Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf (45 page)

“Well, Mieze, Miezeken?” “What is it, Franz?” “Well, nothin’; I’m just glad aboutcha.” “Franz.” How that one can look atcha, how she can say a fellow’s name! “I’m just happy, that’s all. Look here, Mieze, that’s so funny about life. With me things ain’t like they are with other people. They got no trouble, they flop around and run and earn somethin’ and doll themselves up. And me-I can’t do like them others. I got to look at my outfit, my coat, the sleeve, the arm’s missin’.” “Franzeken, you’re my dear old Franzeken.” “Well, look here, Miezeken, that’s the way things are, and I can’t change it, nobody can, but if you carried this around with you, and it’s like an open wound!” “Why, Franzeken, whatsa matter, ain’t I still here, and everything’s all right, so don’t let’s start talkin’ about all that again.” “I ain’t. That’s just it. I ain’t doin’ it.” He smiles up into her face, that smooth, taut, pretty little face of hers, what bright lively eyes that kid has: “Take a look, pipe what’s on the table, them bills, I earned ‘em, so I did, Mieze-they’re yours.” Well, what about it? Whatcha makin’ such a face for, heh, looking at that money like that? It won’t bite you, it’s nice money. “Ye earned that?” “Yep, you see, girlie, I did that myself. I’ve gotta work, otherwise I’m no good. Otherwise I go blooey. Don’t tell nobody, it was with Pums and Reinhold, on Saturday night Don’t tell Herbert nothin’ and Eva neither. Baby, if they hear anything, it’ll be my finish with ‘em.” “Where didja get it?” “Pulled a job, sweetie, I told you, with Pums, now what’s the matter, Mieze? I’m givin’ you this. Do I get a kiss, well, how about it?”

Her head droops on her breast, then she lays her cheek against his and kisses him, holding him tight. She says nothing. She will not look at him: “You’re giving me that?” “Yes, baby, who else do you think?” Funny girl! What a lot of fuss she’s making. “Why-why do you want to give me any money?” “Well, don’l you want none?” Her lips tremble, she frees herself from him, and Franz understands now: she looks like she did that time on the Alex when they came from Aschinger’s, she’s turned pale as a sheet, she’s getting unsteady on her pins. She sits down, staring at the blue table-cover. What’s wrong now; can a man ever understand them janes? “Honey, dontcha want it? I been lookin’ forward to it like anything, say, we can go on a trip with this, you bet we can.” “That’s so, Franzeken.”

She Jeans her head on the edge of the table; the girl is crying, really crying, what’s the matter with her? Franz strokes the nape of her neck, and is ever so gentle and kind to her, so gentle from the bottom of his heart, for whom, for whom have I kept my heart pure, for whom, for whom alone? “Honey, my Mieze, when we can start on a trip, then dontcha want to, say, dontcha want to come along with me?” “Sure.” She raises her head, that sweet, smooth little face of hers, the powder’s all mixed up with tears like a mayonnaise, and puts an arm around Franz’s neck and presses her little face to his, and then quickly she lets it go, as if something were tickling her, and starts bawling again, over the edge of the table, but you can’t see anything, the girl’s quite still, she doesn’t give herself away. What have] done wrong again, don’t she want me to work? “Come on, hold up that li’l head of yours, come on, baby-face, whatcha cryin’ for?” “You want to, you want to,” she slips away from him, “you want to get rid of me, Franz?” “Honey, for the luva ...” “You don’t want to, Franzeken?” “No, why, for the luva ...” “Why d’you wanta do anything, don’t I earn enough for you? I earn enough.” “Mieze, I just wanted to give you a present or somethin’.” “No, I don’t want it.” She leans her head again on the hard edge of the table. “Well, Mieze, dontcha want me to do nothin’ at all? I can’t live that way.” “I don’t say that, but you needn’t just on account of the money, ] don’t wantcha to.”

And Mieze sits up, grabs her Franz around the waist and looks him beatifically in the face, babbling a lot of sweet nothings, and begging and coaxing: “Don’t wantcha to, don’t wantcha to.” And why doesn’t he ask when he wants something, but, darling, I’ve got somethin’, I don’t need nothin’. “And so I shouldn’t do nothin’?” “Ain’t I here for that, Franzeken?” “But me-me ...” She falls around his neck. “Oh, don’t gimme the slip.” She prattles away, kisses him, coaxes him. “Get rid of it, hand it over to Herbert, Franz.” Franz is so happy with the girl. That skin of hers! He can’t say it was a lotta baloney that stuff he said about Pums, but, of course, she don’t understand nothin’ about that. “Promise me, Franz, you won’t do that any more.” “But I’m not doin’ it for the money, Mieze.” Only then does she remember what Eva told her, how she should watch Franz.

It dawns on her now, he doesn’t really do it for the sake of the money, that thing he said about his arm just now, he can’t stop thinking about his arm, and it’s true what he says about the money, he doesn’t care about that, he can get as much as he wants from her. She thinks and thinks, holding him in her arms.

Love’s Pain and Joy

After Franz has hugged and kissed her, she goes out into the street again, on her way to Eva’s. “Franz has brought me 200 marks. Y’know where he got it? From them fellows, y’know, dontcha?” “Pums?” “Yeah, he told me so himself. What’ll I do?”

Eva calls in Herbert. “Franz was out with Pums on Saturday.” “Did he say where?” “No, but what’ll I do now?” Herbert is astonished: “Imagine it, so he’s in cahoots with that crowd!” Eva: “Can you understand it, Herbert?” “No, that’s some mess.” “What’ll we do now?” “Leave him go. Y’think he cares about the money? I told ye that. He’s gain’ at it with a bang, we’ll hear more about him one of these days.” Eva stands opposite Mieze, the pale little whore she had picked up in Invalidenstrasse; both of them suddenly remember where they met for the first time; the saloon next to the Baltikum Hotel. Eva’s Sitting there with a man from the sticks; she doesn’t need it. but she loves stepping out on the side, a lot of girls are there and three or four boys. And at ten a police raiding party comes trotting along, and all of them are carted off to the Stettin Depot Police Station, marching in goose-step, cigarettes in their mouths, cocky as hell. The bulls march in front and behind, with drunken Wanda Hubrich, the old war-horse, in front, of course, and then all the squawking at the station, and Mieze, Sonia, who bawls and clings to Eva, because everything will be known in Bernau. One of the cops knocks the cigarette out of boozey Wanda’s hand, after which she walks off alone to the cell and starts kicking and cursing inside.

Eva and Mieze look at each other, Eva eggs her on: “You’ve got to watch out now, Mieze.” Mieze implores her: “What can I do, anyway?” “It’s up to you. A person ought to know herself what to do.” “But I don’t know nothin’.” “Well, don’t start bawling again, kid.” Herbert beams on them. “I tell you, the boy’s all right, and I’m glad he’s hittin’ out now, he’s got a plan, he’s a clever lad.” “My God, Eva.” “Don’t start blubberin’, don’t blubber, kid, I’ll watch out.” You really don’t deserve Franz, no she don’t, making all that fuss! What’s the damn fool sniveling about now, the bitch? I’ll box her ears for her.

*

Trumpets! The battle is on, the regiments are marching, tarara, tarari, tarara, Artillery and Cavalry, Cavalry and Infantry, the Infantry and the flying corps, tarari, tarara, tarara, we’re pushing into the enemy’s land. Whereupon Napoleon said: Forward, forward, without respite, go, it’s dry above and wet below. But-if it gets dry below we’ll conquer Milan, and a medal be given every man, tarari, tarara, tarari, tarara, we’re going strong, we won’t be long, oh, what joy to be a soldier boy!

Mieze does not have to blubber for long and think what to do. It comes to her like a flash. There’s Reinhold Sitting in his room with his swell girlfriend, or visiting the shops which Pums has fixed up for getting rid of the stuff. He still has time to think about things. That bozo is always bored and it doesn’t agree with him. When he’s got money it doesn’t agree with him, nor does boozing agree with him, but he’s getting along better, he sloshes around the cafe, listens in here and there, works, and drinks his coffee.

And now, whenever he goes to Pums’s place or anywhere else, it’s always this fellow Franz who is sitting there, right in front of his nose, that boob, that cocky fool with his one arm, who plays the grand Mogul, and still hasn’t got enough of it, and plays the hypocrite, too, as if that jackass couldn’t harm a fly, and sure as two times two is four he wants somethin’ outa me. The louse is always in a good humor and wherever I am, wherever I work, he’s there, too. Well, we’ve gotta get some air. Let’s get some air.

But what is Franz doing? He? Well, what do you think he’s doing? He goes flopping around, the picture of the most complete tranquillity and peacefulness. You can do anything you want with that fellow, he always falls on his feet. There are such people, not many, of course, but they do exist.

In Potsdam, there once was in Potsdam a man whom they afterwards called the living corpse. He was some card. The fellow, a certain Bornemann by name, pulled it off, after his business had gone to smash and he was staring fifteen years’ prison in the face, he blows, the fellow blows; as a matter of fact it wasn’t Potsdam at all, it was near Anklam, Gorke was the name of the burg. So our Bornemann, while walking one day near Neugard, finds a dead man floating on the water, in the Spree, and Neugard, no, Bornemann from Neugard, says: “Why, I’m really a dead man, now,” puts the stiff’s papers in his pocket and is now a stiff himself. Frau Bornemann wonders: “What’ll I do? There is no thin’ to be done about it, he’s dead, and if it’s my husband, well, thank God it’s him, not much loss with a man like that! What did I get from him anyway, a fellow like that does time half his life, to hell with the fool.” But my little Otto, live and let live is his motto, is far from dead. He gets to Anklam, and as he happened to notice that water is a nice thing, and he has a fancy for water, he becomes a fishmonger. He deals in fish at Anklam under the name of Finke. There ain’t no Bornemann any more. But they caught him nevertheless, and in what way and how, say, just hold your horses, now.

Of all things to happen in the world, one day his stepdaughter chances to come to Anklam to get a job, fancy it, when the world is so big, she just happens to move to Anklam; and discovers this resurrected fish, who is by now 100 years old and hails from Neugard, and meanwhile, of course, a girl like that has grown up and flown the coop, so, of course, he doesn’t recognize her, but she spots him. “Say, ain’t you our father?” Says he: “Nope, you must be batty.” And as she won’t believe him, he calls his wife and his-count ‘em!-five children, they can testify sure enough: “He’s Finke, the fishmonger.” Otto Finke, everybody in the village knows it. Everybody knows it, Herr Finke is the man’s name, the fellow who died was named Bornemann.

As for her, it has had no effect, and she’s not convinced. Off she goes, that’s the way with the female soul, a bee firmly lodged in her bonnet. She writes a letter to Berlin, to the police, Div. 4a: “I have bought things from Herr Finke several times; I am his stepdaughter, but he does not consider himself as my father, and he is deceiving my mother, for he has five children by another woman.” Finally the children are allowed to keep their front names, but behind they’re given the dirty end of the deal. Their name now is Hundt, with a dt, their mother’s name, so they became all at once illegitimate children, concerning whom the Criminal Code says: An illegitimate child and his father are not held to be related.

Like this man Finke, Franz Biberkopf is the picture of complete tranquillity and peacefulness. Once he was mauled by a wild beast that bit his arm off, but then he stopped it with a blow that made it reel, now it mews and ramps along at his heel. Only one of Franz’s companions saw how he stopped the beast, and made it reel, so that it mews and ramps along at his heel. Franz walks with a very firm step, and carries his thick skull very straight. Although he can do nothing like other people, his eyes are ever so bright. But the man to whom he hasn’t done anything so far wonders: “What’s he after? He wants somethin’ outa me.” He sees things others don’t see, and understands everything. That muscular neck of Franz’s shouldn’t really affect him, nor should his taut legs and his excellent step, but they, nevertheless, do something to him, and he can’t keep quiet about it. He’s got to get back at him. And how?

Just as when a door opens before a gust of wind, and aherd of animals rushes out of the pen. Just as when a fly excites a lion that taps at it with his paws, uttering a turrible roar.

Just as when a guard takes his little key, gives a little push to a bolt, and out come a bunch of criminals, and then begin murder, manslaughter, burglary, theft, murder for robbery, etc.

Reinhold walks up and down in his room, or in the saloon at Prenzlauer Gate, thinking up and down and round about it all. One day, when he knows Franz is with the tinner, working on a new idea, wonder what’ll come of it, anyway, he goes to see Mieze.

So she gets to see the man for the first time. There is nothing much to be seen about the fellow, Mieze you’re right, he doesn’t look bad, that chap, a bit sad, flabby, a trifle sick, too, he’s so sallow. But he doesn’t look bad.

But take a good peep at him, give him your little paw and study, yes, study his face well. That’s a face, Miezeken, that’s more important for you than all the other faces on earth, more important than Eva’s, yeah, more important even than your beloved Franzeken’s face. He is walking up the stairs now, today is just like any other day, Thursday, September 3rd, just look, you feel nothing, know nothing, suspect nothing of your fate.

Now, what will it be, Mieze, little Mieze from Bernau, this fate of yours? You’re healthy, you earn money, you love Franz, and that’s why it comes walking up the stairs and stands before you, fondling your hand, Franz’s fate, and-there it is-yours, too. You needn’t stare at his face very closely, only at his hand, his two hands, those two insignificant looking hands in gray leather.

Reinhold is in his best bib and tucker, and Mieze at first does not know how to behave towards him. Franz has sent him up perhaps, or maybe it’s a trap laid by Franz, but no, that can’t be true. Now he says Franz mustn’t know he’s been there, he is so sensitive. It’s about this, he just wanted to have a talk with her, things are going pretty difficult with Franz now, he’s got that trouble with his arm, and if he really needs to work, well, they are all interested in that. But Mieze is too clever for that, and she knows what Herbert said, what Franz wants, and says: No, as far as earning money goes, he doesn’t really need it, there are always people ready to help him. But maybe that’s not enough for him, a man wants to work, too. Reinhold suggests: Very true, yep, he ought to. But what they do is hard work, it ain’t ordinary work, even people who got two healthy arms can’t always do it. The conversation goes back and forth. Mieze doesn’t quite know what he’s after, then Reinhold starts asking her to let him have a cognac: he just wanted to find out about his financial condition, well, if it’s like that, they’ll all be careful about their friend’s interests, of course. Then he drinks another cognac, and asks: “D’you know me, Fraulein? Hasn’t he told you anything about me yet?” “No,” says she, wonder what that man’s after anyhow, if only Eva were here, she understands that kind of conversation much better than I do. “We’ve known each other a long time, Franz and 1, before he had you, there were others around then, Cilly.” Maybe that’s what he’s after, he wants to give Franz a black eye with me, he’s one of those fellows who tell all they know. “Well, why shouldn’t he have had others? I’ve had another one, too, but he’s still my man, all right.”