The Passenger Read online

  He raised the wineglass to his mouth. That was my last deal in Germany, he promised himself. To earn three thousand five hundred marks I risked seventy-eight thousand. He shook his head. Never again. Was it a sure thing? He was about to find out. He didn’t want to consider it a sure thing as long as Becker had the money. Then again, clearly Becker was someone he could rely on. He gave his friend another anxious, distressed look. Why didn’t the man come up with some pretext to leave the others and join him? And what on earth was he doing with two Sturmführers?

  When you think about it, what reason do I actually have to trust him? Silbermann worried. Trust is something I really can’t afford. Not that I have to be suspicious all the time, no—but I do have to be careful. Trust or caution? My brother Hans fell in the war, fighting for Germany. He had trust. But that’s just nonsense—what does one thing have to do with the other?

  Becker stood up.

  Now he’s going to sit down with me, Silbermann thought, and casually set his knife and fork down on his plate.

  But Becker strode calmly past his table, followed by the men in uniform, without so much as a greeting. For a moment Silbermann was speechless. Then he called out, “Waiter!” He paid for his meal, jumped up, and hurried after Becker, pulling his coat on as he walked. Becker had just left the dining room and was already in the lobby when Silbermann again caught sight of him. He was paying his bill, still accompanied by the two Sturmführers. Then he said a noisy good-bye to the clerk and left the hotel without noticing Silbermann, who had stopped as soon as he saw his partner.

  Now I’m done for, Silbermann thought, distraught. Becker’s going to cheat me out of my money, and then what? Beyond that he couldn’t say.

  After a moment’s reflection he followed Becker, who was flanked by the Sturmführers and chatting with them as he strolled leisurely toward a taxi stand. Suddenly he came to an abrupt halt, turned around, and saw Silbermann ten steps behind him, staring at him with wide eyes and a half-open mouth. Becker gave a reluctant grimace and touched his hat. Silbermann hastily returned the greeting, relieved.

  This is when I ought to go up to him, he thought, and ask what he’s done with my money, what does he think he’s doing, has he gone mad …

  Silbermann took a step forward, then stopped, propped his foot against a wall, and fiddled with his shoelace. All of a sudden he was afraid of Becker, afraid of the power the other man had over him.

  Be careful you don’t get yourself arrested, Silbermann told himself, or get yourself beaten up, that’s the last thing you need!

  When he stood back up he saw Becker climbing into a taxi with the Sturmführers.

  “Well, it’s off to Berlin,” Becker shouted out to Silbermann and waved good-bye.

  “Thank God,” Silbermann sighed quietly to himself. He was moved. “Becker you good honest fellow you.” Then he was ashamed of his emotion, just as he had been ashamed of his earlier suspicion of Becker, and he decided that neither feeling had actually occurred.

  He hailed a cab and went to the station, hoping to meet Becker there or later in the train. After he paid the fare he realized that he had only two twenty-mark bills left. If it weren’t for Becker, he consoled himself as he climbed up the stairs inside the station, I can only imagine how worried and scared I’d be.

  Silbermann took care not to let Becker see him, and ultimately boarded a third-class car, even though he’d purchased a second-class ticket.

  I don’t want him to feel I’m watching his every move, he thought tactfully, but he had to admit that he was also acting out of caution, since he wanted to avoid attracting the attention of his friend’s companions.

  There was only one open seat in his compartment. Indifferently he surveyed the faces of his fellow passengers. Directly across from him was a man who was puffing away on a cigar of inferior quality. Silbermann guessed he was traveling on business. As the train left the station, the man stood up and made his way to the window, though not to say good-bye to someone, as Silbermann had thought, but to close it.

  After half an hour the air in the compartment was full of caustic fumes that badly irritated Silbermann’s sinuses. When he could no longer stand it, he got up and took refuge in the dining car. He was also very hungry, as he’d left most of his steak on the plate in the restaurant, and so he treated himself to a large meal, since he was feeling encouraged that Becker was nearby and that he must have the money. After finishing his meal, Silbermann stayed in the dining car, but as he leafed halfheartedly through the Mitropa magazine, the old thoughts and worries came back.

  About twenty minutes before the train was due in Berlin, he decided to fetch his hat and coat from the compartment, where he became an unwilling witness to a highly political discussion. The presumed businessman, who had earlier shut the window, was in the process of explaining the ins and outs of grand politics to the other occupants of the compartment.

  Silbermann took his seat and tried to ignore the lecture, since he was already somewhat familiar with what was being said. He looked past the man sitting next to him, watched the rainy landscape rush by outside the window, and thought about his own affairs. More than anything else he was increasingly worried about the fate of his wife, whom he’d again tried calling from Hamburg, with no success. The last twenty minutes of the journey were a real torture.

  What has happened to Elfriede? he asked himself anxiously. He didn’t understand how he could have gone to Hamburg without knowing for certain. At the same time I can’t let Becker get away, he thought, as his other problem again loomed oppressively large. To distract himself he finally started listening to the man expounding on politics, his voice hoarse from talking and smoking.

  “Blood and iron,” he proclaimed, “those are what we use to achieve our political goals.” The way he stressed the “we” showed how glad he was of his affiliation, as if he were an important member of the government. “The Jews,” he continued, with raised voice, “used to say ‘Germany must become European.’ But today we say: ‘Europe must become German.’”

  The others listened quietly, their faces registering either agreement or indifference.

  “Don’t we want to open a window?” a modest voice asked at last.

  “No,” said the man. “I have a bad cold.”

  Confessing such a human foible undermined his hold on the others, and a window was opened despite his forceful protests. This in turn seemed to exacerbate his underlying rancor, and he immediately launched into a broad, unsparing attack on the Jews.

  Silbermann stood up, put on his coat, and left the compartment. I’ll meet Becker in the office, he decided, and hurried through the corridors to the lead car, so he could be the first person out and avoid having to run into his friend.

  As soon as the train came to a stop, he jumped down and hustled off the platform. On the lower level of the station hall he looked for a telephone booth in a renewed effort to reach his wife. As he had feared, the phone in his apartment again went unanswered.

  He did reach Fräulein Gersch, however, who told him that an unexpected visit the previous evening had kept her from checking on Elfriede. So she had gone today around noon and had rung the doorbell and waited for ten minutes, but no one had answered.

  Her report weighed heavily on Silbermann and he asked if she had inquired with the other tenants in the building.

  No, unfortunately she hadn’t thought to do that, but she’d be glad to stop by again.

  “Thank you,” said Silbermann, “I’ll go myself. I can’t stand this uncertainty. I absolutely have to find out what happened there.”

  “I can only imagine how you’re feeling,” she said. “It’s a pity that my aunt chose to visit yesterday of all days. But call me again tonight at nine. Unfortunately I can’t get away at the moment, but I could go again around seven. Incidentally I also heard today that nothing happened to the women, that only men were arrested. So you don’t need to be worried. Just stay calm and wait until this evening. If you go there s
omething unpleasant might happen to you. One of the tenants might report that you’ve come back…”

  “Well, in any case many thanks,” Silbermann interrupted her. “With your permission I’ll ring again this evening. Good-bye.” Her consoling words had done little to ease his anxiety.

  He decided to give his sister another call. She was home, but so frightened she could barely speak. When he suggested they meet in spite of everything, she cried out in terror.

  “But we can’t meet in town, given the situation you’re in. And I can’t leave the apartment. I keep thinking they’re going to let Günther go. Every time the doorbell rings I jump, thinking it’s him. Because they can’t hold him for long, a fifty-six-year-old man. And I absolutely have to be here when he comes back.”

  “But…” That’s not going to happen so quickly, he wanted to say. Nevertheless he kept quiet. Why should he take away her hope?

  “Do you have an Aryan lawyer who might be able to intercede on his behalf?” he asked instead.

  Yes she did.

  “And money?”

  That wasn’t a problem, either.

  He said good-bye and hung up.

  Where do I go now? he wondered. It would be more than careless to let Becker run around very long with over eighty thousand marks. It was already foolish of me to let him collect the payment, but then again, you have to show a partner and friend a little trust. Have to? Well, in any case, what’s done is done. But now it’s time to retrieve the money, otherwise he’ll get so used to having that kind of cash he won’t want to part with it. On the other hand, I really ought to go to our apartment right away, he then thought, before finally deciding that Becker was his first priority.

  After all, he reassured himself, it’s also in Elfriede’s interest, and if she isn’t at home and is staying with a friend—which is far more likely—my presence there will be of no use. Whereas in Becker’s case if I don’t show up it can be downright harmful. And if by chance Elfriede is at home, she’ll still be there in an hour. I’ve worked myself into a dither for no reason.

  He debated with himself like this for some time. Then a new thought occurred to him: Findler. He should have guessed he wouldn’t find the number, but he leafed awkwardly through the latest supplement to the phone book anyway. It had been only six weeks since Findler moved out of the guesthouse where he’d been staying up to that point, and into his own apartment, where he could come and go as he pleased while keeping down the expenses required to maintain his comfortable lifestyle. Just two days earlier Silbermann had jotted down the new number with red ink in one of his many notebooks—which were always on hand when there was something to write down, but never when something needed to be looked up—only now he was unable to remember it, after failing to find it in the phone book.

  Instead, he tried calling the Kraus & Söhne firm, with whom Findler shared an office to save on rent. The entire office was small, and Findler had rented the smallest room, where he could be found from ten to twelve in the morning, eager to accommodate people who needed to borrow money and who possessed collateral—and where he also managed his properties. But the line was busy, and after trying to get through for two more minutes, Silbermann hurried out of the booth, when the matter of Becker again crossed his mind.

  I should have called Findler a long time ago, Silbermann thought, as he left the station and approached a taxi. Naturally I forgot his number. All misfortune stems from forgetfulness.

  He told the driver to go as fast as possible, and within just ten minutes the car pulled up to the office building where Silbermann had his firm. He paid the fare and went inside, checking to make sure the sign BECKER SCRAP AND SALVAGE CO. was in its place, as he’d been doing ever since someone had once unscrewed and stolen it. He rang for the elevator even though he could see it was on its way down.

  I wonder if Becker’s already here, he thought.

  The elevator stopped, and out stepped his employee Fräulein Windke, who evidently had something to attend to.

  “Guten Tag, Fräulein Windke,” he greeted. “Is Herr Becker already here?”

  “No,” she answered. Silbermann had the feeling she was very surprised to see him. “Herr Becker just called. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  Silbermann thanked her and stepped into the elevator. As he was about to close the door he thought of the astonishment on her face. What was the matter with her? he wondered. Aha, she’s probably surprised that they still haven’t arrested me. He watched her walk away.

  Do I even dare set foot in my own firm, he asked himself. What if Windke is phoning her fiancé. He’s an SA man, after all. As it is I have the feeling she has something against me. Ach—that’s nonsense. What do I care? Ridiculous. Surely I can go to my own office!

  He closed the door, punched the button, and headed upstairs. But then he stopped the elevator at the second floor.

  Better not, he thought. It’s more sensible if I wait for Becker in Café Hermann. You can never be sure … I really didn’t like the look on Windke’s face.

  He rode back downstairs. “What times we live in,” he sighed as he left the elevator. He went out of the building, once again reading the name on his company’s sign: BECKER SCRAP AND SALVAGE CO.

  Becker, he thought. Indeed! Pretty soon I won’t have any business coming here. My lovely private office. And to think the desk I needed finally arrived just fourteen days ago. And I ordered a new switchboard as well. This year to date I’ve invested three thousand marks in office equipment and typewriters and all that kind of thing. And I have no doubt we would have pulled off the deal with Heppel, which I’ve been working on for five months. The real business is just starting to happen, and I would have easily gotten the loan from the Dresdner Bank. What a disaster! Now everything will go to Elmberg & Co. If only I’d sold a year ago. But no, I just sat comfortably in my office, year after year, thinking life would simply go on like that forever … I had no idea. And that’s the truth!

  In a gloomy mood he crossed the street and went into Café Hermann, where he often stopped for a bite in the morning and coffee in the afternoon. He ordered a beer and began keeping a close watch on the opposite side of the street—which made for an excruciating half hour.

  If it hadn’t meant giving up his seat by the window, he might have rung up Becker in his apartment, because it seemed likely that Becker had reconsidered the matter and instead of going into the office he might simply call to learn if there was anything new.

  Silbermann was getting more and more worked up. Here I am sitting right across from my own company and I don’t dare step inside. And I’m the owner! The sole owner! It took me years of hard work to build it up, and now—now every apprentice has more say-so than I do! I can’t dismiss my employees when it suits me, but they can denounce their boss whenever it strikes their fancy and have me sent to a concentration camp. It’s like I’m some kind of schnorrer, begging from the people whose wages I pay.

  Soon I’ll be forced to ask: How is Apprentice Werner feeling today? Did he have a good night’s rest? Is he in a good mood? Or maybe he’s just fed up with me in every respect—as a person, a Jew, and as his boss. Perhaps he’s taking his cues from some seventeen-year-old Hitler Youth squad leader? Silbermann laughed angrily.

  And this Fräulein Windke, he thought, prancing from one pay raise to the next, because her fiancé is also a little führer! Come to think of it, she has no real reason even to speak with me—after all, nobody expects her to—so the fact that she does just shows what a magnanimous person she is!

  Klissnik the accountant, on the other hand, isn’t inclined to make any effort whatsoever, no … The fellow permits himself to show up late every third day. And because he’s an Aryan he can get away with it! On top of that I’m sure he’ll demand a raise and I’ll have no choice but to give him one!

  What am I supposed to do to gain the goodwill of my employees and keep them happy? I can hardly make each one a partner!

  Silbermann ang
rily drummed his fingers against the window. “That’s it,” he snarled. “I’m shutting down the business. I’ve had enough!”

  Just then his friend’s familiar gabardine coat appeared on the opposite side of the street. Having already paid for his beer, Silbermann jumped up, hurried outside, and rushed across to Becker. Becker saw him coming and waited calmly for Silbermann to approach.

  “I’ve spent hours wondering what happened!” Silbermann groaned when he reached his friend. “You have no idea! Did it all work out?”

  They shook hands.

  “Are you coming up?” Becker asked, and then right away answered his own question. “Better not.”

  They went into the café that Silbermann had just left. On the way Becker talked about his trip, how much they’d drunk, how great it had been, and what a pity it was that Silbermann couldn’t have met the two Nazis, who were splendid fellows even if they were stinking anti-Semites. Then they sat down.

  Becker crossed his arms, looked expectantly at Silbermann, and said, not without a trace of arrogance, “So, out with it! Why did you come chasing after me? Probably got scared, eh?”

  “Do you have the money?” Silbermann asked, without answering the question.

  “First tell me what’s going on with you,” Becker demanded aggressively.

  “Haven’t you heard what they’re doing to Jews?”

  “You mean these incidents…”