It’s as though everyone was straining their ears to listen to the back.

There are more farmers sitting in the back bar, round the table with the crocheted cloth, under the walnut clock. There are seven of them round the table, and an eighth standing by the door. On the sofa with a glass of grog is a lanky fellow with a creased, angular face, cold eyes and thin lips. ‘All right,’ he says from his sitting position, ‘you old-established farmers of Gramzow, you’ve heard Farmer Päplow’s complaint against the decision of the tax office in Altholm. Those who support him raise your hands, those who are against him leave them down in impunity. All do as you think right, only as you think right.—And now, cast your votes.’

Seven hands go up.

The lanky, clean-shaven man gets up off the sofa. ‘Open the door, Päplow, so that everyone can hear. I’ll announce the decision of the farmers of Gramzow.’

The door swings open, and at the same moment the farmers outside get up. The lanky man asks a white-bearded farmer standing by the front door: ‘Are the sentries posted?’

‘The sentries are posted, Headman.’

The tall man asks in the direction of the bar and the little weasel of a landlord: ‘And are there no womenfolk in the vicinity?’

‘No womenfolk, Headman.’

‘Then I, District Headman Reimers of Gramzow, announce the decision of the Farmers’ League, duly arrived at by their elected representatives:

‘The tax office in Altholm has ruled on the 2nd of March against Farmer Päplow, to the effect that he has to pay four hundred and sixty-three marks in back taxes from 1928.

‘We have heard what Farmer Päplow has to say about this ruling. He has made it clear that the ruling is based on the average yield of farms in this area. But this average does not pertain to him, because in 1928 he suffered extraordinary losses. He lost two horses from colic. A heifer of his died while calving. He had to move his father out of his house and into the hospital at Altholm, and keep him there for over a year.

‘These mitigating factors are known to the tax office, both directly through Farmer Päplow, and indirectly through me, the district headman. The tax office would agree no reduction.

‘We, the farmers of Gramzow, declare the ruling of the tax office at Altholm to be null and void because it constitutes an attack on the substance of the farm. We deny the tax office and its masters, the German State, any assistance in this matter, regardless of the consequences for ourselves.

‘The confiscation of two well-grazed oxen belonging to Farmer Päplow announced two weeks ago is null and void. Whoever puts in a bid for these oxen at the auction set for today is from that moment forth to be cast out by the Farmers’ League. Let him be despised, no one is to come to his assistance, whether he be in financial or physical or spiritual travail. He is to be ostracized, both in Gramzow and the district of Lohstedt in the province of Pomerania, and throughout the State of Prussia, and throughout the length and breadth of the German Reich. No one is to bandy words with him, not even to give him the time of day. Our children are not to speak with his children, nor our wives with his wife. He is to live alone, and die alone. Whoever acts against one of us, acts against all of us. He is already dead.

‘Have ye all heard me, farmers of Gramzow?’

‘We have heard, Headman.’

‘Then to action. I call the meeting closed. Withdraw the sentries.’

The door between the public bar and the back bar is closed again. District Headman Reimers sits down, wipes his brow, and takes a swallow from his glass of grog, now gone cold. Then he looks at his watch. ‘Five to eleven. Time for you to be gone, Päplow, otherwise the representative of the tax office can read the protocol to you.’

‘Yes, Reimers.