Although Thiel made his way back to his forest solitude with the greatest possible haste, he arrived, however, fifteen minutes later than the official time at the place of his work.
His colleague, with whom he shared the duty, a man who had tuberculosis as a result of the quick, unavoidable temperature changes on his duty, was already standing, ready to go, on the small, sandy platform of the little hut, whose big number, black on white, shone for a long way through the trees.
The two men shook hands, exchanged a few, short pieces of information, and parted. One of them disappeared into the hut, the other went across the track, taking the continuation of the path, which Thiel had used. One heard his convulsive cough, first near by, then further away through the trees, and with this, the only human noise in this solitude went silent. So Thiel began today, as always, with arranging things, for the night, in his way, in the narrow, square stone cage of the signalman's hut. He did this mechanically, while his mind was pre-occupied with the impression of the last few hours. He placed his supper on the narrow, brown, painted table by one of the two slit-like side-windows, from which one could comfortably see across the track. Then he lit a fire in the small, rusty stove and placed a pot of cold-water on it. Finally, after he had put the tools in order: shovel, spade, vice, etc., he began with the cleaning of his lantern, which he filled immediately afterwards with fresh paraffin.
When this had been done, the bell announced, with three shrill strikes, which repeated itself, that a train from in the direction of Breslau had left the next station. Without showing the smallest sign of haste, Thiel stayed for quite a while still inside the hut; and he eventually made his way, flag and ammunition pouch in his hand, slowly into the open air and moved himself, in a shuffling and sluggish manner, over the narrow sandy path, to the rail-crossing about twenty paces away. Thiel closed and opened the barriers before and after each train, conscientiously, although the path was only rarely used by someone passing.
He had finished his work, and he now leant, waiting, against the black and white barrier-post.
The track cut right and left in a straight line into the boundless, green forest, and to both sides, the mass of needles held back, as it were, leaving a lane free between them, which the reddish-brown, gravel-strewn railway embankment filled out. The black, parallel-running lines on this glistened in their entirety like a monstrous, iron meshing of a net, whose narrow strands came together at the extremes of North and South at a point on the horizon.
The wind had got up and blew soft waves down along the edge of the forest and into the distance. From the telegraph poles, which ran alongside the track, a buzzing harmony sounded. On the wires, which entwined themselves like a web of a giant spider from pole to pole, flocks of twittering birds huddled together in close rows. A woodpecker, laughing, flew away over Thiel's head, at which he did not even deign to give a glance.
The sun, which hung just under the edges of the mighty clouds, before sinking into the black-green sea of tree-tops, poured streams of crimson over the forest. The pillared arcade of the trunks of the pine trees on that side of the embankment themselves lit up, as it were, from the inside, and glowed like iron.
Also the lines began to glow, like fiery snakes; however, they went out first of all. And now the glow climbed slowly from the ground into the sky; leaving behind, in cold fading light, first of all, the trunks of the pine trees, then the largest part of their crowns, and finally, only touching the extreme edge of the tree-tops with a red shimmer. Silently and solemnly, this was carried out like an exalted play. The signalman still stood motionless at the barrier. Finally he took a step forward. A dark point on the horizon, there where the lines met each other, grew bigger. Growing from second to second, it seemed as if it stood in once place. Suddenly, it had movement and got nearer. Through the lines went a vibration and a buzzing, a rhythmical clicking, a muffled noise, which becoming louder and louder, and finally was not dissimilar to the hoof-beats of a roaring, approaching squadron of cavalry.
A panting and roaring filled the air in fits and starts from the distance. Then, suddenly, the silence was ripped apart. A racing thundering and raging filled the air, the lines bent, the earth shook - a strong thrust of air - a cloud of dust, steam and smoke, and the black, snorting monster went by. And as it had grown, so the noise died away, little by little. The dust went away. Shrunken to a point, the train disappeared in the distance, and the old, holy silence came over this corner of the forest.
'Minna,' whispered the signalman, as if he woke from a dream, and he went back to his hut. After he had brewed himself a weak coffee, he sat down and stared, from time to time taking a sip, at a dirty piece of newspaper, which he had picked up from somewhere on the track.
Little by little, a rare uneasiness came over him. He pushed the piece of newspaper on to the stove's glowing embers, whose light filled the room, and he tore off his jacket and waistcoat, in order to lighten himself. Since that did not help, he got up, took a spade out of the corner and took himself off to the field, which had been given to him.
It was a narrow sandy strip, densely overgrown with weeds. Like a snow-white foam, the young blossom lay on the branches of the two dwarf fruit-trees, which stood here.
Thiel became calm, and a quiet pleasure came over him.
Now, to work.
The spade cut into the ground, grinding; the wet clods of earth fell back with a thud, and broke apart.
For a time he dug without interruption. Then he paused suddenly and said loudly and audibly to himself, while he shook his head back and forth, anxiously, 'No, no, that really cannot be', and again, 'No, no, that really cannot be.'
It suddenly occurred to him, that now Lene would indeed have to come out here often, in order to attend to the field, through which then the traditional way of life would be put into serious disturbance. And suddenly, his joy of having the field turned into a revulsion. Hastily, as if he had it in mind to do something terrible, he tore the spade out of the ground and carried it back to the hut. Here, once again, he sunk into deep thought. He knew little of why, but the prospect of having Lene with him on duty for whole days long, became for him, as so he very much tried to reconcile this, even more intolerable. It seemed to him, as if he had something of value to defend, as if someone were trying to encroach upon that which was most sacred to him; and his muscles tensed themselves involuntarily in a light cramp, while a short, forced laugh came from his lips. He was shocked by the echo of this laugh, he looked up, and then, he lost the thread of his thoughts. As he found it again, he burrowed back, as it were, into his old condition.
And suddenly, something like a thick, black curtain tore into two pieces, and his fogged-over eyes gained a clear view. He felt for the first time, as if he had awoken from a two-year-long death-like sleep, and he now looked at all the hair-raising things with an unbelieving shake of the head, which he ought to have done in this condition. The sorry story of his eldest son, which only the impression of the last few hours had been able to seal, carried itself clearly before his soul. Compassion and remorse seized him, just like a deep shame, that he had lived with the whole time in a humiliating toleration, without taking care of the dear, helpless creature, not finding the strength to admit to himself how he suffered.
Through all of his self-tormenting ideas, of all of his sins of omission, in a heavy tiredness, came over him, and so he fell asleep with his back arched, his forehead on his hand, which lay on the table.
For a time, he lay like this, when, in a muffled voice, he called the name of Minna several times.
A roaring and buzzing filled his ears, like an immense mass of water; it became dark around him, he opened his eyes and awoke. His limbs shook, a cold sweat from fear came through all his pores, his pulse was irregular, his face was wet from tears.
It was pitch-dark. He wanted to look over to the door, but he did not know in which way he ought to turn. Staggering, he got up, his great anxiety persisted still. The forest outside was roaring like a surging sea, the wind threw hail and rail against the windows of the hut. Thiel aimlessly felt around with his hands. For a moment, he felt as if he were a drowning man. Then suddenly, a blue, dazzling light shone, like when drops of unearthly light fade away into the earth's dark atmosphere, and become instantly smothered by it.
This moment was enough for the signalman to bring himself together. He reached for his lantern, which, fortunately, he caught hold of, and at this moment it began to thunder on the furthest edge of the Brandenburg night-sky. At first, muffled and rolling with restraint, it rolled nearer in short, surging waves, until it, after growing into a monstrous force, broke, flooding over the atmosphere, threatening, shaking and roaring.
The panes clattered, the ground quaked.
Thiel made light. His first glance, after he regained his composure, was for his watch. There was hardly five minutes between now and the arrival of the express-train. Since he thought that he had not heard the signal-bell, he took himself, as quickly as the storm and the darkness would allow, to the barrier. While he occupied himself closing the barrier, the signal-bell rang. The wind tore its sound apart and threw it in all directions. The pine-trees bent and their branches rubbed against each other, eerily creaking and squeaking. For a moment the moon became visible, as it lay just like a pale-yellow shawl between the clouds. In its light, one saw the wind burrowing into the black crowns of the pine-trees. The hanging leaves of the birch-trees on the railway embankment blew and flapped like ghostly horses' tails. Down below lay the lines of the track, which glistening from the wet, and absorbed the pale moonlight in various places.
Thiel tore the cap from his head. The rain made him feel comfortable as it ran, mixing with the tears, over his face. His brain brewed; unclear memories of that which he had seen in the dream dispelled each other. It seemed to him as if Tobias were being ill-treated by someone, and indeed in such an horrific manner, that his heart stood still at the thoughts. One of the other scenes, he remembered more clearly. He had seen his dead wife. She had come from somewhere out of the distance on one of the railway-lines. She had looked really ill, and instead of clothes, she wore rags. She had gone past Thiel's hut without looking at it, and finally - here the remembrances became unclear - she had, for some reason or other, only moved forward with great difficulty, and she had even collapsed several times.
Thiel thought further, and now he knew, that she was in flight. It was now without all doubt as to why she had sent back these anxiety-filled glances and had dragged herself further on, although her feet were failing her. Oh these terrible glances!
But there was something that she was carrying with her, wrapped in cloth, something limp, bloody, pale, and the way in which she looked down at it, reminded him of past events.
He thought about his dying wife, who had just given birth to a child, whom she had to leave behind, looking steadily with an expression, which Thiel could just as little forget, as that of he had a mother and a father.
Where had she come from? He did not know that. But now it was clear before his soul: she had rejected him in not looking at him; she had dragged herself further and further away through the stormy, dark night. He had shouted to her, 'Minna, Minna!' and he was awoken by this.
Two red, round lights penetrated the darkness like the goggle-eyes of a huge monster. A blood-coloured glow went before them, which turned the raindrops in its area into drops of blood. It was as if blood were raining down from heaven.
Thiel felt a horror, and as the train came ever nearer, an ever so large a fear; dream and reality for him melted into one. Still he saw the wandering woman on the rails, and his hand felt for the ammunition pouch, as if he had the intention of bringing the speeding train to a halt. Fortunately, it was too late, for already the lights shimmered before Thiel's eyes, and the train roared by.
For the remaining part of the night, Thiel found little peace in his work. He felt urged to be at home. He longed to see little Tobias again. He felt as if he had been separated from him for years. Finally, he had, several times, through increasing worry about the condition of the boy, tried to leave his duty.
In order to pass the time, Thiel decided, as soon as it became light, to inspect his stretch of track. In his left hand a stick, in his right hand a long, iron spanner, he went out then also straightaway into the dark-grey dawn-light on to the back of a rail.
Now and again he tightened a bolt with the spanner or hit one of the round iron bars, which the lines bound together under one another.
The rain and wind had gone, and between the tattered strips of cloud, a few pieces of a pale blue sky could be seen.
The monotonous knocking of his soles on the hard metal, together with the sleepy noise of the dripping trees, little by little, calmed Thiel down.
At six o'clock in the morning, he was relieved and started on the path for home without delay.
It was a lovely Sunday morning.
The clouds had parted and had sunken half-way below the circle of the horizon. The sun poured, in its ascent, sparkling like a huge, blood-red jewel, a pure sheet of light over the forest.
In sharp lines, the bundles of rays shot through the maze of the trunks, here an island of soft bracken, whose frond of finely worked lace glistened, covered faintly with a glow, there the silver-grey lichen of the forest-floor turning into a red coral.
From tree-tops, trunks and grasses flowed the fiery dew. A deluge of light appeared to be poured over of the earth. There was a freshness in the air, which echoed right to the heart, and also behind Thiel's fore-head the pictures of the night had to gradually fade.
However, the moment, at which he came into the small room and saw little Tobias more red-cheeked than ever lying in the sun-lit bed, they had totally disappeared.
No doubt that this was so! During the course of the day, Lene thought several times that she had noticed something strange in him; like in the church-pew, when he, instead of looking into the book, looked at her from the side, and then also at lunch-time, when he, without saying a word, took the baby, which Tobias usually had to carry out into the street, from Tobias' arms and placed it on her lap. Apart from these things, however, there was nothing the least strange about him.
Thiel, who had not laid himself down throughout the day, crept to bed just towards nine o'clock, since he had day-duty the following week. Just as he was on the point of falling asleep, he wife announced to him that she would go with him on the following morning into the forest, in order to dig over the land and set the potatoes.
Thiel winced; he had become totally awake; however, his eyes stayed firmly shut.
Lene said that it was high time that something ought to be done with the potatoes, and she added that she had to take the children with her, since it would presumably take the whole day. The signalman muttered a few incomprehensible words, to which Lene did not pay any more attention. She had turned her back to him and busied herself in the light of a tallow candle undoing her bodice and letting down her skirt.
Suddenly she turned around, without knowing herself for what reason, and looked into the earth-coloured face of her husband, distorted with passion, who stared at her with burning eyes, half sat up, his hands on the bed clothes.
'Thiel!' his wife shouted, half angry, half shocked, and like a sleep-walker, on calling his name, he awoke from his stupor, he stuttered a few confused words, threw himself back on to the pillow and pulled the bed-cover over his ears.
Lene was the first, who got up the following morning. Without making any noise, she prepared everything necessary for the outing. The smallest child was laid in the pram, then Tobias was woken and dressed. When he learnt as to where he was going, he had to smile. After everything was prepared and also the coffee was standing ready on the table, Thiel awoke. Displeasure was the first feeling at the sight of all the things prepared. He probably would have liked to have said something against it, but he did not know where to begin. And also, what convincing reasons could he have given to Lene?
Gradually then, the small, increasingly beaming face began to exercise an influence over Thiel, so that finally, for the sake of the joy, which the outing gave the boy, he was not able to think to raise any objection. Nevertheless, Thiel did not remain free from restlessness during the walk through the forest. He pushed the small pram arduously through the deep sand and had laid all kinds of the flowers on it, which Tobias had collected.
The boy was exceptionally cheerful. He hopped around in his little brown velvet-cap between the ferns and sought, in a free, somewhat clumsy manner, to catch the clear-winged dragonflies, which flicked around overhead. As soon as they had arrived, Lene went to inspect the field. She threw the small sack with the pieces of potato, which she had brought for seed, on to the edge of the grassy edge of a birch-wood, she knelt down and ran some darkly coloured sand through her hard fingers.
Thiel observed her eagerly: 'Now, how is it?'
'Just as good as the Spree-Ecke!' The signalman felt a burden go from his soul. He had feared that she would have been discontented, and he scratched the stubble of his beard quietly.
After the woman had hastily consumed a thick crust of bread, she threw off her shawl and jacket and began to dig, with the speed and stamina of a machine.
At particular intervals, she straightened herself up and took in deep breaths of air, but it was only for a moment each-time, if the small baby had to be breast-fed, which she did hastily with a panting breast, dripping with sweat.
'I have to go to walk the track, I will take Tobias with me!' shouted the signalman after a while from the platform in front of the hut over to her.
'Oh what! Nonsense!' she shouted back; 'Who will stay with the baby? Come over here!' she shouted back louder, while the signalman, as if could not hear her, went off with small Tobias.
At first, she wondered as to whether she ought to run after them, and only the loss of time prevented her from leaving the work. Thiel went along the track with Tobias. The small boy was very excited; everything was new and strange for him. He did not understand what the thin, black lines, warmed by the sun-light meant. Mercilessly, he asked all kinds of peculiar questions. Of all the things, the ringing of the telegraph-poles was the most strange. Thiel knew the sound of each single one in his area, so that he would always have known, with closed eyes, on which part of the line he was.
Often he stopped, Tobias by his hand, in order to listen to the wonderful sounds, which streamed from the wood like the sonorous chanting from the inside of a church. The poles towards the south of his area had an especially full and beautiful chord. There was a throng of sounds from the insides, which rang forth, without interruption, in one breath, as it were; and Tobias ran around the weather-beaten wood, in order to, as he thought, discover, by means of an opening, the maker of the lovely sound. The signalman changed into a solemn mood, similarly like in church. Moreover, with time, he distinguished a voice, which reminded him of his dead wife. He imagined this to be a choir of belovèd spirits, in which she mixed her voice, and this idea awoke in him a yearning, an emotion to tears.
Tobias asked for some flowers, which were to the side, and Thiel, as always, gave them to him.
Pieces of blue sky seemed to have sunken on to the floor of the wood, for the small, blue flowers stood there so amazingly close together. Just like little fluttering coloured-flags, the butterflies flitted silently between the shining white of the tree-trunks, meanwhile a gentle drizzle fell through the pale green leafy-masses of the crowns of the birch-trees.
Tobias picked flowers and his father looked at him, pondering. Occasionally the latter raised his view and looked through the gaps in the clouds in the sky, which absorbed the golden light of the sun like an enormous, perfectly blue crystal bowl.
'Father, is that the Dear Lord?' the small boy asked suddenly, on seeing a small brown squirrel, which darted over to a pine-tree, standing alone, with scraping noises on the trunk.
'Silly lad,' was all that Thiel could reply, while torn-away pieces of bark fell from the trunk in front of his feet.
The mother was still digging, when Thiel and Tobias came back. Half of the field had already been turned over.
The trains followed each-other in short intervals, and Tobias watched them roar past, each time open-mouthed.
The mother herself had her pleasure in his funny face-pulling.
The lunch, consisting of potatoes and the remainder of a cold pork-roast, was consumed in the hut. Lene had tidied up, and also Thiel seemed to want to submit to the inevitable with good decency. He talked with his wife during the meal about all kinds of things that were done in his job. And so, he asked her whether she could imagine for herself that in a single piece of rail there were forty-six bolts, and in others more.
In the morning Lene had finished turning over the soil; in the afternoon the potatoes ought to be planted. She declared that Tobias would look after the baby, and she took him with her.
'Make sure...' shouted Thiel after her, seized by sudden anxiety, '...make sure that he does not go too close to the lines!'
A shrug of the shoulders was Lene's answer.
The Silesian express-train had been announced, and Thiel had to be at his post. He had just stood at the barrier, in readiness, when already he heard it roaring towards him.
The train became visible, - it came closer - in countless, quick bursts, the steam hissed from the locomotive's black stack. There: one, two, three, milky-white streams of steam welled upwards, straight as a die, and similarly, the air brought with it the whistle of the locomotive - three times, in succession, short, piercing and frightening. - They are braking, thought Thiel, but why? And again, the emergency whistle, piercing, sounded this time in a long, unbroken line, waking the echo.
Thiel moved forwards, in order to be able to look along the line. Mechanically, he pulled the red flag out of the case and held it out in front of him over the lines. - Jesus Christ! - Was he blind? Jesus Christ! - Oh Jesus, Jesus Christ! What was that? There! - There, between the lines... 'Stop!' shouted the signalman with all his might. It was too late. A dark mass had been pulled under the train and was thrown around between the wheels, here and there, like a rubber-ball. A few moments later, and one heard the jarring and squealing of the brakes. The train stopped.
The isolated track was brought to life. Guards and ticket-inspectors ran across the gravel to the end of the train. Out of every window peered curious faces, and now - the crowd came together and moved to the front.
Thiel was panting; he had to hold on to himself, in order not to fall to the ground like a killed bull. Truthfully, they waved to him, 'No!'
A shriek tore the air at the place of the accident, a howl followed, like it was coming from an animal's throat. Who was that?! Lene?! It was not her voice, and yet...
A man came hurrying along the track.
'Signalman!'
'What has happened here?'
'An accident!' ...The messenger recoiled, for the signalman's eyes moved strangely. His hat was crooked, his red hair seemed to be standing up.
'He is still alive, perhaps there is still a chance.'
A groan was the only answer.
'Come quickly! Quickly!'
Thiel picked himself up suddenly with immense strain. His limp muscles tightened themselves; he stood erect, his face was vacant and dead.
He ran with the messenger, he did not see the deadly-pale, shocked faces of the travellers in the train windows. A young woman shouted out, there was a business traveller in a fez, a young couple, apparently on their honeymoon. What was he concerned about? He did not pay any attention the the contents of this rattling box, his ears were filled with Lene's howling. Swimming around before his eyes, he saw innumerable yellow spots, like glow-worms. He recoiled; he stood there. Out of the dance of the glow-worms emerged something pale, limp and bleeding: a forehead beaten black and blue, blue lips, over which black blood dripped. It was him.
Thiel did not speak. His face took on a dirty expression. He smiled as if absent; finally he bent down, and felt the limp, dead limbs heavy in his arms; he wrapped the red flag around him.
He went.
To where?
'To the district doctor! To the district doctor!' everybody shouted.
'We will take him with us,' called the baggage-master, and made in his wagon a stretcher out of work-clothes and books. 'Now then?'
Thiel made no sign of letting go of the accident-victim. They urged him. Useless. The baggage-master passed the stretcher out of the luggage-wagon and ordered a man to assist the father.
Time is costly. The guard's whistle sounded. Coins rained out of the windows.
Lene behaved as if she were beside herself. 'The poor, poor woman,' she was called in the compartment, 'The poor, poor mother!'
The guard whistled again - a whistle - the locomotive threw out white, hissing steam from its cylinders and stretched its iron sinews; a few seconds later, and the courier-train thundered at double-speed through the forest in a streaming cloud of smoke.
The signalman, having changed his mind, laid the half-dead boy on to the stretcher. There he lay, there in his broken figure, and now and again a long, rattling breath raised his chest, which could be seen under the tattered shirt. His small arms and small legs, not only broken at the joints, took on an unnatural shape. The heel of his small foot was turned towards the front. His arm hung loosely over the edge of the stretcher.
Lene whimpered continuously; every trace of her former defiance moved from her nature. She repeated continually a story, that she ought to be cleared of all blame for the incident.
Thiel seemed not to notice her; with a terribly frightened expression, his eyes clung to the child.
It became quiet all around, deadly quiet; black and hot, the lines lay on the brilliant gravel. At midday the wind had gone, and the forest stood motionless, like stone.
The men discussed things with one another quietly. One had to, in order to take the quickest route to Friedrichshagen, go back to the station, which was in the direction of Breslau, since the next train, a speeded-up local train, obviously did not stop at Friedrichshagen.
Thiel seemed to be considering as to whether he ought to go along. But at the moment, there was nobody there who understood the work. A silent hand-movement signalled to his wife to take the stretcher; she did not dare to refuse, although she was concerned for the infant left-behind. Thiel accompanied the procession to the end of his area, then he stopped, and looked at it for a long time. Suddenly he struck the flat of his hand on his forehead, which sounded for a long way.
He meant to wake himself up, 'It is dream, like yesterday,' he said to himself, - useless. - Swaying more as he ran, he reached his hut. Inside, he fell on to the ground, face-down. His cap rolled into the corner, his carefully-looked-after watch fell out his pocket, the top sprung open, the glass broke. It was as if an iron fist had stopped him, grabbed by the neck, so tight that he was not able to move, so much that under his moaning and groaning, he sought to free himself. His forehead was cold, his eyes dry, his throat burned.
The signal-bell woke him. Under the influence of each of the self-repeating three strikes of the bell, the fit elapsed. Thiel was able to get up and do his duty. His feet were as heavy as lead, the track circled around him like the spoke of a huge wheel, whose axle was his head; however, he gained enough strength to hold himself erect for some time.
The passenger-train came along. Tobias had to be in there. Each time it moved nearer, the more the pictures swam before Thiel's eyes. Finally, he only saw the boy, broken to pieces, with his bloody mouth. Then it became night.
After a while, he awoke from a faint. He found himself lying close to the barrier in the hot sand. He stood up, shook the grains of sand from his clothes and spat them out of his mouth. His head became a little more free, and was able to think more calmly.
In the hut, he immediately took his watch from the floor and laid it on the table. It had not stopped, despite the fall. For two hours, he counted the seconds and the minutes, while he imagined that which he wanted to happen to Tobias. Now Lene arrived with him; now she stood in front of the doctor. He examined and felt the boy, and shook his head.
'Bad, very bad - but perhaps... Who knows?' He examined him more closely. 'No,' he said then, 'No, its over.'
'Over, over!' moaned the signalman, but then he got up and shouted, his rolling eyes raised to the ceiling, his raised hands, turned involuntarily into a fist, and with his voice, as if he had to burst the small room apart, 'He must, must live! I tell you, he must, must live!' And now he kicked open the hut's door again, through which the red fire of evening broke in, and he ran, more as he went, back to the barrier. Here, he stopped for a while, as if perplexed, and then suddenly, he moved, both arms stretched out, into the middle of the track, as if he wanted to stop something, which came from the direction of the local train. With this, his widely open eyes gave the impression of blindness.
While he, stepping backwards, seemed to retreat from something, he exclaimed strongly through his teeth in single, half-comprehensible words, 'You, do you hear, just stay. You, just listen, stay. Give him back, he's beaten black and blue. Yes, yes, good, I will beat her black and blue, do you hear? Just stay, give him back to me.'
It seemed as if something were going past him, for he turned and moved, in order to follow it in the other direction.
'You, Minna!' - His voice became a whimpering, like that of a small child - 'You, Minna, do you hear? Give him back, I want to...' He felt around in the air as if to hold somebody back. 'Little woman, yes, then I want her... And then I want to beat her also, black and blue, beat her as well, and I want to beat her with the chopper, do you see? The kitchen chopper, the kitchen chopper, I want to hit her with, and then she will die.
And then, yes, with the chopper, the kitchen chopper, yes, black blood!' There was froth around his mouth, his glazed-over pupils moved violently.
A gentle evening wind blew softly and continually over the forest, and fiery-pink curly clouds hung in the western sky.
He had followed the invisible something, for about one hundred steps, when he stopped, apparently despondent, and with terrible fear in his mind, the man stretched his arms out, pleading, imploring. He strained his eyes and shaded them with his hand, as if to discover the unreal in the distance once again. Finally, his hands dropped, and the strained expression on his face turned into dull lack of expression; he turned around and dragged himself back along the track, along which he came.
The sun poured its last light over the forest and then faded. The trunks of the pine-trees stretched themselves like pale, decaying limbs between the tree-tops, which hung on them like a layer of grey-black mould. The hammering of a woodpecker penetrated the silence. Across the cold, steel-blue sky went a single, late red-cloud. It was as cold as a cellar, so that the signalman froze. Everything was new to him, everything strange. He did not know what it was that he was walking on, or that which surrounded him. Then a squirrel hurried over the track, and Thiel thought. He had to think about the Dear Lord, without knowing why. 'The Dear Lord jumps over the track, the Dear Lord jumps over the track.' He repeated this sentence several times, in order to, as it were, find something that had to do with it. He interrupted himself, a gleam fell into his mind, 'But my God, that is really crazy!' He forgot everything and turned himself against this new enemy. He sought to bring order into his thoughts - useless! It was an endless roaming and wandering. He surprised himself at the most foolish idea and he shuddered in the knowledge of his powerlessness.
Out of the nearby small birch-wood, came the cry of a child. It was a sign of rage. Almost against his will, he had to hurry over there, and he found the infant, about which nobody troubled themselves any more, crying and thrashing around, lying in the pram without bedding. What did he want to do? What brought him over here? A swirling current of feelings and thoughts engulfed this question.
'The Dear Lord jumps over the track.' Now he knew what that meant. 'Tobias' - She had murdered him, Lene, he was entrusted to her - 'Stepmother, cruel-mother,' he grunted, 'and her brat lives!' A red fog clouded his mind, the two eyes of the child penetrated through him; he felt something soft, fleshy between his fingers. Gurgling and whistling, mixed with a hoarse crying out, met his ears, and he did not know from whom they came.
Then something fell into his mind, like drops of hot sealing-wax, and it lifted itself like a stiffness from his spirit. Coming to consciousness, he heard the echo of the announcement-bell ringing through the air.
Suddenly, he understood, what he had wanted to do: his hand loosened itself from the throat of the child, which turned under his grip. It sought breath and then it began to cough and to cry.
'It lives, thank the Lord, it lives!' He left it lying there and he hurried to the crossing. Dark smoke rolled across the track in the distance, and the wind pushed it down on to the ground. Behind it, he heard the puffing of a locomotive, which sounded like the sudden jerking, tormented breathing of an ill giant.
A cold twilight lay over the area.
After a while, when the smoke-clouds parted, Thiel recognised the gravel-train, which was going back with empty trucks and was carrying the workers, who had been working throughout the day on the line.
The train had a generous schedule and was allowed to stop everywhere, in order to pick up the workers, still busy, here and there, and to drop others off. A good way before Thiel's hut, the train began to brake. A loud squeaking, clattering, rattling and clinking penetrated for a long way into the evening silence, until the train stood silently after a single, shrill, long-drawn-out whistle.
About fifty male and female workers, were distributed in the trucks. Almost all of them were standing, a few of the men with bared heads. In all of their beings lay a mysterious solemnity. When they became visible by the signalman, a whispering started up between them. The older ones took their pipes from between their yellow teeth and held them respectfully in their hands. Now and again, a woman would turn to blow her nose. The guard climbed down on to the track and went up to Thiel. The workers saw how solemnly he shook his hand, whereon Thiel walked with slow, strongly military steps to the last wagon.
None of the workers dared to speak to him, although all of them knew him.
Out of the last wagon, the small Tobias was lifted out.
He was dead.
Lene followed him; her face was a bluish-white, brown circles lay around her eyes.
Thiel did not deign to look at her; but she was shocked at the sight of her husband. His cheeks were hollow, his eyelashes and beard were stuck together, his parting seemed to her to be more grey than before. There were the marks of dried tears all over his face; there was a restless light in his eyes, and she was overcome with horror by this.
For a while, an unholy stillness ruled. A deep, terrible pensiveness took hold of Thiel. It became darker. A pack of deer stood to the side on the railway-embankment. The roebuck stood in the middle, between the lines. He turned his thin neck curiously around, then the locomotive whistled, and like lightening, he disappeared together with his herd.
At this moment, when the train put itself into motion, Thiel collapsed.
The train stopped again, and a discussion took place about what ought now be done. It was decided to put the child's body for the meantime in the signalman's hut, and instead of the body, to take home, by means of the stretcher, the raving signalman, whom they had no means of bringing back to consciousness.
And so it was. Two men carried the stretcher with the unconscious man, followed by Lene, who continually sobbing, her faced covered with tears, pushed the pram with the baby through the sand.
Like a huge, glowing, crimson ball, the moon lay between the pine-tree-trunks on the forest-floor. The higher it rose, the smaller it seemed to become, and the paler it became. Finally, it hung, just like a hanging lamp, over the forest, pushing a mass of hazy light through all the holes and gaps in the tree-tops, which coloured the faces of the people in the little procession there as if they were dead bodies.
Sprightly but carefully, they moved forward, now through the densely packed young-wood, then further on, along through the tall trees, which had already been standing there for a long time; there the pale light had collected like in large, dark basins.
The unconscious man rolled from side to side, or began to hallucinate. Several times he punched out with his fists, and with closed eyes, tried to get up.
It was a lot of trouble to get him across the Spree; they had to cross over a second time, in order to fetch the wife and the child.
When they got up on to the small rise of the hamlet, they met a few inhabitants, who immediately received the message about the accident.
The whole hamlet got up.
In the face of her acquaintances, Lene broke out into a new wailing.
They carried the ill man, with some difficulty, up the stairs into his flat and brought him directly to the bed. The workers turned around immediately, in order to fetch little Tobias' body.
Old experienced people recommended cold compresses, and Lene followed their advice with eagerness and prudence. She placed towels into ice-cold spring water and renewed them, for the burning forehead of the unconscious man had heated them through. Fearfully she watched the breathing of the ill man, which seemed to her to be more regular every minute.
The excitement of the day had taken a lot out of her, and she decided to sleep a little, but she found no rest. No matter whether she opened or closed her eyes, the recent events were brought before her. The infant slept, she had concerned herself little with it, compared with her usual. She had become a totally different person. Nowhere was there a mark of her earlier defiance. Yes, this ill man with the colourless, face, shiny with sweat, ruled her in his sleep.
A cloud covered the moon, it became darker in the room, and Lene heard only the heavy, but regular, breathing of her husband. She considered whether she ought to make light. It was eerie for her in the darkness. When she wanted to stand up, all her limbs became as heavy as lead, her eyelids closed, she fell asleep.
After the course of a few hours, when the men returned with body of the child, they found the house door wide open. Confused by this, they went up the stairs into the upper flat, whose door was in the same way wide open.
They called the name of the woman several times, without getting an answer. Finally they stuck a match on the wall, and the light, bursting forth, revealed a ghastly devastation.
'Murder! Murder!'
Lene lay in her own blood, her face unrecognisable, her skull battered.
'He has murdered his wife! He has murdered his wife!'
Panicking, they ran around. The neighbours came, one of them banged into the cradle. 'Holy heaven!' And he recoiled, pale, with a terror-stricken expression. There lay the child with a slit throat.
The signalman had disappeared; the search, which was started the same night, stayed without success. In the morning the relief signalman found him between the lines, sitting on the spot, where Tobias had been run over.
He held the brown stocking-cap in his hand and fondled it continually, like something that had life.
The signalman directed a few questions at him, however, he received no answer, and soon noticed that he was dealing with someone insane.
The man at the main signal-box, who was informed of this, telegraphed for help.
Now more men tried to entice him from the lines through friendly persuasion; however, useless!
The express train, which passed at this time, had to stop; and it was only through the train-staff's over-powering that they succeeded in removing the ill man, by force, from the track, who immediately began to rage.
They had to bind his hands and feet, and the policeman, who had been summoned in the meantime, supervised his transport to the Berlin remand-prison, from which, however, he was transferred on the first day to the lunatic asylum of the Charité. On his delivery, he still held the small brown cap in his hands, and he guarded it with jealous care and tenderness.
black and white
Black and white were the old national colours of the German province
of Prussia, where the story takes place.
of the forest
In the third chapter, Hauptmann uses two breaks in the text. These
are indicated by a line separating the paragraphs. This is the first of
these breaks, signalling a change from the former descriptive text to the
action text.
piece of newspaper
The German refers to the piece of newspaper with the pronoun 'it'.
For a better translation, this has been substituted with the noun.
unearthly light
This is perhaps a reference to a shooting-star.
a mother and a father
Here, Hauptmann tries to impress upon the reader that Thiel cannot
forget his wife's expression, just as much as the fact that nobody can
forget that they have a mother and a father. Hauptmann may have used this
expression in order to maintain the naturalistic theme in the book.
goggle-eyes of a monster
This is a direct translation from the German.
behind Thiel's fore-head
This means in Thiel's mind.
letting down her skirt
See note for page 6 for 'tucked up skirt'.
Spree-Ecke
This is the area of land which Thiel and Lene had used for potato farming
until they received the notice of the termination of the lease. 'Spree-Ecke'
is literally the Spree-corner, implying that the field was situated on
a bend of the river Spree.
very excited
The German uses 'not a little', best translated as 'very'.
belovèd spirits
German often uses the adjective 'lieb', approximate meaning 'dear',
and is usually attributed to loved ones and to deities. There is no direct
equivalent in English, but here, 'belovèd' suffices.
the latter
This means Thiel.
Dear Lord
German often uses the adjective 'lieb', approximate meaning 'dear',
and is usually attributed to loved ones and to deities. There is no direct
equivalent in English, but here, 'Dear' suffices.
silly lad
This is a direct translation from the German.
Lene's answer
This is the second, and final, break in the text of chapter three,
when there is a move to the accident and Thiel's decline. See also the
note page 8 on 'of the forest'.
between the lines
The remarks between the dashes could have been made by the author,
by the train driver/guard or by Thiel himself.
like a killed bull
Hauptmann may have used this phrase (see also the note for page 9 on
'a mother and a father') to maintain the naturalistic theme.
waved
Here, the German ceases to use the imperfect tense for the action of
the story. It reverts to the present, which technically is the historic
present tense, which is translated as a past tense in English. Note however,
that many of the description verbs remain in the imperfect, together a
few of the action verbs.
fez
The fez is a traditional Arabic head covering. It is best described
to be like a dark-red upturned flower pot, made from thick woollen material,
with a black tasselled cord attached to the centre of the flat-end, extending
down the side.
rattling box
This means the carriage full of people.
black and blue
The phrase 'black and blue' exists in German, but as 'brown and blue'.
It was him.
The German refers to 'it' not 'him'. The reference is to 'Tobiaschen',
a neuter noun.
around him
The German refers to 'it' not 'him'. The reference is to 'Tobiaschen',
a neuter noun.
district doctor
The German for 'district doctor' is 'Bahnarzt', literally 'railway
doctor'. In these fairly backward areas of Germany at this time, the railway
was the only outside link there was, and therefore, a doctor was appointed
by the railway administration for a particular area.
procession
The procession consists of Lene and the unnamed man, ordered to assist
the family, who are carrying the stretcher, on which Tobias is lying.
reached
The German text reverts to the imperfect tense for the action of the
story from the present. See also the note for page 12 on 'waved'.
became night
This does not mean that it literally became night, but for Thiel, it
became night, in that he fainted.
back to me
This section, in which Thiel is rambling, is very difficult to translate
directly, so paraphrasing has been used to overcome certain difficulties.
Some modal verbs are given in the German text with no infinitive, and so
an appropriate one has been added for translation purposes.
will die
The German does not use the standard verb for people dying ('sterben'),
but uses the verb for animals dying ('verrecken'). This has perhaps been
done to emphasize Thiel's hate for Lene.
track
The German uses the word for 'path' and not 'track'; but since we have
been told that Thiel has been walking along the track, the word is used
here and later on for continuity.
Dear Lord
German often uses the adjective 'lieb', approximate meaning 'dear',
and is usually attributed to loved ones and to deities. There is no direct
equivalent in English, but here, 'Dear' suffices.
track
The German uses the word for 'path' and not 'track'; but since we have
been told that Thiel has been walking along the track, the word is used
here and later on for continuity.
Gurgling...they came
The order of this sentence has been changed for translation.
generous schedule
The gravel-train was a train which carried workers and materials for
the building and maintenance of track. Obviously, a strict timetable for
such a train could not be laid down, so it was given a generous schedule,
in that ample time was given for it to stop as often as was necessary.
bared heads
This means that they were not wearing a cap or a hat.
young wood
This was an area of land on which saplings had been planted to replace
those trees which were cut down.
spring
Spring is used for continuity of translation, although in the hamlet,
there may indeed have been a well. The German word used is 'Brunnen', which
has several meanings, the most likely of which is 'spring'. A favoured
alternative would be 'well', but taking its isolation into account, this
is unlikely.
ruled...sleep
Hauptmann had described earlier how Lene had ruled over Thiel (see
chapter one), and now he describes how Thiel has rule over Lene.
stocking-cap
This could be translated as 'fur-cap', but considering the time of
year, June, it is more likely to be a stocking-cap. However, Hauptmann
earlier described Tobias, on walking to the line on Monday morning, to
be wearing a velvet-cap. This could be an error on Hauptmann's part.
signalman
Up to this point, Thiel has been described as the signalman. From the
time of Tobias' return, dead, Thiel is totally unable to do the job of
signalman, and so Hauptmann may have considered Thiel to have resigned
the position; also, Hauptmann does not refer to Thiel as the signalman
following his collapse. This reference to 'signalman' is for the relief-signalman.
Charité
The Charité is a famous hospital in Berlin, to whose psychiatric
section ('lunatic asylum') Thiel is transferred.