Iron Gustav Read Online Free Page A

an orderly way over the back of a chair. Then he picked up the key. It was a completely ordinary key, a little key, the kind used for cupboards and drawers. It was still quite new. Even in the dim light the father thought he could make out the filing of the bit … and it was no industrial key but one made by a locksmith – nothing special.
    The father stood absolutely still. As he held the little key in his hand, he felt he could hear time go by in seconds and minutes. It fell like heavy rain, obliterating all other sounds – all the sounds of life. And behind this veil, life itself became grey, colourless and distant …
    Only a little key …
    He no longer looked at his drunken son’s bed. He didn’t care if Otto was awake and watching him. When in great pain everyone is utterly alone. Nothing reached him any more.
    With dragging feet and unseeing eyes the father went to the door, the key in his hand.
    A little key!
§ V
    In the passage Hackendahl again heard the grey, his pampered favourite, demanding its extra ration. No, things were not right, either with the horse or Erich or the master of the house. He, scrupulously just and conscientious, got up half an hour earlier to give the grey something extra before Rabause the head stableman arrived. His children all meant a great deal to him, but Erich with his coaxing could always in the end obtain what was refused the others. The father had never thought of this as unjust, since no one can command his affections, yet now he saw that it was not the proper way of doing things; it sinned against reason, human and divine. He carried the proof in his hand.
    He carried it as though it were a magic key with a power as yet unknown and which had therefore to be handled cautiously. It was a magic key, opening Iron Gustav up to new knowledge. No father’s heart can be completely made of iron. It is soil forever newly ploughed, some of whose furrows never disappear.
    He stood before his desk. There was no retreat now, even had he thought of it – an old soldier faces the enemy, and attacks.
    The massive desk was of heavily carved oak, with brass embellishments representing lions’ mouths. He pushed the key into one of these mouths and – there! – the key turned. He was not surprised; it was to be expected that this key would open the drawer in his desk. Hackendahl looked inside. When the children were small, a slab of toffee was always to be found on the right-hand side, in front. Every Sunday, after lunch, the children lined up before the desk where the father, sitting in judgement on their behaviour during the week, hacked off appropriate pieces from the slab. He had thought toffee good for the children; in his youth sugar had been dear and was believed to bestow great strength, and Hackendahl wanted healthy children. Later this belief turned out erroneous, the dentist explaining that sugar actually spoiled children’s teeth; Hackendahl had meant well but had acted wrongly. That often happened in life. You mean well and do wrong all the same. You don’t know enough, perhaps – had learned too little. With Erich he’d also meant well and done the
wrong thing. He hadn’t been strict enough, and now his favourite son was a thief, the meanest of his kind – a pilferer in the home, a creature who stole from his parents, from his brothers and sisters … The old man’s pride was wounded. He groaned. His honour was stained. If the son is a thief the father cannot be blameless.
    Standing there, he heard it strike four o’clock. He ought to go downstairs to the stables to superintend the feeding and grooming of the horses – in half an hour the night cabs would be coming back and he had to settle up with them – he had no time to stand there brooding over an undutiful son.
    Yes, but first he must count the money in the little linen bag, ascertain what was missing and question his son; then he could superintend the feeding and the grooming, have the horses seen to, settle up