And so Franz, with 1.55 marks in his pocket, trotted along as far as the Alexanderplatz, snuffing the air and sometimes breaking into a run. Then, even though he didn’t want to, he forced himself to go into a restaurant and eat a proper meal, his first proper meal in weeks, beef cheeks with potatoes. After that his thirst felt less, he still had 75 pfennigs in his pocket, which he jingled between his fingers. Do I go to Lina, bah, Lina, I don’t even like her. His tongue felt rough and sour, he was spitting feathers. I’d better have that seltzer water after all.
And then – as he drank it down he knew it, in the pleasantly cool tickle of the carbonated bubbles in his throat – he knew where he wanted to go. To Minna, he had sent her the veal, she refused the aprons. Yes, that’s right.
Up we get. Franz Biberkopf straightened himself out in front of the mirror. Who wasn’t pleased at all to see his pale, flabby, pimpled cheeks was Frankie BBK. My God, what a face, red lines across his brow, where on earth d’he get these red lines from, his cap, he supposed, and his schnozz, Christ, man, a thick red schnozz like that, doesn’t have to be from schnapps, I suppose, it’s cold out; but the glooping peepers, like a cow’s, where do I get those calves’ eyes from, and staring as if they were nailed fast. As if someone’d dunked me in syrup. But Minna won’t mind. Plaster my hair down. There. Now let’s see about seeing her. She’ll give me a few pennies to see me through till Thursday, and then we’ll see.
Out of the establishment, onto the cold street. Loads of people. Loads of people all round the Alex, all with stuff to do. Lucky them. Franz Biberkopf was making the running for them, turning his head left and right. Like when a horse has slipped on the wet asphalt and gets a kick in the guts, and scrambles up, and starts going like the clappers. Franz had muscles, he had been a member of the athletics club; now he ambled down Alexanderstrasse and relished his stride, click tick, like a blooming guardsman. We march just exactly like the others.
Weather report from noon today: bryter layter. Temperatures are still unusually low, but the barometer is rising. We may even catch a little sun. Expect further improvement in the days ahead.
And the person at the wheel of the NSU 6-cylinder is enraptured. Let me steer, o let me steer, my dear.
And when Franz is in her building and standing in front of her door, there’s a bell. And he doffs his hat, pulls the bell, and who will open, who will it be, we perform a bow, if a girl has a gentleman, who will it be, dilly dilly. Shock. A man – her husband! That’s Karl. Her engineer. But that don’t matter. You can scowl all you like, mush.
‘You? What you doing here?’ ‘Let me in, Karle, I won’t bite you.’ And he’s inside. There’s that taken care of. What a louse, did you ever see anything like it.
‘Dear Karl, even if you’re a qualified engineer, and I’m a casual labourer, you shouldn’t give yourself airs. You can say hello to me, when I greet you.’ ‘What are you on about? Didn’t I let you in? What are you doing barging into my house anyway?’ ‘Is your wife home? Maybe I can say hello to her.’ ‘No, she’s not home. She’s not home to you ever. No one’s home to you.’ ‘Oh, really.’ ‘Yes. No one.’ ‘Well-but I see you, Karl.’ ‘No, I’m not here either. I’ve just been in to get my pullover and I’m going back out to the store.’ ‘So, business going well, I take it.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You really are throwing me out.’ ‘I never let you in. What are you doing round here, man. Aren’t you ashamed to come up here and embarrass me, when everyone in the building knows who you are.’ ‘Let them talk if they want to. That’s not our concern. I wouldn’t want to see inside their parlours neither. You know, Karl, there’s no call to worry about them and what they might say. Today in my place, they arrested a guy, the police did, who was a qualified carpenter, and the janitor of the building. Imagine. And his wife as well. They were thieving like magpies, the pair of them. Am I a thief? Well?’ ‘Christ, I’ve had enough standing around with you. Push off. If you see Minna, you’d better be ready, she’ll get her broom out and hit you in little pieces.’ That’s all he knows. A cuck like that, trying to lay the law down to me. I could laugh my boots crooked. If a girl has a man, what she likes and understands. Karl steps up to Franz: ‘What are you doing still standing there? We’re not related, Franz, there’s nothing between us at all. And now you’re out of jug, you’d best see how you get on.’ ‘I never asked you for favours.’ ‘No, and Minna still hasn’t forgot Ida. A sister’s a sister. You’re the guy who did it. You’re finished.’ ‘I never killed her. It could happen to anyone, they lose their temper, their hand slips.’ ‘Ida’s dead, now push off. We’re decent people here.’
The dog, with his horns, the poisonous louse, I feel like telling him, I’d take his wife off him like that. ‘I served every last minute of my four years, and if I’m squared away with the law, that should be enough for you.’ ‘What do I care about the courts. Now get lost. Once and for all. This house here is no longer for you. Once and for all.’ My, what’s got into Mr Engineer here, he seems like he’s about to lamp me.
‘But I’m telling you, Karl, I’ve done my time, I want to make peace with you. I’m extending to you the hand of friendship.’ ‘Well, I’m not taking it.’ ‘That’s all I needed to know. (Grab hold of the fellow, take him by the legs, and slam his head against the wall.) Now it’s as if I had it in writing.’ Slaps the hat down on his head with the same élan as before: ‘Well, then, good morning to you, Master Engineer. Give Minna my best, let her know I came calling, just to see how she’s doing. And you are the worst shit in the world. This is my fist, if you ever want anything. I feel sorry for Minna with a piece of shit like you.’
And exit. Exit calmly. Calmly and slowly down the stairs. Let him come after me if he likes. And over the road, knocked back a single short, to revive his heart. Maybe he’ll come over. I’ll wait. And very contentedly Franz moved on. I’ll get hold of some money from somewhere. And he felt his thick muscles, and I’ll get back to my fighting weight and all.
•
‘You want to block my path and throw me down. But I have a hand that can strangle you, and you can’t do anything against me. You attack me with scorn, you want to cover me with your contempt – not me, not me – for I am very strong. I can hear past your scorn. Your teeth are helpless against my armour, I am proof against vipers. I don’t know where you get the power to oppose me. But I am able to resist you. The Lord set my enemies against me with their necks towards me.’
‘You talk all you want. How prettily birds sing once they’ve escaped the polecat. But there are lots of polecats and a bird can only sing! You still have no eyes for me. You still don’t need to look at me. You hear the babble of humans, the noise on the street, the rattling of the tram. Breathe, listen. In amongst it all you will hear me too.’
‘Hear whom? Who’s speaking?’
‘I won’t say. You will see. You will feel. Gird up your heart. Then I will speak to you. Then you will see me. Your eyes will see nothing but tears.’
‘I don’t care if you talk another hundred years like that. You make me laugh.’
‘Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.’
‘Because you don’t know me. You have no idea who I am. Who Franz Biberkopf is. He is afraid of nothing. I got fists. See my muscles?’
Chapter Five
A speedy recovery, the man is back where he was, he has learnt nothing and understood nothing. Now the first heavy blow strikes him. He is caught up in a crime, he doesn’t want to be, he tries to resist, but he gotta gotta.
He resists bravely and furiously with fists and feet, but there’s no help, it’s bigger than he is, he gotta gotta.
Reunion on the Alex, bitching cold. Though next year, 1929, will be even colder
Boom boom goes the steam pile-driver outside Aschinger’s on the Alex. It’s as big as a house, and it drives the piles into the ground like nobody’s business.
Glacial air. February. People in coats. Whoever owns a mink wears it, whoever doesn’t, doesn’t. The women wear thin stoc
kings and are freezing, but it looks nice. The tramps have melted away. When it warms up, they’ll stick their noses out. In the meantime they’re on double rations of canned heat, but you wouldn’t want to be the corpse pickling in that stuff.
Boom boom goes the steam pile-driver on the Alexanderplatz.
Lots of people take the time to watch the pile-driver at work. A man at the top keeps pulling on a chain, and bam! the pile gets one on the lid. Men and women stand there and boys especially and take pleasure in the easy motion: bam! the pile gets one on the lid. By the end it’s no bigger than the tip of your finger, but it still gets another bam!, there’s no getting around it. Finally, it’s gone altogether. Crumbs, they got rid of that all right, and people move off satisfied.
Everything is boarded up. Berolina used to stand outside Tietz’s, one hand out, a colossal wench, they’ve dragged her away. Maybe they’ll melt her down to make medals out of.
They’re everywhere, like a swarm of bees. Building and fiddling around the livelong day and night.
Boggler boggler go the trams, yellow ones with extra carriages, over the boarded-up Alexanderplatz. Do not dismount while vehicle is moving. The station is cut off, one-way street to Königstrasse, past Wertheim. If you’re looking to go east, you need to follow Klosterstrasse round the back of the police headquarters. The trains boggle from the station to Jannowitz Bridge, the locomotives let off steam, it’s slap bang on top of the Prälaten, Schloss bräu, entrance next block.
Across the road, they are knocking everything down, whole buildings along the S-Bahn are being demolished, where do they get the money from, Berlin is a rich city, and we pay our taxes.
Loeser & Wolff with the mosaic sign outside has been torn down and rebuilt twenty yards away, and there’s another branch outside the station. Loeser & Wolff, Berlin-Elbing, first-class products in all types, Brazil, Havana, Mexico, Little Comfort, Liliput, No. 8s, 25 pfennigs apiece, Winter Ballad, packs of 25, 20 pfennigs, cigarillos No. 10, unsorted, Sumatra leaf, a special at the price, in boxes of a hundred, 10 pfennigs. I beat all comers, you beat all comers, he beats all comers with boxes of 50 and packs of 10, despatched to anywhere in the world, Boyero 25 pfennigs, this new product has made many converts, I beat all comers, you beat flat.
There is space next to the Prälaten, that’s where the carts are with the bananas. Give your kids bananas. The banana is the most sanitary of fruits, its peel protects it from insects, worms and germs. (Except such insects, worms and germs as penetrate the peel.) Dr Czerny advises that even the very youngest infants may. I smash everything, you smash everything, he/she/it smashes everything.
The Alex is always windy, on the corner in front of Tietz’s there’s a howling gale. The wind blows in between the buildings onto the digs. You feel like taking shelter in a bar, but who can afford to do that, the wind blows the cash out of your pockets instead, you notice there’s something going on here, no faffing about, you need to be up for it in this weather. Early in the morning the workers roll in from Reinickendorf, Neukölln, Weissensee. Cold or not cold, wind or no wind, coffee can out, pack me lunch, we gotta work, the parasites sit up at the top, they sleep in their featherbeds and leech us dry.
Aschinger’s has a large café and restaurant. Them as don’t have a paunch can acquire one here, them as do can extend it ad libitum. Nature won’t be swindled! Whoever thinks bread and baked goods made from depleted white flour can be improved by artificial additives is mistaken, and is leading their clients astray. Nature has laws, and it punishes infractions. The impaired health of almost every advanced nation may be traced to indulgence in devalued and refined foods. Fine sausages, home deliveries possible, cheap liver sausage, blood sausage.
The highly interesting Magazine retails for 20 pfennigs instead of 1 mark, Marriage, highly interesting and saucy, 20 pfennigs. The vendor is smoking cigarettes, is wearing a peaked cap, I challenge all comers.
From the east, from Weissensee, Lichtenberg, Friedrichshain, Frankfurter Allee, the yellow trams collect on the square via Landsberger Strasse. The 65 comes in from Central Abattoir, Grosser Ring, Weddingplatz, Luisenplatz, and the 76 from Hundekehle via Hubertusallee. On the corner of Landsberger, they bought out Friedrich Hahn, Kaufhaus as was, gutted it and will return it to its ancestors. That’s where the trams and the 19 bus to Turmstrasse stop. They’ve pulled down the place where Jürgens the stationers used to be, and put up a wooden fence. Here’s an old man with a set of doctor’s scales: check your weight, 5 pfennigs. O brothers and sisters, swarming over the Alex, take a moment, look through the gap next to the set of scales, where Jürgens once flourished, and where Kaufhaus Hahn still stands, emptied out, gutted, with only a few scraps of the red legend Closing Sale still stuck in the shop windows. There is a rubbish tip in front of you. For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return, we builded here a splendid house, now no man goes rein or raus. As busted as Rome, Babylon, Nineveh, Hannibal, Caesar, all busted now, oh, think of them. Firstly, I would observe that these cities are even now being exhumed, as depictions in last Sunday’s papers show, and secondly they have served their purpose, leaving us free to build new ones. You don’t go wailing about your old pants when they’re ancient and full of holes, you get yourself a new pair, that’s the way of the world.
The police assert their control of the square. They are multiply present. Each specimen looks knowingly left and right, and knows the traffic laws off pat. It wears puttees on its legs, a rubber truncheon dangles by its right hip, it swings its arms horizontally from west to east, then north and south must stand idle, while the east pours west, and west east. Then the model automatically reverses itself: the north pours south, the south north. The policeman is thick-waisted and highly specialized. At a peremptory twitch, about thirty individuals cross the square towards Königstrasse, some of them stopping on the traffic island, some of them getting all the way to the opposite side, there to continue on their way on duckboards. An equal number have gone east, swimming in the contrary direction, they fared similarly, but none of them came to grief.
They are men, women and children, the last-named mainly holding the hands of women. To list them all and describe their destinies would be daunting, only a few instances would be possible. The wind sprinkles all of them with bits of straw. The faces of the eastbound are in no way distinguishable from those of west-, south-or northbound persons, they exchange roles, and the ones now crossing the square towards Aschinger’s can be found an hour later in front of the vacated premises of Hahn’s. And similarly, those coming from the direction of Brunnenstrasse on their way to the Jannowitz Bridge mingle with those going the opposite way. Many turn aside, from south to east, from south to west, from north to west, from north to east. They are as indistinguishable as those others sitting in trams and buses. They all sit in different postures, adding to the declared weight of the carriage. What is going on in them, who could write it, a monstrous chapter. And if someone did, then what? New books? The old ones don’t sell, and in the year 1927 the sale of books year on year from 1926 has gone down by so and so many per cent. Take those individuals who have paid their 20 pfennigs (excluding the others who own season tickets, and the schoolchildren who pay 10 pfennigs), so there they are adding their weight of on average one to two hundredweight, fully clothed, with bags, satchels, door keys, hats, dentures, trusses across the Alexanderplatz and keeping in their hands the inscrutable ribbons of paper on which is written: Line 12, Siemensstrasse DA, Gotzkowskistrasse C, B, Oranienburger Gate, C, C, Kottbus Gate A, enigmatic runes, who can guess, who can explain and who can tell, three markings I tell you pregnant with meaning, and the paper ribbons are punctured four times in particular places, and on them is written in the same German as the Bible and the civil code: valid for the destination given by the shortest route, no transfers. They are reading newspapers of differing political stripe, keeping their balance by means of the labyrinthine passages in their ears, breathing oxygen, dozing off or looking at each other; they feel
pain, feel no pain, make eye-contact, make no eye-contact, are happy, unhappy, are neither unhappy nor happy.
Bam bam goes the ram, I smash therefore I am, another rail. There’s a whirring noise from in front of the police headquarters, that’s where they’re banging, a cement mixer empties its contents. Herr Adolf Kraun, janitor, looks on, he finds the toppling-over of the wagon gripping, you slam everything, he smashes everything. He always waits there tensely when the wagon containing sand lifts up to one side, then it’s at the top, and whoosh, it drops again. Wouldn’t it be awful to be thrown out of bed like that, legs up, head down, then you’re lying there, scary, but that’s the way they do it.
•
Franz Biberkopf has his pack on his back and is selling newspapers. He has changed his pitch. He has quit Rosenthaler Tor for Alexanderplatz. He is doing all right now, five foot eleven tall, his weight is down, but that makes it easier to lug around. He’s got a cap with the paper’s logo on it.
Crisis talks in the Reichstag, fresh elections possible by March or April, whither, Joseph Wirth? Middle-German stand-off continues, Arbitration committee to be appointed, Robbery on Tempelherrenstrasse. His pitch is at the U-Bahn exit on the Alexanderstrasse side, opposite the UFA cinema, that’s where Fromm the optician has set up his new business. The first time he’s standing in the bustle, Franz Biberkopf looks down Münzstrasse, and thinks: wonder how far it is to those two Jews, they’re not far from here, that was after I had my first mischance, maybe I’ll look in on them, see if they’re good for a copy of the Völkischer Beobachter. Why shouldn’t they be, they don’t have to like it, just buy one off me. The thought makes him grin, the old Jew in his slippers was too funny. He looks around, his fingers are clammy, near him is a little stunted man with a hooked nose, probably broken. Crisis talks in the Reichstag, Premises on Hebbelstrasse 17 vacated thru’ risk of collapse, Trawler crime: mutiny or insanity.