Magic Hoffmann (18 page)

As they were listening to the lecture, the train arrived at the next station. The rear doors opened, and the other passengers rushed out. Even the old man was able to slip away from the skins unnoticed. Only Fred remained at the door. He had spotted five uniforms at the station exit. So he'd got it wrong: Fred Hoffmann was worth the manhunt. Did they really have nothing better to do in this godawful town? The police approached slowly, inspecting the oncoming passengers and searching the carriages. Fred turned round to look at the adversaries. They still stood silently opposed. Nobody wanted to be the first to leave. The police were now only a carriage away. Fred had to do something, anything...!

Quickly he went up behind one of the skins, ripped the baseball bat from his hand and shouted: ‘Are you going to do something or what? Or are we just here for a cuddle?'

The skins turned round, and all seven looked at Fred in astonishment. Fred could hear the footsteps of the policeman behind him. My God these boys were slow. He took a short swing and cracked the bat against the nearest head. While the victim staggered through the carriage, the other skins screamed and finally went on the attack. At that moment the police rushed through the door with batons drawn and hurled themselves between the rival gangs. During the ensuing fight Fred succeeded in crawling past the skins and through to the door. The exits to the station were empty. He ran down the platform without looking back.

 

 

Fred had lain on the bed that night and almost the entire day, waiting for Moni's steps on the stairs. He had forced himself to go up and knock in vain at her door only once every two hours, and he had had to restrain himself from going looking for her in the neighbouring gambling clubs. He had bought beer and cigarettes at the reception and used them to stave off hunger.

Moni came up the stairs at about seven in the evening. Fred was already waiting in the doorway. He was pale, with gleaming eyes and a hunted expression.

‘What in God's name is going on?' asked Moni, while Fred closed the door behind her.

‘Where were you?'

‘At training.' And suddenly Moni thought she understood. ‘Hey. We're not married or anything like that.'

Fred shook his head. ‘No, no, it's only because...' He didn't know where to begin. Nervously he lit a cigarette. ‘Beer?'

Moni nodded and sat on the bed. Fred cracked open a can.

‘Excuse me, but you look dreadful. Now tell me what happened.'

‘It's like this...' Fred paced up and down the room. ‘To cut a long story short: the police have my identity card, they know I'm the person from the Café Budapest, and I've still a year and a half of probation to run.'

‘Oh my God!' Moni put down her bag and unbuttoned her sports jacket. ‘How? I mean, how did it happen?'

Fred began to tell the story. Gradually he became calmer, and finally he said with renewed composure: ‘The only thing that can help me is a false passport.'

‘And then?'

‘Then I'll really become a sailor and sign on a ship that's heading for Canada. I reckon its easier to pass off a false passport on a ship than on a plane.'

‘And where do you propose to get hold of one?'

‘Well, I thought... maybe you could help me?'

‘Me?'

‘If one were to ask the Russians for example...'

‘The Russians!' Moni shook her head. ‘Far too dangerous. And besides I'd lose my reputation as a good little seamstress. Do you know how much a false passport costs?'

‘Ten to fifteen thousand, I thought. But I can only pay it when I've got my money from Nickel.'

‘And you'll get it?'

Fred didn't answer. He'd asked himself the question often enough in the past twenty hours.

‘I'll work something out. I think I know who I could ask,' she opened her bag and took out a purse, ‘but first I'll get us something to eat. And then I'll ask Yalcin if he can remove your name from the register. Just in case the police come by.'

Fred watched as Moni stood up and went to the door.

‘Wait a second,' he said suddenly, ‘if you don't want to, I mean you don't have to help me.' And as Moni turned round, ‘normally I'm absolutely not the kind of guy who has problems - on the contrary... Just at the moment, I don't know, it's like I'm jinxed.'

 Moni smiled. ‘How's about you get the cabin into shape, capt'n, so we can sit down to eat at the table. I, for one, am starving.'

While Moni was out, Fred smoked two cigarettes at the window. Was his good luck laced with bad? Or his bad with good?

He set about tidying the room and tried to imagine himself arriving in Canada with Moni and a false passport. Images of a glorious future were, after all, his speciality. But at the moment even that didn't seem to work: the Canadian sky was grey, the customs officer spotted the forgery, and Moni took off with another man.

 

For the next few days Fred stayed mostly in bed and waited. For Nickel's call, for Moni in the evening, for the address of a forger. As soon as Moni arrived he forgot his troubles. They laughed, ate, drank and slept together. Fred tried stubbornly to convince her that a ballet education in Canada was just as good as one in Berlin, and Moni was at pains to explain to him - and to herself a little - why she was attached to this city.

‘It's not a matter of whether it's beautiful or ugly, or if the people are friendly or ghastly - I know myself that Berlin isn't going to win any prizes for anything positive. But maybe it's precisely that: in Berlin if you feel uplifted by a person or a street or only because of a pleasant shop assistant, it comes out of such an overall context of garbage, that it's five times as powerful as in a city where everything's beautiful.'

This was less than clear to Fred. He wanted everything to be beautiful - particularly at the moment.

The fact that Moni never talked about other men - or people she knew or had known - and that she never told him she loved him or anything of the kind, barely disturbed Fred. She always seemed to him to have drifted through the window by chance, and he was grateful for every moment with her. Quite apart from the fact that it wasn't the time for arrangements, plans or earnest promises. Everything was vague, shaky and uncertain. Fred could be arrested any day, each evening could be their last. Once Fred wondered if that might be precisely why Moni spent time with him. After all, compared to all the exciting gamblers, Mafiosi and prima ballerinas - whatever they were - he must have seemed to her just a peasant. And one who was dogged by bad luck at that. He couldn't quite believe that Moni was simply pleased to see him, to listen to his tales of Dieburg, and to sleep with him. Didn't you say you were in love under those circumstances?

‘In Dieburg that's what you say anyway,' said Fred in an attempt to entice her.

‘So that's where it comes from.'

Moni never said she was in love. In her experience men started to get too many ideas too quickly, and besides she considered the phrase ‘I am in love' to be superfluous, if you were doing the things you do anyway when you're in love.

During the days, Fred developed into an almost perfect househusband. He had installed a cooking area and a shelf for provisions, he used the washbasin for cooling drinks and washed his clothes under the shower. With the money Moni removed from the machine every day on Nickel's card, Fred paid the room bill, which was now double the price as it was being used as a hideout, and the hire charges levied by the hotel chef for the electric rings and the coffee machine. They clearly had experience of guests who wanted to avoid being in the register.

One evening Fred asked: ‘What is the position with your gambling debts?'

Moni made a helpless gesture. She had hardly got to do any sewing these last few days, and the fees for the dance school still hadn't been paid.

‘As soon as I have my money, I'll pay off your debts,' said Fred.

Moni looked at him for a while, as if he she were weighing up different answers, then finally she shrugged.

‘Would be great.'

Fred began to set aside a hundred and fifty marks from the four hundred that Moni brought him daily from the cashpoint. Who knew how long it might take for his money to come through? Fred's only means of exerting pressure were the withdrawal notices that Nickel must have been getting in the last few days. But what would he, Fred, do if the account were suddenly closed? Shop Nickel and give up on the money? As soon as the police had Nickel, it would be all over for Fred. Then he couldn't even pester Nickel's wife. The police would have her under surveillance and would be just waiting for Fred to show up. If they weren't doing that already. With the help of his identity card and their colleagues in Dieburg, it must be child's play to find out that the schoolfriend and former fellow suspect in the bank robbery, Nikolas Zimmer, was living in Berlin Hönow - precisely where the wanted man, Hoffmann was last seen. The police had probably already paid Nickel a visit. At least he would then know how hopeless Fred's prospects looked. A situation in which perhaps the only remaining pleasure lay in dragging other people down into the shit with you.

By the end of the week he'd collected six hundred marks for Moni. Six hundred out of seven thousand. That evening she came home with a black eye. The creditors had become impatient. Stunned and unable to do the one thing that might help Moni, that is to pay up, Fred's hatred for Nickel became boundless. He wanted to shop him right away, just to do him some damage. If he could only have phoned up and screamed at him. What was all this about having to wait months for a telephone? For some time Fred thought this was just a trick on Nickel's part to keep him away. He' d probably had the phone hidden in a cupboard.

‘And now for the good news,' said Moni, while Fred put a damp facecloth on her eye. ‘I know where you can buy a passport.'

Fred started. ‘Really?'

After Moni had explained the procedure, she concluded: ‘all you need are passport photos - and money.'

Fred fetched a bottle of champagne from the wash basin and poured two glasses.

‘I must go to Nickel's.'

‘Are you mad? If they are looking for you anywhere, it will be there.'

‘Am I supposed to wait till he's cleared off with the money, and maybe next time they'll cut off your ears?'

‘Nonsense! It was an argument. I was cheeky, and the guy was stronger. You're sometimes very sensitive for a bank robber.'

Fred was taken aback. Then he said boorishly: ‘I had a different image of a ballet dancer as well...'

It wasn't meant to be unfriendly - in fact given Fred's concept of ballet, it was something of a compliment - but that was how it seemed.

Moni's good eye watched him without expression. Then she raised her glass and said sharply: ‘Cheers then.'

Maybe it was Fred's lack of activity, the pressure weighing down on everything, the identical evenings - in any case the mood had suddenly evaporated, and neither of them knew what to do about it. They didn't know each other well enough, and they were too exhausted.

‘I only meant...'

‘I've told you before, we're not married. Don't let's have any weird conversations.'

Shortly afterwards Moni went up to her room, and then the sewing machine started. Fred could hear it humming through the ceiling: I spit on your money. I'll get by on my own, I always have done, and I don't have to listen to any idiotic comments. Certainly not from some peasant who has just hit town. You have your forger, I'm tired, can't bear to watch you sitting around and now I'm going to resume my exciting metropolitan life with exciting metropolitan people.

It was the first night in a week they had slept apart, and Fred was struck by the thought, that even if everything went smoothly, they only belonged together for a short time. A time and a place. Every moment, or almost every moment, with Moni was glorious, but he wasn't going to be able to stay here. Either way. And she wouldn't come with him. It was time to take things into his own hands. Next morning, wearing sunglasses and a scarf over his mouth, Fred went to the post office and handed in a telegram: ‘Two more days and you can tell your wife: call me tomorrow in the slammer.'

That same afternoon the chambermaid knocked at Fred's door and told him he had a call. Fred raced down the stairs to reception and grabbed the receiver.

‘Yes' he shouted breathlessly.

‘Nickel here. I have the money.'

At first Fred didn't know what to say out of sheer surprise and joy. It wasn't only the money, but the fact that Nickel had kept his word, and for a moment even Nickel's voice.

‘Man, that's fabulous,' shouted Fred. ‘Thank you!'

Nickel was unmoved.

‘Where do you want to collect it?'

‘Come here and we'll have a proper celebration.'

‘Thanks, but I don't feel like celebrating.'

‘Man, Nickel!' Fred began, and suddenly he was overcome by the need both to clarify and rectify a great deal. But there was an icy silence on the other end of the line.

‘Very well,' he said, ‘however you want to play it.'

‘I can be at Wittenbergplatz station in an hour.'

Fred thought it over. It had occurred to him that Nickel might be under surveillance.

‘What about the department store next door?'

‘KaDeWe?'

‘Yes, and...' Fred thought of a place where he could spot the surveillance. ‘There must be a customer's toilet.'

‘Why?' Nickel asked impatiently.

Either he really understood nothing of Fred's difficulties, or he was a good actor. At that moment Fred was struck by a suspicion that Nickel could have done a deal with the police: Fred and the remaining money from the robbery against his freedom. But would Nickel rather give the money to the police than to him?

‘So what now?' came from the receiver.

Or simply Fred against his freedom, without the money? Fred could picture the scene: a friendly officer in Nickel's antique-laden living room, a pram, a female lawyer with the wife. ‘My dear Mr Zimmer, naturally we suspect that you participated in the bank robbery back then. But as I can see with my own eyes, you're now on the straight and narrow, and we would be the last people not to appreciate that. Things have gone rather differently with your friend Hoffmann: he was scarcely out of prison when he was participating in robbery and violence, thereby proving that he is still not ready to join society. What I'm saying is: even if Hoffmann were to betray you out of sheer badness, something that would be entirely in character, we would turn a blind eye, provided, you lead us to him.'

‘Fred. This whole business is unpleasant enough. Could you please hurry it up a bit?'

Fred held the receiver away from his ear. Would Nickel yell like that if the whole thing were a set-up. Would he not rather try and make him, Fred, feel secure? There was still the danger that he was being followed without knowing it.

‘OK, Nickel. In the customer's toilet. On the ground floor. You go in and wait for me.'

‘I'd like to know what all this is about.'

‘Either way, it's about a whole lot of money. Afterwards we'll get mugged in the tube station. You know: young people today...'

Nickel didn't think that was funny. He mumbled, ‘In an hour then,' and hung up.