Free An Old Heart Goes A-Journeying by Hans Fallada

sitting on it, watching Professor Kittguss’ return to Unsadel.
    But there was no one on the gate. The whip pointed to the gap: “Wilhelm Gau’s meadows; and a damned sight more thistle than clover and grass.”
    “True,” replied the Professor.
    Then they emerged from the narrow lane, and there lay the village of Unsadel by the lake, and the burnished autumn foliage blazed down to the waterside.
    The cart rumbled on more rapidly. The first houses emerged from behind the windmill, all of them looking as still and spellbound and deserted as on the afternoon before.
    “Well I never!” ejaculated Constable Gneis in high astonishment.
    As they rattled past Otto Beier’s inn, Professor Kittguss shuddered slightly, for he had not yet forgotten the cockroaches. But today he looked in vain into Farmer Tamm’s yard; there was no fat farmer hanging from a tree, there was no scrambling for hams. All was silent and deserted.
    “What’s the meaning of this, Karl—where is everybody?” the constable asked the driver.
    “There must be something doing in the lower village. Perhaps there’s a fire.”
    “But we’d have seen the smoke just now when we came over the hill.” The constable’s face and voice had become entirely official. Something was wrong, and what it was Professor Kittguss could have explained if he had taken the trouble to think.
    But he did not, and they drove to the last farm, still puzzled. Then the driver pulled up his horses and observed:
    “That’s where the trouble is, friends.”
    “What are all those people doing here?” exclaimed the Professor in astonishment.
    “Paul Schlieker, of course,” growled the constable and clambered down from the cart with the youth firmly linked to his wrist. “Now look here, my lad, if you try to make a getaway in the crowd and make me look a fool in front of all the people!—”
    “Oh God, here’s the Professor back again,” cried Frau Lowising. “We don’t want that old Jonah to add to all our fuss and trouble!”
    “Hullo, Karl!” laughed Farmer Tamm. “When there’s something doing around here, you folk from Kriwitz always turn up to have a look.”
    “Thank God you’ve come, Peter Gneis,” said Gottschalk, the parish clerk, dripping with perspiration. “He won’t give ’em up, and he’s plumb mad with fury. He won’t let anyone inside.”
    “Who won’t give up what?” snapped the constable. “Report the matter properly, Otto. I’m magistrate for the time being.” And indeed he looked very magisterial as he spoke.
    Suddenly the mob that thronged Paul Schlieker’s garden fence, Paul Schlieker’s doorway and Paul Schlieker’syard gave way before a marching female phalanx—the same five deaconesses whom the Professor had seen that morning, and who had made him miss his train. And they still carried their little bags in their hands and proceeded in single file led by the masculine lady with thebristly chin while the red-cheeked country girl brought up the rear.

    But now they looked quite different. Their hair was wild, their eyes glittered and their faces were white or red with anger.
    The leader stopped in front of the constable while the others halted with a jerk and stood motionless except for the little bags that still dangled from their wrists.
    “I am thankful you have come, Herr Gneis,” she gasped. “We’ve been standing here for four hours begging and praying the man to let us in and hand over the foster children as his duty is under the bylaws. We have also told him what we think of him. But there’s not a sign of life. I dare say the Schliekers went away on purpose just to keep us waiting. . . .”
    “Look,” said the constable, pointing to the chimney, from which a wisp of smoke was rising. “Look, Sister Adelaide, babies can’t stoke fires. They’re at home, Sister Adelaide, laughing fit to burst, and they’ll say they didn’t hear you because they were asleep. Gottschalk, you should have broken down the door