Sunday. And I’ve got something to ask you.’
‘Well, ask!’
That sounded irritable; he got himself a cigarette, lit it carefully, took a long drag and said again, but in a markedly gentler tone: ‘Do ask, Lammchen.’
‘Won’t you tell me yourself?’
‘But I don’t know what you want to ask.’
‘You know,’ she said.
‘I don’t, really, Lammchen.’
‘You know.’
‘Lammchen, please be sensible. Ask me!’
‘You know.’
‘Well then, don’t.’ He was hurt.
‘Sonny,’ she said, ‘Sonny, do you remember when we sat in Platz in the kitchen? On the day we got engaged? It was all dark, and there were such a lot of stars and we went out onto the kitchen balcony.’
‘Yes,’ he said crossly. ‘I know all that. So …?’
‘Don’t you remember what we discussed?’
‘Hey, listen, we gossiped on about a whole mass of things. How am I supposed to remember all that!’
‘But we talked about something in particular. We even made a promise about it.’
‘I dunno what it was,’ he said shortly.
Before Mrs Emma Pinneberg, née Morschel, there lay this moonlit landscape, with the small gas lamp twinkling on the left. And straight opposite, still on this side of the Strela, was a cluster of trees, five or six of them. The Strela rippled and the night wind was very pleasant.
It was all very pleasant, and it would have been possible to let this evening be as it was: pleasant. But there was something that bored into Lammchen’s mind like an intrusive voice that said: this cosiness is a fraud, it’s all self-deception. You let things be pleasant and before you know what’s happened you’re up to your ears in trouble.
Lammchen turned her back to the landscape and said: ‘No, we made a promise. We took each other’s hands and promised that we would always be honest with each other, and have no secrets from each other.’
‘Correction: you promised me.’
‘You don’t want to be honest?’
‘Of course I do. But there are some things women don’t need to know.’
‘Oh,’ said Lammchen, quite squashed. But she quickly recovered and hurried on: ‘So your giving the driver five marks when the taximeter only said two marks forty, is that the sort of thing that we women don’t need to know?’
‘But he carried the trunk and the bed-bag upstairs!’
‘For two marks sixty? And why did you go around with your right hand in your pocket so no one could see the ring? And why did the hood have to be on the car? And why didn’t you go down with me to the shop earlier on? And why could people be offendedif we were married? And why …?’
‘Lammchen,’ he said, ‘Lammchen, I really don’t want to …’
‘It’s ridiculous, Sonny,’ she replied. ‘You simply mustn’t have any secrets from me, otherwise we’ll start lying to each other, and we’ll be just the same as everybody else.’
‘That’s all very well, Lammchen, but …’
‘You can tell me everything, Sonny, everything! I’m not a gormless lamb, whatever you call me. I know I haven’t anything to reproach you with.’
‘Yes, yes, Lammchen; but you know it isn’t as simple as that. I’d like to but it sounds so silly … so …’
‘Is it something to do with a girl?’ she asked resolutely.
‘No, no. Well, actually, yes, but not in the way you think.’
‘How, then? Just tell me, Sonny. I’m dying to know.’
‘All right, Lammchen, if you must.’ But then he hesitated again. ‘Can’t I tell you tomorrow?’
‘Now! On the spot! How d’you think I’m going to get to sleep when I’m racking my brains over this? It’s something to do with a girl but not to do with a girl … It sounds so mysterious.’
‘Well then, listen. I’ve got to begin with Bergmann. You know I started off here at Bergmanns?’
‘The outfitters? Yes, I know. And I do think drapery is much nicer than potatoes and fertilizers. Fertilizers—d’you sell actual manure as well?’
‘Now Lammchen, if you’re
‘Well, ask!’
That sounded irritable; he got himself a cigarette, lit it carefully, took a long drag and said again, but in a markedly gentler tone: ‘Do ask, Lammchen.’
‘Won’t you tell me yourself?’
‘But I don’t know what you want to ask.’
‘You know,’ she said.
‘I don’t, really, Lammchen.’
‘You know.’
‘Lammchen, please be sensible. Ask me!’
‘You know.’
‘Well then, don’t.’ He was hurt.
‘Sonny,’ she said, ‘Sonny, do you remember when we sat in Platz in the kitchen? On the day we got engaged? It was all dark, and there were such a lot of stars and we went out onto the kitchen balcony.’
‘Yes,’ he said crossly. ‘I know all that. So …?’
‘Don’t you remember what we discussed?’
‘Hey, listen, we gossiped on about a whole mass of things. How am I supposed to remember all that!’
‘But we talked about something in particular. We even made a promise about it.’
‘I dunno what it was,’ he said shortly.
Before Mrs Emma Pinneberg, née Morschel, there lay this moonlit landscape, with the small gas lamp twinkling on the left. And straight opposite, still on this side of the Strela, was a cluster of trees, five or six of them. The Strela rippled and the night wind was very pleasant.
It was all very pleasant, and it would have been possible to let this evening be as it was: pleasant. But there was something that bored into Lammchen’s mind like an intrusive voice that said: this cosiness is a fraud, it’s all self-deception. You let things be pleasant and before you know what’s happened you’re up to your ears in trouble.
Lammchen turned her back to the landscape and said: ‘No, we made a promise. We took each other’s hands and promised that we would always be honest with each other, and have no secrets from each other.’
‘Correction: you promised me.’
‘You don’t want to be honest?’
‘Of course I do. But there are some things women don’t need to know.’
‘Oh,’ said Lammchen, quite squashed. But she quickly recovered and hurried on: ‘So your giving the driver five marks when the taximeter only said two marks forty, is that the sort of thing that we women don’t need to know?’
‘But he carried the trunk and the bed-bag upstairs!’
‘For two marks sixty? And why did you go around with your right hand in your pocket so no one could see the ring? And why did the hood have to be on the car? And why didn’t you go down with me to the shop earlier on? And why could people be offendedif we were married? And why …?’
‘Lammchen,’ he said, ‘Lammchen, I really don’t want to …’
‘It’s ridiculous, Sonny,’ she replied. ‘You simply mustn’t have any secrets from me, otherwise we’ll start lying to each other, and we’ll be just the same as everybody else.’
‘That’s all very well, Lammchen, but …’
‘You can tell me everything, Sonny, everything! I’m not a gormless lamb, whatever you call me. I know I haven’t anything to reproach you with.’
‘Yes, yes, Lammchen; but you know it isn’t as simple as that. I’d like to but it sounds so silly … so …’
‘Is it something to do with a girl?’ she asked resolutely.
‘No, no. Well, actually, yes, but not in the way you think.’
‘How, then? Just tell me, Sonny. I’m dying to know.’
‘All right, Lammchen, if you must.’ But then he hesitated again. ‘Can’t I tell you tomorrow?’
‘Now! On the spot! How d’you think I’m going to get to sleep when I’m racking my brains over this? It’s something to do with a girl but not to do with a girl … It sounds so mysterious.’
‘Well then, listen. I’ve got to begin with Bergmann. You know I started off here at Bergmanns?’
‘The outfitters? Yes, I know. And I do think drapery is much nicer than potatoes and fertilizers. Fertilizers—d’you sell actual manure as well?’
‘Now Lammchen, if you’re
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