks the width of a finger and let the cold air through. Into the large furnace were placed tiny pieces of coal. The humidifier didn’t work. The best carpets lay rolled up in the attic, covered with a bunch of newspapers. Torn linoleum was spread on the tables. The pretty red-velvet chairs were covered in white linen, like furniture corpses eerily awaiting their funeral. The flower vases lacked their bases. The coffee service had only nine cups; the tenth was cracked. Near the crystal fruit bowl lay its broken handle. After being worn down through so much use the knives had thin and flexible blades like fencing foils. They were blunt and had to be sharpened daily in the kitchen on the edge of an earthenware pot. The piano was ever out of tune, for Perlefter had bought the cheapest one — one of the oldest — at half price. It was a bargain. The gramophone was hoarse; the records lay worn and dusty in an old cylindrical case. Two pendulum clocks stood, both missing their weights. The alarm clock rang only once a week and only when one was not expecting it, usually after midnight. The doorbell did not work, and on the door was ever the reminder ‘Knock loudly!’ All the family’s umbrellas were broken. The locks on all the suitcases had to be opened by force, because every family member had lost his or her key. There was a clothing stand that could not find its balance and constantly swayed, even if it carried no clothes.