Once the sticky liqueur was gone, we went over to the reapers’ lodgings. It was almost dark by now, and my stepmother was home. I was none the worse for the bit of drink I’d had, but my stepmother saw from my sister what was going off, and she started a terrible racket. And then when she saw the presents, her fury knew no bounds. She beat my sister and would of beaten me, if I hadn’t fought her off. For my fourteen years I’m pretty strong. She swore she would tell my father everything, and I would have to leave tonight. When she wouldn’t leave off, I told her to kiss my arse, and walked out.
I met my old man coming off work, and invited him to a drink. We turned into a pub, and I bought him schnapps and beer and good cigars, so that I had to lead him home by the arm. Even so, we managed to tumble a couple of times into the roadside ditch which was full of snow. The old man thought that was mighty funny. At home my stepmother got stuck into him right away, and demanded that he chase me off that same evening. But my father wasn’t up to much any more, first he just laughed, then he dropped onto his bed, and was asleep on the spot. Then, in a towering rage, my stepmother dressed herself and her daughter and left the house. She wrote a note to the old man that she wasn’t coming back until I was out of the house. No sooner was she out of the house than I tossed the note in the fire. Sophie and I had a jolly evening of it, and I went to the pub for more liquor.
When my father woke up the following morning, he couldn’t remember anything, and was just surprised to find his wife and daughter gone. Sophie and I pretended we didn’t know anything, and then it was time for Dad to go to work. I persuaded Sophie to cut school, and we hung around in the village and in Brüel all day. Sophie told me she liked that sort of life a lot, and that she would really like to go to Glasow with me. I persuaded her to wait a couple of days, there were some provisions here that needed finishing off.
We made my father a good supper out of the last of the supplies in the larder, and I stepped out for schnapps and cigars from the pub, but he didn’t seem to enjoy it. He had heard from the people under us in the tenement about why my stepmother was gone, and was a bit upset about it. He didn’t tell me in so many words to get lost, but I could see he was looking at me differently. I was a pain.
In the morning Dad told me: ‘Felix, hop on my bike and go to Brüel, and then take the train to your aunt in Zurow, and check if your stepmother’s there. Then come back and tell me.’
Now, Your Honour, listen carefully, we’re getting to the point. I swung myself onto his bicycle and rode to Brüel, and left the bike at the left luggage counter. Then I took the train to Neukloster via Blankenberg and Warin, and went to Zurow on foot. I didn’t go directly to my aunt’s, mind, because I’d been there not long before, I went into the pub and asked around if a woman with a nine-year-old girl had showed up in the village. No, they hadn’t.
I spent the night in Zurow, and the next day I went back the same way. When I got to Brüel, I go to pick up the bike at the station, I go through all my pockets, but I must have lost the chit. I say as much to the man on the counter, and describe the bike to him, but he says, no, he can’t do anything. I’m to come back in the evening, when his colleague will be there who took receipt of the bike from me. He’ll probably remember me. So I walk to Thurow, and who do I find as I get in the door, but my stepmother and her little girl. But she’s like she’s never seen me before, and she won’t say a word to me, and my half-sister doesn’t say a word either.
I didn’t care at all, though, it was no skin off my nose, just that my sister Sophie was sitting in a corner crying, that bugged me. I asked her what she was crying about, but she didn’t want to say, or she couldn’t, because my stepmother was watching her the whole time.
In the evening, Dad came back, he knew his wife was back, she must have got in the night before. I told him I’d lost the receipt for the bike, and I had to go to the left luggage counter because the other official would be there. Then my father said: ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go with you.’ And took down his cap. I noticed him flashing a wink at my stepmother. I thought it was just because now he was going to send me home. That was fine by me anyway, I didn’t like it in Thurow any more, only I wanted to take Sophie with me. But that wasn’t on, not that night, maybe I could try it the next day.
When we got to Brüel, my old man said: ‘The other day, you stood me a drink, Felix. Well today it’s my turn to buy you one.’
So we sat down in a pub and we had a few. Then my father made as if he had to go talk to a wheelwright, and I believed him and all, in fact he went up to the police. When he came back he said: ‘All right, Felix, let’s get to the railway station.’ I’d had a good bit to drink by now, and wanted to buy him one, but all at once my dad’s in a hurry. We get to the station, and I don’t even notice that there’s a policeman standing by the left luggage counter, I’ve blundered into a trap. Admittedly, I never thought a father could be so mean to his own son. I recognized the man at the left luggage right away, but he claimed he’d never seen me. We described the bicycle to him, and he went looking for it, but there was no bike answering to that description. Then my old man König said at the top of his voice: ‘Now, admit it, Felix, you stole the bike and flogged it.’
‘No,’ I says to him. ‘I swear I handed it in here, and if it’s no longer there, then it’s because someone’s found the ticket and collected it.’ At that my father just laughed, and said: ‘Constable, please! You’ve heard our whole exchange, now I hand you over this lad; I wash my hands of him.’ And the constable puts the bracelets on me, and my father walked out and didn’t even shake hands or say good night.
Now, think about it if you will, Your Honour! I’ve confessed to a whole lot of jobs I had no need to tell you about, and actually wasn’t going to when I started, and there are some offences in Mecklenburg among them that you can lock me up for, and I’m not about to deny them either – but why wouldn’t I own up to the theft of a lousy bicycle? See, I didn’t steal it, and I want to be acquitted on that charge, so that my father can stand there in shame for getting his innocent son hauled off to prison for something he didn’t do! I’ve every right to ask that, and I know what’s right, Your Honour, and that’s why I want you to acquit me on this charge! Because I’ve got my honour too, and that won’t permit me to rob my own father, whereas my father, he’s got no honour, because he’s perfectly able it seems to get his innocent son hauled off to prison.
Now, if you had a cigarette for me, Your Honour, I promise I won’t smoke it till after lock-up, so you won’t get into trouble on account of me. No one’s got in trouble on my account. I’ve given you so many good charges against myself, that’ll make you popular with your superiors for getting all that out of me, even if I did tell them all to you freely.
No? Well, never mind. But I’ll tell you this, Your Honour, don’t go by anything I said to you because I don’t know nuffink about nuffink, I just made up the whole bang shoot to get you to give me a cigarette, and if you won’t, then I got no option but to deny it all. Not just the bicycle, which I was denying anyway. Everything else as well. The lot. The whole flaming lot.
Note on Sources
Dates of First Publication
The Wedding Ring: ‘Der Trauring’ in Die große Welt, vol. 2 (1925) 17 [August], pp. 113–19.
Passion: ‘Länge der Leidenschaft’ in Hans Fallada, Gesammelte Erzählungen (Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1967), pp. 99–114.
Tales from the Underworld: ‘Gauner-Geschichten’ in Hans Fallada, Märchen und Geschichten, edited by Günter Caspar (Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag, 1985), pp. 38–46.
Farmers in the Revenue Office: ‘Bauernkäuze auf dem Finanzamt’ in Berliner Montagspost, 4 May 1931.
Kubsch and His Allotment: ‘Kubsch und seine Parzelle’ in Berliner Montagspost, 1 June 1931.
Mother Lives on Her Pension: ‘Mutter lebt von ihrer Rente’ in Berliner Montagspost, 29 June 1931.
A Burglar’s Dreams Are of His Cell: ‘Einbrecher träumt von
der Zelle’ in Berliner Montagspost, 13 July 1931.
Why Do You Wear a Cheap Watch?: ‘Warum trägst du eine Nickeluhr?’ in Berliner Montagspost, 10 August 1931.
On the Lam: ‘Ein Mensch auf der Flucht’ in Uhu, vol. 7 (1931) 12 [September], pp. 43–51.
I Get a Job: ‘Ich bekomme Arbeit’ in Die Tat, vol. 24 (1932) 9 [December], pp. 778–86.
A Bad Night: ‘Eine schlimme Nacht’ in Münchner Illustrierte Presse, 20 December 1931, pp. 1616–18.
The Open Door: ‘Die offene Tür’ in Die grüne Post, 3 January 1932.
War Monument or Urinal?: ‘Das Groß-Stankmal’ in Der Querschnitt, vol. 12 (1932) 2 [February], pp. 117–23.
Happiness and Woe: ‘Fröhlichkeit und Traurigkeit’ in Frankfurter Zeitung und Handelsblatt, 2 February 1932.
With Measuring Tape and Watering Can: ‘Mit Metermaß und Gießkanne’ Uhu, vol. 8 (1932) 10 [July], pp. 25–34.
The Lucky Beggar: ‘Der Bettler, der Glück bringt’ in Berliner Montagspost, 13 June 1932.
Just Like Thirty Years Ago: ‘Wie vor dreißig Jahren’ in Die grüne Post, 27 November 1932.
Fifty Marks and a Merry Christmas: ‘Fünfzig Mark und ein fröhliches Weihnachtsfest’ in Uhu, vol. 9 (1932) 3 [December], pp. 28–38 and 104–6.
The Good Pasture on the Right: ‘Gute Krüseliner Wiese rechts’ in Berliner Morgenpost, 27 October 1934.
The Missing Greenfinches: ‘Die verlorenen Grünfinken’ in Die Dame, vol. 62 (1935) 25 [December], pp. 36–8 and 92–7.
Food and Grub: ‘Essen und Fraß’ in Nacht-Express, 23 December 1945.
The Good Meadow: ‘Die gute Wiese’ in Tägliche Rundschau, 16 June 1946.
Calendar Stories: ‘Kalendergeschichten 1–3’ in Tägliche Rundschau, 27 June 1946; ‘Kalendergeschichten 4–5’ in Tägliche Rundschau, 30 June 1946; ‘Kalendergeschichten 6–9’ in Tägliche Rundschau, 28 July 1946.
The Returning Soldier: ‘Der Heimkehrer’ in Tägliche Rundschau, 14 July 1946.
The Old Flame: ‘Alte Feuerstätten’ in Tägliche Rundschau, 3 November 1946.
Short Treatise on the Joys of Morphinism: ‘Sachlicher Bericht über das Glück, ein Morphinist zu sein’ in Hans Fallada, Drei Jahre kein Mensch. Erlebtes. Erfahrenes. Erfundenes. Geschichten aus dem Nachlaß 1929–1944, edited by Günter Caspar (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1997), pp. 5–24.
Three Years of Life: ‘Drei Jahre kein Mensch’ in Hans Fallada, Drei Jahre kein Mensch. Erlebtes. Erfahrenes. Erfundenes. Geschichten aus dem Nachlaß 1929–1944, edited by Günter Caspar (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1997), pp. 25–53.
Svenda, a Dream Fragment; or, My Worries: ‘Swenda, ein Traumtorso oder Meine Sorgen’ in Hans Fallada, Drei Jahre kein Mensch. Erlebtes. Erfahrenes. Erfundenes. Geschichten aus dem Nachlaß 1929–1944, edited by Günter Caspar (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1997), pp. 109–13.
Looking for My Father: ‘Ich suche den Vater’ in Hans Fallada, Drei Jahre kein Mensch. Erlebtes. Erfahrenes. Erfundenes. Geschichten aus dem Nachlaß 1929–1944, edited by Günter Caspar (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1997), pp. 114–34.
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN CLASSICS
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First published in Great Britain by Penguin Classics 2014
Copyright © Aufbau Verlag GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin, 2009
(First published in 1991, edited by Günter Caspar)
Selection and translation copyright © Michael Hofmann, 2014
‘Short Treatise on the Joys of Morphinism’ and ‘Three Years of Life’
first translation copyright © Michael Hofmann, 2011
Foreword copyright © Jenny Williams, 2014
Cover: detail from a portrait of François René Vicomte de Chateaubriand, 1811 (oil on canvas) by Anne Louis Girodet de Roucy-Trioson. (Chateau de Versailles, France/Giraudon/The Bridgeman Art Library)
Cover photograph by kind permission of Praesens-Film AG/Bridgeman Art Library
All rights reserved
The moral right of the copyright holder, the translator and the introducer has been asserted
Typeset by Jouve (UK), Milton Keynes
ISBN: 978-0-141-39286-8
* The dates in brackets are those of the stories’ composition. See Note on Sources.
* The English equivalent would be ‘Doughty’.
* A veterans’ organization, the largest of the right-wing paramilitary groupings that sprang up after the First World War and bedevilled the Weimar Republic throughout its brief existence. In 1934 it was assimilated by the Nazis into the SA (Sturm Abteilung, the paramilitary force of the Nazi Party).
* The ‘Reichsbanner Schwarz-Rot-Gold’ (‘Black, Red, Gold Banner of the Reich’) was a Social Democratic paramilitary force formed during the Weimar Republic in 1924.
* In this spectrum of Weimar politics, this is the right-of-centre ‘Reichswirtschaftspartei’ or ‘Reichspartei des deutschen Mittelstandes’.
* Four-leafed clover.
* The word reinlich means ‘clean’ or ‘sanitary’.
* Millions of German civilians – not all of them rich, or landowners – fled west as the Russian forces advanced in 1945. Fallada, here writing for a Russian-managed East German publication, of course shows no sympathy for them. After 1989, estates were returned and modest compensation offered to the expropriated owners, where they could be found.
* An apt and suggestive echo of the beginning of Knut Hamsun’s great first novel Hunger (1880), to which I have adapted my beginning. It goes (in Robert Bly’s 1967 translation): ‘All of this happened while I was walking around starving in Christiania – that strange city no one escapes from until it has left its mark on him …’ The events Fallada describes happened – más o menos – in early 1919.
* The Alexanderplatz, heart of the eastern part of Berlin.
* Fallada wrote ‘80’ in figures.
* Perhaps Leopold von Sacher-Masoch?
* In former times, one of the main Berlin railway stations, and close to the fleshpots of the West End of the city.
* ‘Red château’, jocular name for the police HQ on the Alexanderplatz, the third largest structure in Berlin when it was built in 1890.
* Properly Kuchuk Hanem, an Egyptian prostitute, his exploits with whom Flaubert proudly related to his friend Louise Colet in 1851. The exotic combination of bedbugs and sandalwood prompted Flaubert to the Baudelairean exclamation: ‘I want there to be a bitterness in everything …’
* A paddy-wagon, like the (in German) better-known grüne Minna.
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