There’s lots of activity in the city. Tunney retains the heavyweight championship of the world, but the Americans are not really pleased about it, they don’t like the man. He was down in the 7th to the count of nine. Then Dempsey got groggy. That’s Dempsey’s last great fight. The whole thing was over at four fifty-eight o’clock, September 23, 1928. You can hear about that and about the flying record on the Cologne-Leipzig line as well, and then they say, there’s an economic war on between oranges and bananas. But we listen to it with tightly closed eyes all through a little dormer-window.
How does a plant protect itself against the cold? Many vegetables cannot resist even a slight frost. Others are able to counteract the cold by protective measures of a chemical nature in their cells. The most effective protection is the transformation of the starch content of their cells into sugar. The utility of some garden produce is, to be sure, not increased through this formation of sugar, and the best proof of this can be seen in potatoes which become sweet when frozen. But there are also cases where the sugar content of a plant or fruit produced by the influence of frost is needed to make them palatable; this is the case with wild fruit. If you leave such fruit on the tree until the light frost begins, they soon develop so much sugar that their flavor is changed and substantially improved. The same thing applies to haws.
What does it matter if two Berlin rowers are drowned in the Danube, or Nungesser falls near Ireland with his “White Bird”? What are the newsboys yelling outside, you can buy it for 10 pfennigs, then throw it away, leave it lie somewhere. They wanted to lynch the Hungarian Prime Minister, because his automobile ran over a peasant boy. If they had lynched him, the headline would have been: “Lynching of the Hungarian Premier near the City of Kaposvar,” that would have added to the excitement. the highbrows would have read “lunching” instead of lynching and laughed over it, the other 80 per cent would have said: too bad, only one, or else, none of my business, as a matter of fact, we ought to do the same thing here.
They are laughing a lot in Berlin. Near Dobrin, at the corner of the Kaiser-Wilhelm Strasse, three persons are sitting around the table, a fat old boy, a cheery bird he is, and his little patootie, a nice plump little thing, if only she wouldn’t scream so much when she laughs, and then another fellow, his friend, who’s rather out of it, the fat boy pays for him and he just listens and has to laugh with them. Fairly well-to-do folks. The plump little broad slaps her sugar-daddy’s mouth every five minutes and screams: “That man certainly has funny notions!” Then he necks her, it lasts a good two minutes. What the other chap, who just looks on, thinks about it, is none of their business. The sugar-daddy tells a story. “So she says to him: What have you done to me? Says she to him: What have you done now? And item number three’s just: bing!” His companion grins: “You sure are a prize funny man.” The sugar-daddy, with delight: “Not as funny as you are dumb.” They drink some bouillon, and the fat boy starts telling stories again.
“An aviator walks on to a field, and there’s a girl sitting there. Says he: ‘Hey, Miss Lindbergh, how about some trick flying together?’ Says she: ‘My name ain’t Lindbergh, its Fokker.’ ‘Oh, boy, let’s go!’ “All three roar with laughter. The fat man states: “As a matter of fact, we’re having Scotch broth at home tonight.” The little dame: “That man certainly has funny notions.”
“Now, listen, ever heard this one: A girl says: ‘Tell me, what does this mean: bomme de terre?’ ‘Bomme de terre? In from the front.’ ‘You see!’ says she, ‘I thought right away it was somethin’ dirty! Sh-sh-sh!’ “ It’s very nice and comfortable and lots of fun in here; the young lady has to step out to the toilet six times. “Said the hen to the rooster, said she: You’ll let me get near it, maybe. Waiter, check, I owe for three cognacs, two ham sandwiches, three bouillons and three pieces of shoe leather.” “Shoe leather? Those were biscuits.” “Well, you can call them that if you want to. I call them shoe leather. Nothin’ smaller? Because I got a little one at home in the cradle, and I always stick a groschen in his mouth for him to chew on. Well, sweetie, let’s go. The laughing hour’s over, we’re off, we’re on our way to Mandelay.”
Some women and girls are walking across Alexanderstrasse and the square, each carrying a fetus in her belly, protected by law. It is hot, and the women and girls are sweating outside, but the fetus within sits quietly in his corner, the temperature is just right for him as he walks across the Alexanderplatz, but many a fetus will fare badly later on: he’d better not laugh too soon.
Others are running about trying to hook whatever they can; some have their bowels full and others are wondering how to get them filled. Hahn’s department store is entirely wrecked, all the other houses are full of shops, but they only look like shops, as a matter of fact, there are nothing but calls, just decoy calls, twittering bird-notes, crickle-crackle, a chirping without words.
So I returned and considered all the oppressions that are done under the sun; and behold the tears of such as were oppressed and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but they had no comforter. Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead.
The dead I praised. To everything a season; a time to rend, and a time to sew, a time to keep, and a time to cast away. I praised the dead who lie sleeping beneath the trees.
Eva comes gliding up again. “Franz, aren’t you ever goin’ to do somethin’? Three weeks have passed, y’know, if you were mine and worried so little-” “I can’t tell nobody, you know about it, Eva, and so does Herbert, and the tinner, and nobody else. I can’t tell nobody, they’d only laugh at me. And I can’t report to the police either, can I? If you don’t wanta give me nothin’, Eva, then don’t bother. Why-I’ll go back to work again.” “And to think you’re not showing any grief, not a tear! Gee, I could shake you. I can’t do anything, anyway.” “Me neither.”
Things are getting Lively, the Gangsters quarrel among themselves
Early in October the dispute which Pums had feared started among the members of the gang. About money. Pums, as usual, regards the sale of their stuff as the main business of the gang, Reinhold and others, including Franz, its acquisition. It’s according to the latter and not according to the sales, that the division of the spoils should be regulated; they constantly attribute too high receipts to Pums and resent his monopoly in the dealings with the fences; the reliable fences want to deal with Pums alone. The gang, although Pums makes many concessions and allows them a free hand wherever possible, insist that something has to be done about it. They are more for union methods. He says they’ve got them already. But they refuse to believe that.
Then the burglary in Stralauer Strasse takes place. Though Pums can no longer take an active part, he goes along with them. It is a bandage factory in Stralauer Strasse, a building with a courtyard. They got wind that there is money in the cash-box of the private office. That’s supposed to be a blow against Pums: not goods, but money. There won’t be any cheating, when there’s money to be divided. That’s why Pums himself takes a hand in it. Two of them climb up the fire-escape and quietly unscrew the lock on the front-door of the office. The tinner starts. All the office safes are cracked, bur there are only a few marks lying about, and some stamps; two gasoline tanks in the corridor, we might need them. Then they wait for Karlchen, the tinner, to start operations. As bad luck would have it, he burns his hand with his blow-pipe and can’t go on working at the safe. Reinhold tries but he has no practice. Pums takes the pipe out of his hand, but nothing doing. Things are getting ticklish. They have to stop, as the watchman is due soon.
Furiously they take the gasoline tanks and pour oil all over the furniture, on the damned safe too, and throw matches into it. Pums is going to score, is he? But they’ll be damned if they’ll let him. So they do it, but they throw the match a little too soon and it singes Pums a bit. The feller isn’t supposed to be here, anyhow. His back is all’ burnt, they run down the stairs, signal: “Watchman.” Pums just succeeds in getting i
nto his car. That’ll teach him a lesson, I’ll tell the world. But how will they get any money now?
Pums has the laugh on ‘em. Goods are and remain a better proposition. This is the age of the specialist. What shall we do? Pums is decried as an exploiter, a blood-sucker, a crook. But you can never be sure; if things are pushed too far, he may take advantage of his connections to form a new gang. In the Sporting Club next Thursday he’s going to explain, I’ll do what I can; if you want to, I can submit bills to you in writing, that’s just it, you can’t get anything 011 him, and, if you don’t work with him, they’ll say in the Club, it’s not our fault if you don’t wanta come along, the feller does what he can, and if he gets a little bit more in his pockets, don’t get on your high horse, haven’t you got your molls to earn for you, but he’s got his old woman, and that ain’t much. So they keep on working with him in the same old way, damned exploiter that he is!
The rage of the entire gang explodes on the head of the tinner who missed fire in Stralauer Strasse, and made ‘em look like fools, We got no use for a bungler like that. He’s burnt his hand, has to go to the doctor now, he always worked well, but all he gets now is a lot of abuse.
They gave me a dirty deal, he thinks, and goes around growling. They tripped me up in my business when I had one; I take a swig here and there, and my wife bawls me out, and on New Year’s Eve when I come home, that damned tart o’ mine ain’t there. Doesn’t get home till seven o’clock, been sleeping with another fellow, that’s how she cheats on me. I’ve lost my business, and my wife too. And little Mieze, that dirty dog Reinhold. She was mine, she didn’t wanta go with him, she rode with me out to that party along the road, she could kiss all right. and then he took her away from me, because I’m just a poor fool. The lousy bastard, then he killed her, the murderer, because she didn’t want him, now he acts the big gazook, and I’ve burnt my hand, and I helped him to carry her, too. He sure is one big yegg, a real murderer. And to think I wanted to take the whole blame for a crook like that. That’s the kinda jackass I am!
Keep your Eyes on Karl the Tinner, Something’s going to happen in that Man
Karl the tinner looks around for somebody to talk to. He’s sitting in the Alexander Quelle opposite Tietz’s, two boys escaped from the reformatory beside him and another man, nobody knows who he is, he says he does all kinds of business, anything that turns up, otherwise he’s a master wheelwright. He can draw well, they sit together at the table, eat bockwurst while the young wheelwright draws a lot of smutty pictures in his notebook, janes and men and so on. The reformatory boys are mighty pleased, Karl the tinner looks on and thinks that feller can draw very well. The three laugh all the time, the two youngsters are in high spirits, they have just been in Ruckerstrasse, there was a raid and they made their escape through the back-door. Karl the tinner goes to the bar.
At that moment two men walk slowly through the place, look right and left, talk with one man who takes out his papers, they look, say a few words, and now the two men are standing at the table beside the three companions; they’re frightened, but don’t let out a peep, don’t say a word. Just go on talking, those are dicks, of course, they have just come from the Rucker bar, they saw us there. The wheelwright goes on drawing his smutty pictures as if nothing had happened, but then one of the bulls whispers to him: “Criminal Police.” He opens his coat, there’s a brass badge on his vest. His companion does the same thing with the two boys. They have no papers; the wheelwright has a sick-leave ticket and a letter from a girl, all three are ordered to the Kaiser-Wilhelm Strasse police station. The boys say right away what they have been up to, but get the surprise of their lives when the bulls tell them they hadn’t noticed them at Rückerstrasse. It was just an accident that they met them in the Alexander Quelle. Well, in that case, we wouldn’t have told how we had beat it, and they all laugh together. The bull pats them on the back: “The director will certainly be delighted to see you back.” “Oh, he’s on his vacation.” The wheelwright stands in the station room with the cops, he can talk himself out of the situation, his address is all right, only his hands are too soft for a wheelwright, that’s what one of the bulls can’t quite understand, he turns his hands around and around, but I haven’t been working for a year, shall I tell ye what I think you are, a queer fellow, a fairy, well, I don’t know what that is.
Half an hour later he is back in the cafe. Karl the tinner is loafing around the table; the wheelwright accosts him right away.
“How do you earn your living?” It’s twelve o’clock when Karl questions him. “Guess. And what do you do?” “Anything that comes along.” “Maybe you’re afraid you’ll tell me somethin’?” “Well, I bet you ain’t a wheelwright, at that.” ‘Tm as good a wheelwright as you are a tinner.” “Now don’t say that. Look at my hand, it’s all burnt. I’m workin’ even as a locksmith.” “I guess you burnt your fingers at that business of yours, did’ncha”?” “Business! Didn’t get nothin’ out of it.” “Who are you workin’ with, anyway?” “Are ye tryin’ to kid me, askin’ questions like that?” Karl asks the wheelwright: “D’you belong to a union?” “Schonhauser Quarter.” “I see, the Bowling Club.” “Know it?” “Sure enough, I know the Bowling Club. Just ask ‘em if they don’t know me, Karl the tinner; Paul the mason’s there, too.” “Well, I’ll be damned, so you know him? Why, he’s a friend of mine.” “We were together in Brandenburg once.” “That’s right. I’ll be... Say, how about letting me have 5 marks, I’m broke, my landlady’s going to kick me out, and I won’t go to the Augusta Shelter, the air’s too thick there.” “Five marks, here you are, if that’s all you want.” “Thanks a lot. Well, how about talkin’ business?”
The wheelwright is a windbag. Sometimes he’s interested in women and then again in boys. If he feels the ground getting hot under him, he makes a touch or hooks something. He, the tinner, and another chap from the Schönhauser Union start an independent partnership, and, whoa, up and at it, and let’s pull a coupla jobs in a jiffy. Wherever anything is to be pinched, there’s always somebody from the wheelwright’s union around. First they hook motorcycles, which gives them freedom of movement and enables them to look around in the vicinity. In this way they’re not limited to Berlin, in case they should have something up their sleeves, and chances on something outside the city crop up.
One of their jobs is really nifty. There is a clothing store in the Elsasser Strasse, and there are a couple of tailors in the union who can dispose of things. One night the three of them are standing in front of the shop, it’s around three in the morning and the watchman happens to be there, too, looking at his house. The wheelwright asks what’s wrong in the house, the others sorta join in the conversation and get to talking about burglaries, how these are dangerous times now and a lot of birds carry revolvers in their pockets, and if they’re caught, they put a fellow on the spot. Well, say all three, they wouldn’t get mixed up in a thing like that, but is there anything to hook up there? You bet, it’s full of goods, men’s wear, overcoats, and so on. Might go up and get a new outfit. “You must be cuckoo. Are you goin’ to get the man in trouble?” “Trouble, who says anything about trouble? The old gentleman’s a human being, after all, he ain’t rollin’ in money either, what do they pay you for watchin’ here, mate?” “Them guys, you know, no use asking about ‘em. When a man’s 60, and has a coupla pennies as pension and can’t do nothin’ any more, well, they can treat him any way they like.” “That’s what I say, here’s this old gentleman standin’ about all night and catching the rheumatics, I suppose you were in the war too, weren’t you?” “Territorial, in Poland, but not digging trenches. No, sir, we had to fight in the trenches.” “Needn’t tell me. That’s the way it was with us, too. Everybody who didn’t carry his head under his arm had to go right into the trenches, and that’s why you’re standing here, mate, watchin’ to see if nobody’s pinching anything from them fine gentlemen up there. What do you think, neighbor, let’s do something here. How do you feel about it,
neighbor?” “No, no, say, I ain’t got the nerve for that, the boss lives next door and he might hear us, he’s such a light sleeper.” “We’ll be quiet, all right, I tell ye. Come on, let’s drink a cup of coffee together, you must have a coffee pot, ain’t you, and we’ll chew the rag. Why should you worry about that guy, that fat hog?”
Sure enough, the four of them are soon in the watchman’S room, upstairs in the office, drinking coffee; the wheelwright is the cleverest of them all, and he whispers something ‘to the watchman, in the meantime the two others sneak outside and start fetching things. The watchman wants to get up, he’s got to make his rounds, he doesn’t want to know anything at all about this business, so finally the wheelwright suggests: “Let those two go ahead, if you don’t notice anything, there’s nobody can do nothin’ to you, can they?” “What do you mean-don’t notice anythin’?” “Tell ye what we’ll do: I’ll tie you up, you’ve been attacked, you’re an old man, you can’t defend yourself now, can you, if I throw a cloth over your head before you’ve noticed anything, and you’ve got a gag between your teeth and your legs are tied.” “Gee whiz!” “Yeah, now don’t act dumb, are you goin’ to have your head bashed in for the sake of a stuck-up guy like that, the fat hog? Come on, we’ll finish up the pot and then we’ll settle it day after tomorrow. Where do you live? Just write it down, we’ll divide honestly, let’s shake on it.” “How much will I get for this?” “Depends on what they get. A hundred marks, no kiddin’.” “Two hundred.” “All right.” Then they smoke, finish up the pot, they fix up everything together, first they need a safe automobile, the tinner telephones for one, they’re in luck, in half an hour the Soren auto is at the door.
Berlin Alexanderplatz Page 41