The Child Manuela: Mädchen in Uniform book (new translation)

by MaedchenInUniform

Original title: Das Mädchen Manuela (Actually, The GIRL Manuela, but wrong title is known.) Written by Christa Winsloe as a semi-autobiography (she's Manuela.) Translated by the woman behind christas-museum Christa Winsloe: More than Mädchen in Uniform [The result: Nothing is changed. Like the original, but in English.] (UPDATES are irregular, up to several times a week.)

65. Chapter 6: XVII

Herr Alemann trudges calmly through the house at night. He opens every classroom door and shines his pocket torch into every corner. He comes up from the basement, where he has checked that the taps are not dripping, whether the gas is properly turned off, and the doors are locked to the outside. He has to see if there is no light left anywhere, and if there is no remains of anything to eat or drink has been left behind. It gets dark behind him every time, all the lamps that are still burning are switched off. Mr Alemann rattles his keys like a prison guard. Sometimes he stops and listens to see if any sounds reach his ears. Is there a shutter flapping in the wind? Is a curtain flapping? Or is someone still talking? Is someone moaning in their sleep or coughing—does one have to report it?

He stops in the large corridor. The crack in the door to Frau Headmistress' room still reveal light. Rapid speech reaches his ear. "Well, of course!" he grumbles and walks on. Frau Headmistress and "Bunny" are not to be overheard by Herr Alemann. Herr Alemann is tired and wants to go to bed.

But Bettichen is very excited still. Events like today's won't let her calm down so quickly,

"Just say now—a child like that gets drunk! Well, if it were my brat, I'd know . . . Just a few butt slaps, and all's good."

Although Herr Aleman had decided not to talk about the matter, it was too much.

"Now I want to tell you something. I'm the only expert in the house, and let me tell you, you can only feel sorry for the little Fräulein. This rotgut is rather causes nausea. What's the poor little thing with a small, delicate stomach supposed to do?" He accompanied all this with a hand gesture that Betti had to deal with de jure. "I saw the bottle of poison. The stuff stank . . ." Betti wants to object. "Reeked, I tell you, and that's what I mean. And then Luise poured God-knows-what-else into it. It had to be arrack, and white wine, and sugar, and some kind of measly liqueur. The little one will be as sick as a dog. Hopefully, she'll be spitting all night. And now to say something else about the poor child. You're having fun!" And Alemann hits the bedside table by his big hand.

That seemed to be his last word, so Betti only dared to make an ordinary point at the end,

"Well, if you're just defending her. Good for her . . . You're such a gentleman."

Herr Alemann pretended to be snoring already.