Very sure of himself, very firmly he strode out and ran up the stairs to the Consulate, as light on his feet as a boy.

 

A minute later, as soon as the servant opened the door, a sudden presentiment that his calculations might be all wrong descended on him. And indeed, nothing went as he had expected. When he asked to see the attaché he was told that His Honour the Secretary was with a visitor, and he must wait. A not particularly civil gesture showed him to a chair in the middle of a row where three men of downcast appearance were already sitting. Reluctantly, he sat down, feeling with annoyance that his was just an ordinary affair here, he was a case, something to be dealt with. The men beside him were exchanging their own little stories; one of them was saying, in plaintive and depressed tones, that he had been interned in France for two years and now the people here wouldn’t give him the money for his fare home; another complained that no one would help him to find a job, even though he had three children. Privately, Ferdinand was quivering with fury; they had left him on a bench with common petitioners, yet he noticed that somehow he was also irritated by the petty, fault-finding tone of these ordinary people. He wanted to rehearse his conversation once more, but their fatuous remarks put him off his stroke. He felt like shouting at them, “Be quiet, you fools!” or bringing money out of his pocket and sending them home, but his will was crippled and he just sat there with them, hat in hand like his companions. The constant coming and going of people opening and closing doors also confused him; all the time he was afraid that someone he knew might see him here with the petitioners, and yet whenever a door opened he was ready to leap up, only to sit back again disappointed. Once he pulled himself together and told the servant, who was standing beside them like a sentry on duty, “I can always come back tomorrow, you know.” But the man reassured him—“His Honour the Secretary will be able to see you soon”—and his knees gave way again. He was trapped here; there was nothing he could do about it.

At last a lady came out, skirts rustling, smiling and preening, passed the waiting petitioners with an air of superiority, and the servant called, “His Honour the Secretary can see you now.”

Ferdinand stood up. Only when it was too late did he realize that he had left his walking-stick and gloves on the window-sill, but he couldn’t go back for them now, the door was already open. Half looking back, confused by these random thoughts, he went in. The attaché sat at his desk reading. Now he looked up, nodded to Ferdinand, and gave him a courteous but cold smile, without asking him to sit down. “Ah, our magister artium. Just a minute.” He rose and called to someone in the next room. “The Ferdinand R file, please, you remember, the one that came the day before yesterday, his call-up papers were sent on here.” Sitting down again, he said, “So you’re another one who’s leaving us again! Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay here in Switzerland. You’re looking very well,” and then he was leafing through the file that a clerk brought him. “Report to M … yes … yes, that’s right … all in order. I’ve had the papers made out … I don’t suppose you want to claim travel expenses, do you?”

Ferdinand stood up and heard his own voice stammering, “No … no.”

The attaché signed the call-up order and handed it to him. “You’re really supposed to leave tomorrow, but I don’t suppose it’s all that urgent. Let the paint dry on your latest masterpiece. If you need another day or so to put your affairs in order, I’ll take the responsibility for that. A couple of days won’t matter to the Fatherland.”

Ferdinand sensed that this was a joke, and he ought to smile. To his private horror, he actually did feel his lips stretching in a polite grimace. Say something, he told himself, I must say something now, not just stand around like a dolt. And at last he managed to get out, “Is the call-up letter enough … I don’t need anything else … some kind of special pass?”

“No, no,” smiled the attaché. “They won’t make any trouble for you at the border.