by Steve Weiner
“Are you with somebody?” he said politely.
“No.”
“Then come with us.”
“Got money?”
“No.”
“Then why should I?”
“You won’t forget it.”
“Drunkard.”
She walked to the bar. Karl and Alois went out. A cabbage crate smashed against a street lamp. Karl’s black eyes glazed.
“Na.”
“What?”
“The misery,” Karl said. “The endless misery.”
“Not so! A dead man! Look!”
Alois rolled a body over. The hair was detached. It slid over the forehead. Alois went through pockets. He looked up, round face quivering.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
“Nothing.”
A factory girl went by. She was about eleven. Rain fell on Karl’s face.
“No—don’t—” Alois said. “Don’t hurt her.”
“Wait here.”
Karl followed her into a church, shoulders hunched. Alois ran after him.
“Don’t—Karl—!”
Karl went into the church, pushed her onto a pew. When he was through he clawed her face.
BLUE EYES
NICHOLAS STUMBLED down the Reeperbahn. He was drunk. A taxichauffeur squealed brakes.
“’Tschuldigung. Bin etwas versakt—” Nicholas said. “Sorry. A bit sloshed.”
Hamburg’s concert taverns were noisy. Women in blue turbans crowded the streets. Nicholas went down stone stairs. There was a public notice: Public women on Lombardsbrücke or Steintor will be arrested. A sailor leaned over a prostitute.
“I love you.”
“Saable de doot,” she said. “Stop babbling.”
She pushed him away. Another prostitute went by with a banker.
“Bring that pig to market!” the first prostitute said.
Nicholas walked under a bridge. Shot in the jaw, a veteran staggered.
“O God!”
Prostitutes stood at a wall.
“Eleganz …”
“Entrance … ooohhhh …”
“Noblesse …”
A prostitute bumped him.
“Not completely undangerous …”
“No.”
“Du bist dann broke?” she said. “You’re broke?”
“No.”
“Senile?”
He walked away.
“Schwul!” she shouted. “Homosexual!”
Nicholas ran. He stopped. He smoked three cigarettes.
“Vadder, ik kan nich,” he said. “Father, I can’t do it.”
He went to Schwiegerstrasse. Machinists, boatmen, road builders from Hanover, Holstein, Prussia, and Braunschweig strolled between small houses. Prostitutes sat in red-curtained windows. Nicholas looked into a house with a green door. There was a sign. Hit a woman, 15 Reichsmarks.
Sailors from Finland, Denmark, the Dutch provinces, crowded doorways. Workers from Saxony and Mecklenburg came. A Pole on a white horse waved a saber. Nicholas looked into a house with an orange door. No woman may be forced to give her true name. No children present during sex.
He looked into a house with a brown door. Sharp punishment for rendering unconscious.
Exiled Russian officers stood under the light. He offered them all cigarettes.
“Recommend a woman,” Nicholas said.
“What?”
“A woman. Recommend one.”
“Agatha.”
“Who?”
“Agatha. In the house with a blue door. She has created a furore.”
Nicholas offered the Russians more cigarettes.
“A furore?” he said.
“Without comparison.”
They smoked.
“It’s a good house?” Nicholas said.
“Every comfort.”
Nicholas went to the blue-and-white house. A pear tree dripped rain in a courtyard.
Nicholas knocked. Mamsell opened. She was a broad-shouldered woman with dyed auburn hair. She wore a maroon housecoat and a yellow and black kerchief. A master key dangled at her belt.
“Is Agatha busy?” Nicholas said.
“Speak up.”
“Agatha.”
“Everybody wants Agatha.”
“She has created a furore.”
“Who says so?”
“The Russians say so.”
She looked for the Russians but they were gone.
“Do you have the visit price?” she said.
“How much?”
“Twenty marks.”
“I have eighteen.”
Mamsell opened the door wider.
“Entree.”
Nicholas went in. Mamsell locked the money in a ceramic cow in a glassed cabinet.
“Sit in the parlor.”
Nicholas sat in the parlor. There was a handwritten notice: Silver watch found. Taken to Deposito. Polizei. There were green willow-pattern curtains. Cards and backgammon lay on a round table. A gold armadillo of cigars stood under a lamp. Nicholas brushed his shoes. An older man left. Moonlight came down the stairs. Nicholas stood.
“Agatha?”
Agatha was a small woman. Her feet were bare. She leaned over the banister. She had blue eyes. She laughed.
“Nun, kommst du mit und sanfst mir Knalbech,” she said. “Well, come along and share champagne.”
Nicholas climbed the stairs. There was an embroidery.
Jugend ist die Zeit der Liebe.
Youth is the time for love.
Agatha held out her hand.
“Giff mi dien Hand.”
He took her hand. She opened a white door. Nicholas went in. Framed silhouettes of girls and skylarks hung on a blue wall. There was an embroidered pillow.
In love
The soul
Has joyful eyes
“Who just left?” Nicholas said.
“De ohle Giezkrogen?”
“Yes. The old geezer.”
“A Prussian officer,” Agatha said. “Very famous.”
Nicholas looked out the window at Schwiegerstrasse.
“Will the gentleman have champagne?”
“Is it extra?”
“A bit.”
“Okay.”
Agatha gave Nicholas a glass of champagne. She sat on the bed.
“Kumm, sett di,” Agatha said. “Come, sit down.”
“Where?”
“On the bed.”
He sat. Agatha poured champagne. It foamed. Nicholas licked the glass.
“Are the bedsheets satin?” he said.
“From Mecklenburg.”
“I was in the merchant marine,” he said. “The owner was a homosexual. But I’m not. I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
Agatha took Nicholas’s glass out of his hand.
“Hier büst du seker,” she said. “Here you are safe.”
“Am I?”
She put his hand on her knee.
“Watt wullt du?” she said. “What do you want?”
“What should I want?”
Agatha unbuttoned Nicholas’s shirt.
“So?”
They lay.
“So …”
Time passed. Nicholas came to. Agatha dressed.
“What time is it?”
“Klock twölf,” Agatha said.
“Midnight? Already?”
Nicholas gave her five marks.
“What for?”
“For being nice. I told Mamsell I had only eighteen marks. Wasn’t I clever?”
Nicholas laughed. He went to the door. He turned back.
“Will I see you again, Agatha?”
“If you like.”
“Soon?”
“Up to you.”
Agatha sat on the bed. One hand was in her lap. The other was on her shoulder.
“You’re very pretty, Agatha.”
“Holl di Gesund,” she said. “Stay well.”
Nicholas went down the stairs. There w
as an embroidery.
Das Alter ist die Zeit der Weisheit.
Age is the time for wisdom.
In the courtyard pears no longer dripped rain.
Agatha woke at ten A.M.
An old woman brought black bread and tea. She did Agatha’s friseur. Agatha played dominoes with her colleagues. One played a guitar. Lunch was soup, potato, leeks, radishes. Mamsell charged fourteen marks for heating, light, washing, apartment, and food, six for stockings, dress, blouses, two for infection cures.
“Agatha.”
“Yes, Mamsell?”
“I found five marks in your room. Who gave it to you?”
“The blond kid.”
“What did you do extra for him?”
“Nothing.”
“He gave you five marks for nothing?”
“He likes me,” Agatha said.
“Why?”
“For being pretty.”
Agatha grabbed the money. She ran up the stairs. She leaned over the banister.
“De Mannslüüd mie leev!” Agatha said. “Men love me! Is it my fault?”
Nicholas wandered: inns, revues, dancing, hotels-by-the-hour. Organ grinders were pimps. So were carousel operators and ice cream vendors. Maids, usherettes, and fairground women were prostitutes. So were women who sliced fish. Women who worked in polka cellars were prostitutes.
“En lütt Döör,” he said. “A little door. It opened and nowhere became somewhere.”
Prostitutes worked mixed areas: Neustadt, Holstenwall, Rademachergang, Pilatuspool. At Gänsemarkt there was a bordel for men with lots of money. Bordellos were also at Horse Market, Klafeker Street and Sägerplatz. Prostitutes stood at Langen Gang and in Bacon Alley, Bullet Town, School Way, Trumpet Way, Wheelmaker’s Way, and Cucumber Street.
He went back to Nikolaifleet. Masts lay in a canal. Two dead bodies—refugees—lay under canvas.
Night was window parade.
Agatha sat in a window. Mamsell angled a light off her curls. A soldier came to see her. They drank schorlemorle—wine and water.
“Schnouffe!”
“I don’t have cocaine,” Agatha said.
“Then bring me opium!”
Agatha brought opium. The soldier smoked. His eyes darkened. He got up and dragged by her hair. He pulled out his revolver.
“I’LL SHOOT YOU!”
“NEE!”
Mamsell ran in. The soldier collapsed and cried. Agatha showed Mamsell her bruise.
“He ought to be dumped in prison. Look what he did!”
He left.
“So ’n Flotz von Kerl,” Agatha said. “What a disgusting jerk.”
“Agatha. Sit by the window.”
A man pounded on the door. Agatha and Mamsell bent the blinds and looked outside.
“Who’s the schlucker?” Agatha said.
“Some night rider.”
“I’m tired.”
“But he’s a good customer,” Mamsell said.
Mamsell left. A fop came up the stairs. He took his coat off, then his trousers.
“The horse is out of the stable!” he yelled. “He kicks! What a beast!”
The fop was through.
“Beast …” he said, “… beast …”
Nicholas sold stolen watches at St. Georg’s hotels: Germania, Tschuschke, Sorgenfrei.
“Boiled against cholera!”
He drank at Dammthor taverns: Soltman Cellar, Helgoländer. Boats coming down the Elbe from Prague brought Jewish caviar.
“Time goes,” he said. “Pläseer or no pläseer.”
He went to a Nudelbretter—a comedy theater—by Millerntor. There were films: Races at Alag, Arrival of Bulgarian Ruler, Pigeon Shooting on Margaret Island in Budapest, The Spiritualist.
“He, du Scheisskerl,” somebody said. “Hey, shit guy.”
Nicholas turned.
“Karl!”
Karl’s black overcoat was ripped. His shoes had been fixed but now flapped. He punched Nicholas.
“Sink any ships lately?”
“Shut up.”
Karl sat.
“Where do you live, woman?”
“Nikolaifleet.”
“That’s what Alois told me. Doing what?”
“I sell watches.”
“Stolen?”
“Want to buy one?”
Karl opened a bag of pecans. He coughed.
“How is Alois?” Nicholas said.
“Fat.”
Karl finished the pecans. He threw the bag away.
“Been laid, Nicholas?”
“Christ, it takes no talent, does it, Karl?”
“What’s the poofmutter like?”
“Mamsell?” Nicholas said. “She’s so ugly you could light a match on her face.”
Karl laughed. He dug a pecan shell out of his teeth. Veterans of Cambrai shuffled in.
“Are you tender-looking because of her?” he asked.
“Mamsell?”
“The one you laid.”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“She liked me.”
“She’s paid to like you, Nicholas.”
The comedy duo Pickel und Pusteln—Pimple and Blotch—cavorted. Nicholas laughed. There was an appeal for the sick baby fund. A cinema cartoon: black rubbery arms strangled a dog. Karl leaned over to confide.
“Nicholas.”
“What?”
“They found a sea monster at Cuxhaven.”
“Really?”
“Sure. It was eight meters long. Green lumps on the head. Fishermen threw stones at it. It swam back to Dogger Bank.”
“Wow!”
Karl blew on his hands.
“I’m going to Munich,” he said. “Germans are more German there.”
He stood.
“You’re weak, Nicholas.”
Karl walked away. The shreds of his coat hit the Cambrai veterans.
“I am not!” Nicholas shouted.
Karl sang.
“There’s a little witch in Hamburg …”
Nicholas knocked on Agatha’s door.
“Entree.”
Nicholas went in. Agatha ate chocolate ice cream with a long spoon. She licked the spoon. Nicholas touched her face.
“He, pusslig,” he said. “Little darling.”
“Hello, Nicholas.”
Nicholas gave her a watch.
“For me?”
“For di, Agatha.”
Pebbles rattled the window. She opened it and leaned out. A boy porter stood below.
“What does a night with you cost?”
“Twinting Mark.”
The boy whistled.
“Twenty marks!”
“Jo.”
“That’s a mountain of money.”
“It’s body work, kid.”
“Yes, but twenty marks?”
The boy porter left. Agatha closed the window. She poured cognac. It was good cognac. Her blue eyes were bright.
“To the Kaiser!” she said.
“The Kaiser!”
They drank.
“More?”
“You drink well,” Nicholas said.
“I drink punsch, grog, rum, branntwein! And I don’t fall asleep in bed!”
“Agatha.”
“Yes?”
“Do you like me?”
“Na, du hest mi wull, aver falsch bün ik nich,” she said. “You have me now, but false, I am not.”
She tousled his hair.
“What’s the burschen thinking of? What’s in the schoolboy’s head?”
“Dat weur doch sonst immer een Harmonie mit dir,” he said. “That there would be always a harmony with you.”
“Of course.”
“Are words like yes and no too big for us?”
“The answer is maybe …”
“Du bist mien Froo?” he said. “You be my wife?”
Nicholas kissed her on the mouth. Agatha looked at him from a long way away.
“Life is no rest
home, Nicholas.”
“No?”
“Weest dat noch nich?” she said. “You still don’t know that?”
“I do.”
“Dat is so und damit basta,” Agatha said. “That’s the way it is, so enough.”
Agatha toasted again.
“Liebeslust und Eheglück,” she laughed. “Love-pleasure and good marriage!”
She put the glass down. They lay. Agatha combed her hair. Nicholas went to the door. He turned.
“We speak the same language, don’t we, Agatha?”
“Wi spreekt Platt düütsch,” she said. “We speak Low German.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Ick heff di leev,” he said. “I love you.”
“Your life is not clear to you, Nicholas.”
“Adjüüs, Agatha.”
“Adjüüs.”
Nicholas began to freien Agatha: he courted her. He asked Mamsell’s permission to take her to the Apollo Hall. She wore a blue sweater and pearls. They walked back to Schwiegerstrasse holding hands.
“Agatha, I’m leaving Hamburg.”
Agatha let go of his hand.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She walked faster.
“Dar sasst du finnen, wat du söchst,” Agatha said. “I hope you find there, what you’re looking for.”
He double-stepped.
“Agatha—”
He caught up.
“We had no understanding,” he said.
“Didn’t we?”
“No.”
“I thought we did.”
They came to the blue door.
“Agatha—”
“Don’t make an opera about it, Nicholas.”
“Agatha—”
The door slammed.
“Next time,” Agatha said, “don’t be so conceited.”
Nicholas went back to Nikolaifleet. He packed the yellow suitcase with red stripes and carried it to the Elbe. Port police boats left the basin. Nicholas walked to the ferry dock. “Brother-sister” pairs stood under a quay light.
“Sie hat Avancen gemacht,” a “brother” simpered. “She made advances.”
Nicholas walked to the other end of the dock. Doll-lads whistled.
“… beautiful blow job …”
“… anal and cheap …”
“… naked and alone in a room …”
A sailor pissed.
“Give me twenty marks,” he said.
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll get it in the ass.”