Free Little Man, What Now? by Hans Fallada Page B

Gruf?’ asked Pinneberg.
    Schulz came, the third hungry mouth, at ten past eight. Schulz came and at a stroke all Nazi insignia and delivery notes for wheat were forgotten. The demon Schulz had arrived, the inspired but unreliable Schulz, Schulz who could reckon up 285.63 hundredweight at 3.85 marks in his head quicker than Pinneberg could do it on paper, but who was a womanizer, an unscrupulous lecher, a philanderer, the only man talented enough to snatch a kiss in passing from Mariechen Kleinholz and not be married off to her on the spot.
    Schulz came, he of the black pomaded curls, the sallow lined face and the big black sparkling eyes; Schulz the dandy of Ducherow, with his ironed-in creases and his black hat (fifty centimetres in diameter); Schulz with his beringed and nicotine-stained fingers; Schulz, king of hearts to all the servant girls, idol of the shop assistants, who waited for him after work in the evening and quarrelled over him at dances.
    Schulz came.
    Schulz said ‘Mornin’, carefully hung up his coat on a hanger, looked at his colleagues, first inquiringly, then pityingly, then contemptuously, and said, ‘You haven’t heard the news, of course?’
    ‘You got off with some girl yesterday, as usual, so who was it?’ asked Lauterbach.
    ‘You don’t know anything about anything. You sit here totting up delivery notes, doing the current account book while …’
    ‘While what?’
    ‘Emil … Emil and Emilie … yesterday evening at the Tivoli …’
    ‘Did he take her with him? Wonders never cease!’
    Schulz sat down.
    ‘It’s high time we got the clover samples out. Who’ll do that, you or Lauterbach?’
    ‘You.’
    ‘I don’t do the clover. That’s our dear agricultural expert’s business. The boss was shaking a leg with Frieda, that little dark-haired girl from the frame factory, I was two steps away, and the old lady pounced on him. Emilie in her dressing-gown, and probably nothing but her nightie on underneath …’
    ‘In the Tivoli?’
    ‘You must be kidding, Schulz!’
    ‘As true as I’m sitting here. The Harmony Club were holding a family dance at the Tivoli. With a military band from Platz, very smart. The German army in their best. And suddenly our Emilie jumps on her Emil, biffs him one: ‘You old boozer, you filthy pig …’
    What price delivery notes, what price the day’s work now? There’s a sensation in the Kleinholz office.
    Lauterbach begged: ‘Tell us again, Schulz. Mrs Kleinholz comes into the ballroom … I can’t imagine it … which door did she come in by then? When did you first see her?’
    Schulz was flattered. ‘What is there to add? You know it already. So she comes in, straight through the door from the lobby, bright red, you know the way she goes: bluish-purply-red … So she comes in …’
    Emil Kleinholz entered. Into the office. The three started, sat on their chairs, rustled papers. Kleinholz stared at them, stood in front of them, gazing down at their bent heads.
    ‘Nothing to do?’ he rasped. ‘Nothing to do? I’ll lay one of you off. Now then, which one?’
    The three did not look up.
    ‘Rationalize. Have two working hard instead of three lazing around. What about you, Pinneberg? You’re the youngest.’
    Pinneberg did not reply.
    ‘Of course you’ve all lost your tongues … It was a different story a few minutes ago. So what did my old lady look like, you old goat? Bluish-purply-red? Shall I throw you out? Shall I chuck you out on the spot?’
    ‘The bastard was listening,’ thought the three, turning inwardly pale with fright. ‘Oh God, Oh God, what did I say?’
    ‘We weren’t talking about you at all, Mr Kleinholz,’ said Schulz in a low tone, almost to himself.
    ‘Well, and what about you?’ Kleinholz turned to Lauterbach. But Lauterbach was not frightened like his two colleagues. Lauterbach was one of those rare employees who couldn’t care less whether they had a job or not. ‘Afraid? What have I got