There are people who, out of fear of death, always speak about it." When I die," they say, wanting to prove that they have come to terms with the idea. There were officers who kept talking about, "When I take my leave . . ." If they were poor, their voices trembled, for they saw nothing in front of them but a small boarding house and a large family. If they were wealthy, they saw themselves finally travelling, finally going hunting, finally, finally having time for many beautiful things for which they had not had an hour before. When fate struck another, it was often said, He was dismissed. That had an unpleasant aftertaste. Yes, there was a "simple dismissal" that was dishonouring. It was preceded by a court verdict, a "court martial sentence." It was composed of some senior officers who judged and condemned simply as officers and decent people. Meinhardis hated the days when he had to attend this court. It was always "stupid affairs"—as he put it—that came up. Everything was just "stupidities" for him. And it was difficult for him to be there and spoil a young officer's career because of a stupidity. Whether someone was dismissed or had resigned was often not clear. Occasionally one was asked to come about it. Then he had been dismissed; although he had resigned.
Lela didn't know what the matter was with her father. The fact that he had resigned was just clear one day. Mother and father had to discuss where they wanted to move. They had been thrown from town to town all their lives and now suddenly had a free choice. Mother was drawn back to Dünheim—the old home—where Ali's grave was. Meinhardis would have liked to move to Berlin, but the objection that Berlin was too expensive for the small pension nipped this wish in the bud. "Don't you want to do something?" said Frau Käte.
Yes. Do. Earn money. But what? What could an officer actually do off duty? It must be befitting his social status.A man who had spent thirty years commanding others could hardly take a position in which he had to obey, and then, on top of that, whom? Civilians! Merchants. Wheelers and dealers, as they called those lads. Nope, it's better to break stones.
But one were barely fifty years old, very healthy, very lively, what one could do with oneself? Such a morning already. What did people—who were not on duty—do in the morning? Slept. Good. Riding was out of the question, the horses had to be sold as soon as possible. All four. For this purpose there was not enough money to ride. How did one live without horses? Well, it had to be now. But it could have come later. If it hadn't been for that row with the regimental commander . . . But he no longer needed to think about that. The General Command was completely indifferent what one did with oneself now. The General Command took care of people in uniforms. Civilians were none of their business. And Meinhardis was a mere civilian. Although he had a wardrobe full of uniforms. Although he had a tack room full of harnesses. Although, next to his wardrobe, there was a battery of high riding boots with wood in them. Although he had a light-coloured fur-lined cloth coat with a beaver collar, although his tunic was absolutely new, he would soon be wearing only his old grey-green suit and ties. How he hated ties! A soft hat instead of a cap and helmet. Grey gloves instead of white. He would no longer be bothered on the street with all the soldiers greeting him with "stand still." The officers he did not know would pass him by without noticing him, and in front of those he knew he had to take off his hat.
Do. What could he do? He could only do one thing: give orders. What else? War science, tactics, shooting, riding horses. He also knew few languages, but only as much as was needed for a conversation in the salon. He could say any beautiful thing to a woman in any language; whether she was a princess, a waitress, or a shop girl.
Frau Kätes' eyes rested on her husband in his childlike grief. She reached her hand across the table and stroked his, as if a child's.
"Some become spa managers at a seaside resort; wouldn't that be fun for you?"
No, he didn't want to be a pleasure professor. Possibly people there demanded that one sits in an office and calculate. He could not yet adjust his thoughts towards the future. He was not over the fact that he had been thrown out of his job earlier than his strength gave way. Others had estates where they planted their cabbages. But he? He had nothing. Nothing but a military degree and a tiny pension.
Frau Käte sighed. She saw that she had to take the reins. She had to decide. And so it was decided to return to Dünheim. He still had friends there, and Frau Käte had Ali's grave.