Berlin Alexanderplatz
‘Don’t be so rough, Reinhold.’ He’s making me weak. If I don’t pull myself together, he’ll have me. ‘Mitzi.’ He blinks up at her, not letting go. ‘Well, Mitzi.’ ‘Well, Reinhold.’ ‘What are you looking like that for?’ ‘It’s not a nice thing you’re about here. How long have you known Franz for?’ ‘You mean your Franz?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Your Franz? Is he still yours then?’ ‘Who else’s?’ ‘Well, who am I then?’ ‘What do you mean?’ She tries to bury her head in his chest, but he pulls her up: ‘Now who am I?’ She throws herself against him, presses his mouth, he flickers into flame again, I do like him a bit, the way he stretches and glows. There is no amount of water, no firemen’s hose can quench the fire, the flames flare out of the windows, press up inside. ‘There, now let go of me.’ ‘What do you want, girl?’ ‘Nothing, just be with you.’ ‘Well then. I’m yours too, inni. Did you have a row with Franz then?’ ‘No.’ ‘Did you have a row, Mitzi?’ ‘No. Why don’t you tell me about him, you’ve known him for much longer.’ ‘I can’t tell you about him.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘I’m not going to, Mitzi.’ He grabs hold of her, throws her aside, she tussles with him: ‘No, I don’t want to.’ ‘Don’t be that way, girl.’ ‘I need to get up, I’m getting all dirty here.’ ‘And what if I tell you something?’ ‘That’d be nice.’ ‘What will you give me in return, Mitzi?’ ‘Whatever you want.’ ‘Everything?’ ‘Well-we’ll see.’ ‘Everything?’ Their faces are pressed together, burning; she doesn’t say anything, I don’t even know what I’ll do, the impulse shoots through him, no thinking, beyond thinking, insensate.
He gets up to wipe his face, it’s filthy in the woods. ‘I’ll tell you about your Franz then. I’ve known him for a long time, see. You know, he’s an odd bird all right. I met him in a bar on Prenzlauer Allee. Last winter. He was flogging papers, he must have known someone in that line, yes that’s right, Mack. That was when I met him. Then we sat together, and I told you about the girls.’ ‘Is that all true then?’ ‘You bet it is. But he’s a fool, Biberkopf, airhead, he can hardly brag about that, it was all my idea, you think it was him palming off his women on me? Jesus, those women. No, if it’d been up to him, we’d have been round the Salvation Army, for me to better meself.’ ‘But you didn’t better yourself, did you, Reinhold?’ ‘No. As you see. There’s nothing to be done with me. You have to take me as I am. It’s as sure as eggs is eggs, and there’s nothing to be done about it. But that fellow, Mitzi, you can certainly change him. He’s pimping you, Mitzi, and you’re such a pretty piece. How can you dig up a man like that, with one arm, a pretty girl like you, you can get ten on each finger?’ ‘Stop talking nonsense.’ ‘I know love is blind in both eyes, but that’s doing it some. You know what his game is now, in the gang, your pimp? He wants to play the big-shot. With us. First he wanted to send me to the penitent form, Salvation Army, he didn’t quite pull that off. And now.’ ‘Oh, don’t scold him so. I can’t stand to hear it.’ ‘Ootchie kootchie, I know, he’s still your sweetheart, Franz? Eh?’ ‘It doesn’t affect you, Reinhold.’
Everything in its season, everything, everything. Terrible man, wish he’d let me go, I don’t want anything to do with him, I don’t want him to tell me anything. ‘No, no, doesn’t affect me, I’d like to see him try. But you’ve got yourself a fine man there, Mitzi. Did he ever tell you the story of his arm? What? I thought you’re his squeeze, or used to be. Come here, Mitzi, honey, don’t take on.’ What am I doing here, I don’t want him. A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted, a time to rend, and a time to sew, a time to mourn, and a time to dance, a time to complain and a time to laugh. ‘Come on, Mitzi, what are you doing with a numbskull like that. You’re my sweetheart. Don’t fuss. Just because you’re with him, doesn’t make you a duchess. You should be glad to be rid of him.’ Be glad, why should I be glad. ‘And now he can howl, now he’s lost his Mitzi.’ ‘Now, there’s an end, and stop crushing me, I’m not made of iron.’ ‘I know, you’re flesh and blood, lovely flesh and blood, Mitzi, give me your mouth.’ ‘What are you doing, stop squeezing me. Don’t imagine you’re getting anywhere. How am I your Mitzi?’
Out of the dell. Left my hat down the bottom. He’ll smack me, I’m running. And already – he’s not up out of the dell yet – she’s calling for Franz, and running. Now he’s up and running and in a couple of bounds he’s caught up with her, in his shirtsleeves. Both sprawled at the foot of a tree. She’s lashing out, he’s on top of her, holding her mouth shut: ‘Will you stop shouting, you cunt, you’re shouting again, what are you shouting about, am I hurting you, will you be quiet now. He left you in one piece the other day. You watch yourself, I take a different approach.’ He takes his hand off her mouth. ‘I won’t shout.’ ‘All right. There, there. And now I want you to get up, and go and get your hat. I’m not one to attack a woman. I never have yet in all my born days. But you’d best not get me in a bate. That’s the way.’
He walks along behind her.
‘It’s hardly something to be proud of, being Franz’s bit on the side.’ ‘I’ve had enough of this, I’m going.’ ‘What do you mean, you’re going, do you know who you’re talking to, it may do for him but it won’t wash wi’ me.’ ‘What do you want anyway.’ ‘Go in the dell and put up.’
To slaughter a veal calf, tie a rope round its neck, and take it to the slaughtering bench. Then pick it up, lay it across the bench, and tie it fast.
They march back to the dell. He says: ‘Lie down.’ ‘Me?’ ‘Don’t you try yelling. Listen, I like you, otherwise I’d never have brought you here, I tell you: if you’re his whore, you’re no duchess. Don’t pull a scene. That’s no good to anyone. I don’t mind if it’s a man or woman or child, it’s never done them any good wi me. Ask your ponce if you want to know. He’ll tell you. Unless he’s embarrassed to. I’ll tell you myself just as well, then you’ll know who he is. And I’ll tell you where you get of with me. He had something in mind that he wanted to do. Maybe he wanted to shop us to the police. One time he was standing guard, while we were doing a job. Then he says he doesn’t want to be involved, he’s a law-abiding citizen. He’s all talk and no cider. So I tells him, you have to. So he goes along in the car and I have no idea what I’m going to do with the guy, he always had a big mouth on him, and then there’s this car following us and I think, now see what happens, my lad, acting big with us. And I get him out the car. There. Now you know where he left his arm.’
An icy feeling in her hands and feet, so it was him. ‘Now lie down, and put up, like a good girl.’ He’s a murderer. ‘You cruel bastard, you wretch.’ He beams: ‘You see. Now you’ve got something to shout about.’ You’ll behave yourself. She yells and cries: ‘You bastard, you tried to kill him, you made him miserable, and now you want to have me as well, you bastard.’ ‘Yes, I do and all.’ ‘You bastard. I spit in your face.’ He covers her mouth: ‘And now?’ She goes blue, tugs at his hand: ‘Murder, help, Franz, darling, help.’
His time! His season! Everything its season. To kill and to heal, a time to break down, and a time to build up, a time to rend and a time to sew, everything in its season. She throws herself to the ground to escape. They wrestle together in the dell. Help, Franz.
We’ll take care of you all right, we’ll play a little joke on Franz that will keep him occupied all week. ‘Let me go.’ ‘You try. You won’t be the first.’
He is kneeling over her back, his hands round her throat, the thumbs at her neck, her body draws itself together. It’s time, to be born and to die, to be born and to die, each thing.
Murderer you say, and you trap me here and maybe you want to lead me by the nose, girl. You don’t know what you’re about with Reinhold.
Violence, violence is a reaper, by Almighty God employed. Let me go. She wriggles and tries to get up and lashes out behind her. We’ll see you there, the dogs will come and eat what’s left of you.
Her body knits together, Mitzi’s, knits together Mitzi’s body. Murderer, she says, well, she’ll see, maybe he sen
t you here, your darling Franz.
Thereupon strike the animal on the back of the head with a wooden mallet, and open the veins on either side of the neck with a knife. Collect the blood in a metal basin.
It’s eight o’clock, the woods are getting dark. The trees sough and sway. Hard work. What’s she got to say for herself now? She’s stopped yapping, the bitch. That’s what you get for taking a cunt like that on an outing.
Covered her over with foliage, hung a handkerchief on the nearest tree so you can find the place, that’s me done with her, where’s Karl now, I need his help. After a good hour he’s back with Karl, what a sadsack, he’s shaking all over, knock knees, how can a man work with beginners like that. It’s pitch-black, they pull out their torches, there’s the handkerchief. They’ve brought shovels with them from the car. The body is buried, cover it with sand, cover it with foliage, careful not to leave any footprints, stay upright, Karl, it’s as though you’re the one we’re burying.
‘So you’ve got my passport, my legal passport, Karl, and now here’s some money, and keep out of sight as long as the hue and cry’s on. I’ll see that you get money, don’t you worry. Apply to Pums. I’m going back to the city. No one’s seen me, and no one can do anything to you, you’ve got your alibi. OK. Let’s go.’
The trees sough and sway. Each thing, season.
It’s pitch-black. Her face is pulp, her teeth are pulp, her eyes are pulp, her mouth, her lips, her tongue, her throat, her trunk, her legs, her crotch, I’m yours, please comfort me, police station Stettiner Bahnhof, Aschinger’s, I feel sick, come along, we’ll be home in a minute, I’m yours.
The trees pitch and toss, a wind gets up. Woo-woo-woo-a-woo. The night continues. Her trunk a pulp, her tongue, her mouth, come on, we’ll be home in a minute, I’m yours. A tree crashes at the wood’s edge. Woo-woo-a-ah-woo, here’s the storm coming with its pipes and drums, now it’s directly over the wood, now it drops down, when it howls like that it’s down. The whimpering comes from the bushes. It sounds as though something’s being slashed, it howls like a shut-in mastiff, and wails and whimpers, listen to it whimpering, someone must have really put the boot in, now it’s stopped again.
Hoo-hoo-a-hoo-oo-oo, the storm returns, it’s night, the woods are calm, tree ranked by tree. They’ve grown tall in peace, they stand together like a herd, when they are packed tight like that the storm can’t get at them so easily, and it’s only the ones on the periphery and the weaklings that need worry. But we stay put, we stick together, it’s night time, the sun is gone, hoo-hoo-ah-oo-hoo, it starts again, there it is, it’s down among us and up and all round. Yellowish-red light in the sky and night again, thunderlight and night, the whimpering and whistling get louder. The ones on the outside know what’s coming, they whimper, and the rushes, but they can bend, they can flutter, what can thick trees do. And suddenly the wind stops, it’s given up, it won’t do that any more, they’re still squeaking in fear, what will it do now.
If you want to knock over a building you don’t do it by hand, you need to take a wrecking-ball to it or plant some dynamite. The wind doesn’t do any more than puff out its chest. Watch this, it fills its lungs, then it blows, hoo-hoo-ah-oo-hoo, then it breathes in, then blows out, hoo-hoo-ah-oo-hoo. Each breath is as heavy as a mountain, when it blows out, hoo-hoo-ah-oo-hoo, the mountain comes trundling up, it rolls away again, exhales, hoo-hoo-ah-oo-hoo. Back and forth. Breath is a weight, a ball that is thrown against the woods. And when the woods stand on the slopes like a herd, then the wind runs around the herd and whooshes through the middle.
Now we have the boom-boom, without drums and fifes. The trees swing left and right. Boom-boom. But they can’t keep time. When the trees are just leaning left, then it’s boom-by-the-left, they bend over, crack, clatter, burst, shear, clump down. Timing. Boom goes the storm, you go left. Hoo-hoo-ah-oo-hoo, back, that’s over, it’s gone, you just need to catch the right moment. Boom, here it is back again, watch out, boom, boom, boom, those are bombs, the fighter plane wants to knock over the wood, it wants to bomb the whole forest.
The trees drag and sway, there’s a rustle, they break, a clatter, boom, life is at stake, boom-boom, the sun is gone, weights crash, night, boom-boom.
I’m yours, come to me, we’re nearly there, I’m yours. Boom-boom.
Chapter Eight
It was no use. It still wasn’t any use. Franz Biberkopf receives a hammer-blow, he knows he is done for, though he still doesn’t know why.
Franz notices nothing, and the world goes on its way
September 2nd. Franz goes around as normal, takes a trip out to the Wannsee baths with the natty geezer. On the 3rd, the Monday, he’s surprised his little Mitzi’s not showed up, she hasn’t said anything to him, the landlady can’t remember her phoning either. Well, perhaps she’s gone on an outing with her distinguished friend and benefactor and he’ll be dropping her off soon. Let’s wait till tonight.
It’s noon, Franz is sitting at home, there’s a ring, pneumatique, for Mitzi from her benefactor. Oh, what’s this about, I thought she was with him, what can it be. I open it: ‘and I’m surprised you didn’t even call, Sonia. Yesterday and the day before I waited in the office, as we’d agreed.’ So what’s going on, where is she.
Franz ups, looks for his hat, don’t understand, go and see the gentleman, taxi. ‘She’s not been with you? When was she last here then? Friday? I see.’ The two men look at each other. ‘You have a nephew, could it be she’s with him?’ The gentleman loses his rag, what, I want to see him, you stick around. They sip wine together. The nephew turns up. ‘This is Sonia’s fiancé, do you know where she is?’ ‘Me, why?’ ‘When did you see her last?’ ‘Oh, it must have been two weeks ago.’ ‘That’s right. That’s what she said to me. And not since?’ ‘Nope.’ And heard nothing?’ ‘Not a thing, why, is something the matter?’ ‘The gentleman will tell you himself.’ ‘She’s been gone since Saturday, not a dicky bird, not a syllabubble.’ The benefactor: ‘Could she have made a new acquaintance?’ ‘Don’t think so.’ They quaff wine, the three of them. Franz sits quietly: ‘Perhaps we’d better wait a bit.’
Her face pulp, her teeth pulp, her eyes pulp, her lips, her tongue, her throat, her trunk, her legs, her crotch, all pulp.
She’s not there the next day. Not there. Everything the way she left it. She’s not there. Does Eva know? ‘Did you have a fight with her, Franz?’ ‘Two weeks ago, but it’s all settled.’ ‘An acquaintance?’ ‘No, she told me that her gentleman had a nephew, but he’s around, I’ve seen him.’ ‘Maybe keep an eye on him, maybe she is with him.’ ‘Do you think so?’ ‘Should keep an eye out. You never know with Mitzi. She has her moods.’
She’s not there. For two days Franz does nothing, thinks, I’m not going to chase her. Then he hears nothing, nothing at all, and he spends all day walking around on the trail of the nephew, and midday the following day, when the nephew’s landlady’s popped out, Franz and the dapper geezer barge into the flat, the door’s no problem with a crowbar, no one in at all, loads of books, no sign of a woman, nice pictures on the walls, more books, she’s not here, I know her powder, I can’t smell it here, come on, let’s go, let’s not take anything, leave the poor woman be, she needs to let rooms to live.
What’s the matter. Franz sits up in his room for hours on end. Where’s Mitzi. Gone, without a word. What can you say. Plucked everything to pieces in the room, dismantled the bed, put it back together. She’s dumped me. Not possible. Not possible. Dumped me. Did I do anything to her, I never did nuffink. She’s forgiven me for the fuss over the nephew.
•
Who’s this? Eva. ‘Sitting in the dark, Franz, put the gaslight on.’ ‘Mitzi’s gone and dumped me. Do you believe it?’ ‘Ooh, I don’t think so. She’ll be back. She’s fond of you, she won’t run of, I know people.’ ‘I know. I know. I’m not really worried about her either. She’ll be back.’ ‘See. Something’s up with that girl, she’s met someone from way back, gone for a little drive, I
’ve known her for a long time, before you ever met her, that’s the kind of thing she does, she gets funny ideas sometimes.’ ‘I still think it’s odd. I dunno.’ ‘But she loves yer. Now open your eyes, touch me on the stomach, Franz.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘Well, it’s yours, you know, your little one. Mitzi wanted it.’ ‘What?’ ‘ ’S true.’
Franz presses his head against Eva’s belly: ‘From Mitzi. I need to sit down. I don’t believe this.’ ‘Now listen up, Franz, when she gets back, she’s gonna make a face about this.’ Eva herself starts crying. ‘See who’s wound up about this, Eva? It’s you.’ ‘Oh, it’s doing me in. I don’t understand that girl.’ ‘So I need to comfort you, is that it?’ ‘No, it’s just my nerves, perhaps from carrying the baby.’ ‘Listen, when she comes back, don’t think she won’t make a fuss then.’ She doesn’t stop crying: ‘What are we going to do, Franz, it’s not like her at all.’ ‘First you say she’ll have gone off for a trip with someone, and now you say it’s not like her at all.’ ‘I don’t know what to say, Franz.’
Eva holds Franz’s head in her arms. She looks down at Franz’s head: the clinic in Magdeburg, the arm they severed, him killing Ida, what is it with that man. He’s cursed. Mitzi will be dead. Something is after him. Something’s happened to Mitzi. She flops onto a chair. She lifts her hands in front of her face. Franz is mystified. She is sobbing and sobbing. She knows something’s up, something must have happened to Mitzi.
He presses her, but she won’t say what it is. After a while she pulls herself together: ‘I’m not going to let them take away my baby. I don’t care what Herbert says.’ ‘Will he say anything?’ Overleaping six miles of thinking. ‘No, he’ll think it’s his. But I’m going to keep it anyway.’ ‘That’s fine, Eva. I can be its godfather.’ ‘I don’t understand why you’re in such a good mood, Franz.’ ‘Because no one can do anything to me. Cheer up, Eva. And I know my Mitzi, don’t I. She’s not fallen under a bus, it’ll all be sorted.’ ‘You’re right, Franz. Bye-bye now.’ ‘Don’t I get a kiss then?’ ‘I don’t understand why you’re in such a good mood.’