Flotsam (7 page)

“So that was it.”

“Please excuse me,” said the third man. “I’ll stay awake now. Excuse me.”

“Oh nonsense,” said the man with the eyeglasses, going
back to his bed. “Your nightmares don’t bother us a bit. Do they, young man?”

“Not a bit,” Kern repeated.

There was a click and the room became dark. Kern lay down, but for a long time he could not go to sleep. That had been strange, that experience in the next room. The soft breast under the thin sheet. He could still feel it, and it seemed to him as if his hand were no longer the same.

Later he heard the man who had cried out get up and seat himself beside the window. His bowed head was revealed against the brightening gray of the dawn like the somber statue of a slave. Kern watched him for a time and then fell asleep.

* * *

Josef Steiner had no trouble getting back across the border. He knew the ground well and his experience of wartime patrol duty stood him in good stead. He had been a company guide and in 1915 had received the Iron Cross for a dangerous reconnaissance on which he had captured a prisoner.

In an hour’s time he was out of the danger zone. He took the trolley for Vienna. There were not many people in the car. The conductor recognized him. “Back already?”

“A ticket to Vienna, second class,” Steiner said.

“Quick work,” said the conductor.

Steiner glanced at him. “I know all about it,” the conductor went on. “People are sent out under guard every day—you soon get to know the officers. It’s a nasty business. You rode out in this car, but you wouldn’t remember that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The conductor laughed. “You’ll remember. Look, stand on the back platform. If an inspector comes along jump off—but that’s not likely at this hour. You’ll save the price of a ticket.”

“Thanks.”

Steiner got up and went to the back of the car. He felt the wind on his face and saw the lights of the little vineyard villages rush by. He filled his lungs, enjoying the headiest of all intoxications, the intoxication of freedom. His blood tingled and he felt the strong glow of his muscles. He was alive. He had not been caught; he was alive and had escaped.

“Have a cigarette, brother,” he said to the conductor who had joined him at the rear of the car.

“All right. But I can’t smoke it now. Thanks.”

“I can smoke mine, though.”

“Yes.” The conductor laughed good-naturedly. “That’s where you have it over me.”

“Yes,” Steiner said, drawing the fragrant smoke deep into his lungs, “that’s where I have it over you.”

He went to the rooming house where the police had picked him up. The landlady was still sitting in her office. She was startled at sight of Steiner.

“You can’t stay here,” she said quickly.

“Oh, yes I can,” Steiner said, putting down his knapsack.

“It’s out of the question, Herr Steiner. The police may come back any time. Then they’ll shut up my house.”

“Dear Luise,” Steiner said equably, “the safest place during the war was a fresh shell-hole. Another hardly ever landed immediately in the same place. So, for the time being, your flea-bag is one of the safest in Vienna.”

The landlady ran her hands distractedly through her hair. “You’re the ruination of me,” she announced pathetically.

“How nice! That’s what I’ve always wanted to be! Someone’s ruination! You’re a romantic creature, Luise.” Steiner
looked around. “Is there still a little coffee and a drop to drink?”

“Coffee? And a drink?”

“Yes, dear Luise! I knew you would understand me. Such a pretty woman! Is that still the bottle of plum brandy in the cupboard?”

The landlady looked at him helplessly. “Yes, of course,” she said at last.

“Just the thing!” Steiner fetched the bottle and two glasses. “Won’t you have one too?”

“I?”

“Yes, you. Who else?”

“No.”

“Oh, come, Luise! Have one as a favor to me. There’s something unfriendly about drinking alone. Here—” He filled a glass and offered it to her.

The landlady hesitated, then took the glass. “Oh, very well. But you won’t try to stay here, will you?”

“Only for a few days,” Steiner said pacifyingly, “not more than a few days. You bring me luck. And I have plans afoot.” He smiled. “And now the coffee, dear Luise.”

“Coffee? I have no coffee here.”

“Yes you have, my child. It’s standing right over there. And I bet it’s good.”

The landlady laughed in exasperation. “Aren’t you the one! Besides, my name is not Luise; my name is Therese.”

“Therese, you are a dream.”

The landlady brought him the coffee. “Old Seligmann’s things are still here,” she said, pointing to a bag. “What in the world shall I do with them?”

“Was that the Jew with the gray beard?”

The landlady nodded. “He’s dead. I heard that much and no more—”

“Well, that’s enough for one man. Don’t you know where his children are?”

“How should I know? I can’t bother my head about things like that.”

“That’s true.” Steiner pulled the bag toward him and opened it. A number of rolls of yarn of various colors fell out. Under them, carefully packed, lay a box of shoelaces. Then came a suit, a pair of shoes, a Hebrew book, some shirts, a couple of cards of horn buttons, a small chamois bag containing one-schilling pieces, two phylacteries and a white prayer robe wrapped in tissue paper. “Not much for a whole life, eh, Therese?”

“Many have less.”

“That’s right too.” Steiner examined the Hebrew book and found a slip of paper stuck under the paper inside the cover. Carefully he drew it out. There was an address written in ink on it. “Aha! I’ll make inquiries here.” He stood up. “Thanks for the coffee and the brandy, Therese. I’ll be late tonight. You’d better put me in a room on the ground floor opening on the court. Then I can get out quick.”

The landlady was about to say something, but Steiner raised his hand. “No, no, Therese! If the door is locked on my return, I’ll come back with the whole Vienna police force. But I’m sure it won’t be locked. To give lodging to the homeless is a commandment of God. You’ll get a thousand years of bliss in Heaven for doing it. I’ll just leave my knapsack here.”

He left. He knew it was pointless to continue the conversation and he understood the extraordinarily persuasive effect that personal belongings exert upon people who lead regular lives. His knapsack would be more effective in finding quarters
for him than any amount of pleading. By its voiceless presence alone it would overcome the landlady’s last objections.

Steiner went to the Café Sperler. He wanted to find the Russian, Tschernikoff. During detention they had agreed to wait there after midnight for each other on the first and second day after Steiner’s release. The Russians had had fifteen years more experience in being men without a country than the Germans. Tschernikoff had promised Steiner to look about and see whether forged passports could be bought in Vienna.

Steiner sat down at a table in the corner. He intended to order something to drink, but the waiters paid no attention to him. You did not have to order anything here; most of the people had no money.

The place was a typical emigrees’ exchange. It was full of people. Many of them were sleeping sitting up on benches and chairs; others lay on the floor with their backs against the wall. They were filling in the time until the café was closed by sleeping for nothing. From five in the morning until noon they would stroll about and wait for the café to open again. Most of them were intellectuals. They had the hardest time adjusting themselves.

A man in a checked suit with a face like a full moon seated himself beside Steiner and regarded him for a while with lively black eyes. “Something to sell?” he asked finally. “Jewelry? Even old jewelry? I pay cash.”

Steiner shook his head.

“Suits? Shirts? Shoes?” The man looked at him searchingly. “A wedding ring perhaps?”

“Go away, you vulture,” Steiner snarled. He hated these
peddlers who tried to cheat bewildered emigrees out of their last few belongings for a couple of groschen.

He called to a passing waiter. “You there! A cognac.”

The waiter glanced at him in bewilderment and came over. “Did you ask for a lawyer? There are two here. Over there in the corner is Lawyer Silber of the Court of Appeals in Berlin: one schilling per consultation. At the round table beside the door is Judge Epstein of the Munich Circuit Court: fifty groschen per consultation. Just between us, Silber is better.”

“I don’t want a lawyer, I want a cognac,” Steiner said.

The waiter put his hand to his ear. “Did I understand you correctly? A cognac?”

“Yes. A drink that tastes better if the glasses aren’t too small.”

“Very well. I beg your pardon, but I’m a little hard of hearing. And then I’m not used to the word any more. Coffee is almost the only thing that’s ordered here.”

“All right. Then bring me the cognac in a coffee cup.”

The waiter brought the cognac and remained standing by the table. “What’s the matter?” Steiner asked. “Do you want to watch me drink it?”

“You have to pay in advance. That’s the rule here. Otherwise we’d go bankrupt.”

“If that’s the rule, here you are.” Steiner paid.

“That’s too much,” the waiter said.

“The change is your tip.”

“Tip?” The waiter rolled the word on his tongue. “My God,” he said with emotion, “that’s the first one in years! Thank you, sir. That makes a fellow feel like a man again!”

A few minutes later the Russian came in. He saw Steiner immediately and sat down with him.

“I was beginning to think you’d left Vienna, Tschernikoff.”

The Russian laughed. “With us the probable is always the improbable. I found out everything you wanted to know.”

Steiner emptied his glass. “Can you get papers?”

“Yes. Even very good ones. The best forgery I have seen in years.”

“I’ve got to get out of the country,” Steiner said. “I’ve got to have papers. I’d rather run the risk of a penitentiary with a false passport than stand this constant anxiety and these trips to the lock-up. What have you seen?”

“I was in the Hellebarde Café. That’s where the people do business now. They are the same ones as seven years ago. Reliable enough in their way. To be sure the cheapest papers cost four hundred schillings.”

“What can you get for that?”

“The passport of a dead Austrian. Good for one year more.”

“One year. And then?”

Tschernikoff looked at Steiner. “Abroad it might be extended. Or a skillful hand could alter the date.”

Steiner nodded.

“Besides, there are two passports that belong to dead German refugees. But they cost eight hundred schillings apiece. Completely forged ones are not to be had under fifteen hundred. I wouldn’t recommend them to you anyway.”

Tschernikoff tapped the ash off his cigarette. “For the time being there’s nothing to be expected from the League of Nations in your case. For those who have come into the country illegally without a passport, nothing at all. Nansen is dead; he was the one who got our passports for us.”

“Four hundred schillings?” Steiner said. “I have twenty-five.”

“You’ll be able to beat them down a little. To three hundred and fifty, I’d say.”

“Compared to twenty-five it’s all the same. But that doesn’t make any difference; I’ll see to it that I get the money. Where is the Hellebarde?”

The Russian drew a slip of paper out of his pocket. “Here is the address. Also the name of the waiter who acts as go-between. He calls the people up when you tell him to. He gets five schillings for doing it.”

“Fine. I’ll see how I make out.” Steiner put the slip away carefully. “A thousand thanks for taking so much trouble, Tschernikoff.”

“Not at all,” the Russian waved away the thanks. “One does what one can when there’s a chance. You never know when you’ll be in the same fix yourself.”

“Yes.” Steiner stood up. “I’ll look you up again here and tell you how it comes out.”

“Fine. I’m often here about this time. I play chess with the South German master. The man over there with the earlocks. Never thought in normal times that I’d have the good fortune to play with an expert like that.” Tschernikoff smiled. “Chess is a passion of mine.”

Steiner nodded to him. Then stepping over a few young people who were lying asleep with open mouths along the wall, he went to the door. At Circuit Judge Epstein’s table sat a pudgy Jewess. Epstein was lecturing unctuously and she sat with folded hands staring at him as though at an unreliable god. In front of her on the table lay fifty groschen. Epstein’s hairy left hand lay close beside them like a great spider in wait.

Outside Steiner took a deep breath. The soft night air seemed like wine after the stale smoke and gray misery of the café. I
must get away, he thought, I must get away at any price. He looked at his watch. Although it was late he decided to try to find the cardsharp.

The little bar, which the cardsharp had told him was his hangout, was almost empty. Only two showily dressed girls were perched like parrots on high chairs with their feet on the nickel railing of the bar.

“Has Fred been here?” Steiner asked the barkeep.

“Fred?” The barkeep looked at him sharply. “What do you want with Fred?”

“I want to repeat the Lord’s Prayer with him, brother. What did you think?”

The barkeep reflected for a while. “He left an hour ago,” he said finally.

“Will he be back?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

“All right, then I’ll wait. Give me a vodka.”

Steiner waited for about an hour. He thought over all the things he could turn into cash. But it didn’t amount to more than about seventy schillings. The girls had paid him only cursory attention. They sat around for a while longer, then strutted out. The barkeep began to shake and throw dice by himself.

“Shall we throw a round?” Steiner asked.

“Go ahead.”

They threw and Steiner won. They went on playing. Steiner threw four aces twice in succession. “I seem to have luck with aces,” he said.

“You have luck anyway,” the barkeep replied. “What sign were you born under?”