No Road to Jaffa

(Translated by J. B. MORTON.)

[I have been fortunate enough to obtain Herr Fahlmann's per- mission to translate from the German one of the chapters from his new book, dealing with post-War psychology. The hero is Gustav Schimml, a returned soldier, married, and with a child. The story tells of his efforts to take up life where he had left it.—J. B. M.]

GUSTAV awoke with a feeling that it did not matter very much whether he got up or not. Somehow, he could not understand anything in this strange house that was his own, and when he looked at his wife, it was like looking at nothing. He could 'hear the music- professor on the floor above moving to and fro as he dressed. Somewhere in the house a cup fell and was smashed. A tram passed outside, and he remembered how he used to go to the baker's with his sister. His sister ! She had married an army-contractor.

He recognized his wife's step. She came in.

" Elsa," he said.

" What is it ? "

" Oh, what's the good of trying •to explain ? " he said. " Out there," he thought, " everybody seemed to understand me."

" Are you going to get up ? " she asked.

He listened to her words, counting them, and making- no sense of them. What had happened to words, while he had been away ?

" What has happened to words ? " he asked her, before he had intended to speak.

A pained look came into her eyes, and she gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

" I know what it is," he said " We're like blind people—all of us. We grope about, but we do not know what we are groping for. Stampfer, our corporal, used to say that philosophy was the only thing that was any good. Philosophy ! One rainy night at Lens, he was blown to pieces. I tell you we're all blind. You and I and old Hans upstairs, and your mother with her texts, and little Emma Wolf, and the attorney. All of us ! "

He had grown excited while he spoke.

" Are you not going to get up ? " repeated his wife patiently. " It is nearly ten o'clock."

He looked at her as though he had never seen her before. Then he said : " Yes, I suppose I shall get up."

While he was shaving, his son, whom he called Balloon, because of his round face, came into the room.

" Daddy, daddy ! " cried the boy.

Gustav stopped shaving.

" My boy," he said, " if, when you are a man, they come to you and tell you that it is your duty to live on mud and wind for four years, don't believe them."

The child looked puzzled, and ran out to his mother. Gustav heard the piping voice in the kitchen.

" Daddy told me some people would make me eat mud."

He heard a pan dashed to the ground. His wife entered, her eyes blazing.

" What have you been telling our child ? " she cried. " A little truth is good for children," he said. " There is too much propaganda."

" Sometimes," said Elsa, " I think I married a fiend." " God knows what you married," said Gustav, sadly. He turned to her, in an impulse of passion.

" Elsa, won't you try to understand ? "

" Understand what ? "

" That's just it. So much has to be taken for granted." " You mean— ? " " How can I tell what I mean ? "

" If only I could help you to-- " " How could you help me ? Nobody can help me." " If, perhaps, you laughed a little."

" Laughter ! My laughter was buried under tons and tons of foul-smelling earth. I filled sandbags with it, and shot it out of my rifle. I tell you it doesn't matter."

The music-professor rattled at the door, to borrow some milk.

" Such an idea," he chattered. " Not to leave my milk, and I with a cat to support. Poor cat, he'll be good for nothing but fiddlestrings unless I feed him soon. Yes. Such an idea, eh ? "

" Herr Professor," said Gustav, " were you ever married ? "

" No," said the professor.

" Well, how do you make a woman understand ? " " I should play to her. Even my cat understands' that."

The professor shuffled out with his milk, and Elsa said : " Why do you talk to everybody as though you were crazy ? What is all this nonsense of playing music to cats ? "

" But it was he who said he played to his cat" " People only talk like that when they are with you." He shot a sudden, terrified glance at her.

" You should not say that," he grumbled.

" You know it is true."

" I cannot understand what we are talking about. We talk and talk and talk, and we never seem to be saying anything at all. We get nowhere. It is only noise. Why do we go on talking so much ? Is it because we are afraid of what we are saying, or because we dare not say too little ? Perhaps if we asked no questions, one of us at least might be silent."

" It wouldn't be you," she said.

" What wouldn't be me ? " he asked, abstractedly. " It is of no importance."

" You make so many mysteries."

And there they were, at it again. He wondered why they could not be quiet together. He wondered if everybody else was always having scenes. Curious how, when you only wanted to be quiet, everything seemed to go wrong.

Listlessly he picked up a newspaper and began to read. An advertisement on one of the middle pages arrested his eye ; something about Jaffa oranges. . . . Jaffa. . . . He had a sudden vision of sunshine far away. Jaffa. . . . It was as though a chord of gay music had been struck in his wintry soul, which now uncurled like a flower. His heart pounded with excitement. " Elsa ! " he called, " Elsa ! "

She came in, amazed at the change in him.

" I must go to Jaffa," he said. - Her stupid white face, like a gibbous moon, stared at him.

" Don't you understand ? " he shouted. " Jaffa. I must go to Jaffa."

Without a word, she returned to the cooking of his breakfast, and he realized, with a pang of rage and grief, that she had not taken him seriously. His hands fell to his sides, and he sank into a chair. When she returned, carrying a tray, he was crying aloud, his head buried in his hands.

" Breakfast will be cold," she said.

" I suppose so," he answered, looking up, hopelessly. " Daddy back from Jaffa," chattered the child. Gustav, his eyes wild and agonized, held out his plate for a slice of bacon.