Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf (4 page)

A man to the woman cashier: “Say, Fraulein, is it any cheaper for an old territorial without a belly?” “Nope, only for children under five months with a sucking nipple.” “Sure. That’s our age. New-born babies on the instutterment plan.” “All right, make it fifty then, get along in.” Behind him there meandered a young chap, slim of build, with a muffler on: “Hey, lady, I’d like to git in free.” “How do you get that way? Tell your Mommer to put you on the pottie.” “Well kin I get in?” “In where?” “The movie.” “There ain’t no movie here.” “You really mean it, there ain’t no movie here?” She called through the window of the ticket-office to the watchman at the door: “Say, Max, come here a minute. Here’s a fellow wants to know if there’s a movie here. He’s got no money. Go ahead show him what we got here.” “What we got here, young fellow? You ain’t noticed it yet? This is the poor-box, Miinzstrasse division.” He pushed the slim fellow out of the ticket-office, showed him his fist: “If ye want me to, I’ll give ye what’s comin’ to you right off the bat.”

Franz pushed on in. It just happened to be an intermission. The long room was packed full, 90 per cent men with work-caps on, they don’t take them off. The three lamps on the ceiling are covered with red. In front, a yellow piano with packages on top of it. The orchestrion makes a continuous racket. Then it gets dark and the film starts. A goose-girl is to be given culture, just why, is not made so clear, at least not right in the middle. She wiped her nose with her hand, she scratched her behind on the staircase, everybody in the movie laughed. Franz thought it was quite wonderful when the tittering started up around him. Just folks, free folks, amusing themselves, nobody has a right to say anything to them, simply lovely, and I right here among ‘em! It went on. The high-toned Baron had a sweetheart who lay in a hammock and stretched her legs vertically in the air. The girl had drawers on. That’s something. Wonder why people get so excited about that dirty goose-girl and her licking the platters clean? Again the girl with the slim legs flashed by. The Baron had left her alone, now she toppled out of the hammock, and flopped onto the grass, lay there a long time. Franz stared at the screen, there was already another picture, he still saw her toppling out and lying there for a long while. He gnawed his tongue, hell’s bells, what was that? But when finally the one who had been the goose-girl’s lover ‘embraced this fine lady, the skin of his chest felt hot as if he had been embracing her himself. It went all over him and made him weak.

A jane. (There’s something else besides anger and fear. What about all this bunk? Air, m’boy, and a jane!) Queer he shouldn’t have thought of that. You stand at the window of the cell and look into the courtyard through the bars. Sometimes women pass by, visitors or children or house-cleaning up at the old man’s. How they all stand at the windows, the convicts, and look, every window occupied, devouring every woman. A guard once had a two weeks’ visit from his wife from Eberswalde, formerly he used to drive over to see her once every two weeks, now she made good use of the time, every moment of it, at work his head hangs with fatigue, he can hardly walk any longer.

Franz was now outside on the street in the rain. What’ll we do? I’m a free man. I’ve got to have a woman! A woman I’ve got to have! Gee, how great, life is nice outside. But I must hold on to myself so I can walk. He was walking on springs, not on solid earth. Then, at the corner of Kaiser-Wilhelm Strasse, behind the market-wagons, he came upon a woman; he posted himself beside her, any old gal will do. The devil, how did I suddenly git such cold feet. He went off with her, bit his under-lip, he was so excited, if you live far. I won’t come along. It was just across the Bülowplatz, past the fences, through a hallway, to the courtyard, down six steps. She turned back, laughed: “Don’t be so dithery, sweetie, why, you’ll knock me down.” She had hardly shut the door behind him, when he grabbed her. “Boy, just give me time to put my umbrella down first.” He pressed her, hugged her, pinched her, rubbed his hands across her coat. he still had his hat on, angrily she let the umbrella drop. “Let me go, won’t you.” He groaned, and smiled an awkward, dizzy smile: “Whazze matter?” “You’re going to ruin all my get-up. Are you going to shell out for it afterwards? All right then, we never get anything for nothing either.” He did not let her go. “Say, you foot I can’t breathe. You must be loony.” She was stout and slow, small, he first had to give her the three marks, which she put carefully into the chest of drawers. The key she put in her pocket. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. “It’s because I’ve been behind the bars a coupla years, fat gal. Out there in Tegel you can imagine it.” “Where?” “Tegel, you know.”

The flabby wench guffawed. She unbuttoned her blouse at the top. There were once two royal children, who held each other so dear. And the cow jumped over the moon. She grabbed him, pressed him to her. Putt, putt, putt, my little chick, putt, putt, putt, my rooster.

He soon had beads of sweat on his face, he groaned. “Well, whatcha groaning for?” “Who’s that bird running around next door?” “It’s not a bird, it’s my landlady. “ “What’s she doing there?” “What do you think she’s doing? She’s got her kitchen there.” “Well, she ought to stop running around like that. What does she want to run around for now? I can’t stand it.” “Oh Lordylordy, I’ll go and tell her.” What a sweaty fellow he is, I’ll be glad to get rid of him, the old bum! I’ll soon put him out. She knocked next door: “Frau Priese, won’t you be quiet for just a few minutes? I’ve got to talk to a gentleman here, something important.” Well that’s done, dear fatherland, be comfort thine, come to my heart, but you’re going to be ditched soon.

She thought to herself, her head on the pillow: those tan oxfords need soling, Kitty’s new boy-friend does that for two marks, if she don’t mind, I ain’t goin’ to swipe him away from her, he can also dye ‘em brown to go with my brown blouse, it’s an old rag anyway, just good enough to be made into a coffee-cozy: them ribbons’ll have to be pressed, I’ll ask Frau Priese right away, she’s probably still got a fire going, what’s she cooking today anyway? She sniffed. Green herring.

Incomprehensible verses keep running through his head in a circle. When you cook soup, Fraulein Stein, I’ll get a spoon, Fraulein Stein. If you cook noodles, Fraulein Stein, give me some noodles, Fraulein Stein. Tumbling down, tumbling up. He groaned aloud: “Maybe you don’t like me?” “Why not, come on, I’m a lovin’ gal, I am.” He fell back into bed, grunted and moaned. She rubbed her neck. “I have to laugh myself sick. Just keep quiet there. You don’t bother me.” She laughed, raised her fat arms, stuck her stockinged feet out from under the cover. “I can’t help it.”

Lets get out of this. Air. Still raining. What’s the matter? I’ll have to get myself another gal. First let’s get some sleep, Franz, what’se matter with you, anyway?

Sexual potency depends upon the concentered action of 1. the internal secretory system, 2. the nervous system, and 3. the sexual apparatus. The glands participating in this potency are: the pituitary gland, the thyroid gland, the suprarenal gland, the prostate gland, the seminal vesicle, and the epididymis. In this system the spermatic gland preponderates. Through the matter prepared by it, the entire sexual apparatus is charged from the cerebral cortex to the genitals. The erotic impression releases the erotic tension of the cerebral cortex, the current flows as an erotic stimulus from the cerebral cortex to the switch center in the interbrain. The stimulus then rolls down the spine. Not unimpeded, however, for, before leaving the brain, it has to pass the brakes of the inhibitions, those predominantly psychic inhibitions which playa large role in the form of moral scruples, lack of self-confidence, fear of humiliation, fear of infection and impregnation, and things of this order.

In the evening there he is, shambling down Elsasser Strasse. Don’t be afraid, m’boy, don’t pretend you’re tired. “How much for the pleasure, kid?” The black gal is fine, got hips, a toothsome piece. When a gal’s got a man, that she loves, ain’t it gran’? “My you’re a gay one, sweetie. Did you just come into a fortune?” “And how! You’ll get some change out of it.” “Why not.” But, nevertheless, he is afraid.

And afterwards in the room, flowers behind the curtain, a clean little room, a nice little room, Why, the girl even has a phonograph, she sings for him, artificial silk stockings, rayon, no blouse, pitch-black eyes: ‘Tm a cabaret singer, I am. You know where? Anywhere I like. Just now I got no engagement, you know. I go into nice-looking joints and I ask. Then I do my stunt. It’s a
wow.
Hey, quit tickling.”
“Aw,
come on.” “Nope, hands off, that knocks hell out of my business. My act-be nice now, sweetie-you see, I hold an auction in the place, no plate collection either; whoever gives me something, can kiss me. Crazy, ain’t it! In a public place, too. Nobody under fifty pfennigs. Say, I get everything. Here on my shoulder. There, go ahead, it’s all right.” She puts on a man’s top hat, croaks into his face, shakes her hips, her arms akimbo: “Theodore, what did you mean last night, when you smiled at me so gay and bright? Theodore, what was it you hoped to gain, when you stood me to pig’s knuckles and fine champagne?”

While sitting on his lap, she pulls a cigarette out of his waistcoat and sticks it into her mouth; she looks yearningly into his eyes, tenderly rubs her ear on his and chirps: “Do you know what homesickness is? When your heart is torn by homesickness? Everything seems so cold and dreary.” She hums a tune, stretches herself on the sofa. She puffs, strokes his hair, trills, laughs.

Sweat on his brow. Again that fear. And suddenly his head slithers off. Boom, the bell rings, get up, five-thirty, six o’clock, cells opened, boom, boom, brush your coat quickly, suppose the old man makes inspection, no, not today. I’ll get discharged soon. Psst, say, one of the boys got out last night, pard, the rope’s still dangling out there over the wall, they got the police after him. He groans, he lifts his head, he sees the girl her chin, her neck. If I only knew how to get out of prison. They ain’t going to discharge me. I’m not out yet. She puffs blue rings from the side at him, sniggers: “You’re sweet, come on, I’ll pour you a glass of Mampe brandy, thirty pfennigs.” He lies there, stretched out at full length. “What do I care for Mampe? They knocked hell out of me. I did time at Tegel, I did, what for, I’d really like to know. First with the Prussians in the trenches, and then in Tegel. I ain’t a human being any more.” “Well, but you’re not going to cry here. Come on, open your l’il
beakie, big mans gotta drink. We’re a jolly lot, we are, we’re as happy as can be, we laugh and sing with delight from morning until night.” And the dump heap for that. Why, they might have chopped off the fellow’s head at once, and be done with it, the lousy dogs. Could have dumped me on the garbage heap, why not. “Come on, big man, take another glass. I’d walk a mile for Mampe’s brandy, it makes you feel so hale and dandy.”

“To think the girls ran after me like a bunch of sheep and I didn’t even spit at ‘em, and there I was, flat on my nose.” She picks up another one of his cigarettes which have fallen to the floor. “Yes, you ought to go to the policeman sometime and tell him.” “I’m going.” He is looking for his suspenders. And says nothing more and doesn’t look at the girl with her slobbery mouth, she smokes and smiles and looks at him, shoves a few cigarettes quickly under the sofa with her foot. And he grabs his hat and hurries down the stairs, takes the 68 car to Alexanderplatz, and sits brooding in a cafe over a glass of light beer.

Testifortan, authorized patent No. 365695, sexual therapeutic agent approved by Sanitary Councillor Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld and Dr. Bernard Schapiro; Institute of Sexual Science, Berlin. The main causes of impotence are: A. insufficient charging through functional disorder of the internal secretory glands, B. too strong resistance through extreme psychic inhibitions, exhaustion of the erective center. At what moment the impotent patient will be able to resume his functions can be determined only through the progress of each individual case. A period of abstention is often effective.

And gluttonously he eats and sleeps his fill, and the next day on the street he thinks: I’d like to have this gal, and that gal I’d like to have, but doesn’t go near any of them. And the one in the show-window, what a plump little morsel. She could suit me, but I won’t go near any of ‘em. And he hangs around the cafe again and doesn’t look at any of the girls and guzzles and boozes. Now I won’t do anything the whole livelong day but eat my fill and booze and sleep and life is over for me. Over. Over.

Victory all along the Line! Franz Biberkopf buys a Veal Cutlet

As Wednesday rolls around, the third day, he puts on his coat.

Whose fault is it all? Ida’s of course. Who else’s? I knocked that tart’s ribs to pieces, that’s why I had to go to the jug. Now she’s got what she wanted, the wench is dead, and here I am. And he snivels to himself and races along the streets in the cold. Where to? Where she had lived with him, at her sister’s. Through the Invalidenstrasse, into Ackerstrasse, right into the house like a whirlwind, second courtyard. Prison had never existed, nor the conversation with the Jews in the Dragonerstrasse. Where is the wench, it’s her fault. Seen nothing in the street but found Illy way. A little twitching of the face, a little twitching in the fingers, I lien we’ll go there, bumbledy, bumbledy, bumbledy, bee, tumbledy, rumbledy, tumbledy, bee, rumbledy, bumbledy.

Ring-a-ling. “Who is it?” “Me.” “Who?” “Open that door, old girl.” “Lordy, you, Franz.” “Open that door.” Rumbledy, bumbledy, bumbledy, bee. Rumbledy. A piece of twine on my tongue; got to spit it out. He is standing in the hallway, she shuts the door behind him. “Whatche want here” Suppose somebody seen you on the stairs.” “Too bad, eh. Let ‘em see me. Howdy.” He walks along to the left, swings into the room. Rumbledy, bumbledy. That piece of twine on my tongue won’t come off. He scrapes it with his fingers. But it’s nothing, just a lousy feeling on the tip of my tongue. So that’s the room, the stiff-backed sofa, the Kaiser hanging on the wall, a Frenchman in red trousers giving him his sword. I have surrendered. “What do you want here, Franz? Are you crazy, or what?” “I’ll sit down.” I have surrendered, the Kaiser presents his sword, the Kaiser must return the sword to him, that’s the way the world runs. “If you don’t go, I’ll call for help, I’ll yell murder.” “What for?” Rumbledy, bumbledy, I have run this far, I’m here, I’ll stay. “Have they let you out already?” “Yes, it’s all over.”