By five to nine I had paid. I got up, took my suitcase, and went into the street. I went along the station road, then fearlessly down our main promenade, the Ulmenallee, and so to the market square where the bank is. Here I was well inside enemy territory. Directly opposite the bank is the Town Hall, on the ground floor of which is situated the very police station that was probably called last night on my account. And one minute from the market square is my own business-place to which, perhaps, this farm-cart is rolling with its load of wheat-sacks. I really was rather excited and before I entered the bank I dried my sweating hands with my handkerchief. Then I went in.
In the bank, I saw at a glance that, at this time of day, shortly after opening, there were only a few office-boys and typists fidgeting with papers. I put the suitcase down, hung up my hat, and went over to the counter behind which sat the clerk who looked after my account. Smiling, I bade him “Good morning” and told him that I had just returned from a lengthy journey (I pointed to my suitcase by the door) and that I would like to ascertain the state of my current account. And while I said all this lightly and without hesitation, I examined his face, inwardly trembling, for any sign of mistrust, suspicion, doubt. But nothing of this showed in the young man’s face. He willingly opened the book, totted up some figures with his pencil for a minute, and then said quite indifferently that at the moment my account stood at seven thousand eight hundred odd marks and some pfennigs.
I could hardly conceal a start of joyous surprise, I had never expected so much in my wildest dreams. It was something of a puzzle to me how Magda had managed it. Probably the prison administration had settled up for the delivery of the cordage, but even that could not nearly have accounted for so much. Well anyway, I told myself, suppressing my happy excitement, there was money enough there, enough for the business and above all enough for me and my plans. For the moment I struggled with the temptation to draw out the whole amount, but I conquered myself. I did not want to behave meanly to Magda and the business, however meanly she had behaved to me. Apart from that, such a withdrawal, which would have looked like the closing of my account, would have attracted too much attention.
All this went through my head like lightning, and now I said casually that I had a large payment to make today, and asked for pen and ink. Still standing by the counter, I made out a cheque for five thousand marks, and handed it to the book-keeper. With a last remnant of fear I examined his face again, but without a moment’s hesitation he made the necessary entries, stamped the cheque, and himself took it over to the cashier’s compartment. I went over too. I was animated by a feeling of proud triumph and boundless joy. Now I had done Magda beautifully: that she had been stupid enough not to give the bank the slightest hint, that showed my enormous superiority in its true light. I could have danced and shouted for joy. It was only with an effort that I suppressed a laughing fit that overtook me.
“How would you like the money, Herr Sommer?” asked the cashier.
“In big notes,” I said hastily, “that is, in fifties and hundreds, and about two hundred marks in small change.”
In two minutes I had my money, put it away carefully in my breast pocket, and stepped like a proud conjuror into the market square. Just as I was going through the revolving doors, the idea occurred to me that this triumph ought really to be celebrated. Despite the early hour, I wanted to go to a little wine-bar in the market square and, with a bottle or two of burgundy, to eat a lobster or some oysters, or whatever Rohloff had, according to the season of the year.
I step out of the door, and before me stands the inevitable, the repulsive Lobedanz, looking at me with his slimy smile.
20
If this had not been the open market square I would have strangled the scoundrel! As it was I only looked at him darkly, menacingly for a moment, held on tighter to my case, and without taking further notice of him, made my way toward the station. But I knew full well that he was following on my heels and soon I heard his hateful soft insinuating voice:
“Do let me carry your case, sir! Please let me carry your case, sir!”
I pretended I had not heard, and walked on faster. But suddenly I felt a hand near mine on the handle of the case, and, in broad daylight on the open street, Lobedanz had taken the suitcase out of my hand.
Furiously I turned and shouted: “Give me back that case at once, Lobedanz!”
He smiled humbly.
“Not so loud, sir,” he begged in a whisper. “People are looking. That’s embarrassing for you, sir. Not for a poor working man like me, but for you, sir.…”
“Give me back that case at once, Lobedanz,” I repeated, but quieter, for people really were looking at us.
“Later, later,” he said soothingly. “I like to carry it, sir. To the station, eh?” And without waiting for an answer, he passed by me and went on ahead to the station. I followed him with a helpless feeling of impotence. I looked with hatred at this slightly bowed figure in the dark-blue jacket. Ever since those minutes during which I walked behind Lobedanz to the station, I have known how a murderer feels immediately before his crime. And I could do nothing to him, nothing at all. He was stronger than I, physically as well as morally. He only needed to call the nearest policeman, and I was lost. He knew that perfectly well, the scoundrel. If I had been a bit more calm and collected at that moment, I could have left Lobedanz peacefully in possession of my suitcase, and dodged off quickly into some side street. With such a large sum of money in my pocket, the loss of the suitcase could easily be put up with—just the ransom to buy myself free from the miserable rogue. But these thoughts did not occur to me, my blood was boiling, I could not think.
Having reached the square in front of the station, instead of going in, Lobedanz turned into the public convenience that lay to the left, hidden by bushes. He did not look round at me, being certain that I would follow him like a little dog. Once in there, he put the suitcase down, pulled on his fingers till the joints cracked, and said: “Now, sir, we can talk peacefully here.”
I looked round. The water was rushing in the half-dozen urinal basins, but customers were lacking at this early hour. Lobedanz was right: we could talk in peace here.
“And so we will!” I cried furiously. “What do you think you’re doing, Lobedanz, running after me and spying on me all the time, last night already, and now again …”
“Spying on you?” he echoed, reproachfully. “But sir, I’ve brought you your brandy,” and he actually took it out of his trousers pocket. “You forgot it this morning. But I’m an honest man. I said to my wife: ‘The gentleman paid for the brandy, so he ought to get it.’ So here I am.”
He held the bottle out to me.
“Drink up, sir, I’ve uncorked it already. The cork’s quite loose.”
I made a furious gesture. He wasn’t discouraged. He offered me the bottle again.
“Do drink,” he insisted. “You’re such a nice gentleman when you’ve had a drop to drink. It doesn’t suit you at all when you’re sober. You’re always so irritable then.…”
He took the cork out of the bottle and rubbed its wet butt to and fro on the neck of the bottle.
“Listen, sir,” he said laughing, “the schnaps is calling you.”
And really, to this day I can’t make it out, but by his idiotic behaviour the rogue got me round again. Now laughing myself, I seized the bottle, cried “You miserable scoundrel, you!” and drank and drank. Then I took the bottle away from my mouth, corked it, thrust it into my own trousers pocket, and asked: “But what do you want from me, Lobedanz? Haven’t you had everything you were supposed to get?”