Emil and the Detectives (2 page)

A PRETTY FANCY TRAIN COMPARTMENT

This compartment is part of a train bound for Berlin. I suppose it's safe to say that strange things will occur in this compartment, already in the next few chapters. Train compartments are odd affairs to begin with. Complete strangers find themselves together here and after a few hours know each other so well, it's as if they've been friends for years. Sometimes that's all very nice and completely normal. Sometimes, however, it's not. After all, who knows who those people are?

THE MAN IN THE BOWLER HAT

Nobody knows him. They say you should always assume the best about people until they've proven themselves to be otherwise. But I'd like to urge you all to be on your guard around this guy. As they say, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Humans are fundamentally good, they say. And that may well be true. But you can't make it too easy on them, those good humans. Otherwise they might go bad all of a sudden.

PONY THE HAT, EMIL'S COUSIN

This little girl on the bike is Emil's cousin from Berlin. Some people insist that a cousin can be any distant relative, and that for the sake of precision I should introduce her as Emil's first cousin. I don't know what it's like in your family, but I call all my cousins—first, second, even third—simply “cousin,” and it's no different with the Tabletoes. Of course, if people don't like it, they're free to take a pencil and insert the word “first” over or under “cousin.” I'm not going to argue about it. In any case, Pony the Hat is a charming girl and that's not her real name. Her mother and Mrs. Tabletoe are sisters. Pony the Hat is just a nickname.

THE HOTEL ON NOLLENDORF SQUARE

Nollendorf Square is in Berlin. And right on Nollendorf Square, if I'm not mistaken, is the hotel where various people in this story come together without ever actually meeting. But it could just as well be on Wittenberg Place. Or even on Fehrbellin Place. Which is to say: I know exactly where it is, but the hotel manager came to me when he heard I was planning to write a book about this business, and asked me not to mention the address. It would hardly be good publicity for his hotel if it got around that “those kinds” of people stayed there. I told him that was fine with me. And he went on his way.

THE BOY WITH THE BICYCLE HORN

His name is Gustav, or Gus for short. And he has the best grades in gym. What else does he have? A pretty good heart and a bicycle horn. All the kids in the neighborhood know him and treat him like he was their president. When he runs through the courtyards honking his horn, the boys drop everything, plunge down the stairs, and ask him what's happening. Mostly he's just drumming up a couple of teams for a soccer game, and they all go off to the playground. But sometimes the bicycle horn has other uses. Like now, in this situation with Emil.

THE BANK BRANCH OFFICE

In every neighborhood the large banks have their branch offices. If you have the money, you can commission the purchase of stocks there; and if you have an account, you can withdraw cash. You can cash checks there, too, as long as they're not “for deposit only.” Sometimes salesclerks and assistants come by to change a ten-mark bill into hundreds of smaller coins so their cashier will have something to make change with. And if someone wants to convert dollars or Swiss francs or liras into German money, they can do that here, too. Even at night, sometimes, people come to the bank. Even though there's no one there to help them. So they help themselves instead.

EMIL'S GRANDMA

She's the most upbeat grandmother I've ever met. Despite the fact that all she's had her whole life long is trouble. For some people it isn't hard at all to be in a good mood. For others, it's serious, difficult business. Back in the day, Emil's grandmother lived with his parents. But when Mr. Tabletoe the master plumber passed away, she went to live with her other daughter in Berlin. Emil's mother didn't earn enough to support three people. Now the old woman lives in Berlin. And every letter she writes ends with the words, “I'm doing fine and I hope the same for you.”

THE CASE ROOM OF A MAJOR NEWSPAPER

Everything that happens turns up in the news. It just has to be a little unusual. When a calf is born with four legs, that's not so interesting, of course. But when it has five or six—and it happens!—then the grownups like to read about it over breakfast. When Mr. Mueller is an upstanding citizen, no one particularly cares. But when Mr. Mueller puts water in the milk and goes selling it as half-and-half, then he's sure to find himself in the paper. No matter what he does. Have you ever walked by a newspaper building at night? You can hear it ringing and tapping and clattering inside, and the wall shakes.

So, now we can finally start!

“A
ND
,”
SAID
M
RS
. T
ABLETOE
, “
DON
'
T FORGET TO BRING
that pitcher of warm water with you.” She had already grabbed the other pitcher and the little blue tub of chamomile shampoo and was walking from the kitchen into the living room. Emil grabbed his pitcher and walked out after his mom.

In the living room a woman was sitting with her head leaned back over the white sink. Her hair was untied and hung down like a lot of loose knitting yarn. Emil's mother poured the chamomile shampoo into the blonde hair and began lathering the woman's head.

“Is it too hot?” she asked.

“No, it's fine,” the head answered.

“Oh, it's Mrs. Worth, the baker's wife! Hello there!” said Emil and set down his pitcher under the wash-stand.

“Aren't you lucky, Emil. I hear you're going to Berlin,” said the head. It sounded like someone talking from under a pile of whipped cream.

“He didn't really want to go at first,” said Emil's mother as she scrubbed the baker's wife's scalp. “But why should the boy spend his vacation here, boring himself to death? He doesn't know Berlin at all. And my sister Martha has been trying to get us to come for years. Her husband has a good paying job. He works for the post office. A desk job. Of course I can't go with him. There's too much to do before the holidays. But, well, he's a big boy. He'll just have to be careful on the train is all. Anyway, my mother is picking him up at Frederick Street Station. They're meeting in front of the flower shop.”

“I'm sure he'll like Berlin. It's a great place for kids. We were there with our bowling league a year ago. It was so busy! They have streets there that really are as bright at night as they are during the day. And you should have seen the cars!” Mrs. Worth exclaimed from inside the sink.

“Are there a lot of foreign cars there?” asked Emil.

“How would I know?” said Mrs. Worth and started to sneeze. The soapsuds had gotten into her nose.

“Listen you, you'd better get ready,” Emil's mother said to himother said to him. “I laid out your good suit in the bedroom. Go put it on now so we can eat lunch when I'm finished doing Mrs. Worth's hair.”

“What shirt should I wear?” asked Emil.

“It's all out on the bed. And don't rip your socks when you put them on. And make sure you wash up first. And put new shoelaces in the shoes. Shake a leg!”

“Oh heck,” remarked Emil, and strolled off.

Once Mrs. Worth had gotten her permanent, admired it in the mirror, and left, Emil's mother went to the bedroom and found Emil walking around with a frown on his face.

“Could you please tell me who invented the good suit? “I have no idea. Why do you want to know?”

“Give me his address and I'll shoot the man!”

“Oh, you poor boy! And to think of all those other kids who are sad because they don't even have a good suit. I suppose we all have our troubles… Oh, before I forget, ask Aunt Martha to iron it for you tonight, and make sure to hang it up on a hanger. Do me a favor and brush it off first, though. Then tomorrow you can wear your cardigan again, your army jacket. Anything else? Your suitcase is packed. The flowers for Aunt Martha are wrapped up. I'll give you the money for Grandma later. And now, young man, we should have some lunch.” Mrs. Tabletoe put her arm around Emil's shoulders and transported him into the kitchen.

They had macaroni and ham with grated parmesan cheese. Emil gobbled it down like a machine. Except every now and then he stopped and looked over at his mom as if he were afraid that, with him leaving so soon, she might be offended by his eating so much.

“Write me as soon as you get there. I packed a postcard. It's in the suitcase, right on top.”

“No problem,” said Emil, pushing a piece of macaroni off his knee as discreetly as possible. Luckily his mom didn't notice a thing.

“And give everyone my love. And keep your head on your shoulders. People in Berlin are different than they are here in New Town. On Sunday Uncle Robert will take you to the Bode Museum. So behave yourself. I don't want people thinking we have no manners here.”

“You have my word of honor,” said Emil.

After they ate, they went back into the living room. Mom pulled a tin box from the cabinet and counted the money in it. She shook her head and counted it again. Then she asked, “Who was here yesterday afternoon, do you remember?”

“Miss Thomas,” Emil said, “and Mrs. Homburg.”

“Right. But it's still off.” She thought for a moment, looked for the piece of paper with her earnings written down on it, added them up, and said at last, “I'm missing eight marks.”

“The gas man was here this morning.”

“Of course! Then this is the correct amount, unfortunately.” Emil's mother let out a whistle, presumably to vent her troubles, then she pulled three bills out of the tin box. “Emil, here's a hundred and forty marks. One hundred mark bill and two twenties. Give a hundred twenty to Grandma and tell her I'm sorry I didn't send anything last time. I just didn't have enough. So instead I'm giving it to you to give to her. And more than usual. Give her a kiss for me, too. All right? The other twenty is for you.

Use it to buy your ticket back. It should come to ten marks. I don't know the exact amount. The rest is for you to use when you all go out, to pay for what you eat and drink. Well, it's always good to have a few extra marks in your pocket just in case. So, here's the envelope from Aunt Martha's letter. I'll put the money in here. Just make sure you don't lose it! Where will you keep it?”

She put the three bills into the envelope, which had been slit open along its length, folded it in half, and handed it to Emil.

He thought for a moment, then slipped the envelope into his right inside pocket, deep down, patted the outside of his blue suit coat to make sure, and said confidently, “Well, it's not going anywhere now.”

“And don't tell anyone in the train how much money you have on you!”

“Mom!” Emil was deeply insulted. To think he could do something so stupid!

Mrs. Tabletoe added a little money to her wallet. Then she brought the tin box back to the cupboard and took another look at the letter from her sister in Berlin, which listed the exact departure and arrival times for Emil's train…

Some of you are no doubt thinking that there's no point in having such a long talk, like the one Mrs. Tabletoe the hairdresser just had with her son, over a mere hundred and forty marks. And for people who make two thousand or twenty thousand or even a hundred thousand marks a month, there certainly wouldn't be.

But in case you haven't heard, most people earn much, much less. Whether you like it or not, anyone who makes thirty-five marks a week has to consider the hundred and forty marks that he or she has saved up to be a lot of money. For the vast majority of people, a hundred marks is practically as good as a million; an extra three or six or seven zeroes hardly makes a difference. Even in their dreams they couldn't imagine how much a million is really worth.

Emil no longer had a father. So his mother had a lot to do. She worked as a hairdresser in her living-room salon, washing blonde hair and brown. She worked long hours to make sure they had food on the table and could pay not only for the gas, electricity, and rent, but for clothes, books, and school fees, too. Sometimes, though, she got sick and had to stay in bed. The doctor came and prescribed medicine, and Emil prepared hot compresses for her and cooked in the kitchen for the two of them. When she was asleep, he even mopped the floor with a wet rag so she wouldn't say, “I should get up. The house is a mess.”

Would you understand what I meant, and not laugh, if I told you that Emil was a momma's boy?

You see, he really loved his mom. He would have died of shame if he caught himself being lazy while she worked and counted every penny and kept on working. So imagine if he stopped doing his homework or started copying off of Richard Naumann. Imagine him going out of his way to skip school. He saw what she went through to make sure he had everything the other students had. So just imagine him lying to her and making her worry.

Emil was a momma's boy. It's true. But he wasn't the type that can't help being that way because they're cowards and selfish and not really kids at all. He was a momma's boy because he wanted to be one. He had made a resolution, the way you make a resolution to stop going to the movies or eating candy. He made a resolution, and it wasn't always easy to keep it.

But when he came home at Easter break and could say, “Look at my report card, Mom. Straight A's again!” then he knew it was worth it. He enjoyed the praise he got at school and everywhere else, not for his own sake, but because it made Mom happy. He was proud that in his own way he could pay back even a little of what she had tirelessly given him her whole life…

“Goodness!” cried Emil's mom, “we have to get to the station. It's a quarter past one already, and the train leaves shortly before two.”

“Then let's get going, Mrs. Tabletoe!” said Emil to his mom. “But, just so you know, I'm carrying the suitcase myself!”