by Jurek Becker
My heart began to beat like it hadn’t in ages when I stepped out into the street. I began to walk, without knowing where to exactly. My favorite bar didn’t exist anymore; I knew this. I planned to enter the first bar that appealed to me. I realized this would most likely be the first bar along the way. I planned not to take on too much for the first night: have a beer, look at a few people, listen to them. To speak myself would have seemed premature. There would be more than enough opportunity for that in the future. Yet, when I reached the first bar, I couldn’t bring myself to open the door. I felt childish, and yet I had to walk on: suddenly, I was afraid that once I opened the door, all the patrons would stare at me. After a few steps, I promised myself not to give in to such a silly fear again. Out of pure coincidence, I turned around and noticed a man following me.
At first, I could only assume he was following me, of course. After a few minutes, however, I was sure, because I had made the stupidest detours without shaking him. He stayed behind me at the very same distance even when I ran a little. It seemed like he didn’t care whether I noticed him or not. I don’t want to say I felt threatened exactly, but nevertheless I was gripped by horror. I thought: Nothing is over after a whole year! I’m still presumed to be an endangerer. How am I doing it? Then I thought: Worst of all, my behavior didn’t even seem to matter. The suspicion had taken on a life of its own. It may have had to do with me, but I certainly had nothing to do with it. This is what I thought as I walked ahead of the man.
When I got home, I pulled the blinds back down. I lay in bed to ponder my future. I had already begun to resolve to live this way for a second year. Then I told myself: Surely the security of the state can only be maintained if its protectors miss the mark from time to time. That’s exactly what had happened in my case and was still happening. In the end, being under surveillance hadn’t really hurt me. The past year hadn’t been forced on me, I thought. I didn’t need to go looking for a culprit: I had prescribed it myself.
Then I fell asleep, full of impatience. I awoke before my alarm rang and couldn’t wait to look the first person to greet me in the eye and reply, “Good morning,” regardless of what might come of it.
Translated by Jonathan Becker
Romeo
The greatest difficulty for me is the language. German is like the enemy’s forest: you dodge one trap and you’ve already stepped into the next one. If it weren’t for that cursed language, I wouldn’t feel so much contempt. I look like someone who could be from anywhere, and whenever I have a meal with garlic in it I rinse my mouth out thoroughly. I would smash some of their faces in if I knew a better way to earn money. In five years, I’ll have earned enough unless tragedy strikes. The man at the bank treats me as if I’d stolen the money I’m depositing from him. He taps his finger repeatedly on the spot where I’m supposed to sign and looks at me with impatience. I hope that, in five years when I withdraw it all, it will be the same man. I’ll put the whole amount in my pocket and tell him not to look at me like it was his money. He’ll shrug his shoulders disparagingly and tell me with his eyes that I’m scum. Next I’ll tell him to take his ugly eyes off me. Maybe I’ll say he can look at his wife that way, if she’ll put up with it, but not me. Then he’ll ask whether I’ve gone crazy. One way or another he’ll insult me, my witnesses will hear it, and then he’ll be in for a surprise.
I didn’t choose this city, at least not in the sense that I weighed the advantages and disadvantages. When it was finally my turn at the office, I was offered the choice between this one and another city I’d never heard of before. So I decided for Berlin, but it didn’t mean much to me. Only since living here have I realized how convenient this place is for someone who wants to save money. I didn’t realize it at the beginning, but gradually, and surprisingly late. In the first month, the only exchange rate I cared about was the one between my own currency and the money I’m earning here. I had been planning to go to East Berlin sometime anyway, to cure the boredom on a warm Sunday, partly because you’re supposed to take an interest in the sights of the city you live in. It was then I heard from a Greek coworker that one currency could be exchanged for the other at a very favorable rate. He wondered how it was I didn’t know about this already. He explained which things are expensive over here and which are expensive over there. Soon I understood that, if one just goes about it the right way, it’s possible to increase one’s earnings significantly. He did say that exchanging money is prohibited in the other Berlin, and the punishment if they catch you is quite severe. But he also said only a millionaire could afford to respect that.
So I began to inform myself, mostly asking people from my home country. I wanted to hear about the experiences of many people, to pick the best and avoid rookie mistakes. The most reasonable thing appeared to be to do as many would have liked but only few dared: to stay in the other Berlin and actually live there, and only work in this one for the better money. I calculated that, if I tried this, I could shorten my five years abroad to only three and a half. To four at the very most, and where else are you given a free year?
My limited experience at the border told me that the guards are very rude but not very thorough. I met a kindhearted fellow countryman who had been living like this for a long time, and he provided me with information unreservedly. He said you have to meet a girl with a large room, since you’re not allowed to have your own room. To find someone with two rooms, he said, would be immensely lucky, almost no one has two rooms. To find a nice girl, however, isn’t too hard, he said, at least not as hard as it is here, because you can bring her a thousand things that you can’t buy there. One inconvenience is that you have to leave the other Berlin at midnight, that’s the law. But you can turn around on the other side of the border and go straight back. This way, you cross the border four times in one day: once in the morning on your way to work, the second time after work, then just before twelve because of the damned law, and one last time after twelve, back to the girl. Except for weekends of course, when there is no commute. Another possibility, he said, is to hang around town until midnight and then go to the girl and get into bed. It depends on whether the girl is willing to play along and whether you can handle it yourself, physically. In this way you can save at least eleven marks fifty in one day, that’s the fee for crossing the border. He said, because of this he can send his wife an extra two hundred marks every month.
When, soon after, the already expensive rent for my room was raised by an inordinate amount, I was ready. The next Saturday I crossed the border and went to a bar that had been recommended to me for my purposes. At first, I was disappointed, because looking around I couldn’t seem to spot what I was looking for. Instead, I heard the men sitting at the table next to mine speak in my language. Five minutes later we were sitting together, telling stories about our villages. One of them was from a place over the mountains that I’d heard of before. After a few glasses, two women arrived who were meeting the men. They all left together, but one of the women came back and asked me if I wanted her to bring along her friend next Saturday. Because I was unprepared and embarrassed, I acted like an idiot and said I didn’t even know her friend. To my relief, she wasn’t offended and said: I expected that, it’s why I wanted to bring her. And she also said: Looking is free. We set a time for next Saturday. One of my fellow countrymen winked at me from the door, as if he was behind the whole thing. Actually, I was happy to have made the first step without much effort.
My head was spinning a little after the three or four glasses of wine I’d had. When I thought about the exchange rate between the two currencies, food and drink were unbelievably cheap here. I would have been able to afford much more wine, liquor even, but it was still early in the day. I didn’t feel like going back, there was nothing waiting for me. I wanted to go see a movie. I could do that here just as well as in West Berlin, only much cheaper. I waited a long time for the waiter, when a woman sat down at my table. I saw that all the other tables were full. The first thing I notice
d was her fingernails, which were the same color as the unripe plums in our garden. She took a very long cigarette from a new pack and I gave her a light. She had a way of looking at you that seemed a bit bold to me. When the waiter finally arrived, I ordered coffee instead of paying. I might have done that even without the woman. She asked me where I was from, and I told her. As I was speaking, I noticed she was older than I had first thought. In fact, she was probably forty. She said I didn’t even look like a foreigner. It was obvious she was trying to flatter me. I enjoyed that. For the first time in my life, I felt like a rich man. I don’t mean someone who can afford a lot of things, more like someone held in esteem. She had cake with whipped cream and told me that on the weekends she usually took a boat out on one of the rivers, that there wasn’t much going on in the city. Then she talked about a television series I didn’t know; I don’t even own a television. She had taken off one of her shoes. It was lying next to her chair, almost out in the aisle.
A little later I began to consider whether I should invite her to the movies. She would have joined me—I have an eye for these things—but something held me back. It wasn’t her age, more her demeanor. I can’t really express it in words. I was looking for someone with a room, after all, but I didn’t want to live with her. If I hadn’t had any other opportunities, I might not have been so picky. But I had the prospect of the coming Saturday, and I could hope I would like the other woman’s friend better. So I spent a few more minutes listening to her mouth, which wouldn’t stop talking, then I told her I had an appointment and had to leave now. The woman’s eyes stayed friendly, as they had been the entire time, but she immediately stopped talking. In a way I felt sorry for her, but I told myself I better reserve my pity for me. Until I had settled the check with the waiter, she had the expression of someone trying to figure out a difficult problem. Then I said goodbye. She even shook my hand and said: Have fun. I went outside and wished I had a nice car I could drive around in.
The next Saturday, I couldn’t find a free table at the restaurant. Because the weather was so bad, they all wanted to sit inside and drink coffee, and I had to wait at the door. A waiter told me I couldn’t stand in the aisle. Had I stepped outside, I would have gotten wet. He kept saying it to me until I turned up my collar and stepped outdoors. At home he wouldn’t have been able to do that. I’m very strong. Through the window, I could see he was just as rude to his fellow Germans, and I couldn’t understand why they put up with it.
After a while, the two women arrived, way too late. I immediately recognized the first one: she was wearing the same jacket she had worn a week ago. The other one, the one I was expecting, was neither pretty nor ugly. There was nothing remarkable about her at all, so all I was able to ascertain was that she was a young woman or a girl. She seemed a little shy. I liked that. The one in the green jacket gave her a nudge, then she introduced me to her friend: Klara. Then she looked at her watch, acted as if it was very late for her, and left. I was happy that it wasn’t her I had waited for. I remembered her saying: Looking is free.
I said to Klara that there weren’t any free tables at this restaurant and asked whether she had any alternative suggestions. She shrugged her shoulders. Since it wouldn’t stop raining, though, we couldn’t stay out there. I asked her again for a dry place nearby. I hoped, of course, that she had her own apartment and would invite me there. She thought about it for a moment and named another restaurant and said we should be able to get a table there. While we walked there, I was relieved in a way that we weren’t going to her apartment. If it was going to work out between us, I thought, it was probably for the better. I just hoped that the reason she wasn’t taking me to her apartment was not that she didn’t have one.
At the other restaurant, we were almost the only patrons. As we studied the menu, I said she didn’t have to look at the prices. She ordered chocolate ice cream with egg liqueur and I had wine. She was a nurse, like her friend. It took quite a while for her to stop being ashamed when she talked. Until then, I had to pull every word out of her, despite struggling with my own inhibitions. I wondered whether it had been her own wish to meet someone like me, or whether her friend had decided it for her. The friend didn’t really seem to fit with her. Suddenly, I found her mouth pretty and felt like kissing her. I imagined our getting together had nothing to do with this or the other Berlin and nothing to do with the two currencies. I imagined I was simply a young man and she the girl that came with that. I told her a dirty joke and she smiled a little.
When it stopped raining, we walked around for a while. The streets were empty. She said surely there was more going on at this hour on our side of the border. I replied that her assumption was correct, but I actually didn’t mind the quiet. She said: Strange. We checked an advertising column, but there were no movies she wanted to see. She seemed halfhearted in everything she said or did. She reminded me of my little brother, the way he poked around in his soup, not because he didn’t like the soup but because he didn’t like to eat at all. He became thin like a stick because of it. But I didn’t know her yet, and it was possible she just happened to be in that kind of mood today.
My right foot was hurting—an electric cart had run over it two days earlier on the factory floor. It wasn’t only the driver’s fault. I had been careless, too. I couldn’t spend the entire day walking around. Besides, that wasn’t what I was here for. I asked what she normally did with her free time, especially on the weekends. She told me all the boring things that make up weekends everywhere: cleaning, meeting girlfriends, television, visiting parents. I inquired whether she had a boyfriend. I said: A pretty girl like you would surely have a boyfriend. She became shy again and went silent for a whole block. Then she told me she had had a few boyfriends, but only two serious ones. The first one had suddenly broken up with her, she still had no idea why, and the second one she had sent away, because he wasn’t treating her well enough. She said: Besides, I’m not pretty at all. I considered whether I would have preferred meeting a girl who was more like a whore, like her friend, for example. I saw a few advantages and a few disadvantages either way. Then I told myself that such comparisons of women are foolish to begin with. There is always something better.
Suddenly she said: If you want, we can go to my place. It sounded as if it wasn’t her idea but a piece of advice someone had given her that she just now remembered. I was quite surprised and said: Why not? She said she didn’t have anything at home except for tomato juice, in case I wanted to drink wine or liquor. I put my arm around her shoulder as we walked: she wasn’t supposed to get the impression I was indifferent to her offer. I said it couldn’t hurt to buy some wine and I very much liked her idea. She said that for someone who has only been here for such a short time my German was very good.
She took me to the only store open at this hour on a Saturday. Unlike the streets outside, it was busy. We bought two bottles of wine and white chocolate, but I couldn’t pay with the money I’d changed that was sitting in my pocket. I was told they only accepted the other money here, which was a shame. Klara looked at blouses in a shop display. When I asked whether she’d like one, she shook her head and walked out ahead of me. Her apartment was far away. We had to take the subway and then countless stops on the bus. She linked arms with me as we were sitting next to each other on the bus. I wondered whether the distance from the border crossing didn’t make the entire exercise pointless. But then the house appeared in a green suburban street.
She spent a long time looking for her keys. In the window next to the entrance sat a red dog that was yawning. The apartment was big enough for two, I realized after a few minutes. She had a large room, a toilet, and a kitchen that was good for washing. Above the stove, some panties and stockings were hung on a clothesline. She removed them quickly and hid them as if they were a disgrace. She placed the two wine bottles in the sink and ran cold water over them.
As soon as we sat down on the couch, I held her and kissed her. I knew I’d become shy if I waite
d too long. I remembered from before. At first she remained still, but then she opened her mouth and began kissing back, and I thought, there’s that out of the way. I could touch her wherever I wanted, without her putting up any resistance. We didn’t even have that much time: it was long past seven, I had to be at the border by twelve, and there were lots of stations between here and there. I went to the kitchen, dried off a wine bottle, and looked for some glasses. I was glad she didn’t follow me. It was like an invitation to move about freely in her apartment. When I returned to the room with the wine and glasses, she had drawn the curtains and turned on the television. She said the programs on Saturday nights were always good.
We drank and ate the white chocolate. She was so immersed in the television images there was no talking to her, even though it was mostly singing. I could only pick out single words, my German isn’t good enough for songs, and a lot of the singing was also in English. After a while she asked me whether I could bring back a certain record for her. This was the first sign that she had plans for me, too. I let her write the name down on a piece of paper for me. To do that she turned on the light for a moment. I drank much more wine than she did. It annoyed me how important the television was to her, but I didn’t want to start setting rules on the first night, acting like the man of the house. I lay behind her on the sofa. The shadows of the figures in the television were dancing on the ceiling. Klara’s fingers were lying directly in front of my eyes and were moving tirelessly with the music. Only when there was talking did they stop.