Berlin Alexanderplatz

  Berlin and surrounding area: partly cloudy, partly bright, winds mild, temperatures slowly rising. In the rest of Germany: cloudy in the south and west, elsewhere sunny intervals, windy in the northeast, temperatures gradually warming.

  With conditions thus favouring work, the Pums gang, our Franz included, slowly gets moving; the ladies associated with the gang are also in favour of the gang getting moving again, because otherwise they will be out on the street, and no lady likes to do that unless she has to. But really, it’s a question of knowing the market and finding buyers, if the clothes are wrong then switch into fur, the ladies think it’s pretty straightforward too, there’s not much in the way of variations, quickly mastered, but the fine points, the adjustments necessary when the general economy is slow, that’s something of which they have no conception.

  Pums has got to know a plumber who is something of an expert on oxy-acetylene, so he’s in, and there’s a troublesome geezer who looks sharp, though he’s bone-idle, which is why his old lady threw him out, but he’s useful in a tight spot, and he knows businesses, and you can send him anywhere to case a joint. Pums tells the senior partners in his outfit: ‘Basically we don’t need to factor in competition. It exists as it exists everywhere, but we don’t get in each other’s way. But if we don’t make sure to hire good people who know their tools and the trade, then of course we’ll be disadvantaged. Then we might as well go into theft pure and simple, and for that we don’t need six or eight people, everyone can do that for himself.’

  Because they’re in the tailoring and furs sector, everything with legs has to trot off and locate businesses that sell goods that you can fence without lots of questions being asked, and without the police coming calling. It can all be altered, you sew it differently, and of course you can start off by simply storing it. Well, find those first.

  Pums has trouble with his fence in Weissensee all the time. If you work the way that fellow does, you won’t ever do any business. Live and let live. Of course. But because he claims to have made losses over the past winter – he says! – because he over-extended himself and got in debt, and we took the summer off, coming to us with a sob story and asking us for a refund: he’s just made some bad investments! He’s made some bad investments because he’s a fool, bad geezer, just doesn’t understand the trade, he’s wrong for us. We just better find someone else. Of course, easier said than done, but it has to be, and the only member of the gang who’s thinking about it is old Pums. It’s a funny thing, wherever you listen out, the other boys take an interest in what happens with the goods, because plain stealing never made anyone rich: it still needs to be turned into money, but as I say: in Pums’s lot they all stretch out on their bearskins and say: ‘Pums will ix it.’ He will too, he’s on the case. But what if Pums can’t fix it? Eh? Pums can’t do it every time, he’s only human. Then you’ll see, well, what do we do with the staff, and all that breaking and entering won’t have done a blind bit of good. Nowadays the world isn’t settled with breaking irons and explosives, today every thief needs to be his own business manager as well.

  Which is why Pums isn’t just concerned with an oxygen explosion set for early September, but with who’s going to take the merchandise off my hands. He began in early August. And if you want to know who Pums is: he’s the sleeping partner in at least five small fur businesses – never you mind where – plus he’s invested money in a couple of American-style launderettes, with ironing boards in the windows, and a tailor standing there in shirtsleeves, and the suits are hanging at the back, the suits, oh, yes indeedy. That’s what matters and where you’ve got them from, well, you just say: oh, from the customers, who brought them along yesterday to get them pressed and altered, here are the addresses if a pig comes in to check it’s all on the level. So fatty Pums has already planned ahead for the winter, and we would have to say, bring it on. If something happens, well, there’s always contingencies and surprises; you need a bit of luck, but beyond that we don’t want to bother our pretty little heads.

  Next thing. All right, it’s early September and our smartypants villain who also does animal imitations – that doesn’t belong here – Waldemar Heller the fellow calls himself, and he is a bright fellow as the name suggests, he’s sniffed around the big outfitters on Kronenstrasse and Neue Wallstrasse, and where you go for what. He knows the entrances and exits, the front and back doors, who lives upstairs, who lives downstairs, who locks up, where the clocks are, etc. Pums pays his expenses. Sometimes Heller is the buyer for a start-up firm in Posen; someone wants to make some inquiries about the firm in Posen, sure, go ahead, I just wanted to see how high your ceilings are, the next time someone comes abseiling down.

  •

  It’s at this show, Saturday night, that Franz participates for the first time. He’s cracked it. Franz Biberkopf is sitting in the car, they all know what they have to do, and he has his part as much as they do. It’s on a strictly business basis, someone else is standing watch, though in fact it’s not literally that, the night before three lads crept up into the printworks on the floor above, they carried up the ladder and the explosive in crates and hid them behind bales of paper, someone drove the car away, at eleven they unlock the doors to let the others in, no one in the building hears a dicky bird, after all it’s just offices and warehouses. Then they sit there working away, one is always at the window looking out, someone else is watching the yard, then the blasting gets going on the floor, half a yard square, the plumber does it with protective goggles. Once they’re through the wood floor there’s some crashing and banging, but it’s nothing much, bits of stucco falling down, the ceiling is cracked from the heat, they push a silk parasol through the hole they’ve made, and the later pieces are caught in that, mostly, some of them aren’t. But nothing happens, downstairs everything is dark and silent.

  At ten they climb down, natty Waldemar first, because he knows his way around the store. Climbs down a rope ladder like a cat, he’s never done it before, not a trace of nerves, those are the greyhounds, they are the lucky ones, at least until something goes wrong. And then someone else needs to go down, the steel ladder is only eight feet, it won’t reach as far as the ceiling, not by some way, downstairs they stack a few tables, then they slowly lower the ladder on to the topmost table, and bob’s your uncle. Franz stays upstairs, lying on his front beside the hole, like a fisherman he hauls in the bales of cloth they pass up to him, swings them behind him where someone else is positioned. Franz is strong. Reinhold, who is downstairs with the plumber, is astounded by his strength. Funny, doing a job with a one-armed bandit. He has a grip like a crane, it’s really something else, a bomb, a freak. Afterwards they lug the baskets downstairs. Even though they’ve got a man posted down in the yard, Reinhold patrols as well. Two hours, and it’s all over, the nightwatchman does his rounds, don’t hurt the fellow, he’ll not notice anything, you’d have to be pretty stupid to allow yourself to be shot for the pittance he gets paid, there, he’s gone, punctual fellow, we’ll leave him a big blue note next to the time-clock. By now it’s two o’clock, the car’s due at half past. They eat a snack upstairs, easy on the schnapps, keep the noise down, and then it’s half past. Two debutants are with the gang today, Franz and Waldemar. They toss a coin, natty Waldemar wins, it’s for him to set the seal on the job, so he shimmies down the ladder once more into the dark plundered storehouse, squats down, trousers off, and it’s ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ onto the floor.

  Then once the rest of them have unloaded their goods and it’s half past three, they quickly do another job, because we’ll not get together as young as we are again, and who knows when we’ll next meet on the green banks of the Spree. Everything passes off easily enough. Just on the way home they run over a dog, had to happen, and Pums gets terrifically het up about it because he likes dogs, and he tears into the plumber who’s driving, couldn’t he have hooted, they put their dog out on the street because they can’t afford the tax, and now you come along and kill the
brute. Reinhold and Franz piss themselves laughing at the way the old fellow is so excited over a dog, he must be getting a bit soft in the head. The dog must have been deaf, I did hoot, yeah, once, and since when are there deaf dogs, well, shall I turn round and take him to hospital, oh, don’t be stupid, watch where you’re going, I hate this sort of thing, it’s bad luck, innit. Thereupon Franz nudges the plumber in the ribs: I think he’s thinking of cats. Everyone explodes with laughter.

  For two days Franz Biberkopf doesn’t say a word at home about what happened. Only when Pums gives him a couple of hundreds, and if he doesn’t need them he can always give em back, and at that Franz laughs, he can always use them, even if I give them to Herbert for Magdeburg. And who will he go to, whose eyes will he look into at home, who do you think, eh, eh, who? For who, or rather for whom did I keep a pure heart? For who, if not for you, for you alone, tonight I meet my happiness, so I invite you my princess, tonight I will urgently beseech you, all others to, what is it again, eschew. Mitzi, Mieze, my golden Mieze looks like a marzipan/Mitzipan bride in golden slippers, and there you are standing waiting for me to see what your Franz will do with his magic wallet. He jams it between his knees, and then he gets out his money, a couple of big ones, and he holds them out to her, lays them on the table, beams at her, and is as tender to her as can be, big boy that he is, and he squeezes her fingers tight, her sweet frail little fingerkins.

  ‘Well, Mitzi, little Mitzi?’ ‘What’s the matter, Franz?’ ‘Nothing; I’m just pleased you’re there.’ ‘Franzeken.’ Oh, can she look, and can she ever say your name. ‘I’m happy, that’s all. Look, Mitzi, it’s the funny thing about life. Things with me are so back to front. Everyone else is fine, and they run around and earn money and throw their weight around. And me – I can’t do what they do. I got to look at my skin, my jacket, my sleeve, my arm is missing.’ ‘Oh, Franzeken, my dear Franzeken.’ ‘See, Mitzi, it is as it is, and I won’t be able to change it, no one can change it, but if you carry it around with you like that, and it’s like an open wound.’ ‘Oh, what is it, Franz, I’m here, everything’s all right, and don’t start on that again.’ ‘I’m not. That’s just it, I’m not.’ And he smiles up into her face, the taut pretty face and the pretty mobile eyes: ‘See, look what’s on the table. – 1 earned it, Mitzi – I’m givin it to yer.’ Now what is it, what’s that face she’s making, why’s she looking at the money like that, it’s not gonna bite her, it’s good money. ‘Did you earn it?’ ‘Yes, girl, I earned it. I’ve got to work, otherwise I’m no good. I’ll go to pieces. Don’t tell anyone about it, I was with Pums and Reinhold, Saturday night. Don’t tell Herbert, and don’t tell Eva neither. Christ, if they ever get to hear about it, then I’m finished for them.’ ‘Where d’ya get it from?’ ‘We did a job, just a little one, I told you, with Pums, so what about it, Mitzi? And it’s all for you. Well, what do you say? Don’t I get a kiss?’

  Her head slumps down on her chest, then she presses her cheek against his, kisses him, holds him to her, doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at him: ‘Is that really for me?’ ‘Well, who else?’ My, what a girl, and what a performance. ‘Why – why do you want to give me money?’ ‘What is it, don’t you want it?’ She moves her lips, frees herself, now Franz sees: she’s looking the way she did that time on the Alex, when they were coming from Aschinger’s, she’s gone pale, she’s doesn’t look well. Sitting in her chair again, staring at the blue tablecloth. What is it now, I defy anyone to make sense of women. ‘Don’t you want it then, girl, I was so looking forward to it, look at it, we can go somewhere nice, don’t you want to.’ ‘Is that really true, Franz.’

  And she lays her head on the table and she cries, the girl is crying, what on earth is the matter with her. Franz strokes her neck and is so sweet and kind to her, so darling, for who, for who did I keep my heart pure, for who, for her alone. ‘Mitzi, girl, if we can go somewhere, would you want to go with me?’ ‘Yes’, and then she raises her head, her sweet little face and all the powder turned to porridge with the tears, and she throws her arm round Franz’s neck, and presses her face to his, and then she hurriedly lets him go, as if something was biting her, and she’s back to crying on the table-top, but he can’t see that, the girl is keeping entirely still, she’s not giving anything away. What’s the matter, what have I done this time, she doesn’t want me to work. ‘Come on, lift your little head, come along, little head, what are you crying for?’ ‘Do you want to, do you want to,’ I’ll sort her out, ‘do you want to get rid of me, Franz?’ ‘Good gracious, girl.’ ‘Do you want to, Franzeken?’ ‘Good gracious, no.’ ‘So why are you running around; don’t I earn enough money; I earn enough, don’t I.’ ‘Mitzi, I just want to be able to make you a present.’ ‘No, I don’t want it.’ And she lays her head down on the table edge again. ‘Now, Mitzi, can’t I do anything for you at all? I can’t live that way.’ ‘I’m not saying that, but you don’t need to go out to earn money. I don’t want you to.’

  And Mitzi sits up, hugs her Franz and looks rapturously in his face, and babbles all sorts of silly nonsense and begs him and begs him: ‘I don’t want it, I don’t want it.’ And why doesn’t he just tell her if there’s something he wants, but girl, I’ve got enough, I don’t need anything. ‘Shouldn’t I do anything then?’ ‘I do, though, Franz, what am I there for, Franz.’ ‘But I – I. . .’ She hugs him. ‘Oh, don’t leave me.’ She babbles and kisses and beckons to him: ‘Give it away, give it to Herbert, Franz.’ Franz is so happy with the girl, her skin is beyond soft, he can’t say anything, it was stupid of him to bring up Pums, of course, she won’t understand that. ‘Will you promise me, Franz, not to do that ever again.’ ‘I’m not doing it for the money, Mitzi.’ And it’s only then that she remembers what Eva said to her, and how she needed to keep an eye on him.

  Then a little light goes on inside her, he’s really not doing it on account of money, and the thing with his arm before, he’s always thinking about his arm. And it’s true what he says to her about money, it really doesn’t matter to him, because he gets plenty from her, as much as he needs. She is thinking and thinking and holding him in her arms.

  Love’s weal and woe

  And once Franz has loved her up, she’s back out on the street and over to see Eva. ‘Guess what, Franz brung me two hundred marks. Guess where from? From them, you know who I mean.’ ‘Pums?’ ‘Yes, he told me hisself. What shall I do?’

  Eva calls Herbert, Franz was out on Saturday with Pums. ‘Did he say where?’ ‘No, but what shall I do?’ Herbert is stunned: ‘Well, well, so he’s gone and joined them.’ Eva: ‘Do you understand it, Herbert?’ ‘No. Mad.’ ‘What do we do?’ ‘Let him be. Don’t suppose it’s for the money?! Nah, it’s like I said. He’s in a hurry, I think he’s about to take steps.’ Eva is standing facing Mitzi, the little whey-faced whore she picked up on Invalidenstrasse; they are both remembering the time they first met; in the bar of the Baltic Hotel. Eva is sitting with a man from the provinces, she doesn’t need to do it, but she likes her extras, and then there are lots of other girls, and three or four boys. And at ten o’clock a police patrol from Mitte walks in, and they’re all called over to the station at the Stettiner Bahnhof, marched over in goosestep, cigarettes in their snoots, cheeky as you like. The police are marching front and back, drunken old Wanda Hubrich of course leads the women, and the fuss there was, and Mitzi, Sonia as was, in floods of tears with Eva, because now everything will come out in Bernau, and then one of the police smacks the cigarette out of drunken Wanda’s hand, and she stomps off on her own into the cell and slams the door and chunters away to herself.

  Eva and Mitzi look at each other, Eva prompts her: ‘You’ll have to watch yourself now, Mitzi.’ Mitzi implores her: ‘But what shall I do?’ ‘He’s your feller, a woman has to know what she’s about.’ ‘But I don’t know.’ ‘Well, whatever you do, don’t cry.’ Herbert is beaming: ‘I’m telling you, this is a good lad, I’m pleased with the way he’s going about things, he’s got
a plan, he’s a wily fellow all right.’ ‘Oh God, Eva.’ ‘Don’t cry, stop crying, girl, I’ll watch him too.’ You don’t deserve Franz. Not if you carry on like that you don’t. Listen to that silly bitch howling. I’ll smack her one if she don’t stop.

  •

  Tucket! The battle is in progress, the regiments are advancing, tara, tari, tara, the artillery and the cavalry, and the cavalry and the infantry, and the infantry and the air squadron, tari, tara, we’re moving into enemy tara-terrain. Whereupon Napoleon said: advance, advance, without interruption, up is dry and down is wet. But when down is dry, we take Milan, and you’ll get a medallian, tari, tara, tari, tara, we’re moving in, we’re almost there, o the joy of being a soldier boy.

  •

  Mitzi doesn’t need to cry and ponder for long. The answer presents itself to her. Sitting in some establishment is Reinhold with his dolled-up girlfriend, going over the businesses that Pums has in mind for fencing, and with a little time left to himself. Actually, the fellow is bored like you wouldn’t believe, it’s not good for him. When he has money, that’s no good for him either, and nor is drink, what’s better for him is when he’s pacing around the bar, listening and working and drinking coffee. And now, each time Pums comes in or he does himself, there’s Franz in his eyeline, the fool, the brazen so and so, with his one arm, all hail fellow, well met, and he’s still not had enough, wall-to-wall sanctimoniousness, as if the donkey wouldn’t hurt a fly. And it’s certain, like twice two is four, that the wretch is after something. He’s always jolly as fuck, and wherever I’m working and trying to think, there he is. Well, we need to clear ourselves a little space. A little space for ourselves.

  And what of Franz? Eh? What do you suppose? He’s wandering round, full of peace on earth and goodwill to all men. You can do what you like to the boy, he’ll always land on his feet. There are people like that, not a lot, but some.