At nine they unlocked their elbows, stuck their cigars in their fat mouths and started belching to give up the warm effluvia of their meal.
Then something began to happen. First a fresh youngster came into the cafe, hung his hat and overcoat on the wall and started to bang on the piano.
The place began to fill up. A few men were standing at the bar discussing things. Some sat down by Franz at the next table, elderly men with caps on, and a young man with a derby. Meck knew them, the conversation went back and forth. The younger man, who had black flashing eyes, a smart fellow from Hoppegarten, said:
“What they found when they got to Australia? First of all, sand and heather and fields and no trees and no grass and nothing. Just a desert of sand. And then millions and millions of yellow sheep. They grow wild there. Those are the ones the English lived off of at first. And they exported them too. To America.” “That’s where they would need sheep from Australia.” “South America, of course.” “That’s where they have so many jackasses. Why they don’t know what to do with ‘em all.” “But sheep, the wool. When there are so many Negroes in the country, and all of them freezing. Well, I guess the English know where to send their sheep, don’t they? You needn’t worry about the English. But what became of the sheep afterwards? Nowadays you can go to Australia, a fellow told me, as far as you can see, not a sheep. Everything smooth as a billiard ball. And why? Where are all the sheep?” “Wild animals.” Meck shook his head: “What d’y mean wild animals? Epidemics. That’s always the greatest misfortune for a country. They die off, and there you are.” I The youngster with the derby was not of the opinion that epidemics had been decisive. “It may have been epidemics. Where there are so many animals as that some of them die anyway, then they rot and diseases come. But that’s not the reason. Nope, they all trotted into the ocean at a gallop, when the English came. The sheep, all over the country were scared to death, when the English came and began to catch them and put them in freight cars, so the poor beasts ran away by the thousands, into the ocean.” Meek: “Let ‘em be. That’s all right. Let ‘em run. Of course there were ships waiting for ‘em. That’s how the English saved railroad expenses.” “Railroad expenses, that’s how much you know about it. It went on like that a long time till the English began to notice something. They naturally sticking to the interior and catching and driving them around and right into the freight cars, such a big country too, and no organization, it’s always like that in the beginning, and later on it’s too late, too late. The sheep, of course, all skedaddled to the ocean where they swilled that dirty salt.” “And then what?” “Whatcha mean, what? Suppose you’re thirsty and nothing to eat and then swill dirty salt yourself like them sheep.” “Drowned and dead as a doornail.” “Why sure. They say they were lying in that there ocean by the thousands, and stinking away, and off they go.” Franz agreed: “Animals are sensitive. With animals it’s sort o’ funny. A man’s gotta be able to deal with ‘em. If you don’t get ‘em right, better keep your hands off of ‘em.”
They all drank in their amazement, exchanging observations about wasted capital and the way things happen, how even in America they let the whole wheat harvest rot, all sorts of things can happen. “Nope,” explained the man from Hoppegarten, the fellow with the black eyes, “there’s nothing in the papers about it, and they don’t write anything, can’t say why, perhaps on account of the immigration, otherwise nobody’d go there, maybe. They say they got a kind of lizard, a regular antediluvian kind of lizard, several yards long, they won’t even show it in the Zoo, the English wouldn’t allow it. One of ‘em was caught, by some sailors, they’ve been showing it around in Hamburg, but it was prohibited right away. Nothing doing. They live in pools, in stagnant water, no one knows what they live on. Once a whole automobile caravan sank, they didn’t even dig for them, to see where they got to. Nothing. Nobody would dare go near ‘em. Yep.” “I’ll be jiggered,” observed Meek. “And how about gas?” The youngster reflected: “Might try that. Trying don’t hurt.” That seemed clear enough.
An elderly man sat down behind Meck, his elbows on Meck’s chair, a short, under-sized fellow, fat face, red as a lobster, protuberant big eyes shiftily glancing here and there. They made room for him. And soon Meck and he started whispering together. He wore high shiny boots, carried a linen duster over his arm, and seemed to be a cattle dealer. Franz was talking across the table with the youngster from Hoppegarten, whom he liked. At that moment Meck tapped him on the shoulder, signaled to him with his head, they got up, the small cattle dealer, who was laughing good-naturedly, went along with them. The three of them stood away from the others near the iron stove. Franz thought it was on account of the two cattle dealers and their law-suit. He’d certainly like to keep out of that. But it was quite pointless really, their standing around like that. The small fellow only wanted to shake hands with him and know what business he was in. Franz tapped his newspaper case. Well, maybe he might occasionally want to do something in fruit; his name is Pums, he says, fruit dealer, and sometimes he might need a man to peddle with a wagon. Franz answered by shrugging his shoulders: “Depends on the profits.” Whereupon they sat down. Franz thought how cleverly that smallman talks: to be used with caution, shake after using.
The conversation continued, with Hoppegarten, as usual, in the lead; they were in America now. The Hoppegarten lad had his hat between his knees: “Well, that guy marries a woman in America and don’t think much about it. And it’s a Negress. ‘What’ says he, ‘you’re a Negress?’ Bang, out she goes. Then the woman had to undress herself before the judge. In a bathing suit. Of course she don’t want to at first, but they tell her to stop that bunk. Her skin was all white. Because she was a mestizo. The man says: ‘She’s a Negress, I’m telling you.’ And why? Because her finger-tips are tinted brown instead of white. She was a mestizo, ye see.” “Well, and what did she want? Divorce?” “Nope, damages. After all, he married her, and perhaps she lost her position. Nobody wants a divorced woman, anyway. She was snow-white, that woman, pretty as a picture. Descended from Negroes, maybe from the seventeenth century. Damages.”
A fight was going on around the bar. The proprietress was hollering at an excited chauffeur. He was contradicting her: ‘Td never take the liberty of monkeying with food.” The fruit dealer yelled: “Keep quiet there.” Whereupon the chauffeur turned around angrily, and looked at the stout chap, the latter smiled him out of countenance, however, and there followed a vicious silence around the bar.
Meck whispered to Franz: “The cattle dealers are not coming today. Got everything fixed up. They’re all set for the next session. Take a look at that yellow chap, he’s a big boy around here.”
All evening Franz had been watching the yellow-faced man whom Meck had pointed out to him. Franz felt tremendously attracted by him. He was slim, wore a shabby army coat-wonder if he’s a communist-and had a long, thin, yellowish face; what struck you most about him were the deep wrinkles on his forehead. Surely the man was only in his early thirties, but he nevertheless had gaping hollows on both sides of his face, from his nose to his mouth. Franz kept on looking intently at the man’s nose; it was short, blunt, and planted in a very business-like way. His head was leaning on his left hand in which he held a burning pipe. He had high, black, upstanding hair. When he went over to the bar later on-he dragged his legs behind him as if his feet were sticking to something Franz noticed that he wore miserable yellow shoes, and his thick gray socks were hanging overboard. Wonder if that fellow’s a consumptive? He ought to be put in a hospital, Beelitz or somewhere, to think they let him run around like that. What’s he doing anyway? The man came ambling along, his pipe in his mouth, in one hand a cup of coffee, in the other a lemonade with a big tin spoon. Then he sat down at the table, took one swallow of coffee and then of lemonade. Franz couldn’t take his eyes off him. What sad eyes the fellow has! Probably been doing time. Say, look here, he probably thinks I’ve been doing time, too. So I did, TegeL four years, now you k
now it, what about it?
Nothing else that evening. But Franz began to go to Prenzlauer Strasse more frequently now and soon he made up to the man in the old army coat. He was a fine fellow, only stuttered a lot, and it took a long time for him to get something out, that’s why he had such big pathetic eyes. It turned out, however, that he had not yet done time, only he had been mixed in politics once, when he almost blew up a gas works. Somebody had squealed on the gang, but they didn’t catch him. “And what are you doing now?” “Selling fruit and things like that. Helping around. If that doesn’t bring it in, then the dole.” Franz Biberkopf has got in with a suspicious bunch, funny, most of them here were selling fruit, doing well with it, too; the little man with the beet-red face supplied the stock, he was their wholesaler. Franz kept his distance, and so did they, as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t quite make it all out. He said to himself: I’d rather sell papers.
Spirited White Slavery
One evening the man in the soldier overcoat, Reinhold was his name, got to talking, or rather stuttering, more freely, it went more quickly and even smoothly, he was damning the women. Franz laughed himself sick, the young man really took women seriously. He wouldn’t have suspected that about the fellow; so he was cuckoo, too, they were all cuckoo in this place, one here, the other there, none of them was entirely right. The lad was in love with the wife of a helper on a beer-truck; she had already run away from her husband on account of him, and the trouble was, now Reinhold didn’t want her any more, no, sir, not at all. Franz rattled through his nose with delight, this boy was really too funny: “Why, let ‘er run!” The other stuttered, a terrible look came into his eyes: “That’s what’s so hard. These damned women don’t understand anything, even if you give it to ‘em in writing.” “Well, Reinhold, did ye write her about it?” The latter stuttered, spat and turned around: “Told her a hundred times. She says she doesn’t understand. I’m probably crazy. She just won’t understand. So I suppose I’ll have to keep her till I croak.” “Maybe so.” “That’s what she says, too.” Franz laughed heartily, Reinhold got angry: “Say, don’t get foolish.” No, Franz couldn’t get that, a nice smart fellow like that who could put dynamite in the gas works, and now he’s sitting here, tooting a funeral march. “Take her off my hands,” stuttered Reinhold. Franz thumped on the table from sheer joy. “And what’ll I do with her?” “Well, you can give her the slip.” Franz was overjoyed. ‘‘I’ll do you this favor, you can depend on me, Reinhold, but-they’ll put you in diapers one of these days.” “First take a good look at her and then let me know.”
Next day Franze came tripping up to Franz’s place at noon sharp. When he heard her name was Franze, he was happy right away; that’s fine, they certainly did fit together, his name was Franz, as it happened. She was supposed to bring Biberkopf a pair of heavy boots from Reinhold, that’s his Judas blood-money, laughed Biberkopf to himself, ten pieces of silver. Fancy her bringing it to me herself! Reinhold certainly is a nervy skunk. One good deed deserves another, he thought, and he went with her to look for Reinhold in the evening, but, according to plan, he wasn’t to be found anywhere, whereupon there followed an outbreak of fury on Franze’s part, and a duet of pacification in his room. Next morning the truck-loader’s wife turned up at Reinhold’s place, he didn’t stutter a word: No, sir, he needn’t bother, she didn’t need him, she’d get another fellow. But who it is, she won’t tell him that, no, sir. And she has hardly left when Franz comes to see Reinhold with his new boots on; they aren’t too big now, for he has put on two pairs of woolen socks, the two fall into each other’s arms slapping each other’s backs. “Sure, I’m glad to do you a favor,” says Franz and he refuses all awards of merit.
The truck-loader’s wife fell head over heels in love with Franz; she had, in reality, an elastic heart, a fact she hadn’t known up to that time. He was happy that she should feel possessed of this new strength, for he was a friend of all men and knew the human heart. He observed with delight how quickly she felt at home with him. That was just the department he really knew best, at first women are interested in underwear and socks to be mended. But that she always shined his boots in the morning, and Reinhold’s boots at that, roused him daily to a regular laughing concert. When she asked why he laughed, he said: “Because they’re too big, why, they’re too big for anyone man. We could both get into them.” Once, they even tried to get into one of the boots together, but that was exaggeration, it didn’t work.
Now Reinhold, the stutterer, Pranz’s true friend, had a new girl. Cilly was her name, at least that’s what she said. Franz Biberkopf didn’t care whether it was or not, and occasionally he saw Cilly in Prenzlauer Strasse. But he became darkly suspicious when Reinhold asked him four weeks later about Franze, and if he had gotten rid of her. Franz was of the opinion that she was a spicy jane and he didn’t understand at first. Then Reinhold averred: Hadn’t Franz promised him to get rid of her soon? Which Franz denied. However, it was a bit early yet for that, wasn’t it? He hadn’t intended to get a new girl till spring. He had seen that Franze didn’t have any summer clothes, and he couldn’t buy her any either, so she’d have to get out in summer. Reinhold opined disparagingly that Franze was beginning to look rather shabby, she wasn’t wearing real winter clothes anyway, more between seasons, not at all the thing for the weather just now. Whereupon there followed a long conversation about temperature and the barometer and weather prospects, they looked it all up in the papers. Franz insisted you could never know ahead of time about the weather, but Reinhold foresaw a sharp frost. Only then did Franz realize that Reinhold now wanted to get rid of Cilly, too, who was wearing an imitation rabbit coat. He kept on talking about that pretty imitation rabbit fur. What have I got to do with his rabbit stew, thought Franz, that man certainly can get you going. “Why, you must be off your nut. I certainly can’t take on a double load, when I already got one hanging around, and business ain’t exactly flourishin’ either. Where shall I beg, borrow, or steal it from?” “Why, you don’t need to have two girls. Did I say two? Would 1 except a man to saddle himself with two? Are you a Turk?” ‘That’s what I told you.” “All right, I didn’t say you were, either. When did I ever tell you to take on the two of ‘em? Why not three, then? No, why don’t you chuck the one you got-or haven’t you got somebody?” “What d’ye mean somebody?” What’s he up to now, that lad’s always got some bee in his bonnet. “Couldn’t somebody else take Franze off your hands?” Here our Franzeken was overjoyed and he prodded the other in the arm: “Boy, I hand it to you, but you’ve been to college, that’s why, by God, I take my hat off to you. We’ll do a kind of chain business, like they did during the inflation.” “Well, why not, there are too many dames in the world, anyway.” “Far too many. By God, Reinhold, but you’re a card, I still can’t get my breath.” “Well, what about it then?” “All right, everything’s O.K. I’ll go look for somebody. I’ll find somebody all right. Say, I feel like a dope beside you! I’m still gasping for air.”
Reinhold looked at him. He’s got a little screw loose somewhere. He sure is one big dub, this Franz Biberkopf. Did he really mean to saddle himself with two dames at the sa me time?
Franz was so enthusiastic about the business that he left at once to go and see Ede, the little cripple, in his den: wonder if he’d like to take a girl off his hands, he had a spare one, and he’d like to get rid of her.
That suited Ede to a T, he wanted to stop working for a while anyway, he had a little sick-pay and could afford to nurse himself a bit; she could go shopping for him and call at the office for his sick-pay. But if she wants to settle down here with me, he said right away, no, sir, nothing doing.
The very next day, at noon, before starting out on the street again, Franz started a hell of a row over nothing at all with the truck-loader’s wife. She went up in the air. He kept cheerfully screaming at her. An hour later it was all fixed up; the hunchback helped her pack her things, Franz had gone off in a rage, and the truck-loader’s
wife took up quarters at the hunchback’s place, because she didn’t know where else to go. Then the hunchback hurried off to his doctor to ask to be put on the sick-list, and in the evening both of them together cursed and damned Franz Biberkopf.
But then Cilly turned up at Franz’s room. Whatsa matter, babykins? Got a li’l pain somewhere, what’s hurting my baby? Lord, O Lord! “I only came to bring you a fur collar.” Franz admiringly takes the fur collar in his hands. Grand all right. Wonder where the boy gets all those nice things from. The last time it was just a pair of boots. Cilly, who has no idea what it’s all about, piped up innocently: “You must be a good friend of my Reinhold’s, aren’t you?” “God, yes,” laughed Franz, “he sends me food and clothes from time to time, when he has any to spare. Last time he sent me some boots. Just a pair of boots. Wait a minute, you might give me your opinion about them.” If only that fool Franze, the fathead, hasn’t dragged them along with her, where are they anyway, aha, here they be. “Y’see, Fraulein Cilly, he sends me these the last time. Whatcha say to these gunboats? Why three men could get into them. Go ahead and put your little pins in them.” And there she goes, gets into them, sniggering away, she’s dressed nice, a sweet little creature, that was tempting enough to eat, I’ll say so, she looks terribly neat, too, in her black coat with the fur trimming, what a sap Reinhold is, to think he’s giving her the air, wonder where he’s always digging up such nice girls. And there she stands in the gunboats. And Franz thinks of the previous situation, why, it’s just as if I had a season ticket for a change of women and wardrobe every month! Then he slips his shoe off and puts his foot into the boot from behind her. Cilly shrieks, but his leg gets in all right. Then she tries to run away, but they both go hopping about, and she has to take him along. Once beside the table, he plunges into the other boot. They’re swaying now. They tip over, there’s a scream, hold on to your imagination, lady, just leave those two merrily together, they’re having a private reception, for ordinary members of the sick-fund the reception hour is from five to seven.
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