The Passenger Read online

  And that was exactly what was happening to Otto Silbermann, who in his normal state was not one of those tragicomic figures known as Jewish anti-Semites. But at the moment he was so worked up he wasn’t thinking clearly, and he viewed the sheer existence of his coreligionists as an insult.

  You have all gotten me into this mess, he thought angrily, and glared at a man standing by the window whose appearance had led Silbermann to believe he was a fellow Jew. The man noticed and testily returned the scowl, then strode right up to Silbermann.

  “Do you have some score to settle with me?” he fumed.

  Silbermann was surprised and said nothing.

  “So why are you staring at me like that?” asked the man, who struck Silbermann as a low-level clerk.

  Silbermann didn’t answer.

  “Hey”—the man tapped his shoulder—“I’m talking to you!”

  “I refuse to be spoken to like that,” said Silbermann sharply.

  “Listen, if we weren’t stuck here on a train…” the other man answered, giving Silbermann a threatening glance.

  “Then what?” Silbermann asked coolly.

  “Then you would see!”

  A third person, evidently a friend of the offended party, mixed in. “Are you picking another fight, Max?” he asked, shaking his head.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  The other man put his hand on Max’s shoulder. “Just leave it be,” he said.

  “I have no idea what the gentleman wants from me,” Silbermann now explained.

  “Perhaps you said he was Jewish?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Silbermann answered, bewildered.

  “If you had he probably would have clobbered you. Because he isn’t, you see.”

  “I won’t have people staring at me as if I were squinty eyed and had moneybags strapped on in front and back,” said the man, now more conciliatory. “I’m in the party just like everybody else!”

  “I had no intention of offending you,” Silbermann assured the man. Then he turned around and went into the dining car where he ate his midday meal, which brightened his mood considerably. After much deliberation he finally resolved to go to Küstrin, to consult with his wife about the immediate future.

  Maybe I can stay there a few days, until the worst is over, he hoped. He also planned to call his son again.

  I’m never again going to try crossing the border illegally, he determined. It’s clear I’m only suited for an ordinary life and not cut out for extraordinary adventures. He recalled the scene in the forest near the border and the return march that followed. Then again, maybe I should have made one more attempt, he thought. Maybe it would have succeeded. Will I ever again make it out of German territory? he asked himself. Even though it had proven futile, he now recalled the previous day’s exploit with amazement that bordered on admiration.

  Viewed from the dining car, his adventure lost much of its drama, and what in the moment seemed like a fierce life-or-death struggle now became a memory that while it still weighed on him, was less tragic—to the point of being comical. Which made the defeat somewhat less dispiriting.

  It could have turned out a lot worse, he thought. I could have been caught by German guards. Besides, I’m not the only one hurt by how things turned out. Because now it’s daytime again, and the Belgian officials can see each other’s faces.

  This was very satisfying to imagine, and he dwelled on the idea for quite some time. Twenty thousand marks I offered them, he thought. I must have been out of my mind. What was I supposed to give the next official who stopped me, and the one after that, and the one after that one? He smiled. In any case, he mused, I’m a lot tougher than I realize.

  He paid and left. He very much hoped not to run into the man who had stood up to Silbermann’s “anti-Semitism,” and he didn’t.

  The copious, tasty meal had put Silbermann in a better mood, and once he was back in his compartment he sat down by the window and soon fell asleep. He slept for several hours and didn’t wake up until the train stopped in Hanover. He ordered a coffee from the dining car waiter who was passing by his compartment, then opened his window and stuck his head outside. He waved a newsboy over, purchased a few magazines, tossed them behind him onto his seat, and observed the travelers bustling around on the platform.

  An elegantly dressed lady, who was standing outside his window talking with an older lady, attracted his attention. Without meaning to listen in, he caught a few scraps of their conversation.

  “Don’t say too much,” said the older lady. “The less you speak, the better it is for you! After all, you have your lawyer, don’t you? Remember it makes a much better impression on the judge if you simply take the slanderous remarks in stride and refuse to let them bother you … And there’s no reason they should! After all he’s the one at fault!… And be polite!… Calm and polite, that always makes the best impression … Don’t let yourself get drawn into anything. Any settlement will invariably mean giving up your rights … And be sure to tell your lawyer that I’m prepared to testify on your behalf at any time. Just say the word and I’ll come right away!… I know how he’s treated you. It’s perfectly … Where’s the porter? Did you make a note of the number? I didn’t either … You should always do that, you never know when you might need it. Oh there he is … Hopefully you have a decent seat. Don’t smoke too much, it’s not good for your complexion … And like I said, I’m ready to come at a moment’s notice, you just have to write … And be sure and tell your lawyer everything. Otherwise he has no way of knowing … You’ve paid too little attention to the trial … And keep having him watched, by all means! The more you … The conductor is waving. You have to get on … Just send me word and I promise I’ll be there on the next train!”

  Silbermann stepped back from the window.

  So, those types of worries are still out there as well, he thought to himself, somewhat astonished. One should be wary of women with quarrelsome or malcontent girlfriends. Elfriede always only listened to me. He sighed.

  The door to his compartment slid open, a porter entered and stowed two suitcases on the luggage rack, then went back into the corridor and stood there waiting. Silbermann lit a cigarette and leafed through one of the magazines he had acquired.

  Now I’m curious, he thought.

  He heard the porter say thank you, and someone stepped inside.

  “Heil Hitler,” said a high female voice, by way of greeting.

  Silbermann looked up. “Heil,” he said in an unfriendly tone.

  He already knew quite a bit about the lady and at first observed her with only moderate interest. “Shall I close the window?” he asked.

  “Oh, just leave it open,” she replied, her gray-blue eyes flitting about in a very attractive way. As they met his gaze, Silbermann felt they registered and simultaneously affirmed his existence.

  Her face was striking, though not beautiful in the classical sense. Even so, Silbermann found her eyes so lively and absorbing it was difficult not to be influenced by them, and to cast a coolly critical verdict based on purely aesthetic criteria. Perhaps a woman might have ascertained that her mouth was a bit too large and her nose a bit too short, but Silbermann was no longer able to muster true objectivity. Her eyes had transferred to him something of the electricity that he suspected resided inside her, releasing a gentle wave of warmth, which made it difficult for him to form a calm opinion.

  The woman lit a cigarette and straightened her skirt. Then she opened her handbag to take out a lipstick and a compact mirror, stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray, after only a few puffs, and began applying her lipstick with intense concentration.

  Silbermann recalled having earlier disapproved of such public touch-ups, but now he found that the sight of a woman tending to herself so lovingly could have something heartwarming. The associated coquetry was not objectionable in all circumstances. Moreover, in certain exceptional cases it was not without a certain charm, and he was convinced he was sitting
across from precisely such a case.

  He also found that he had done well to shave before leaving Mönchengladbach, even if he couldn’t come up with any direct connection between his grooming operation and his new companion. He paged through his magazines, happy for the pleasant company, without entertaining further thoughts.

  Little by little, however, his worries began to return, and they were so oppressive that when she asked him a question ten minutes later, he had to get her to repeat it, as he hadn’t been listening.

  “I was just wondering,” she said, and her voice definitely had a kind of warm brightness, “whether the train makes another stop or if it goes straight through to Berlin.”

  “I believe it stops in Magdeburg and Oebisfelde,” Silbermann answered, putting down his magazine.

  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes as expressive as before. “You see, I forgot to pick up any reading material.”

  “Perhaps I might offer to share some of mine?” asked Silbermann.

  “That’s very kind, but surely you wish to read them yourself?”

  “Certainly not all of them. As you see I have several. Please.” He handed her two magazines. Meeting her eyes, Silbermann felt an enormous release of tension. “Is this your first time taking this route?” he asked.

  She sighed in the practiced manner of those whom experience has taught to maintain discipline even while sighing, and to stay within accepted convention.

  Silbermann was tactfully silent.

  “Unfortunately not,” she said at last.

  “Do you so dislike traveling?” he asked sympathetically.

  “On the contrary, but there are some occasions…” was all she said.

  “Of course,” said Silbermann, and sighed in a not-so-conventional manner. “There are some occasions…”

  She looked at him.

  Eyes like will-o’-the-wisps, he thought, dancing little lights.

  Then he said, “One can travel to escape calm. But one can also travel to find calm.”

  Her eyes smiled, he was convinced of that.

  “Frankly I’m just traveling to get to Berlin,” she said.

  Silbermann laughed.

  I’m married, he thought. I am a person in flight. I don’t have time to think about anything except my sad affairs, and I cannot and will not let myself be led astray.

  “Nevertheless I’m very glad,” he said, bending forward slightly to come closer to her, “that I took this train. It is so—pleasantly occupied.”

  Without answering him she took a magazine and began leafing through it.

  Silbermann felt unusually foolish. He stared at the drab landscape passing by outside the window and suspected that his face had turned red. Am I looking for some kind of romantic adventure? he asked himself. No, nothing could be further. Of course perhaps that might be a … but that’s nonsense.

  “Would you happen to have some matches?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he answered, and quickly searched his pockets. Eventually he found some and gave her a light.

  “Thank you,” she said, examining him quietly. Then all of a sudden she asked, “Would you happen to be a lawyer?”

  “Unfortunately I can’t say I am,” he said, surprised.

  “The thought just occurred to me.” She went back to the magazine she had been reading.

  “I see,” he said. “Actually there was a time when I wanted to become a lawyer. I even studied law for a few semesters. That proved helpful later on. Some degree of legal knowledge isn’t a bad thing for a businessman. Perhaps I can help you with something in particular?”

  “That’s not why I asked,” she replied.

  “So, do I look like a lawyer? Like documents and trials and default decrees and fee schedules?” he asked, smiling.

  “No,” she said. “I mean, I don’t know. I can never guess a person’s profession just by looking.”

  “May I then ask why you thought I might be one?”

  “Isn’t that unimportant?”

  “I’d be interested to learn the reason, but of course I don’t want to insist.”

  “You reminded me of someone,” she explained.

  “Hopefully to my advantage,” he joked.

  She laughed, and once again scrutinized him freely. “Comparisons are difficult,” she said, finally.

  “I guess I don’t come out so well in the balance?”

  They both laughed.

  There’s something about the woman that might be called easy, Silbermann thought. Perhaps I’m only imagining it, since I know more about her than I ought to. In any case I’ve met people dead set on showing how proper they are whom I found less pleasant. He looked at her. A beautiful fever, he thought, without knowing exactly why that image had occurred to him.

  “May I permit myself a question?” he inquired.

  “Why not?” she said. “After all, it’s up to me if I choose to answer.”

  “I wanted to ask you who it is I resemble.”

  “That’s unimportant,” she said, now cooler.

  “But it’s somehow on my mind.”

  “Let’s just leave it at that,” she said, and went back to her magazine.

  At what? he asked himself.

  Silbermann noticed she was holding the magazine close to her face. She’s nearsighted but too vain to wear glasses. He found this minor double foible very endearing, almost touching. He pretended to be deep in thought, while in reality he continued to study her face, which relaxed as she read. Her forehead wasn’t very high, he decided. In fact, it might almost be called low. He concluded that she couldn’t be a very difficult or overly complicated person. On the other hand … In any case I’ll never find out, he thought, with regret, and let out another sigh.

  “Are things that bad?” she asked him, part ironically, part sympathetically. Silbermann sensed kindness in her voice: a genuine, womanly kindness.

  “Things are even worse,” he answered. That was supposed to sound self-ironic, but his smile seemed forced.

  “Worries?” she asked, in a tone that was both interested and accommodating, but not without distance. “No doubt to do with your business.”

  She shook her head gracefully, to indicate how little she understood about the world of transactions, meetings, company foundings, and bankruptcies.

  “No,” was all he said.

  This clearly piqued her interest. She was probably more familiar with personal worries, and now undoubtedly relegated his to the realm of emotions. While the merger of two firms might be foreign to her, she clearly knew something about disagreements between two people.

  “What kind of worries can a businessman possibly have if not about business?” she asked.

  Her question wasn’t crude curiosity. All Silbermann heard was interest, pure human interest.

  “Not everything is always about money,” he replied, “although I’m the last man in the world who would deny its importance.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said.

  He was silent. Finally he made a visible effort and asked, “Madam, would you say that I resemble a human being?”

  She gave a perplexed smile and then grew very serious as she took in the tone of the strange question.

  “I would say so,” she said, emphasizing her answer with a firm nod of the head.

  “I would say so as well,” he replied. “Certainly I don’t suffer from so-called inferiority complexes on that score.”

  “But why should you?”

  Her question did him good.

  “I’m Jewish,” he explained, and looked at her almost threateningly.

  “Ahh…” she registered calmly.

  “That’s right! Perhaps you’re putting yourself at risk by talking to me?”

  “Why would that be?” she asked, and looked at him, unruffled.

  “I just thought perhaps. After all, not only have I been declared an outlaw, somehow I’ve also been made into a pariah. Isn’t that so?”

  “Why would tha
t be so?”

  “I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. When a person hasn’t had a real conversation for several days the words just come blurting out all on their own. You see, I’m on the run. I haven’t committed any crime, and not once in my life have I had anything to do with politics. Nevertheless they came to arrest me and they smashed up my apartment. Not entirely, but to a great extent. They’re arresting Jews, as you know. Well, that’s beside the point. Please forgive me!”

  He had talked himself into an agitated state. She kept looking at his face.

  “What is there for me to forgive?” she asked. “You’re the one who’s far more deserving of an apology.”

  “I accosted you with my story. A completely uninteresting tale. But the fact is I’m nervous because I’m being hunted. I’m not used to that. Somewhere inside I’m still living my old life, my normal life. After all, I used to be a free man! I don’t know how to come to terms with it.”

  “Couldn’t you get out of the country?”

  “Where would I go?” he almost shouted but then regained control. “No place will let me in. I waited too long, far too long. I also never thought they’d push things to the extreme. And imagine, I served on the front! I was a citizen like everybody else. Besides, my one attempt was foiled at the Belgian border. They caught me and took me back to German territory. So I’ve been traveling ever since. Second class, even though I’m still well off. When they finally arrest me they’ll get enough to furnish the state with a cannon or a torpedo. I don’t know exactly.”

  “Is it that bad?” she asked, her voice faltering some.

  He took pains to speak more calmly. “I may be exaggerating somewhat,” he said. “But when one is about to be guillotined and has no idea why, it’s hard to maintain one’s composure.”

  “Where are you intending to go now?” she asked compassionately.

  “All I can say is I’ll just keep moving,” he answered. “Beyond that I don’t know. I’ll keep traveling, keep going farther until they pounce, until I get stopped by some SA man. They’re the ones who set me in motion and they’ll be the ones who bring me to a halt.”