Berlin Alexanderplatz

by Alfred Doblin

  Then Franz and Mieze talk the matter over from every angle. Franz wonders if those people aren’t perhaps spying on him. He’s going to tell Herbert and Eva about it. He impresses on Mieze to tell the postman to ring the bell. I’ll do it, darling, but sometimes it’s another one that comes, an extra.”

  When he comes home unawares at noon a few days later, Mieze has already gone to Aschinger’s. Franz finds out the answer, something quite extraordinary it is, too, that gives him a nasty jar, but doesn’t hurt a great deal, at that. He goes into the room, which is of course empty, clean, too, but there’s a box of fine cigars waiting for him on which Mieze has put a slip of paper: “For my Franz,” and two bottles of Allasch. Franz is happy, and thinks, that gal sure knows how to take care of money, a man ought to marry a girl like that! He’s simply delighted, and say, how about that, she’s bought me a little dicky-bird too, why it’s just as if it was my birthday, well, just you wait, little kitten, I’ll get something for you, too. And he feels around in his pockets for money, there’s the bell, yes, that’s the postman, he’s damned late today, it’s twelve already, I’ll tell him so, myself.

  *

  Franz walks to the hallway, opens the door and listens. No postman there. He waits, the man doesn’t come, probably talking in somebody’s room. Franz takes the letter out of the box and goes into the room. In the open envelope he finds a sealed letter with a slip on it, written crosswise in a disguised handwriting: “Wrongly Delivered,” and an undecipherable name. It did come from across the hall, then, who are they spying on, anyway? The sealed letter is addressed to “Sonia Parsunke, care of Herr Franz Räcker.” Now that’s funny, who does she get letters from, Berlin too, it’s a man. He reads-and an icy feeling goes through Franz: “Dearest little sweet-heart, how long are you going to keep a fellow hankering for an answer-?” He can’t read any further, he sits down-and before him are the cigars and the canary cage.

  Then Franz goes out, not to Aschinger’s, but to see Herbert, and he grows very white as he shows him the letter. Herbert confers in whispers with Eva in the next room. Then Eva suddenly appears, gives Herbert a kiss, and pushes him out, after which she falls on Franz’s neck: “Well, Franz darling, do I get a kiss?” He looks at her flabbergasted. “Let go o’ me.” “Franz darling, just a little kiss. Aren’t we old pals?” “Say, woman, what’s it all about, behave yourself, what’ll Herbert think?” “I’ve just kicked him out; come in here, you can look for him if you want to.” She leads Franz through the room, Herbert is gone. All right, let him be. Eva closes the door: “So you see you can give me a kiss, can’t you?” She winds herself around him, and in a moment she’s all on fire.

  “Listen, girlie,” pants Franz, “you’re crazy, ain’t you, what you want with me anyway?” But she’s beside herself, and he is powerless to resist her. Dumfounded, he pushes her off. Then something runs wild in him. He doesn’t know what’s come over Eva, it’s nothing but blind passion and savagery in both of them. Afterwards they lie together, biting each other on the arms and neck, and she lies with her back across Franz’s chest.

  Franz grunts: “You’re sure Herbert’s really not here?” “Doncha believe me?” “Still, it’s a swinish trick for me to pull on my friend.” “You’re such a sweet man, Franz, I’m terribly in love with you.” “Say, baby, but you’re gonna have a lot o’ marks there on your neck.” “I could eat you up, that’s how much I love you. And when you came in just now with that letter, why, boy, I almost jumped around your neck, right in front of Herbert.” “Eva, what’s Herbert going to say when he sees those tooth-marks afterwards? They’ll turn all green and blue.” “Oh, he won’t know about it. I’m going to my banker presently, and I’ll say I got ‘em from him.” “That’s all very nice, Eva, sure, and you’re my sweet little Eva. But I can’t stand such a filthy mess. And what’s the banker going to say when he sees you?” “And what’s auntie and granny going to say? Gee, what a ‘fraidcat you are!”

  Eva then pulls herself together, grabs Franz’s head, gives him a good squeeze and presses her hot cheeks against his shoulder stump. Then she takes the letter, gets dressed, and puts on her hat: “Now I’m goin’, y’know what I’m gonna do, I’m goin’ to Aschinger’s right now and talk to Mieze.” “No, Eva, what for?” “Because I wanta. You stay here. I’ll be back soon. Lemme do what I want, will you. Can’t I look after a young chicken like that if I wanta, with no experience and just come to Berlin? Well, then, Franz-” She kisses him once more, and almost gets in heat again, but then she pulls herself up and runs off. Franz understands nothing.

  That’s at I:30 p. m. At two-thirty she is back, grave, quiet, but contented, and she helps Franz, who has fallen asleep, into his things, swabbing his sweaty face with her perfume. Then she starts off, as she sits on the bureau, smoking cigarettes. “That Mieze, well, how she did laugh, Franz! I won’t have anything said against her.” Franz is astonished. “No, Franz, I wouldn’t bother about that letter. She was still sitting at Aschinger’s waiting for you. I showed her the letter. And she asked me how you liked the booze and the canary.” “All right, then.” “Now, listen. Let me tell you, she didn’t bat an eye. I thought she was great. She’s a good girl. I didn’t hand you a dud.” But Franz is gloomy and impatient, what’s it all about anyway? Eva jumps down, taps him on the knee: “You’re a dear, Franz. Can’t you understand? A gal likes to do something for her man, too. What does she get out of it when you go running around all day long, tending to your business and so on, and all she does is to make your coffee and clean up the room? She wants to give you something, she wants to do something for you that’ll give you pleasure. And that’s why she does it.” “That’s why! You let her hand you that! So that’s why she cheats on me?” Eva grows serious: “Who said anything about cheating? That’s what she said right away: that don’t enter into the question. Suppose somebody does write to her-there’s nothing to it, Franz, suppose a fellow does happen to get stuck on her once in a while, and he writes to her, that’s no news to you, is it?”

  Slowly, slowly, something begins to dawn on Franz. So that’s the way things are. She notices that he’s beginning to understand. “Well, of course. And what of it? She wants to earn money. And isn’t she right? I earn my money, too. And it don’t suit her to let you support her, all the more since you can’t quite do it with your arm.” “That’s so.” “She told me right away. Didn’t bat an eye. You bet, that’s a fine girl, you can depend on her all right. You must take care of yourself, she says, after all the trouble you had this year. And before that too, dearie, things didn’t go any too well for you, out there in Tegel, y’know what I mean. She’d be ashamed to let you sweat and drudge like that. So she works for you. Only she don’t dare say anything to you about it.”

  “Well, well,” Franz nods and lets his head sink on his chest. “You don’t believe me?” Eva is beside him, stroking his back. “How that girl clings to you. Me, you don’t want me, anyway. Or-do you, Franz?”

  He seizes her by the waist, she seats herself carefully on his knees, he can only hold her with one arm. He presses his head against her breast and says softly: “You’re a good girl, Eva, stay with Herbert, he may need you, he’s a good guy.” She had been his friend before Ida’s time, let sleeping dogs lie, better not start all over again. Eva understands. “You better go see Mieze now, Franz. She’s still sitting waiting at Aschinger’s or in front of the door. She don’t want to come home if you don’t want her.”

  Very silently, very gently, Franz has taken leave of Eva. In front of Aschinger’s, on the side facing a photographer’s place, he sees little Mieze standing there on the Alex. Franz takes his stand on the other side, in front of the fence around the construction work, and watches her a long while from behind. She walks to the corner, Franz follows her with his eyes. It’s a decisive moment, it’s a turning-point. His feet start to move. He sees her in profile, at the corner. How small she is! She is wearing saucy brown shoes. Watch out, now somebody’s going to pi
ck her up soon. That little blunt nose o’ hers! She’s looking around. Yes, I came from over there, from Tietz’s, but she didn’t see me. One of Aschinger’s breadwagons is standing in the way. Franz walks along the fence as far as the corner, where the sand-heaps are; they’re mixing cement. Now she’ll be able to see him, but she doesn’t look his way. An elderly gentleman keeps on ogling her, she looks past him and wanders towards Loeser & Wolff’s. Franz crosses over to the other side. He keeps ten steps behind her, lingering in the offing. It is a sunny July day, a woman offers him a nosegay for sale, he gives her 20 pfennigs and holds the flowers in his hand, but still doesn’t come any nearer. Not yet. But the flowers have a nice smell; she put some in the room today, and a canary cage, and some drinks, as well.

  Then she turns around. She sees him at once, he has some flowers in his hand, he did come after all. She flies up to him, her face aglow, it glows a moment, flares up, when she sees the flowers in his left hand. Then it turns pale, only a few red splotches remain.

  His heart beats a tattoo. She grasps him by the arm, and they walk along the pavement to Landsberger Strasse, not saying a word. From time to time she glances furtively at the wildflowers he holds in his hand, but Franz looks straight ahead as he walks beside her. The No. 19 autobus thunders past, yellow, two-storied, full from top to bottom. An old poster clings to the construction fence to the right. The National Business and Tradesmen’s party, impossible to cross the street, those cars from Police Headquarters have the right of way. When they come to the poster column with “Persil” on it, across the way, Franz remembers that he is still holding the nosegay, and wants to give it her. And as his eyes look down at his hand, he asks himself again, sighing, he can’t make up his mind - shall I give her the flowers, or shall I not? Ida, but what’s that got to do with Ida, Tegel, how I love that kid.

  And when they reach the little island where the “Persil” poster is, he can’t help but press the flowers into her hand. She has looked up at him several times beseechingly, but he did not speak; now she clasps his left forearm and, lifting his hand, presses it to her face, which flares up again. The warmth from her face streams through him. Then she stands there alone, as she Jets his arm fall loosely, and her head seems to droop of its own accord onto her left shoulder. She whispers to Franz, who holds her anxiously by the waist: “It’s nothing, Franz, don’t bother.” They walk diagonally across the square, where Hahn’s department store is being pulled down, and then on farther. Mieze is walking quite upright again. “Whatcha standing up so straight for, Mieze?” She presses Franz’s arm: “I was so afraid a while ago.” She turns her head away, tears fill her eyes, but she soon manages to laugh again before he notices anything; those were terrible hours!

  They’re upstairs in his room, the girl, in her white dress, sits in front of him, on a footstool; they have opened the windows as it has become burning hot, heavy and sultry. He sits on the sofa in his shirt-sleeves, and keeps looking at the girl. He certainly is in love with her! Gee, I’m glad she’s here! What pretty little hands you have, baby! I’ll buy you a pair of kid gloves, just you wait; and then you’ll get a nice blouse, too, do whatever you want, it’s nice to have you here. I’m so glad you’re back again, damn it all. He nestles his head on her lap. He pulls her over to him, can’t have his fill of looking at her, hugging her, caressing her. Now I’m a human being again, now I’m a man again, no, I won’t letcha go, I won’t, never again, no matter what happens. He opens his mouth: “Miezeken, baby, you can do whatever you want, I won’t letcha go.”

  How happy they are! Their arms around each other’s shoulders, they watch the canary. Mieze looks for her hand-bag, and shows Franz the letter that had come at noon. “And you got so upset about the rot that fellow wrote!” She crumples it up and throws it on the floor behind her: “Say, kid, I could show you a whole package of stuff like that.”

  Defensive War against Bourgeois Society

  The following days Franz Biberkopf walks abroad again in great tranquility. No longer is he so taken up with this shady business of acting the go-between from one fence to another, or from the fence to the purchasers. He just doesn’t give a damn if a job doesn’t come off. Franz has time, patience, and calm. If the weather were better, he would do what Mieze and Eva suggested to him: go to Swinemunde and give him self a little treat, but there’s nothing doing on account of the weather, it’s raining and pouring and drizzling every day; it’s cold, too. In Hoppegarten whole trees have been uprooted, what must it be like out there! Franz is on great terms with Mieze and goes around with her all the time, running in and out at Herbert and Eva’s. Of course, Mieze also has a gentleman friend in good circumstances, whom Franz knows. Franz is supposed to be her husband, and he occasionally likes to get together with one or the other of her men friends, when the three of them eat and drink amiably at the same table.

  To what heights has our Franz Biberkopf now attained! How well off he is, how things have changed for him! He was on the point of death, and what a resurrection now! What a satiated creature he has become, one who lacks nothing, neither in the line of food, drink, nor clothing. He’s got a girl who makes him happy, he’s got money, more than he needs, all the debt to Herbert has been paid off. Herbert, Eva, and Emil are his friends, and they wish him well. For days on end he sits around at Herbert and Eva’s, waits for Mieze or rides out to Muggel Lake, where he goes canoeing with two other men: for each day Franz is getting more active and stronger in his left arm. From time to time, he also listens in around Munzstrasse, or around the pawnshop.

  You swore, Franz Biberkopf, you would stay straight. You led a rotten life, you got under the wheels, in the end you killed Ida and did time for it, that was terrible. And now? You’re sitting on the same old spot. Ida’s name is Mieze, and one of your arms is gone, but look out, you’ll take to boozing, too, and everything will start all over again, only much worse this time, and that’ll be the end of you.

  -Hot air, can I help it, did I force myself to become a pimp? A lotta bunk, I say. I did what I could, that’s me. I did everything a man kin do. I let ‘em drive over my arm - I’ll tell the world! I just got about enough of it! Didn’t I go out peddling, didn’t I ankle around from morning till night? Now I got my dander up! No, I ain’t respectable. I’m a pimp. I don’t feel ashamed about that, either. And what are you living off of, off of something different from other people, I suppose? Do I put the screws on anybody, say?

  -You’ll end in prison, Franz, somebody’s gonna stick a knife in your guts, yet. -Let ‘em just start with a knife. First, they’ll have to try mine!

  The German Reich is a Republic, and whoever doesn’t believe it gets one in the neck. In Kopenicker Strasse at Michaelkirchstrasse there is a meeting, the hall is long and narrow; workers, young men with Schiller collars and green collars sit in rows one behind the other, girls and women and pamphlet-sellers circulate through the hall. On the stage behind the table, between two other men, is a stout, half-bald man; he agitates, baits, laughs, and solicits successively.

  “And when you get down to it, we’re not here to talk into thin air. Let’s leave that to the fellows in the Reichstag! Somebody once asked one of our comrades if he wouldn’t like to get into the Reichstag. Into the Reichstag with its golden cupola overhead and club-chairs below. Says he: Y’know, comrade, if I was to do that and go into the Reichstag, it’d be just one more scoundrel. We got no time to talk through our hats, comrades, no phoney stuff for us. The communists say in all sincerity: We’re out to pursue a policy of exposure. We’ve seen what comes out of that; the communists got corrupted themselves, and we need waste no words on their policy of exposure. It’s all a big swindle, even a blind man can see all there is to expose in Germany, and for that we don’t have to go to the Reichstag, but a man who can’t see that, why there’s nothing to be done for him, with or without the Reichstag. That hot-air shop is good for nothing except to soft-soap the people, and all the parties know it, except the so-called representativ
es of the working classes.

  “Our pious socialists. Well, we already see religious socialists in the party, and that’s the last straw: they’ve all got to get religion, so let them run after the priests! For it don’t matter whether the man they all run to is a priest or a bonze, the only thing is: obey. (A voice in the audience: And believe.) Why, that’s understood. The socialists want nothing, know nothing, can do nothing. They always have a majority in the Reichstag, but they don’t know what to do with it, beg pardon, yes, they do: they give them club-chairs to sit on, cigars to smoke, and ministerial jobs. For that the workers gave them their votes, for that they’ve given the pennies from their pockets every pay-day: just another fifty or hundred men who’re going to line their purses at the expense of the workers. The socialists don’t conquer political power, it’s political power that conquers the socialists. We get old as a jackass every day, and are always learning, so they say, but such a jackass as the German worker is yet to be born. Again and again German workers take their ballots in their hands, go to the polls, and vote and think to themselves: well, that’s done. They say: we want to make our voices resound in the Reichstag; well, they’d do better to found a singing-club!