by Joe Bandel
The girl obeyed, took the cup that he offered and emptied it. During that hour he made sure that her cup never stood empty for more than a minute. Then he chatted with her. He talked about Paris, spoke of beautiful women at the de la Galette in Moulin and at the Elysée in Montmartre. He described exactly how they looked, described their shoes, their hats and their dresses. Then he turned to the prostitute.
“You know Alma, it is really a shame to see you running around here. Please don’t think badly of me but haven’t I seen you before somewhere else? Were you ever in the Union Bar or the Arcadia?”
No, she had never been in them or in the Amour Hall. Once she had gone with a gentleman to the old Ballroom but when she went back alone the next night she was turned away at the door because she wasn’t dressed properly.
“Of course you need to be dressed properly,” Frank Braun confirmed. “Do you think you will ever again stand all dressed up in front of that ballroom door?”
The prostitute laughed, “It doesn’t really matter–a man is a man!”
He paid no attention and told her fabulous stories of women that had made their fortunes in the great ballrooms. He spoke of beautiful pearl necklaces and large diamonds, carriages and teams of white horses. Then suddenly he asked.
“Tell me, how long have you been running around here?”
She said quietly, “It’s been four years since I ran away from home.”
He questioned her, pulled out of her bit by bit what he wanted to know. He drank with her, filling her glass and pouring cognac into her champagne without her noticing. She was almost twenty years old and had come from Halberstadt. Her father was an honest Baker, honorable and distinguished like her mother and like her six sisters.
She had first lain with a man a few days after her confirmation. He was an associate of her father’s. Had she loved him? Not at all–well only when–yes and then there was another and then another. Both her father and her mother had beaten her but she would still run off and stay out all night. It went on like that for a year – until one day her parents threw her out. Then she pawned her watch and traveled to Berlin. She had been here ever since–
Frank Braun said, “Yes, yes. That is quite a story.” Then he continued, “But now, today is your lucky day!”
“Really,” she asked. “Why do you say that?”
Her voice rang hoarse like it was under a veil, “One day is just a good as another to me–All I need is a man, nothing else!”
But he knew how to get her interest, “But Alma, you have to be contented with any man that wants you! Wouldn’t you like it if it were the other way around?–If you could have anyone that you wanted?”
Her eyes lit up at that. “Oh yes, I would really like that!”
He laughed, “Well have you ever met anyone on the street that you wanted and he wouldn’t give you the time of day? Wouldn’t it be great if you could choose him instead?”
She laughed, “You, my boy. I would really like to–”
“Me as well,” he agreed. “Then and any time you wanted. But you can only do that when you have money and that is why I said that today is your lucky day because you can earn a lot of money today if you want.”
“How much,” she asked.
He said, “Enough money to buy you all the dresses and jewelry that will get you into the finest and most distinguished ballrooms. How much?–Let’s say ten thousand–or make it twelve thousand Marks.”
“What!” gasped the assistant doctor.
The professor, who had never even considered such a sum snapped, “You seem to be somewhat free with other people’s money.”
Frank Braun laughed in delight. “Do you hear that Alma, how the Privy Councilor is beside himself over the sum that he should give you? But I must tell you that it is not free. You will be helping him and he should help you as well. Is fifteen thousand alright with you?”
She looked at him with enormous eyes.
“Yes, but what do I need to do for it?”
“That is the thing that is so funny,” he said. “You don’t need to do anything right now, only wait a little bit. That’s all.”
She drank, “Wait?” She cried gaily, “I’m not very good at waiting. But if I must for fifteen thousand Marks I will! Prosit boy!” and she emptied her glass.
He quickly filled it up again.
“It is a splendid story,” he declared. “There is a gentleman, he is a count–well, really a prince, a good looking fellow. You would really like him. But unfortunately you can’t see him. They have him in prison and he will be executed soon. The poor fellow, especially since he is as innocent as you or I. He is just somewhat irascible and that’s how the misfortune happened. While he was intoxicated he got into a quarrel with his best friend and shot him. Now he must die.”
“What should I do?” She asked quickly. Her nostrils quivered. Her interest in this curious prince was fully aroused.
“You,” he continued. “You can help him fulfil his last wish–”
“Yes,” she cried quickly. “Yes, yes!–He wants to be with a woman one more time right? I will do it, do it gladly–and he will be satisfied with me!”
“Well done, Alma,” said the attorney. “Well done. You are a good girl– but things are not that simple. Pay attention so you understand.
After he had stabbed–I mean shot his friend to death he ran to his family. They should have protected him, hid him, helped him to escape but they didn’t do that at all. They knew how immensely rich he was and thought there was a good possibility that they would inherit everything from him so they called the police instead.”
“The Devil!” Alma said with conviction.
“Yes, they did,” he continued. “It was frightfully mean of them. So he was imprisoned and what do you think he wants now?”
“Revenge,” she replied promptly.
He clapped her approvingly on the shoulder.
“That’s right Alma. I see you have read all the right books. So he is determined to get revenge on his treacherous family and the only way to do it was to cut them off from his inheritance. You understand everything so far don’t you?”
“Naturally I understand,” she declared. “It would serve them right.”
“But how to do it,” he continued. “That was the question. After long deliberation he found the only possible way. The only way he could prevent his millions to be taken was if he had a child of his own!”
“Does the prince have one?” she asked.
“No,” he answered. “Unfortunately he has none. But he still lives. There is still time–”
Her breath flew and her breasts heaved quickly, “I understand,” she cried. “I can have the prince’s child.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Will you?”
And she screamed, “Yes I will.”
She threw herself back in the lounge chair, spread out her legs and opened her arms wide. A heavy lock of red hair fell down onto her neck. Then she sprang up, emptied her glass again.
“It’s hot in here,” she said. “–Very hot!”
She tore her blouse off and fanned herself with a handkerchief.
He held her glass out to her. “Would you like some more? Come, we will drink to the prince!”
Their glasses clinked together.
“A nice robber story you tell there,” hissed the Privy Councilor to his nephew. “I am curious how it comes out.”
“Have no fear, Uncle Jakob,” he came back. “There is still another chapter.”
Then he turned again to the red haired prostitute.
“Well then, that is what it’s all about Alma. That’s how you can help us. But there is still a problem that I must explain to you. As you know, the baron–”
“She interrupted him, “The baron? I thought he was a prince?”
“Naturally he is a prince,” confirmed Frank Braun. “But when he is incognito he calls himself baron– That’s the way it is with princes.
Now then, his Highness
, the prince–”
“His Highness?” she whispered.
“Certainly,” he cried. “Highness like King or Kaiser! But you must swear that you will not talk about it–not to any one–So then, the prince is in disgrace now in a dungeon and heavily guarded at all times. No one is permitted to see him except his attorney. It is highly unlikely that he will be able to be with a woman before his last hour.”
“Oh,” she sighed.
Her interest in the unlucky prince was visibly less but Frank Braun paid no attention.
“There,”–he declaimed totally unperturbed in a voice ringing with pathos–, “deep in his heart, in his terrible need, in his dreadful despair and unquenchable thirst for revenge he suddenly thought about the strange experiments of his Excellency, the genuine Privy Councilor, Professor, Doctor, ten Brinken, the shining light of science.
The young handsome prince, now in the spring of his life, still remembered well his golden boyhood and the good old gentleman that looked after him when he had whooping cough and that sent him bon-bons when he was sick–There he sits, Alma. Look at him, the instrument of the unlucky prince’s revenge!”
He waved with grand gestures toward his uncle.
“That worthy Gentleman there,” he continued, “has in his time advanced medical knowledge many miles. You know how children come into the world Alma, and you also know how they are created. But you don’t know the secret mysteries of life that this benefactor of humanity has discovered! He knows how to create children without the mother and father ever seeing each other! The noble prince would be at peace in his dungeon or at rest in his fresh grave knowing that you, dear girl, with the good help of this old gentleman and under the expert care of this good Doctor Petersen will become the mother of his child.”
Alma looked across over at the Privy Councilor. She didn’t like this sudden shift, this weird transformation of turning a handsome wellborn prince into an old and very ugly professor. It didn’t appeal to her at all.
Frank Braun noticed as well and began a new line of persuasion, trying to get her to think of something else.
“Naturally the prince’s child, Anna, your child, must remain hidden after it comes into this world. He must remain hidden until he is fully-grown to protect him from the persecution and intrigue of his evil family–Naturally he would be a prince, just like his father.”
“My child would be a prince?” she whispered.
“Yes, of course,” he confirmed. “Or maybe a princess. That is something we can not know. It will inherit the castle, the grounds and several millions in money. But you will not be permitted to force yourself on him and compromise everything.”
That did it. Fat tears ran down her cheeks. She was already in her role, feeling the grief and sorrow of having to give up her beloved child. She was a prostitute, but her child would be a prince! She couldn’t be in his life. She would have to remain quiet, suffer and endure everything–for her child. It would never know who its mother was.
A heavy sob seized her, shook her entire body. She threw herself over the table, buried her head in her arms and wept bitterly.
Tenderly, almost lovingly he laid his hand on her neck softly stroking her wild loose hair. He could taste the sugar water in the lemonade that he had mixed as well and took her very seriously in this moment.
“Magdalena,” he whispered to her. “Magdalena–”
She righted herself, stuck her hand out to him.
“I promise you that I will never press myself on him. He will never hear me or see me, but–but–”
“What is it girl?” he asked softly.
She grabbed his arm, fell onto her knees in front of him and buried her head in his lap.
“Only once–only once!” she cried. “Can’t I see him just one time? From a distance–perhaps out of a window?”
“Will you finish this trashy comedy,” the Privy Councilor threw at him.
Frank Braun looked wildly at him–and knew his uncle was right but something in his blood rebelled and he hissed back:
“Quiet you old fool! Don’t you see how beautiful this is?”
He bent back down over the prostitute, “Yes, girl. You shall see him, your young prince. I will take you along when he leads his soldiers for the first time, or to the theater when he is sitting above in the box–You can see him then–”
She didn’t answer, but she squeezed his hand and tears mixed in with her kisses. Then he slowly straightened her up, carefully set her back in the chair and gave her some more to drink. It was a large glass half full of cognac.
“Will you do it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I will–What should I do?”
He reflected a moment, “First–first–we will draw up a little contract.”
He turned to the assistant doctor.
“Do you have some paper, doctor? And a quill? Good! Then you can write. Write everything twice, if you please.”
He dictated, said that the undersigned of their own free will would agree to be at the disposal of his Excellency ten Brinken for the purpose of this experiment. She would solemnly promise to faithfully obey all the orders of this gentleman. And further, that after the birth of the child she would completely renounce all claim to it.
In return his Excellency would immediately place fifteen thousand Marks into a savings account in the name of the undersigned and turn this account over to her upon the delivery of the child. He would further provide for her maintenance and support up to that time and carry all costs as well as giving her a monthly allowance of one hundred Marks to use as she pleased.
He took the paper and read it out loud one time.
“It doesn’t say anything about the prince!” she said.
“Naturally it doesn’t,” he declared. “That must remain highly secret.”
She could see that, but there was still something that bothered her.
“Why–” she asked. “Why did you pick me? Any woman would gladly do what she could for the poor prince.”
He hesitated. This question was a little unexpected but he found an answer.
“Well, you know,” he began. “it is like this–The prince’s childhood sweetheart was a very beautiful duchess. He loved her with all his heart as only a real prince can love and she loved the handsome young noble just as much. But she died.”
“How did she die?” Alma asked.
“She died of–of the measles. The prince’s beloved had golden red hair just like yours. She looked exactly like you. The prince’s last wish is that the mother of his child look like the beloved of his youth. He gave us her picture and described her to us exactly. We searched all over Europe and never found the right one–until tonight when we saw you.”
She was flattered and laughed. “Do I really look like the beautiful duchess?”
He cried, “You could have been sisters!–By the way, can we take your photograph? It would make the prince very happy to see your picture!”
He handed the writing quill over to her, “Now sign, child!”
She took the paper and wrote “Al–” Then she stopped.
“There is a fat hair in the quill.”
She took a napkin and cleaned the quill with it.
“Damn–” murmured Frank Braun. “It occurs to me that she is not yet an adult. Legally we must also have her father’s signature–Oh well, this will do for the contract. Just write!–By the way, what is your father’s name?”
She said, “My father is Master Baker Raune in Halberstadt.”
Then she wrote her father’s name in clumsy slanting letters. Frank Braun took the paper out of her hand and looked at it. He let it fall and picked it up again staring at it.
“By all that’s Holy,” he cried out loud. “That–that is–”
“What’s the matter now, Herr Doctor?” asked the assistant doctor.
He handed the contract over to him, “There–there–look at the signature.”
Dr. Petersen looked at the sheet o
f paper.
“So,” he asked puzzled. “I don’t see anything remarkable about it.”
“No, no. Naturally not, you wouldn’t,” cried Frank Braun. “Give the contract to the Privy Councilor. Now read that, Uncle Jakob!”
The professor examined the signature. The girl had forgotten to finish writing her first name. “Al Raune” was written on the paper.
“Of all things–A remarkable coincidence,” said the professor.
He folded both sheets carefully together and stuck them in his breast pocket.
But his nephew cried, “A coincidence?–Well it might be a coincidence–Everything that is remarkable and mysterious is just a coincidence to you!”
He rang for the waiter.
“Wine, wine,” he cried. “Give me something to drink– Alma Raune–Al Raune, if you will.”
He sat down at the table and leaned over toward the Privy Councilor.
“Uncle Jakob, do you remember old Councilor to the Chamber of Commerce Brunner from Cologne and his son whom he named Marco? We had classes together in school even though he was a couple of years older than I was.
He father named him Marco as a joke and now the boy goes through life as Marco Brunner! Now here is the coincidence. The old Councilor to the Chamber of Commerce is the most sober man in the world and so is his wife. So are all of their children. I believe the only thing they drank in their house at Neumarkt was water, milk, tea and coffee.
But Marco drank. He drank a lot even as an upper level student. We often brought him home drunk. Then he became an ensign and then a lieutenant–that was it. He drank more and more. He did stupid things and was put away. Three times his father had him placed into treatment centers and three times he came out. Within a few weeks he was drinking more than ever.
Now comes the coincidence. He, Marco Brunner, drank–Marcobrunner! That was his obsession. He went into all the wine houses in the city searching for his label. He traveled around on the Rhine drinking up all that he could find of his wine. He drank up the sizable fortune that he had received from his grandmother.
‘Hey everyone,’ he screamed in his delirium. ‘Why does Marco Brunner polish off Marcobrunner? Because Marcobrunner polishes off Marco Brunner!’