The Eternal Philistine by Odon Von Horvath Page A

the story had been concocted by the esteemed workers in order to extort a higher wage.”
    The gentleman was smiling so strangely that Kobler no longer knew what to make of him.
    “This lady,” continued the gentleman, “is the daughter of a man from Dusseldorf who sits on a supervisory board. She married somebody in Cuba as far back as 1913, so she spent the World War there.”
    And the gentleman once again smiled so strangely that it nearly confounded Kobler.
    “The war must’ve been more pleasant in Cuba,” he said, and this pleased the gentleman.
    “You’re going to see a nice little piece of the world,” he said, and gave him a friendly nod.
    “A little piece is fine,” thought Kobler, piqued, and then asked, “Are you also a businessman?”
    “No!” said the gentleman curtly as if he no longer wished to speak another word with him.
    “What could he be, then?” thought Kobler.
    “I used to be a teacher,” the gentleman said abruptly. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the Weimar Constitution, but if you advocate your political convictions with the commitment of your entire person, with every fiber of your being, then its constitutional grounded civil rights and liberties will do you shit-all good. For instance, I married a Protestant woman and lost my job for it. I can thank the Bavarian Concordat for that. Now I’m a sales representative for a brand of toothpaste that nobody buys because it’s atrocious. My family has got to live with my in-laws in Mittenwald. The old lady reproaches the children for every little thing they eat—And there’s Mittenwald! Sure is a cozy spot, huh?

CHAPTER 9
    MITTENWALD IS A GERMAN-AUSTRIAN BORDER station with passport inspection and customs control.
    This was the first border that Kobler had ever crossed in his entire life, and the official ceremonies tied up with crossing it touched him in a strangely solemn way. It waswith an almost tremulous veneration that he watched as the gendarmes stood indolently around the platform.
    He was already holding his passport expectantly in his hand before he even reached Mittenwald. Now his suitcase, too, was lying wide-open on the bench. “Please don’t shoot—I’m an honest boy,” was the message here.
    Kobler really cringed when the Austrian customs officer appeared in his car. “Anybody got anything to declare?” yelled out the customs officer unsuspectingly.
    “Over here,” yelled Kobler, pointing to his honest suitcase. But the customs officer did not even look over at him.
    “Anybody got anything to declare!?” he called out in horror, and then dashed headlong out of the car. He was afraid that somebody would, by way of exception, really have something to declare, which would mean that he would, by way of exception, have something to do.
    The passport inspection, on the other hand, was conducted a little more rigorously because it was a better piece of business. That is, there was usually at least one person on every train whose passport had just expired. They could then be sold a border-crossing permit for a few marks or schillings, respectively. One such person once said to the passport official, “Excuse me, but I really am in favor of the Anschluss!” But the passport official vehemently refused to tolerate any insults directed at an official.
    The express train slowly left the German Republic, driving past two signs:
KINGDOM OF BAVARIA: KEEP TO THE RIGHT!
FEDERAL STATE OF AUSTRIA: KEEP TO THE LEFT!
    “So we keep to the left?” Kobler asked the Austrian conductor. “We’re all on the same track,” yawned the conductor. Kobler could not help but think of Greater Germany.
    They were now heading through the northern Limestone Alps, specifically alongside the old Roman road between the Wetterstein and Karwendel mountain ranges.
    The express train needed to climb 1,160 meters in order to reach the Inn Valley, which was situated around 600 meters lower. It was a complicated region for express