Epitaph for a Working ManO (9 page)

It was New Year's Day, or perhaps the day after. After Bürmatt there was already no one left on the bus except for us two and the driver. Sophie had gone skiing just after Christmas and had come back on New Year's Eve.

Father was not sitting in his usual place near the window. He was sitting at the table.

Today had been the first time in all the twelve years he'd been here that he'd not gone down to the dining room for breakfast. It had been brought to him in his room. He'd drunk the coffee but he hadn't managed to eat the bread.

There was something very strange about it.

His legs couldn't carry him any more. He'd got out of bed, and had noticed at once that there was something wrong. He'd held on to the bedstead and had managed to get along the wall as far as the second wardrobe; and there he'd collapsed. It was as though his legs had vanished. Not that he hadn't felt them, there was just no strength left in them.

Naef had called for help.

They'd picked him up from the floor and sat him down at the table.

Now he was sitting here.

He'd drunk the coffee they'd brought him. He'd had two cups. He'd even put sugar in.

He didn't know yet how he would manage to get out to the toilet on his own. This morning they'd had to take him step by step. In the night, he'd still managed on his own. It had taken him a quarter of an hour, but he'd managed.

Perhaps it was just a kind of morning weakness. He'd soon be able to tell. And otherwise he'd just fall over again. It wasn't so bad during the day.

No, he hadn't hurt himself. His left side hurt him anyway. That wasn't from his fall, it was his arthritis.

But now he wanted a smoke. Would I be so good as to go and get him some cigarettes from the Löwen. Mrs Budmiger had recently ordered some Virginia cigarettes specially for him. I should buy two packets. His new purse was over there on the window-sill.

He insisted on paying for the cigarettes himself. He picked a five franc coin out of the stiff leather.

Sophie remained with him. She could talk to him better when they were alone. He nodded to me as I went out. He seemed to have taken heart again.

Before we left the home we tried to find the manager. But we couldn't find him, nor could we find his wife. We told a member of the staff that we were to be informed immediately if anything happened again.

There wasn't a bus back to town until a quarter past one, so we hitched a lift. A young man took us as far as Oenz. But Sophie felt embarrassed. She reckoned we could have treated ourselves to a taxi.

The ticket office at the Oenz station was closed. There wouldn't be a train for another half hour. The restaurant opposite the station was closed. We sat down in the overheated waiting room.

“How long do you think he's got?” I asked.

“I don't know,” she said.

“If only he could get his strength back, just once more, for a couple of weeks!”

“It's not very likely.”

“I suppose I'd better phone the doctor again.”

“Don't you think they'll notify him now, after your father's heavy fall?”

“Hardly. We should have told that woman there. They never think of anything themselves.”

“Ring him tomorrow,” said Sophie.

Our voices resounded in the waiting room.

“Since when have you started smoking Virginias?” she asked.

I shrugged. I had bought a packet for myself too at the Löwen.

We went outside. Crossed the rails. Sophie wanted to move about a little before the train came. We came past the service yard of a car body shop. A row of detached houses. Some distance away, near the edge of the forest, the wooden shelter of a shooting range. We turned back. The sky hung low over the forest and over the village.

Sophie said: “A good thing I had a couple of days in the sun.”

*

Dr Lätt: Mr Haller had a strong constitution, it could take a while yet.

Weeks or months, I asked.

Difficult to say, he said.

Wouldn't it be better to move him into the hospital, I asked.

No, it would probably be best to leave him in the home, he said. In his familiar surroundings. With the accompanying inconveniences of course, but at least he could smoke as much as he wanted; in the hospital he'd have to give up smoking, at least in his room.

Was there still a chance he might recover, just for a short time, I asked.

In cases like his everything was possible, he said.

*

Who will visit me when the time comes? An only child without offspring – the Hallers are dying out. Sophie never pressed me for a child. And anyway, that must be over by now.

Things will be better for Fritschi and his like. At least one of his three children will think: He looked after you in your first year, now he's in his last year you can take care of him. You take your child into your arms in the beginning, you lean on your child's arm in the end. It's only fair.

*

When he said he was going downhill fast I didn't contradict him. When he asked if it mightn't be better for him to go into hospital I didn't say that they'd be able to help him there. When he complained about Lätt I admitted that Lätt was an idiot but said I doubted whether another doctor could do better; if you were really ill doctors could seldom help. He nodded. He said, “That's how it is – we all have to pop off one day.” Or, “You're right – if only it weren't for this wretched pain!” We talked about the pain. I asked questions and he replied. He described where and how it hurt him. “The staff here,” he said, “haven't the faintest idea of what it's like.”

*

He didn't undress at night any more. The manager's wife complained to me about it. He wouldn't let them undress him: he wanted to go to bed in his clothes. She said he'd feel much more comfortable at night without his clothes. He was really hard-headed, she said. Couldn't I have a word with him?

“They can go to hell,” he said. “After all I'm the one who has to go for a pee twice a night. I'd wet the bed and my pants long before I'd got myself dressed.”

Was that the small improvement I'd hoped for? At least he could get up and go to the toilet by himself again.

*

The light was on in the room. From outside I saw that he was sitting at the table, his back to the window. The relief at seeing him sitting there like that. As long as he could sit on a chair at the table things hadn't got worse.

“I'd love a decent cup of real coffee from the Löwen for a change.” He looked doubtfully toward the door. “But I don't think I'd manage to get there today. It's too far for me. And the path's bound to be slippery.”

The landlady asked how Haller was, and when he'd be coming over again: people missed him. Instead of the cup she held a jug under the percolator. She put a little bottle of kirsch on the tray. “To warm him up in this cold weather.” He didn't take much sugar, she knew that; she put a few cubes down beside the jug: he could put in as much as he wanted himself. “What about matches, has he still got enough? Here, take these two books just in case.”

As I was about to pay she called across to her husband, who was playing cards with three men at one of the tables in the back, to ask what she should charge.

“For Haller? A jug of coffee?” he shouted. “We'll make it cheap today, four francs. With greetings from me too.” He turned back to his card game.

Behind the counter, she refused vehemently when I tendered the money. And to stress her point she put three more cups on the tray. “For you, and for Naef and Schertenleib in case they're also there. There's enough coffee for all of you.” Then, in the doorway: “You can leave the tray over there in the room. I'll collect it myself.”

*

The freckled shoulders. The unwashed neck, the blackheads. I rubbed in some of the cream Dr Lätt had given him in addition to the injections for his arthritis. It mightn't do any good, but at least it couldn't do any harm. I massaged the white cream into his shoulder. “That's nice, that feels good,” he said. He believed in it. Naef in his wicker chair laughed his little laugh. The next time he had a stiff neck he'd also apply for a massage, he said.

*

One evening after work Sophie went out to Breitmoos. She chatted with Father and Naef, and took the last postbus home shortly before eight.

Father had told her at length about a man named Portmann who had once been a curate in Birchlen – ages ago, but to him it seemed like yesterday. Generally he, Haller, didn't think much of those coalbags: clerics, curates and their kind. However Portmann was a man he'd liked. They'd lent each other books – he'd lent the curate Jack London and the curate had lent him books by a Frenchman, he couldn't remember his name, in German of course, he didn't know half enough French, something about the Spanish Civil War, or some other war, quite interesting really. Portmann was a man you could have discussions with. He subscribed to more than just the parish newsletter. That was reason enough to have him hounded out of the parish. Not openly, of course. The whole place may be reeking of muck, but those people will continue to talk blithely and piously of incense. The parish priest, the sacristan, the church council – he knew those plaster-of-Paris gentlemen. Not to mention the devout old maids. He'd spent enough time restoring churches and setting up gravestones.

Yes, Father had been full of pep.

Sophie's visits usually pepped him up. He'd always had a soft spot for his daughter-in-law.

*

Whenever the weather was bad I took the bus as far as Bürmatt, then the postbus. The smell of plastic and diesel: unless I'd taken travel sickness pills I felt sick. There were never many passengers on the bus; after Horbach I was often the only one. In Tägern the postmistress would be waiting in front of the house: she'd come up to the bus and hand the postbag over to the driver. In Weiermatten the driver usually had to get out and go over to the post office to collect the bag.

Once I was spoken to by a woman who had got on the bus in Tägern and taken the seat in front of me. The lousy weather, the cold. When I mentioned that I was going out to the home in Breitmoos she said the people were happy there. The place was cheap. Those people didn't want more amenities. They felt at home there. No one had ever complained. I pointed out that the outer Brühl district was very isolated. The woman admitted it was rather out of the way. On the other hand most of the inhabitants had lived in the area beforehand. You can't transplant old trees. She knew what it was like, she said, she'd worked there as a laundress. No, that was several years ago, there was no Mr Haller in the home at the time.

*

He couldn't sleep any more. He lay awake all night. He didn't know on which side to lie; it hurt him as much on his right as on his left. When he lay on his back he couldn't breathe properly. It was a nuisance when he had to go and have a pee, such a bore. It took him a quarter of an hour just to get out of his bed. Luckily he could still use his arms, otherwise he couldn't have done it. He had to hang on to the bedstead with both hands, then he had to keep hold of the bedstead with one hand and at the same time grab the window knob with the other. That's how he managed to haul himself on to the commode. Once he'd got there he could have a breather. It was unpleasant when he had to cough. It woke Naef and it also woke the other one, Schertenleib. And then he had to get back to bed. The most difficult part came at the end, getting himself up on the bed. Backwards, his right hand on the bedstead, his left hand on the mattress. He couldn't get a grip on the mattress. If only he had something he could pull himself up by. His legs were no use any more, they'd had it. But he'd soon work out how to manage.

When I wanted to move him nearer to the table I had to grasp him under his arms, lift him slightly, and at the same time shove the chair along with my leg. It was only when he was standing upright and could hold on to something with both hands that his legs just managed to carry him; when he was seated there wasn't enough strength in his knees to help him stand up.

*

Budmiger: “My my, Haller, you are going downhill! Your trousers have gone all baggy on you. When you're up there,” he pointed his chin toward the ceiling, “you can reserve me a seat. You'll do that for me, won't you?”

He'd brought over some schnapps and now stood there, large, purple-faced, in the middle of the room.

“You haven't got the energy any more have you, Haller, just haven't got the energy. I can see it. Here, what about a little sip of plum schnapps? Here, take a sniff, that'll set you up again, I'm sure it will.”

He poured himself a glass too.

“Ah well, we all end up in the starched white garment, sooner or later. – We can be frank with each other, can't we, the two of us? No need to beat about the bush.”

Father said nothing.

Schertenleib laughed.

Budmiger turned to me for support: “That's how it is, isn't it?”

A few weeks earlier Father would have replied: Of course I'll reserve you a seat. No doubt it'd have to be an armchair. Or rather, a big bed for you to recline your big fat belly on. That's all you want, here or elsewhere, isn't it? – And Budmiger would have taken him up on it, proferring more caustic remarks. There would have been the occasional fit of rumbling laughter from Schertenleib, which Father would have dismissed with a scornful shrug of his shoulders.

That's what it would have been like a few weeks earlier. Now Father remained silent. He gazed past Budmiger at the wall. Naef picked up his crutch and got up saying he had to go and peel potatoes.

*

“Does he still smoke?” asked Sophie.

“The same as ever,” I said. “I took him a carton of Virginias again.”

“The day he stops smoking,” she said, “the end will be near.”