Hans Fallada - Every Man Dies Alone

Part I |

Part II |

Part III |

Part IV |

Part I

THE QUANGELS

SOME BAD NEWS

The postwoman Eva Kluge slowly climbs the steps of 55 Jablonski Strasse. Shes tired from her round, but she also has one of those letters in her bag that she hates to deliver, and is about to have to deliver, to the Quangels, on the second floor.

Before that, she has a Party circular for the Persickes on the floor below. Persicke is some political functionary or otherEva Kluge always gets the titles mixed up. At any rate, she has to remember to call out Heil Hitler! at the Persickes and watch her lip. Which she needs to do anyway, theres not many people to whom Eva Kluge can say what she thinks. Not that shes a political animal, shes just an ordinary woman, but as a woman shes of the view that you dont bring children into the world to have them shot. Also, that a home without a man is no good, and for the time being shes got nothing: not her two boys, not a man, not a proper home. So, she has to keep her lip buttoned and deliver horrible letters from the front that arent written but typed, and are signed Regimental Adjutant.

She rings the Persickes bell, says Heil Hitler! and hands the old drunk his circular. He has his Party badge on his lapel, and he asks, Well, whats new?

She replies, Havent you heard the bulletin? France has capitulated.

Persickes not content with that. Come on, Frulein, of course I knew that, but to hear you say it, its like you were selling stale rolls. Say it like it means something! Its your job to tell everyone who doesnt have a radio, and convince the last of the moaners. The second Blitzkrieg is in the bag; its England now! In another three months, the Tommies will be finished, and then well see what the Fhrer has in store for us. Then itll be the turn of the others to bleed, and well be the masters. Come on in, and have a schnapps with us. Amalie, Erna, August, Adolf, Baldurcome in here. Today were celebrating; were not working today. Today well toast the news, and in the afternoon well go and pay a call on the Jewish lady on the fourth floor, and see if she wont treat us to coffee and cake! I tell you, therell be no mercy for that bitch anymore!

Leaving Herr Persicke ringed by his family, hitting the schnapps and launching into increasingly wild vituperation, the postie climbs the next flight of stairs and rings the Quangels bell. Shes already holding the letter out, ready to run off the second shes handed it over. And shes in luck: its not the woman who answers the doorshe usually likes to exchange a few pleasantriesbut the man with the etched, birdlike face, the thin lips, and the cold eyes. He takes the letter from her without a word and pushes the door shut in her face, as if she were a thief, someone you had to be on your guard against.

Eva Kluge shrugs her shoulders and turns to go back downstairs. Some people are like that; in all the time shes delivered mail in Jablonski Strasse, that man has yet to say a single word to her. Well, let him be, she cant change him, she couldnt even change the man shes married to, who wastes his money sitting in bars and betting on horses, and only ever shows his face at home when hes broke.

At the Persickes theyve left the apartment door open; she can hear the clinking glass and rowdy celebration. The postwoman gently pulls the door shut and carries on downstairs. She thinks the speedy victory over France might actually be good news, because it will have brought the end of the war nearer. And then shell have her two boys back.

The only fly in the ointment is the uncomfortable realization that people like the Persickes will come out on top. To have the likes of them as masters and always have to mind your ps and qs, that doesnt strike her as right either.

Briefly, she thinks of the man with the bird face who she gave the letter from the front to, and she thinks of old Frau Rosenthal up on the fourth floor, whose husband the Gestapo took away two weeks ago. You had to feel sorry for someone like that. The Rosenthals used to have a little haberdashery shop on Prenzlauer Allee that was Aryanized, and now the man has disappeared, and he cant be far short of seventy. Those two old people cant have done any harm to anyone, they always allowed creditthey did it for Eva Kluge when she couldnt afford new clothes for the kidsand the goods were certainly no dearer or worse in quality than elsewhere. No, Eva Kluge cant get it into her head that a man like Rosenthal is any worse than the Persickes, just by virtue of him being a Jew. And now the old woman is sitting in her flat all alone and doesnt dare go outside. Its only after dark that she goes and does her shopping, wearing her yellow star; probably shes hungry. No, thinks Eva Kluge, even if we defeat France ten times over, it doesnt mean theres any justice here at home

And by now shes reached the next house, and she makes her deliveries there.

In the meantime shop foreman Otto Quangel has taken the letter from the front into the parlor and propped it against the sewing machine. There! he says, nothing more. He always leaves the letters for his wife to open, knowing how devoted she is to their only son Otto. Now he stands facing her, biting his thin underlip, waiting for her smile to light up. In his quiet, undemonstrative way, he loves this woman very much.

She has torn open the envelope, and for a brief moment there really was a smile lighting up her face, but it vanished when she saw the typed letter. Her face grew apprehensive, she read more and more slowly, as though afraid of what each next word might be. The man has leaned forward and taken his hands out of his pockets. He is biting his underlip quite hard now, sensing that something terrible has happened. Its perfectly silent in their parlor. Then the womans breathing comes with a gasp.

Suddenly she emits a soft scream, a sound her husband has never heard from her. Her head rolls forward, bangs against the spools of thread on her sewing machine, and comes to rest among the folds of sewing, covering the fateful letter.

In a couple of bounds Quangel is at her side. With uncharacteristic haste he places his big, work-toughened hand on her back. He can feel his wife trembling all over. Anna! he says, Anna, please! He waits for a moment, and then he says it: Has something happened to Otto? Is he wounded, is it bad?

His wifes body continues to tremble, but she doesnt make a sound. She makes no effort to raise her head to look at him.

He looks down at her hair, its gotten thin in the many years of their marriage. They are getting old; if something serious has happened to Otto, she will have no one to love, only him, and theres not much to love about him. He has never had the words to tell her how much he feels for her. Even now, hes not able to stroke her, be tender to her, comfort her a little. Its all he can do to rest his heavy hand on her hair, pull her head up as gently as he can, and softly say, Anna, will you tell me whats in the letter?