Auto-da-fé (35 page)
Authors: Elias Canetti
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Literary, #Literary Criticism, #German, #Novel, #European, #German fiction
The dwarf made short work of the Fishwife. 'I'm all you've got in the world' ; he reminded her of her love and her lovely sentence. 'Anyone can say that, I'm for proofs. If you keep back a ha'penny it's all over between us, believe me. I'll never touch another of your papers and you can whistle for a new man just the same shape as yourself!' The rest of his explanation was easy. The Fishwife hung on his lips; to see him speaking she made herself even smaller than she was; kiss he could not, on account of his nose, and she was the only one short enough to see his mouth. The Theresianum was her second home. Now she was to go on ahead and wait for the chief behind the church. There she would be given a parcel for which she was to ask 250 schillings, and then go back to the rendezvous with the money and the Earcel. 'Off with you!' he shouted at the end. She was repulsive to im, because she never left offloving him.
At the next corner he halted until the blind man and the hawker came up with him. The latter made way for the former, and nodded briefly and meaningly to the chief. 'I'm disgusted!' Fischerle declared, and cast a respectful glance at the blind man who, in spite of his ragged working clothes, was peering round at every woman and distrustfully sizing them up. He would have loved to know what effect the new cut of his moustache was making on them. He hated young girls, because they objected to his profession. 'A man like you,' Fischerle went on, 'to have to put up with all this cheating!' The blind man pricked up his ears. 'Someone throws a button into your hat. You've told me so yourself. You see it's a button and say thank-you. If you don't say thank-you, you give the show away and your clients smell a rat. So you agree to be cheated. A man like you! Might as well hang yourself. Swindling's a filthy trick. Am I right?' Tears came into the eyes of the blind beggar, grown man though he was, with three years' war service at the front behind him. This daily trick practised on him, which he saw through at once, was his greatest grief. Simply because he had to work so hard for his living, every guttersnipe could make a fool of him.
He often thought long and seriously of making an end of himself. If he were not now and then still lucky with women it would have come to that long ago. Under the Stars of Heaven he told everyone who got into conversation with him about the button-trick and ended with the threat to do in one of the swine and then himself. As this had been going on for years, no one took him seriously any more, and his susp
icions were furiously growing. 'Yes!' he cried and gesticulated with is arm round Fischerle's hump, 'a child of three knows if it's got a button or a penny in its hand! But I'm not to know! I'm not to know! I'm not blind!' 'Just what I say,' Fischerle finished for him, 'it all comes of swindling. Why must people do each other? They might say "I haven't a penny to-day, my dear sir, to-morrow I'll give you two." But no, they'd sooner do you, and you have to swallow a button. You ought to try another trade, my dear sir! For a long time I've been thinking over what I might do for you. Tell you what, if you do well these three days, I'll take you on for longer. Don't say a word to the others, strictly confidential, I'll sack the Tot; between ourselves I only took them on out of charity for a day or two. You're different, you can't stand cheating, I can't stand cheating, you're a better-class person, I'm a better-class person, you'll admit, we suit each other allright. Just to show you how highly I respect you, I'll give you your whole commission for to-day in advance. The others won't get a penny.' The blind man was in fact presented with the remaining fifteen schillings due to him. First of all he hadn't believed his ears, now he had the same experience with his eyes. 'Suicide be hanged!' he shouted. For the joy of the moment he would have forgone ten women — he reckoned in women. What Fischcrlc next explained to him he accepted with enthusiasm, and therefore with ease. He laughed at the idea of the tall partner, because he felt so happy. 'Does he bite?' he asked. He was thinking of his long, lean dog which lead him to his place of business in the morning and took him home at night. 'Let him try!' Fischerle spoke threateningly. For one moment he hesitated whether he should not entrust him with a higher sum than the 300 schillings he had in mind; the man seemed genuinely enthusiastic. Fiscberle haggled with himself; he would dearly have loved to make five hundred at a stroke. But he saw that the risk was too great; such a loss might well ruin him and he forced his desires down to four hundred. The blind man was to go the square
in front
of the church and there to wait for him.
As soon as the blind man had vanished from sight, the hawker thought his time had come. He overtook the dwarf with small, quick
strides and fell into step with him. 'Stick like burrs, don't they?' he said. He bent his head down, but he couldn't manage to bow it right down to Fischerle's; at least he looked up while he was talking as if the dwarf, since he had become the chief, had grown to twice his height. Fischerle was silent. He had no intention of allowing any familiarities to this man. The other three he had found in the Stars of Heaven as if sent by providence; with this one he was on his guard. To-day and not again, he said to himself. The hawker repeated: 'Stick like burrs, they do, don't they?' Fischerle's patience was exhausted. 'Tell you what, you keep your trap shut! You're an employee! I'll do the talking. If you want to do the talking, get yourself another job!' The hawker pulled himself together and stooped low. His hands, a moment ago rubbing themselves in calculation, were now folded. His head, arms and backside twitched violently. How else could he show his obsequiousness? In the confusion of his nervous reactions, he all but stood on his head, so as respectfully to fold his feet. Liberation from his insomnia was at stake. The word 'wealth' was associated with sanatoriums and expensive cures. In his heaven there would be sleeping draughts which never failed. There you could sleep for a fortnight together, without waking once. You could eat in your sleep. After a fortnight you could wake up —sooner wasn't allowed —you had to give in, what else could you do? Doctors are as strict as the police. Then you could play cards half the day. There was a special room for that, open only to people in higher-class lines of business. In a few hours you were as rich again, you were that lucky at cards. Then you could sleep another fortnight. Time — as much time as a man could want. 'What are you jigging about for? Ought to be ashamed of yourself!' screeched Fischerle. 'Stop shaking this minute or you're no use to me.' The hawker started out of his sleep and, as far as he could, calmed down his quivering limbs. Once again he was all greed.
Fischerle saw that he had not a shred of a reason for sacking this suspicious character. Furious, he began with his instructions. 'Pay attention, now, or you'll get the sack! I shall give you a parcel. A parcel, do you understand? A hawker like you must know what a parcel is. You take it to the Theresianum. I don't need to tell you anything about that. You spend most of your time there anyway, a fellow like you who doesn't use his head. You push open the glass door where it leads up to the book section. Stop waggling about so, I tell you! If you waggle about like that you'll smash the glass door, and that's your affair. At the window you'll see a thin gentlemanly gentleman. He's a business friend of mine. You go up to him and don't say anything. If you speak to him before he speaks to you, he'll turn his back and leave you standing. He's like that. He's a person of authority. So you be quiet, see! I don't want to have to bring an action for damages against you. But if you make a mistake, I'll have to, you can be sure of that; I won't have you wrecking my hard-earned business for me ! If you're nervy, clear out ! I'd sooner have that sewerman. Where was I? Can you tell me that?' Suddenly Fischerle became aware that he had lost grip on that high-class way of talking which he had acquired during his few days' association with Kien. Precisely this way of talking seemed to him the only one possible when dealing with this pretentious employee. He paused to calm himself and used the opportunity to catch out the hated rival unawares. But the hawker replied promptly: 'You've got to your gentlemanly business-friend and I'm to say nothing.' '
You've
got there,
you've
got there,' croaked Fischerle, 'and where's your parcel?' Til have that in my hand.' The humility of this treacherous creature made Fischerle wild. 'Ugh!' he sighed, 'by the time I've made you understand, I'll have grown another hump.' The hawker grinned, writing off the abuse against the hump. But even from his height he did not feel safe against observation and looked stealthily down. Fischerle had noticed nothing, he was clutching round for more words of abuse. He wanted to avoid such vulgar expressions as were usual under the Stars of Heaven ; they would have made no impression on one of its denizens. Merely to go on saying 'Bonehead' was too boring. Suddenly he hastened his step so that the hawker was left half a pace behind, then turned contemptuously on him and said: 'Tired already? Tell you what, go and drown yourself.' Then he went on with his instructions. He impressed on him, he must ask for a 'payment' of ioo schillings from the tall business friend, but only when he had been intercepted and spoken to, and then, without wasting another word, come back to the square behind the church with parcel and payment. He'd learn the rest when he got there. One word about his work, even to the other employees, and he'd be sacked on the spot.
At the idea that the hawker might give away the whole show and go into business with the others against him, Fischeile softened a little. To atone for his attacks, he slackened his pace and said, when the other was left a good yard in advance by this manœuvre: 'Stop, where are you off to? We aren't in such a hurry as all that!' The hawker took this for some new trick. The remaining words, which Fischerle spoke to him in a calm and friendly voice, as though they were still equals under the Stars of Heaven, he explained as the outcome of Fischerle 's fear of arbitrary action. In spite of his nerves he was by no means a fool. His judgment of men and motives was just; in order to persuade them to buy matches, shoe laces, writing pads and even soap, he made use of more cunning, sympathy and even discretion than a successful diplomat. Only when he was involved in his dream of a long, long sleep did his thoughts diffuse themselves in a vague mist. He grasped that the success of the new business depended on a secret.
Fischerle made use of the rest of the way to indicate by means of a number of different examples the dangerous nature of his apparently so harmless friend, the tall gentlemanly gentleman. He had fought so long in the last war that he d gone raving mad. For days at a time he wouldn't move or lift a finger against anyone. But if you were to utter a single unnecessary word to him, he'd draw his old army revolver and shoot you on the spot. The courts can do nothing about it, he's not in his right senses, he carries a doctor's certificate about with him. The police know him. But why take him up? they say, he's always let go again. Anyway, he doesn't shoot people dead on the spot, he fires at their legs. In a couple of weeks his victims are usually alright again. Only one thing really gets him wild. Asking questions, that's what does it. He won t stand a single question. A person asks him as innocent as you please, how he is. The next minute, that person's a corpse. On these occasions my business-friend fires straight at the heart. He's like that. Nothing can be done about it. He's sorry afterwards. There've only been six proper corpses so far. Everyone knows about this dangerous habit and only six have actually
asked
him anything. If it weren't for this, you could do very good business with him.
The hawker believed not a word. But he had an inflammable imagination. He saw a well-dressed gentleman standing before him who, even before you could have your sleep out, would be shooting you dead. He decided to avoid questions in all circumstances and to get to the bottom of the secret some odier way.
Fischerle put his fingers to his lips and said 'Pst!' They had reached the church, where the blind man, with dog-like devotion in his eyes, was waiting for them. In the meantime he had not stared at a single woman, he only knew that several had passed by. In his excessive joy he would have been happy to greet his colleagues cordially; the poor devils would be sacked in three days, but he'd got a job for life. He welcomed the hawker as warmly as if he hadn't seen him for years. Behind the church the three linked up with the Fishwife. She had run so hard that she had been panting a full ten minutes to regain her breath. The blind man fondled Tier hump. "What's up, Ma!' he shouted and laughed over the whole of his furrowed, flaccid face. 'We're in luck to-day!' Maybe he'd give her a bit of fun one day. The Fishwife screamed aloud. She felt that it was not Fischerle's hand touching her, said to herself: it is him, and then heard the coarse voice of the blind man. Her scream changed from fear to delight and from delight to disillusion. Fischerle's voice was alluring.
He
ought to sell newspapers! People would have rushed to buy. But he was too good for work. It would have tired him. It was better really, he should stay the chief.
For it wasn't only his voice, he had such sharp eyes. Here was'the sewerman coming round die corner. He saw him first, ordered the others to 'Stay put!' and hurried to meet him. He drew him into the porch of the church, took die parcel from him — it was still lying in is arms just as it had been before — and the two hundred schillings in notes from between the finger's of his right hand. He counted out fifteen schillings and put them into his hand, though he had to uncurl it himself. At this point the tongue-tied mouth of the sewerman brought out the first sentence of his report. 'Went off a treat,' he began. 'I see, I see!' cried Fischerle. 'To-morrow at nine sharp. Nine sharp. Here. Here. Nine sharp, here!' The sewerman made off with heavy, lagging strides and began to count over his salary. After a stubborn pause he said: 'That's right.' Up to the door of the Stars of Heaven he struggled with his habit and finally gave in. Fifteen schillings for his wire, five for his beer. He stuck to it. Originally he had intended to drink the lot.
It was in the church porch that Fischerle first saw what a bad plan he had made. If he gave the Fishwife the parcel now, the hawker was close by and would see everything. As soon as he twigged it was always the same parcel, it was all over with the beautiful secret. But the Fishwife, as if she could read his thoughts, had come of her own accord to find him in the porch: 'My turn,' she said. 'You take your time, you!' he turned on her and gave her the parcel. 'Off with you!' She nobbled off as fast as she could. Her hump hid from the eyes of the others the parcel she was carrying.
The blind man all this time was explaining to the hawker that it was no good trying on anything with women. In the first place a man must have a good job, a job in which a man can keep his eyes open. You get nothing out of being blind. People think if a man looks blind, they can do what they like with him. But if you've got on in the world, women come of their own accord, dozens of them, so that you don't even know where to lay them all. Common people don't understand a thing about it. Like dogs they are, don't care where they do it. Filthy beasts, he's different! He has to have a good bed, with a horsehair mattress, a nice stove in the room, not one of those smelly oil-stoves, and a juicy bit. of goods. He can't stand a smoking stove, his lungs aren't the same since the war. He's not the kind to go with any woman. Of course, when he was still a beggar, he used to try his luck pretty well anywhere. Now he was going to get himself a better suit, he'd have money to burn soon, and he'd take his choice. He'd have a hundred or so nice bits of goods, pinch them all — they needn't undress, he could tell without — and take three or four home. More at a time wouldn't be good for his health. No more buttons for him. 'I shall have to see about a double-bed!' he sighed, 'or where shall I put the three plump little bits?' The hawker had other troubles. He was dislocating his neck in an effort to see round the Fishwife's hump. Is she, or isn't she, carrying a parcel? The sewerman came up with a parcel, and went away without. Why did Fischerle make him go into the porch? You can't sec any of them, not Fischerle, not the sewerman not the Fishwife as long as they're up there. The parcel must be hidden in the church, of course. A stupendous idea! Who'd look for stolen goods in a church? That hunchback's got a head on his shoulders. The parcel is most interesting — a delivery of cocaine. How did that sneak-thief get into this grand line of business?
