Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf (24 page)

Nothing else that evening. But Franz began to go to Prenzlauer Strasse more frequently now and soon he made up to the man in the old army coat. He was a fine fellow, only stuttered a lot, and it took a long time for him to get something out, that’s why he had such big pathetic eyes. It turned out, however, that he had not yet done time, only he had been mixed in politics once, when he almost blew up a gas works. Somebody had squealed on the gang, but they didn’t catch him. “And what are you doing now?” “Selling fruit and things like that. Helping around. If that doesn’t bring it in, then the dole.” Franz Biberkopf has got in with a suspicious bunch, funny, most of them here were selling fruit, doing well with it, too; the little man with the beet-red face supplied the stock, he was their wholesaler. Franz kept his distance, and so did they, as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t quite make it all out. He said to himself: I’d rather sell papers.

Spirited White Slavery

One evening the man in the soldier overcoat, Reinhold was his name, got to talking, or rather stuttering, more freely, it went more quickly and even smoothly, he was damning the women. Franz laughed himself sick, the young man really took women seriously. He wouldn’t have suspected that about the fellow; so he was cuckoo, too, they were all cuckoo in this place, one here, the other there, none of them was entirely right. The lad was in love with the wife of a helper on a beer-truck; she had already run away from her husband on account of him, and the trouble was, now Reinhold didn’t want her any more, no, sir, not at all. Franz rattled through his nose with delight, this boy was really too funny: “Why, let ‘er run!” The other stuttered, a terrible look came into his eyes: “That’s what’s so hard. These damned women don’t understand anything, even if you give it to ‘em in writing.” “Well, Reinhold, did ye write her about it?” The latter stuttered, spat and turned around: “Told her a hundred times. She says she doesn’t understand. I’m probably crazy. She just won’t understand. So I suppose I’ll have to keep her till I croak.” “Maybe so.” “That’s what she says, too.” Franz laughed heartily, Reinhold got angry: “Say, don’t get foolish.” No, Franz couldn’t get that, a nice smart fellow like that who could put dynamite in the gas works, and now he’s sitting here, tooting a funeral march. “Take her off my hands,” stuttered Reinhold. Franz thumped on the table from sheer joy. “And what’ll I do with her?” “Well, you can give her the slip.” Franz was overjoyed. ‘‘I’ll do you this favor, you can depend on me, Reinhold, but-they’ll put you in diapers one of these days.” “First take a good look at her and then let me know.”

Next day Franze came tripping up to Franz’s place at noon sharp. When he heard her name was Franze, he was happy right away; that’s fine, they certainly did fit together, his name was Franz, as it happened. She was supposed to bring Biberkopf a pair of heavy boots from Reinhold, that’s his Judas blood-money, laughed Biberkopf to himself, ten pieces of silver. Fancy her bringing it to me herself! Reinhold certainly is a nervy skunk. One good deed deserves another, he thought, and he went with her to look for Reinhold in the evening, but, according to plan, he wasn’t to be found anywhere, whereupon there followed an outbreak of fury on Franze’s part, and a duet of pacification in his room. Next morning the truck-loader’s wife turned up at Reinhold’s place, he didn’t stutter a word: No, sir, he needn’t bother, she didn’t need him, she’d get another fellow. But who it is, she won’t tell him that, no, sir. And she has hardly left when Franz comes to see Reinhold with his new boots on; they aren’t too big now, for he has put on two pairs of woolen socks, the two fall into each other’s arms slapping each other’s backs. “Sure, I’m glad to do you a favor,” says Franz and he refuses all awards of merit.

The truck-loader’s wife fell head over heels in love with Franz; she had, in reality, an elastic heart, a fact she hadn’t known up to that time. He was happy that she should feel possessed of this new strength, for he was a friend of all men and knew the human heart. He observed with delight how quickly she felt at home with him. That was just the department he really knew best, at first women are interested in underwear and socks to be mended. But that she always shined his boots in the morning, and Reinhold’s boots at that, roused him daily to a regular laughing concert. When she asked why he laughed, he said: “Because they’re too big, why, they’re too big for anyone man. We could both get into them.” Once, they even tried to get into one of the boots together, but that was exaggeration, it didn’t work.

Now Reinhold, the stutterer, Pranz’s true friend, had a new girl. Cilly was her name, at least that’s what she said. Franz Biberkopf didn’t care whether it was or not, and occasionally he saw Cilly in Prenzlauer Strasse. But he became darkly suspicious when Reinhold asked him four weeks later about Franze, and if he had gotten rid of her. Franz was of the opinion that she was a spicy jane and he didn’t understand at first. Then Reinhold averred: Hadn’t Franz promised him to get rid of her soon? Which Franz denied. However, it was a bit early yet for that, wasn’t it? He hadn’t intended to get a new girl till spring. He had seen that Franze didn’t have any summer clothes, and he couldn’t buy her any either, so she’d have to get out in summer. Reinhold opined disparagingly that Franze was beginning to look rather shabby, she wasn’t wearing real winter clothes anyway, more between seasons, not at all the thing for the weather just now. Whereupon there followed a long conversation about temperature and the barometer and weather prospects, they looked it all up in the papers. Franz insisted you could never know ahead of time about the weather, but Reinhold foresaw a sharp frost. Only then did Franz realize that Reinhold now wanted to get rid of Cilly, too, who was wearing an imitation rabbit coat. He kept on talking about that pretty imitation rabbit fur. What have I got to do with his rabbit stew, thought Franz, that man certainly can get you going. “Why, you must be off your nut. I certainly can’t take on a double load, when I already got one hanging around, and business ain’t exactly flourishin’ either. Where shall I beg, borrow, or steal it from?” “Why, you don’t need to have two girls. Did I say two? Would 1 except a man to saddle himself with two? Are you a Turk?” ‘That’s what I told you.” “All right, I didn’t say you were, either. When did I ever tell you to take on the two of ‘em? Why not three, then? No, why don’t you chuck the one you got-or haven’t you got somebody?” “What d’ye mean somebody?” What’s he up to now, that lad’s always got some bee in his bonnet. “Couldn’t somebody else take Franze off your hands?” Here our Franzeken was overjoyed and he prodded the other in the arm: “Boy, I hand it to you, but you’ve been to college, that’s why, by God, I take my hat off to you. We’ll do a kind of chain business, like they did during the inflation.” “Well, why not, there are too many dames in the world, anyway.” “Far too many. By God, Reinhold, but you’re a card, I still can’t get my breath.” “Well, what about it then?” “All right, everything’s O.K. I’ll go look for somebody. I’ll find somebody all right. Say, I feel like a dope beside you! I’m still gasping for air.”

Reinhold looked at him. He’s got a little screw loose somewhere. He sure is one big dub, this Franz Biberkopf. Did he really mean to saddle himself with two dames at the sa me time?

Franz was so enthusiastic about the business that he left at once to go and see Ede, the little cripple, in his den: wonder if he’d like to take a girl off his hands, he had a spare one, and he’d like to get rid of her.

That suited Ede to a T, he wanted to stop working for a while anyway, he had a little sick-pay and could afford to nurse himself a bit; she could go shopping for him and call at the office for his sick-pay. But if she wants to settle down here with me, he said right away, no, sir, nothing doing.

The very next day, at noon, before starting out on the street again, Franz started a hell of a row over nothing at all with the truck-loader’s wife. She went up in the air. He kept cheerfully screaming at her. An hour later it was all fixed up; the hunchback helped her pack her things, Franz had gone off in a rage, and the truck-loader’s wife took up quarters at the hunchback’s place, because she didn’t know where else to go. Then the hunchback hurried off to his doctor to ask to be put on the sick-list, and in the evening both of them together cursed and damned Franz Biberkopf.

But then Cilly turned up at Franz’s room. Whatsa matter, babykins? Got a li’l pain somewhere, what’s hurting my baby? Lord, O Lord! “I only came to bring you a fur collar.” Franz admiringly takes the fur collar in his hands. Grand all right. Wonder where the boy gets all those nice things from. The last time it was just a pair of boots. Cilly, who has no idea what it’s all about, piped up innocently: “You must be a good friend of my Reinhold’s, aren’t you?” “God, yes,” laughed Franz, “he sends me food and clothes from time to time, when he has any to spare. Last time he sent me some boots. Just a pair of boots. Wait a minute, you might give me your opinion about them.” If only that fool Franze, the fathead, hasn’t dragged them along with her, where are they anyway, aha, here they be. “Y’see, Fraulein Cilly, he sends me these the last time. Whatcha say to these gunboats? Why three men could get into them. Go ahead and put your little pins in them.” And there she goes, gets into them, sniggering away, she’s dressed nice, a sweet little creature, that was tempting enough to eat, I’ll say so, she looks terribly neat, too, in her black coat with the fur trimming, what a sap Reinhold is, to think he’s giving her the air, wonder where he’s always digging up such nice girls. And there she stands in the gunboats. And Franz thinks of the previous situation, why, it’s just as if I had a season ticket for a change of women and wardrobe every month! Then he slips his shoe off and puts his foot into the boot from behind her. Cilly shrieks, but his leg gets in all right. Then she tries to run away, but they both go hopping about, and she has to take him along. Once beside the table, he plunges into the other boot. They’re swaying now. They tip over, there’s a scream, hold on to your imagination, lady, just leave those two merrily together, they’re having a private reception, for ordinary members of the sick-fund the reception hour is from five to seven.

“But Reinhold is waiting for me, Franz, you won’t tell him anything, please, please.” “Of course, I won’t, my WI darling.” And then in the evening he saw her all by himself. the little weeping-willow. At night they spend their time damning things up and down, and she turns out to be a very nice little girl with pretty clothes, that coat, for instance, is almost new, a pair of dancing slippers, too, she brings everything along with her right away, say, boy, Reinhold gave you all that, he must be buying on the installment plan.

It is with joy and admiration that Franz meets his Reinhold now. Franz’s work is not easy, his dreams are already oppressed by thoughts of the end of the month, when Reinhold, who has now become quite taciturn, will start talking again. And one evening Reinhold, who is standing by him at the subway station in Alexanderplatz, in front of Landsberger Strasse, asks him what he is going to do that evening. Oho, the month isn’t over yet; what’s up, and, as a matter of fact, Cilly is waiting for Franz; but to be allowed to walk with Reinhold, of course, he jumps at the chance. And there they go strolling along-where do you think they’re going-down Alexanderstrasse, they wander to the Prinzenstrasse. Franz keeps on asking, till he finds out where Reinhold wants to go. “Shall we go to Walterchen’s and shake a foot?” He wants to stop by the Salvation Army in the Dresdener Strasse! He’d like to hear what they’ve got to say. What an idea! That’s just like Reinhold! Funny notions he has. And that’s when Franz Biberkopf has his first experience of an evening with the Salvationists. It certainly was funny, he couldn’t get over it.

At half past ten, when the calls for the penitents’ bench were starting, Reinhold began to act quite strange and stormed out, as if someone was after him, come on, let’s beat it, what’s the matter anyway. He cursed and swore on the stairs and said to Franz: “You gotta watch your step with those babies. They work on you till you get all out of breath and you say yes to everything.” “Well, well, not with me, got to get up earlier than that.” Reinhold was still cursing away, when they arrived at Hackepeter’s in the Prenzlauer Strasse and then bang, it went off all at once and everything came out: “Franz, I want to get away from the dames, I don’t want to go on with it.” “Lord, and I was already looking forward to the next one!” “Do you think it’s a joke for me to come and ask you again next week to take Trude off my hands, y’know the blonde? Nope, on that basis ...” “No trouble, as far as I am concerned, Reinhold, why should there be? You can depend on me all right. You can send me ten of your dames and I’ll take care of ‘em all, Reinhold.” “To hell with the janes. But suppose I don’t want to, Franz?” Can’t make head or tail out of this, he gets so excited. “Nope, if you don’t want the dames, then it’s quite simple, then you simply leave ‘em alone. We’ll get rid of them any time. I’ll take the one you got now off your hands and that’ll be the last of it.” 2 times 2 is 4, if you can calculate, you’ll understand me, there’s nothing to look so goggle-eyed about what’s he goggling at me for? If you want to, you can keep the last one, too. Well, what’s up now, that fellow is certainly funny, now he’s getting his coffee and lemon-juice, can’t stand booze, shaky on his pins, and those skirts all the time. Then Reinhold didn’t say anything for a long time; only after he had drunk three cups of his slop did he start to unload again.

No one seriously contests the fact, I suppose, that milk is a highly valuable food for children, especially for little children and babies; furthermore, for sick people it is entirely to be recommended as a strength-builder, especially when served with a meal of nutritive quality. One of the sick-diets generally recommended by leading medical authorities, though unfortunately unappreciated, is, for instance, mutton. Of course, this is no argument against milk. Only this propaganda must not be pushed to crude or perverted extremes. At any rate, Franz thinks: I’ll stick to beer, when it’s good lager beer, there’s nothing to be said against it.