Berlin Alexanderplatz

by Alfred Doblin

  Eva notices the expression in his eyes, a dark, silent, searching expression, she’s never seen that in Franz before. She doesn’t talk about herself; as a matter of fact, something’s happened to her, too, something that concerns him, but he is very lame, she gets him a room, she helps him, he mustn’t do anything. He himself says it as he sits in the room and she is about to go: “Nope, I can’t do nothin’ now.”

  And then what does he do? He starts little by little to go about the streets, he walks around Berlin.

  Berlin: 52° 31’ North Latitude, 13° 25’ East Longitude, 20 main-line stations, 121 suburban lines, 27 belt lines, 14 city lines, 7 shunting stations, street-car, elevated railroad, autobus service. There’s only one Kaiser Town, there’s only one Vienna. A Woman’s Desire in three words, three words comprise all a woman’s desire. Imagine it, a New York firm advertises a new cosmetic which gives a yellowish retina that fresh bluish tint only possessed by youth. The most beautiful pupil, from deep blue to velvet-brown, can be got from our tubes. Why spend so much on having your furs cleaned?

  He walks around the town. There are many things to make a man well, if only his heart keeps well. First the Alex. It’s still there. There is nothing to be seen there. It was terribly cold all winter, so they did not work and left everything lying around, just as it was, the big steam-shovel is now standing on the Georgenkirchplatz, they are dredging sand and dirt from Hahn’s Department Store, they’ve put in a whole lot of rails there, maybe they are going to build a railway station. A lot of other things are happening on the Alex, but the main thing is: it’s still there. The people keep crossing the square, the slush is something awful, the Berlin municipality is so noble and humane that it lets all the snow dissolve quietly, peu à peu, of its own accord, into mud, nobody’s supposed to touch it. When automobiles go by, you’d better jump into the nearest house, or else you’ll get a load of garbage, free of charge, all over your top-hat, and you’ll risk a suit for appropriating public property. Our old “Mokka Fix” is closed. At the corner there is a new joint called “Mexico,” a world sensation: the chef stands beside his grill in the window, Indian Blockhouse. They are putting a fence around the Alexander Barracks, wonder what’s doing there, they are tearing down some stores. And the street-cars are chockfull of people, all of them have something to do, the tickets still cost 20 pfennigs, a fifth of a mark in cash: or if you prefer, you can pay 30 pfennigs, or buy yourself a Ford. The elevated also goes by, no firsts or seconds, third-class only, everybody’s sitting on comfortable plush-seats, unless they happen to be standing up, which is also possible. Getting off while the train is in motion is prohibited and liable to fines up to 150 marks, but who would dare do that, we’d simply risk an electric shock. Everybody admires the shoe that’s brightly polished with “Egu.” Passengers are requested to get on and off quickly, during the rush-hour kindly move towards the center-aisle.

  All these are nice things that can help a man get on his feet, even if he is a bit weak, provided his heart is in good condition. Don’t stand near the door. Well, Franz Karl Biberkopf is healthy all right, wish everybody was as solid as he is! It wouldn’t be worth while telling such a long story about a man if he were not solid on his legs, now would it? And one day, when an itinerant bookseller was standing in the street, during a terribly rainy spell, cussing about his poor receipts, Cäsar Flaischlen stepped up to the book-cart. He quietly listened to the man’s cussing, and then, tapping him on his wet shoulder, said: “Stop that cussing, keep sunshine in your heart!” Thus he consoled him and disappeared. This was the starting-point for the famous sun-poem. It was just such a sun, but different, of course, that Biberkopf had in his heart: and he also poured a little flask of booze and a lot of malt-extract into his soups. Thus slowly he gets in shape again. May I, therefore, take the liberty of offering you a share in my excellent barrel of Trabener Wurzgarten, 1925, at the special price of 90 marks for 50 bottles, packing included, F. O. B., or 1.60 marks per bottle, not counting the bottles and boxing which I take back at the agreed price? Dijodyl for arteriosclerosis. Biberkopf has not got arteriosclerosis, he only feels weak, he certainly had a tremendous fast in Buch, nearly starved to death, a man needs time to fill himself out again. That’s why he doesn’t need to see the magneto-pathologist, where Eva wants to send him, because he helped her once.

  A week later, when Eva goes with him to Mieze’s grave, she finds cause for surprise right away and she notices how much better he is. No tears are shed, he just puts a handful of tulips on the grave, strokes the cross, and immediately after takes Eva’s arm and off they go.

  He sits with her in the pastry shop across the way, eating a honey-cake in honor of Mieze, you see she never could get enough of it, it really tastes good, but nothing to write home about, at that. So now we have been to see our little Mieze, a man shouldn’t go to cemeteries too much, might catch a cold, maybe next year again, on her birthday. You see, Eva, I don’t have to run out here to see Mieze, you can take my word for it, she’s always there for me, cemetery or no cemetery, and then Reinhold, well, I won’t forget him so easy, either. And even if my arm should grow again, I wouldn’t forget him. There are so many things in this world, a fellow would have to be a big boob, and not a human being, to forget ‘em. And so Biberkopf talks with Eva, while eating honey-cake.

  Eva once wanted to be his mistress, but now she’s quite given up the idea. This business with Mieze, and then the Insane Asylum, that was too much for her, however much she still likes him. The baby she had expected by him didn’t come either, she had a miscarriage. It would have been so lovely, but it was not to be, but it’s the best thing in the long run, especially since Herbert isn’t there, and her gentleman-friend prefers, by a long shot, that she shouldn’t have a kid, as in the end, the good man had found out that the baby might very likely be by somebody else, you can’t blame him for that.

  They sit quietly together, thinking backwards and forwards, eating honey-cake and devil-cake with whipped cream.

  Forward March and get in Step and Right and Left and Right and Left

  We see our man once more at the trial of Reinhold and Matter the tinner, alias Oskar Fischer, charged with murder and complicity, respectively, in the affair of Emilie Parsunke, of Bernau, on the date of September 1, 1928, in Freienwalde near Berlin. Biberkopf is not a defendant. This one-armed man excites general interest, quite a sensation, in fact, the murder of his sweetheart, love-life in the underworld, he was mentally unbalanced after her death and suspected of being an accomplice, a tragic destiny.

  During the trial, the one-armed man who, as the experts state, has now recovered and can be questioned, gives the following testimony: Deceased (he calls her Mieze), did not have an affair with Reinhold. Reinhold and he were good pals, but Reinhold had a terrible, abnormal craving for women, that’s how it came about. Whether Reinhold has predispositions to sadism, he doesn’t know. He suspects that Mieze resisted Reinhold in Freienwalde, so he did it in a fit of rage. Do you know anything about his youth? No, I didn’t know him then. Has he not told you anything? Did he drink? Yes, I’ll tell you how it was: In the old days he did not drink, but finally he did start drinking, how much I can’t say, but formerly he could only stand a sip of beer. always drank mineral water and coffee.

  That’s all they can get out of Biberkopf about Reinhold. Nothing about his arm, nothing about their quarrel., their fight, I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have taken up with him. Eva and some members of the Pums gang are sitting in the court-room. Reinhold and Biberkopf stare fixedly at each other. The one-armed man has no pity for the man in the prisoner’s box between the two policemen, who is getting his neck in a sling, he has only a curious devotion for him. I once had a faithful comrade, never a better one could there be. I must look at him, keep on looking at him, nothing seems more important than to look at you. The world is made of sugar and dirt. I can look at you quietly, without batting an eye. I know who you are. I now find you here, m’boy, in the pri
soner’s box, outside I’ll meet you a thousand times more, but my heart will not turn to stone on account of that.

  Reinhold has planned, if anything should go wrong at the trial. to expose the whole Pums gang, he’ll get them all into trouble if they make him mad, he is keeping that up his sleeve, especially in case Biberkopf starts shooting off his mouth before the judge, that dirty son of a bitch, it’s on his account I’m in this hole. But then the Pums crowd are all sitting in the court-room, that’s Eva over there, that’s a coupla detectives, we know those bulls. Then he gets calmer, hesitates, thinks things over. A man is dependent on his friends, I’ll get out some time, and I may need ‘em inside, too, I won’t make things so easy for the bulls, and then, strange to say, Biberkopf is acting white. They tell me he’s been doin’ time in Buch. Funny, how that boob has changed, queer look he’s got, as if he couldn’t turn his eyes around, they musta gone rusty on him out in Buch, and how slow he talks. He probably still has a screw loose somewhere. But Biberkopf knows that, although Reinhold does not testify, he owes him no gratitude for it.

  Ten years’ prison for Reinhold, murder while temporarily insane, alcoholism, impulsive disposition, unprotected youth. Reinhold accepts the sentence.

  Somebody in the court-room screams, when the sentence is pronounced, and sobs aloud. It is Eva, the thought of Mieze has overpowered her. Biberkopf, hearing her, turns around in the witness box and then he, too, sinks heavily into himself, and holds his hand in front of his forehead. There is a mower, Death yclept, I’m yourn, she came to you so lovable, protected you, and you, oh Shame, cry Shame!

  Immediately after the trial Biberkopf is offered a job as assistant doorman in a medium-sized factory. He accepts. I have nothing further to report about his life.

  We have come to the end of our story. It has proven a long one, but it had to unfold itself, on and on, till it reached its climax, that culminating point which at last illuminates the whole thing.

  We have walked along a dark road, at first there was no street-lamp burning, we only knew it was the right road, but gradually it grew bright and brighter, till at last we reached the light and under its rays were able to make out the name of the street. It was a process of revelation of a special kind. Franz Biberkopf did not walk along the streets the way we do. He rushed blindly through this dark street, knocking against trees, and, the more he ran, the more he knocked against trees. Now it was dark, and, as he knocked against the trees, he shut his eyes in terror. And the more he knocked against them, the greater became his terror, when he shut his eyes tightly. His head all bunged up, almost at his wits’ end, at last he reached his goal. As he fell down, he opened his eyes. Then the street-lamp shone bright above him, and he was able to read the sign.

  Now at last he is assistant door-man in a medium-sized factory. He is no longer alone on Alexanderplatz. There are people to the right, and people to the left of him, some walk in front of him, others behind him.

  Much unhappiness comes from walking alone. When there are several, it’s somewhat different. I must get the habit of listening to others, for what the others say concerns me, too. Then I learn who I am, and what I can undertake. Everywhere about me my battle is being fought, and I must beware, before I know I’m in the thick of it.

  He is assistant door-man in a factory. What is fate anyway? One is stronger than I. If there are two of us, it grows harder to be stronger than I. If there are ten of us, it’s harder still. And if there are a thousand of us and a million, then it’s very hard, indeed.

  But it is also nicer and better to be with others. Then I feel and I know everything twice as well. A ship cannot lie in safety without a big anchor, and a man cannot exist without many other men. The true and the false I will know better now. Once I got myself into trouble for a single word and had to pay bitterly for it, this shan’t happen to Biberkopf again. The words come rolling up to us, we must be careful not to get run over; if we don’t watch out for the autobus, it’ll make apple-sauce out of us. I’ll never again stake my word on anything in the world. Dear Fatherland, be comfort thine, I’ll watch, and use these eyes o’ mine.

  Often they march past his window with flags and music and singing. Biberkopf watches coolly from his door, he’ll not join the parade any more. Shut your trap, in step, old cuss, march along with the rest of us. But if I march along, I shall have to pay for it later on with my head, pay for the schemes of others. That’s why I first figure out everything, and only if everything’s quite O. K., and suits me, I’ll take action. Reason is the gift of man, jackasses replace it with a clan.

  Biberkopf is working as assistant door-man, takes numbers, checks cars, sees who comes in and goes out.

  Keep awake, keep awake, for there is something happening in the world. The world is not made of sugar. If they drop gas-bombs, I’ll have to choke to death; nobody knows why they are dropped, but that’s neither here nor there, we had the time to prepare for it.

  If war comes along and they conscript me, and I don’t know why, and the war’s started without me, well, then it’s my fault, it serves me right. Keep awake ‘mid the strife, we’re not alone in life. Let it hail and storm, there’s no way of guarding against it, but we can defend ourselves against many other things. So I will not go on shouting as once I did: Fate, Fate! It’s no use revering it merely as Fate, we must look at it, grasp it, down it, and not hesitate. Keep awake, eyes front, attention, a thousand belong together, and he who won’t watch out, is fit to flay and flout.

  The drums roll behind him. Marching, marching. We tramp to war with iron tread, a hundred minstrels march ahead, red of night and red of day, deathward leads the way.

  Biberkopf is a humble workman. We know what we know, the price we paid was not low.

  The way leads to freedom, to freedom it goes. The old world must crumble. Awake, wind of dawn!

  And get in step, and right and left and right and left, marching: marching on, we tramp to war, a hundred minstrels march before, with fife and drum, drrum, brrum, for one the road goes straight, for another it goes to the side, one stands fast, another’s killed, one rushes past, another’s voice is stilled, drrum, brrumm, drrumm!

  THE END