So next day, Fränze (her name) pops up at Franz Biberkopf’s pad. Soon as he heard what she was called, he was happy, they made a good pair, because his was Franz. She was bringing Biberkopf a pair of stout shoes from Reinhold; my thirty pieces of silver, Franz chuckled to himself. That Reinhold is a piece of work, getting her to bring me my wage and all. Well, one good turn deserves another, he thought, and that evening he went out with her looking for Reinhold, who, as arranged, could not be found, whereupon outburst of rage from Franze, and consolation duet in his room. The next morning the drayman’s wife turns up at Reinhold’s, who for once wasn’t stammering: he’s not to put himself out, she don’t need him no more, she’s got someone else. But she won’t tell him who. No sooner is she gone than Franz shows up at Reinhold’s in his new boots, which aren’t too big for him any more, because he’s wearing two pairs of wool socks, and they throw their arms round each other, and pat each other on the back: ‘It’s just a favour for a friend,’ said Franz, declining all honorifics.
This drayman’s wife had fallen for Franz with some élan, she had an elastic heart which she had been unaware of thus far. Being philanthropically and analytically inclined, he was happy she felt herself in possession of this new force. He observed with pleasure how she settled down with him. It was a familiar sequence to him; first off, women are always kept busy washing underpants and darning. The fact that she also cleaned his boots every morning – the boots he had from Reinhold – that had him in stitches regularly. When she asked him what he was laughing about, he said: ‘It’s because they’re so big, they’re too big for one single person. Don’t you think we’d both fit inside them?’ They even tried getting into the boots together, but it turned out to be an exaggeration, and not possible.
Now the stammerer Reinhold, Franz’s true friend, had himself another girlfriend who was called Cilly, or at least so she claimed. Franz Biberkopf didn’t care either way, and he ran into Cilly sometimes on Prenzlauer Strasse. But a dark suspicion rose in him when the stammerer asked after Fränze after about a month, and whether Franz had moved her on yet. Franz replied that she was a nice enough bird, and he didn’t quite understand. Then Reinhold claimed Franz had promised to get rid of her before long. Which Franz denied, saying it wasn’t time for that yet. He was happy to keep her till spring. He had already seen that Fränze didn’t have a summer wardrobe, and he couldn’t afford to buy her one, so she would have to go in summer. Reinhold observed critically that Fränze looked pretty down at heel already, and you couldn’t call those proper winter clothes, they were more in between, not really suitable for these temperatures. Thereupon there was a long discussion of temperatures and the barometer and the overall outlook, which they looked up in the newspaper. Franz insisted that you could never be sure which way the weather was going to turn, whereas Reinhold saw a sharp frost coming. Then it dawned on Franz that Reinhold was looking to get shot of Cilly too, who went around in fake rabbit. He couldn’t stop talking about that pretty fake bunny fur. ‘What am I going to do with that bunny rabbit,’ thought Franz, ‘that fellow is certainly set in his ways.’ ‘You’re a bit slow today, I’m not going to be able to take on another, when I’ve got one already and business isn’t exactly flourishing. Where to take without stealing.’ ‘Who said anything about two. Did I say two. Will I force a man to take two women. I’m not a Moslem.’ ‘That’s what I was saying.’ ‘Well, that’s not my point. When did I tell you you need to take on two women. Why not three. Nah, chuck her out – haven’t you got someone lined up?’ ‘What someone?’ What’s he on about this time, the fellow’s full of odd ideas. ‘Someone who’ll take that Fränze bird off your hands.’ Was our Franz ever happy, he bangs him on the arm: ‘Christ, you’re ruthless, you wrote the book on this, my God, hats off. So we’re doing chain-selling, right, like in the Inflation?’ ‘Well, why not, there’s no shortage of women is there.’ ‘Too many, if you ask me. Christ, Reinhold. You’re a card, I can’t get my head around it.’ ‘So what now.’ ‘We’ll do it, it’s OK. I’ll find someone. I feel stupid in front of you. I’m still a bit gobsmacked.’
Reinhold looked at him. He had bats in the belfry. How could a man be such a fool as Biberkopf. Did he really think he would keep two women at the same time.
Meanwhile Franz was so enthused by the idea that he set of right away, and looked up little stunted Ede in his building; did he want a girl, because he had one that was going.
That suited Ede down to the ground, he had felt like quitting work for a while, he had some invalidity benefit due, and could take some time of , and she can do errands for him and collect. But settling down with me is out of the question, mind.
The next day, before he went out selling papers, Franz made a scene with the drayman’s wife about nothing. She exploded. He shouted happily away. An hour later everything was set: the hunchback helped her pack, Franz had run off in a rage, the drayman’s wife got moved in with the hunchback because she had nowhere else to go. And the hunchback went to see his doctor, reported sick, and that night the two of them muddied Franz Biberkopf’s name together.
Whereas Cilly now comes calling on Franz. What’s it about, girl. Something bothering you, got an itch. ‘I’m to deliver a fur collar to you.’ Franz weighs the collar appraisingly in his hand. Sleek thing. Wonder where he gets this merchandise from. Last time it was just a pair of boots. Cilly, clueless, witters on: ‘You must be a very good friend of Reinhold’s?’ ‘Lord, yes,’ laughed Franz, ‘he likes to send me little delicacies and items of clothing, when he has something over. Lately he sent me some boots. Just boots. Wait a mo, you could have a look at them.’ So long as Fränze hasn’t taken them with her, where are they keeping, ah, there. ‘See, Cilly, this is what he sent me the last time. What do you say to those gun barrels then? It’d take three men to fill those. Why’n’t you try putting your little tootsies in there.’ And already she’s climbing in, giggling, sweet little creature, nicely dressed, what do you say, nice enough to what, looks ever so pretty in her black coat with the fur trim, what a woodentop Reinhold is, shifting her on, and wonder where he keeps on getting these sweet little things from. And there she is standing in the gun barrels. And Franz remembers the last time, women are like a monthly wardrobe to me, and he’s slipped his shoe off and he’s pushing one foot into the boot behind hers. Cilly squeals, but he gets his leg in, she tries to scamper off, but they’re both hopping, and she is forced to take him with her. Then by the table he pushes his other foot in the gun barrel. They’re tipping over. They tip over, there’s more squealing, screeching this time, now, miss, control your imagination, just leave the pair of them to have a little giggle by themselves, they’re seeing private patients only, panel patients later, from five till seven.
‘Reinhold’s expecting me, Franz, you won’t say anything, will you?’ ‘As if.’ And that evening he saw the whole of her, the little fountain of tears. In the evenings they always love a good scold, and she is a very attractive person, has a nice wardrobe, the coat’s practically new, a pair of dancing pumps, she’s bringing all that with her. Christ, all that’s a present from Reinhold, he must get them on lend-lease.
•
It’s always with admiration and contentment that Franz now goes to meet Reinhold. Franz’s job isn’t easy, he’s already dreaming anxiously about the end of the month, when the taciturn Reinhold will begin to speak again. Then one night, Reinhold’s standing next to him at the U-Bahn exit on Landsberger Strasse, asking him whether he’s got any plans for the evening. What’s this, it’s not the end of the month yet, what’s up, and Cilly’s expecting Franz – but of course he can’t top going somewhere with Reinhold. And they set off slowly on foot, where do you think, down Alexanderstrasse as far as Prinzenstrasse. Franz keeps pressing Reinhold to learn what the plans are. ‘Are we off to Little Walter’s then? Dancing?’ No, he’s going to the Salvation Army on Dresdener Strasse. E wants to listen to the music. Well, who’d of guessed. Typical Reinhold. The ideas in that fe
llow’s head. And so for the first time in his life Franz Biberkopf experienced an evening at the Salvation Army. It was very funny, full of surprises.
At half-nine, when they began with the appeals to sinners, Reinhold started behaving strangely, then ran off as though someone was chasing him, Christ, what’s the matter with you. On the steps he lectured Franz: ‘You gotta look after the young ones. They’ll work on you till you get all out of breath and just end up saying yes to everything.’ ‘Oh, well I’m not in that sort of shape yet, not by a long chalk, they’d have to get up a lot earlier to catch me out.’ Reinhold was still cross in Hackepeter on Prinzenstrasse, and then he was away and what was it this time. ‘Franz, I need to do something about these women, I can’t do it any more.’ ‘Crikey, and there I was looking forward to the next one.’ ‘Do you think I enjoy it, going up to you in another week and asking you to take Trude, my blonde off of me? No, on that basis . . .’ ‘Well, it’s none of my fault. You know you can depend on me. You can come to me with ten women if you want, Reinhold, and I’ll manage to place all of them.’ ‘Leave me alone with women. I’ve had enough, Franz.’ Well, pick the bones out of that, and is he ever wrought-up. ‘Well, if you don’t fancy them, that’s perfectly simple, just leave your hands off of them. We’ll manage. The one you’ve got right now, I’ll take her off your hands, and then you can leave it for a while.’ Two plus two is four, if you can count, understand, there’s no call for those big eyes, Christ, does he ever stare. If you like, you can even hang onto the one you got now. Oh, what is it now, he’s come over queer, now he’s getting his usual coffee and lemonade, he don’t do strong drink he says, wobbly on his pins, and then women on top of that. For a while Reinhold didn’t speak, and only when he’s had three cups of coffee in him does he spill the beans some more.
The fact that milk is a valuable food is not seriously contested, particularly for children, it is recommended for infants and small children, and to strengthen invalids, especially as part of a protein-rich diet. Another widely recognized invalid food, though unfortunately not often prescribed, is mutton. Nothing against milk. Only the propaganda shouldn’t take on such simplistic form. Anyway, thinks Franz, I’m sticking to beer; if it’s well kept and drawn, there’s nothing the matter wif beer.
Reinhold levels his eyes at Franz – the fellow looks all in, as if he’s about to cry: ‘I bin there twice already, you know, the Sally Army. I talked to someone as well. I says “yes” to him, try and come up to snuff, then later I fall off’ ‘What are you on about now?’ ‘You know I get fed up with a woman so quick. You can see it for yourself. By the end of four weeks, it’s over. Search me why. Don’t want her any more. When before I used to be crazy for her, you should see me, crazy, so crazy you’d want to put me in a padded cell. And then: nothing – she’s gotta go, I can’t stand the sight of her, I’d even be prepared to pay money not to have to see her any more.’ Franz, astounded: ‘Well, who knows, perhaps there really is something the matter with you. Let’s see . . .’ ‘So I goes to the Salvation Army, and I told someone there about it, and we prayed together . . .’ Franz’s surprise knows no bounds: ‘You prayed?’ ‘Christ, if you feel that bad, and you’ve got no other way out.’ Wow. So that’s how it is with the lad, who’d a guessed. ‘It helped too, for six, eight weeks, takes your thoughts off it, you pull yourself together, it was better, it was better.’ ‘Well, Reinhold, maybe you should try the hospital. Or maybe you shouldn’t have dashed out the way you did just now. You could of sat quietly on the bench at the front, you know you’ve no call to be ashamed in front of me.’ ‘No, I’ve had enough of it, and it doesn’t help any more, and it’s just a load of crap anyway. Why should I crawl over there and pray when I’m not a believer.’ ‘Oh, I understand. Well, it’s no good if you’re not a believer.’ And Franz looked at his friend, who was staring bitterly into his empty coffee cup. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, Reinhold, well – 1 don’t know. I need to give it some thought. Perhaps you should allow yourself to get thoroughly disgusted with women or something like that.’ ‘The thought of Trude is just about enough to make me vomit right now. But you should see me tomorrow or the day after when there’s some Nelly or Guste or what have you in play, see your Reinhold then. With his red ears. Nothing but gotta have her, gotta have her, even if she cleans me out.’ ‘What is it that gets you about women?’ ‘You mean, how they get hold of me? Yeah, what. Nothing. That’s just it. One has – I don’t know – say she’s got a bob, or she likes cracking jokes. I don’t know what I see in her, Franz, I never know. You should ask the women maybe, when I make sheep’s eyes at them, and won’t leave them alone. Ask Cilly. But I can’t kick it, I can’t kick it.’
Franz continues to watch Reinhold.
There is a reaper, Death yclept, by Almighty God employed. His blade he whets, it cuts much better, soon he will cut, and we must suffer.
Strange boy. Franz smiles. Reinhold doesn’t.
There is a reaper, Death yclept, by Almighty God employed. Soon he will cut.
Franz thinks: we’ll give you a bit of shaking up. Maybe push your hat down another four inches at the back. ‘OK, that’s what I’ll do, Reinhold. I’ll try asking Cilly.’
Franz reflects on the trade in women, and suddenly he’s had enough, and wants something else
‘Cilly, don’t sit on my lap just yet. And don’t hit me neither, you’re my honeybunch. But guess who I’ve just seen.’ ‘I don’t care.’ ‘Go on, Cilly Billy, guess? I saw – Reinhold.’ That makes the girl suspicious, wonder why: ‘Uh, Reinhold. So what did he have to say for himself?’ ‘That’s just it, plenty.’ ‘I see. So you sit there, and listen, and you believe every word, I suppose.’ ‘Oh, Cilly, don’t be like that.’ ‘Well, I think I’ll just go. First I wait for you to come home for three hours, and then you want to tell me a lot of rubbish.’ ‘No, no, Christ (she’s loopy), I want you to tell me something. Not him.’ ‘What’s going on? Now I don’t understand anything any more.’ And then it got going. Cilly, the little brunette, got in a bate and was sometimes unable to go on, so she would let off steam, and Franz was snogging her while she talked, because she looked so pretty, such a shining little cherry-red honeybird, and on top of that she started crying because of stuff she was remembering. ‘That man, Rein-hold, he’s not a lover and he’s not a pimp, he’s not a man at all, just a thug. He walks around like a sparrow, going pick pick pick, and he picks up the girls. There’s dozens who could tell you about it. You’re not thinking I’m his first or his tenth? I might be his hundredth. If you ask him, he won’t have a clue how many he’s had. And had how. So, Franz, if you’re denouncing the crook, you won’t get nothing from me, I got nothing, but you could go to the police HQ and pick up a reward. He’s nothing to look at, sitting there ever so thoughtful over his chicory decaf. And then he gets interested in a girl.’ ‘That’s just what he said.’ ‘First of all you’re thinking what does he think he wants, he should go packing, and start again. Then he comes back, cheeky, nicely done-up, I tell you, Franz, you scratch your head, what happened with him, did he get the monkey gland treatment or something. So, he starts to talk, and he can dance a bit . . .’ ‘What, dance, Reinhold?’ ‘Why ever not. Where’d you spose I met him. On the dance floor, Chausseestrasse.’ ‘My God, does he have moves.’ ‘He’ll find you, Franz, wherever you are. Even if you’re married, he won’t let up, he’ll work you round.’ ‘Swanky geezer.’ Franz laughed and laughed. Promises, promises don’t make me any promises, because over time everyone’s tempted. Hot hearts never stop beating, always on the lookout for a meeting. Make me no promises, because I’m seeking diversion – no different from you.
‘How can you laugh. Are you like that as well then?’ ‘No, Heavens, Cilly, he’s weird, he goes wailing to me about how he can’t keep his fingers off women.’ I can’t keep my fingers off, you can’t keep your fingers off, he can’t keep his fingers off. Franz unpeeled his jacket. ‘Now he’s with that blonde Trude, and have you heard the
latest? He wants me to take her off him.’ Does the woman scream? Can that woman ever scream. Cilly screams like a tigress. Rips the jacket away from Franz, hurls it to the floor, careful, it didn’t come with a guarantee, she’ll make a rip in it, I bet she could and all. ‘Christ, Franz, they must have dipped you in chocolate. Tell me what’s so great about Trude if you can.’ She screams like a rabid tigress. If she keeps it up much longer the police will turn up, thinking I’m turning off the gas. Keep cool, Franz. ‘Cilly, whatever you do, not me clothes, OK. They’re valuable these days and not easily come by. There, give it to me. I haven’t bitten you, have I?’ ‘No, but you’re such an innocent, Franz.’ ‘Fine, then I’m an innocent. But if Reinhold’s my mate, and he’s in trouble, and he even legs it over to the Salvation Army in Dresdener Strasse and starts praying to the Almighty, what about that, then I have to stand by him if I’m his friend. Should I not take Trude off him?’ ‘What about me?’ With you, well, with you I’d like to go fishing. ‘We can talk it over, then, we can discuss it over a drink or somefink. By the way, have you seen my boots anywhere, the big ones? Look at them.’ ‘Leave it aht.’ ‘I just want to show you my boots, Cilly. Because, you know, I got them from him too. You remember – you brought me the fur collar that time. Well. And before that there was a girl brought me those boots.’ Tell it straight out, why not, don’t keep shtum about it, it’s better in the open.