a friend and not his father.
‘Not the slightest, Father. You’re not worrying?’
‘Well – the others don’t seem to know where he is either.’
‘Don’t they? I’ll keep my ears open then. Perhaps one of his pals at school may know something.’
‘Will you do that, Bubi?’
‘Certainly, Father.’
‘And you could go to the headmaster. I’d promised him I’d send Erich to school again tomorrow. That can’t happen now. You must explain …’
‘Oh, Father!’
‘What?’
‘I’d rather not go to the beak tomorrow …’
‘Why ever not? Anyway, you shouldn’t call him that.’
‘Oh, he might be angry with me. Me and a classmate had a bit of a fight today. The teacher put us on report and said he’d tell the beak – the head.’
‘So why were you fighting?’
‘Oh, only because he had a silly look on his face, asking for it.’
‘And did he get it?’
‘And how, Father. In spades! He ended up gasping for air and shouting pax.’
‘What’s pax mean?’
‘It means peace. It’s what you shout when you’re at the end of your tether.’
‘So, Bubi, it will be quite all right to go to the head and tell him what I asked. As a matter of fact, he and I saw your fight from the window.’
‘OK then. I was just scared that to get bad marks for behaviour would be miserable.’
For a moment there was silence. Hackendahl had been restored to tranquillity. ‘Well, all right, don’t forget. Sleep well.’
‘Sleep well too, Father, and don’t worry about Erich. He’s cleverer than you and me put together. Erich will always come out on top.’
‘Goodnight, Bubi.’
‘Goodnight, Father.’
TWO
War Breaks Out
§ I
31 JULY 1914.
Since early morning the crowds now occupying much of the Lustgarten had been gathering before the Schloss, on which flew the yellow Imperial standard, symbol of the presence of the all-highest War Lord. Unceasingly the people came and went, an ebb and flow of thousands who waited for an hour or two before departing to daily tasks half-heartedly dispatched, for everybody was oppressed by the question: would there be war?
Three days had passed since the allied State of Austria had declared war on the Serbs. What would happen now? Would the world intervene? What importance, after all, had a war in the Balkans, a vast empire against a small nation? Yet it was said that Russia was mobilizing, that the French were bestirring themselves and – what would England do?
The weather was oppressive, and grew closer; the crowds buzzed and could not keep still. The Kaiser was said to have spoken that morning from the Schloss – but Germany was still at peace with the world. There was a ferment in the people; a month of uncertainty had come and gone in obscure negotiations, threats and assurances of peace – nerves were on edge with suspense. Any decision seemed better than this terrible uncertainty.
Vendors of sausages, newspapers and ice cream pushed through the crowd, but they sold nothing, for the people were in no mood to eat nor were they interested in news which must have long since been overtaken by events. They wanted a decision. Incoherent and excited, everyone had something special to relate. And then, in the middle of their talk, they would fall silent, forgetting everything else as they stared up at the balcony where the Kaiser was said to have
made his speech this morning. They were trying to see through the windows but the glass was dazzling in the sunshine, and nothing was visible but pale yellow curtains.
What was going on inside? What decision affecting everyone waiting there, every man, woman and child, was being taken in that palace twilight? Forty years of peace in the land; people could not imagine what war meant … Yet they felt that a word from the silent building could change their whole lives, change everything. And they were waiting for that word. They dreaded it and yet dreaded still more lest it should not be forthcoming, and the many weeks
‘Not the slightest, Father. You’re not worrying?’
‘Well – the others don’t seem to know where he is either.’
‘Don’t they? I’ll keep my ears open then. Perhaps one of his pals at school may know something.’
‘Will you do that, Bubi?’
‘Certainly, Father.’
‘And you could go to the headmaster. I’d promised him I’d send Erich to school again tomorrow. That can’t happen now. You must explain …’
‘Oh, Father!’
‘What?’
‘I’d rather not go to the beak tomorrow …’
‘Why ever not? Anyway, you shouldn’t call him that.’
‘Oh, he might be angry with me. Me and a classmate had a bit of a fight today. The teacher put us on report and said he’d tell the beak – the head.’
‘So why were you fighting?’
‘Oh, only because he had a silly look on his face, asking for it.’
‘And did he get it?’
‘And how, Father. In spades! He ended up gasping for air and shouting pax.’
‘What’s pax mean?’
‘It means peace. It’s what you shout when you’re at the end of your tether.’
‘So, Bubi, it will be quite all right to go to the head and tell him what I asked. As a matter of fact, he and I saw your fight from the window.’
‘OK then. I was just scared that to get bad marks for behaviour would be miserable.’
For a moment there was silence. Hackendahl had been restored to tranquillity. ‘Well, all right, don’t forget. Sleep well.’
‘Sleep well too, Father, and don’t worry about Erich. He’s cleverer than you and me put together. Erich will always come out on top.’
‘Goodnight, Bubi.’
‘Goodnight, Father.’
TWO
War Breaks Out
§ I
31 JULY 1914.
Since early morning the crowds now occupying much of the Lustgarten had been gathering before the Schloss, on which flew the yellow Imperial standard, symbol of the presence of the all-highest War Lord. Unceasingly the people came and went, an ebb and flow of thousands who waited for an hour or two before departing to daily tasks half-heartedly dispatched, for everybody was oppressed by the question: would there be war?
Three days had passed since the allied State of Austria had declared war on the Serbs. What would happen now? Would the world intervene? What importance, after all, had a war in the Balkans, a vast empire against a small nation? Yet it was said that Russia was mobilizing, that the French were bestirring themselves and – what would England do?
The weather was oppressive, and grew closer; the crowds buzzed and could not keep still. The Kaiser was said to have spoken that morning from the Schloss – but Germany was still at peace with the world. There was a ferment in the people; a month of uncertainty had come and gone in obscure negotiations, threats and assurances of peace – nerves were on edge with suspense. Any decision seemed better than this terrible uncertainty.
Vendors of sausages, newspapers and ice cream pushed through the crowd, but they sold nothing, for the people were in no mood to eat nor were they interested in news which must have long since been overtaken by events. They wanted a decision. Incoherent and excited, everyone had something special to relate. And then, in the middle of their talk, they would fall silent, forgetting everything else as they stared up at the balcony where the Kaiser was said to have
made his speech this morning. They were trying to see through the windows but the glass was dazzling in the sunshine, and nothing was visible but pale yellow curtains.
What was going on inside? What decision affecting everyone waiting there, every man, woman and child, was being taken in that palace twilight? Forty years of peace in the land; people could not imagine what war meant … Yet they felt that a word from the silent building could change their whole lives, change everything. And they were waiting for that word. They dreaded it and yet dreaded still more lest it should not be forthcoming, and the many weeks
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