Berlin Alexanderplatz
‘I can’t see any ladder in the dark, where have you got it, nor can I climb with one arm.’
‘You don’t climb with your arm, you climb with your legs.’
‘I can’t hold on. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense.’
‘You’re unwilling to move closer to me. Let me make light for you, then you’ll find your way.’
Then Death takes his right arm from behind his back, and it becomes apparent why he had kept it behind his back.
‘If you lack courage to come in darkness, I’ll make light for you, creep closer.’
An axe flashes through the air, there’s a flash, it goes out.
‘Creep closer, creep closer!’
And as he brings the axe down from behind his head in an arc described by his arm, the axe seems to slip from his grasp. But already, his hand is up behind his head again, swinging. There’s a flash, a descent, a guillotining in a semi-circle through the air, striking, striking, another whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Take it back, bring it down, chop, take it back, bring it down, chop, take, bring, chop, take bring chop, take chop, take chop.
And in the lashing of the light and during the taking back and bringing down and chopping, Franz crawls along, feels the ladder, screams, screams, screams. And doesn’t creep back. Franz screams. Death is at hand.
Franz screams.
Franz screams, crawls forward and screams.
He screams all night long. Franz has got going.
He screams into the day.
He screams into the morning.
Take bring chop.
Screams into noon.
Screams into afternoon.
Take bring chop.
Take, chop, chop, take, take chop, chop, chop.
Take chop.
Screams into the evening, into the evening. Here comes night.
Screams Franz into night, into night.
His body inches forward. On the block his body is being chopped into pieces. His body inches forward, has to, can’t do anything else. The axe cleaves the air. It flashes and drops. He is being chopped up, an inch at a time. And beyond, beyond that inch, the body is not dead, it pushes itself forward, slowly forward, nothing falls, everything lives on.
Those walking past in the corridor, stopping at his bedside, thumbing up his eyelids to check the reflexes, taking his pulse, which is like a thread, they don’t hear any of his screaming. They just see: Franz’s mouth is hanging open, and conclude he must be thirsty, they carefully give him a few drops to drink, hope he doesn’t vomit them up, it’s as well he’s stopped gritting his teeth. How is it possible that a man can remain alive so long.
‘I’m in pain, I’m in pain.’
‘It’s good to be in pain. Nothing is better than that you should be in pain.’
‘Oh, don’t leave me in pain. Make an end.’
‘There’s no point in ending. It’s ending now.’
‘Make an end. It’s in your power.’
‘I’ve just got an axe. Everything else is in your power.’
‘What have I got in my power? Make an end.’
Now the voice is roaring, it sounds completely different.
The endless rage, uncontrollable rage, wild uncontrollable rage, the whole endless rolling rage.
‘It’s come to this, to me standing here talking to you. Standing like a hangman and torturer, having to choke you like a poisonous snapping animal. I kept on calling to you, you think I’m a gramophone, you take me for a gramophone record to put on when it suits you, then I have to shout, and when you’ve had enough of it, you turn me off. That’s what you take me for, isn’t it. Well, go on, take me for it, but now you can see the situation’s different.’
‘What did I do. Did I not suffer enough. I don’t know of anyone who’s been through what I have, so pathetic, so wretched.’
‘You were never there, you bastard. I haven’t seen Franz Biberkopf in all my life. When I sent you Lüders, you wouldn’t open your eyes, you folded like a camp stool, and then you drank, schnapps and schnapps and drinking all the time.’
‘I wanted to be honest, and he cheated me.’
‘And I say you never opened your eyes, you crooked hound. You wax indignant about thieves and rascals but you never look at people, and never ask how come and what. What sort of judge of people are you if you never open your eyes. You were blind, and you were cheeky on top of it, stuck up, Herr Biberkopf from a fancy part of town. The world has to be the way he says. It’s different, mate, all right, remember that. It doesn’t care about you. When Reinhold grabbed hold of you and threw you under the car, you lost your arm, and even then Franz Biberkopf never batted an eyelid. He’s lying under the wheels, and he’s vowing to himself: I’m going to be strong. Doesn’t say: I need to think about this – no, he says: I’m going to be strong. And not notice that I’m talking to you. But you’re listening now all right.’
‘Not notice, why? What’s the point?’
And then there’s Mitzi. Franz, shame, shame. Say: shame. Yell: shame.’
‘I can’t. I don’t know why.’
‘Yell shame. She came to you, she was lovely, she protected you, she liked you, and you? There was a woman, a woman like a flower, and what do you do: you go prating about her to your mate Rein-hold. That’s as good as it gets with you. After all, you just want to be strong, don’t you. You’re happy you can josh around with Reinhold, and you’ve got one over on him, and you go and flaunt her at him. Why don’t you think about who’s to blame for her not being alive any more. And you never shed a single tear for her, who gave her life for you, no one else.
‘It was all talk, all “I” this and “I” that and the “wrong that’s been done to me”, and how noble I am and how fine and no one lets me show what kind of fellow I am. Say shame! Yell shame!’
‘I don’t know!’
‘You lost the war, sunshine. It’s all up with you. You can pack up. Put yourself in mothballs. I’ve had it with you. You can squawk and wail all you want. What a wretch. Got given a standard-issue heart and head and eyes and ears, and thinks it’s enough if he’s decent, or what he calls decent, and sees nothing and hears nothing and lives into the day and doesn’t notice a thing, try as I may.’
‘Well what, what should I do?’
Death roars: ‘I’m not telling you, don’t talk to me. You’ve got no head, no ears. You weren’t born, man, you were never alive. You’re an abortion with delusions. With cheeky ideas, Pope Biberkopf, he had to be born so that we notice how everything works. The world needs different people than you, more alert, less impudent, capable of understanding how things work, not pure sugar, but sugar and shit mixed together. Man, I want your heart so it’s over with you. So I can toss it in the dirt where it belongs. You can keep your chatter to yourself.’
‘Let me be a while. Let me think. A little bit longer. Just a little bit.’
‘I want your heart, mate.’
‘A little bit.’
‘I’m coming for it.’
‘A little bit.’
And now Franz hears the slow song of Death
Lightning, lightning, lightning, the lightning lightning stops. Chop fall chop, the chop fall chop stops. It is the second night of Franz’s yelling. Falling chopping stops. He no longer yells. Lightning stops. His eyes are blinking. He lies there stiffly. A room, a ward, people walking. You mustn’t pinch your mouth shut. They pour warm stuff into his mouth. No lightning. No chopping. Walls. A bit, just a little bit, what else. He shuts his eyes.
And as Franz shuts his eyes, he starts to do something. You don’t see what you’re doing, you just think he’s lying there and maybe he’ll be done for soon, he’s not moving a finger. He calls out and moves and walks. He calls everything together that is his. He walks through the windows onto the fields, he shakes the grasses, he creeps into the mouseholes: get out, get out, who are you, what’s your business here? And he stirs the grass: get out of it, what’s the point, it’s no good, I need
you, I can’t let anyone go, I’ve got work to do, cheer up, I need all of you.
They tip broth into him, he swallows, he doesn’t retch. He doesn’t want to.
•
Franz has Death’s word in his mouth, and no one will tear it away from him, he turns it in his mouth and it is a stone, a stony kind of stone, no nourishment spills from it. In this situation innumerable people have died. There was no Beyond for them. They didn’t know that they were only required to put themselves through one more pain to get along, that just one small step was needed to move on, but they couldn’t take that step. They didn’t know it, it didn’t happen quickly enough, it was a weakness, a cramping of minutes and seconds and already they were over, where their names were no longer Karl, Wilhelm, Minna or Franziska – replete, sinisterly replete, purple with rage and rigid desperation, they slept across the divide. They didn’t know that all they had to do was to continue to glow white-hot, and then they would have become soft, and everything would have been as new.
Suffer it to approach – night as black as you like, a void. Suffer it to approach, black night, the fields with the hard frost on them, the frozen roads. Suffer them to approach, the lonely brick houses giving out a reddish light, suffer them to approach, the freezing travellers, the drivers of the carts bringing vegetables into the city, with the little horses pulling. The great, flat, mute plains that the suburban trains and the expresses rumble across, spilling white light in the darkness to either side. Suffer them to approach, the people at the station, the little girl saying goodbye to her parents, she is leaving with two older friends, she is crossing the water, we have tickets already, my God, a little girl like that, well, she’ll make her way over there, be a good girl, then everything will be all right. Suffer them to approach, and take them in, the towns all in a line, Breslau, Liegnitz, Sommerfeld, Guben, Frankfurt an der Oder, Berlin, the train goes from station to station, the towns appear in their stations, the towns with their great and small streets. Breslau with Schweidnitzer Strasse, the great loop of Kaiser-Wilhelm-Strasse, Kurfürstenstrasse, and everywhere flats where people try to stay warm, look fondly at each other, sit coldly side by side, dirt holes and bars with a piano playing, baby, an old song, as if there weren’t nothing new in 1928, for example: ‘Madonna, you’re bonnier’, or ‘Ramona’.
Suffer them to approach, the cars, the cabs, you know how many of them you sat in, rattling along, you were on your own, or else there were one or two in there with you, No. 20147.
•
A loaf of bread is pushed into the oven.
The oven is free-standing, a stack of bricks by a farmhouse, at the back is a ploughed field. The women have sawed a lot of wood, collected kindling, all that’s next to the oven now, and they cram it in. Now someone crosses the yard with the big trays laden with dough. A boy pulls open the door, it’s glowing within, a fierce heat, they push the trays in with poles, the bread will rise in there, the water will evaporate, the dough will brown.
Franz half sits up. He’s swallowed, he waits, almost everything is present to him that was once running around out there. He’s trembling. What was it Death said? He needs to know what Death said. The door opens. Here it comes. The scene is about to begin. I know him. Lüders, I’ve been waiting for him.
And they walk in, trembling, knowing they’re expected. What’s up with Lüders. Franz gives signals, they thought he’s short-winded from lying flat, but he just wants to pull himself upright. Because here they are now. Now he’s upright. Let’s go.
And singly, here they come. Lüders, poor chap, little manikin. Wanna see how yer doing. He walks up the steps with his shoelaces. Yes, that’s what we done. Mouldering in his ancient togs, reconditioned military uniform, Makko laces, madam, I just wanted to ask, could you spare a cup of coffee, where’s your husband, probly fell in the war; slips his hat on: all right, let’s see how much money you got then. That’s Lüders, he was with me. The woman has a glowing face, one cheek is white as snow, she rootles around in her purse, she cackles, she tumbles to the ground. He rifles through her drawers: load of old trash, I’d better run before she starts screaming. Down the corridor, squeeze shut the door, down the stairs. Yes, he’s done it. Steals. Steals a lot. They give me the letter she wrote, what’s the matter with me now, all at once me legs have been taken of, me legs have been taken of, what for, I can’t stand up. Do you want a brandy, Biberkopf, probably a death in the family, yes, wherefore therefore, why have me legs been taken off, I don’t know. Must ask him sometime, must put it to him directly. Listen, Lüders, morning, Lüders, how you doing, not so hot, me neither, come over here, sit down on the chair, don’t go yet, what have I done to you, don’t go.
Suffer them to approach. The dark night, the cars, the frozen roads, the little girl saying goodbye to her parents, she’s leaving with an older couple, she’ll settle down over there, I’ve no doubt, behave yourself, and you’ll be all right. Suffer them.
Reinhold! Ah, Reinhold. The divil, the wretch. There you are, what are you doing here, putting on airs again, no rain will wash you clean, crook, murderer, criminal, take the pipe out of your mouf when yer talking to me. I’m glad you came, I missed you, come here, you filth, you piece of shit, haven’t they caught up with you yet, you got a blue coat? Just you wait, you’ll end up in it. ‘Who do you take yourself for, Franz?’ Me, you wretch? Least I’m no murderer. Do you know who you murdered? ‘And who showed me the girl, who didn’t care about her, bigmouth had me crawl under the sheets, who was that?’ Didn’t mean you had to kill her, did it. ‘So what, didn’t you half knock her block off yourself? And then isn’t there another one lying on Landsberger Allee, she didn’t go to the churchyard by herself, did she? So what do you say now? Cat got yer tongue. What does Franz Biberkopf, Franz Bigmouf say now?’ You threw me under the car, I lost my arm. ‘Haha ha, well, you can always strap on your cardboard one instead. If you’re such a fool as to get involved with me.’ A fool? ‘Well, has it escaped your attention that you’re a fool. Now you’re in Buch playing the wild man and I’m all right, Jack, so which of us is the fool?’
And there he goes, and hellfire flashes from his eyes and horns sprout out of his head, and he squawks: let’s box, come on show me what you got, put em up, Frankie boy, let’s see em, Frankie Biberkopf, little Biberköpfchen, ha! And Franz presses his eyelids. I shouldn’t have tangled with him, I should never have got involved with him. Why did I ever take him on.
‘Go on, Frankie, let’s see em, you’re a strong lad, aincha?’
I shouldn’t have fought. He can still get a rise out of me, oh, he’s a devil, I should never have done it. I’m no match for him, I shouldn’t have done it.
‘Strength, Frankie.’
I shouldn’t have needed strength, not for him. I can see I was mistaken. The stuff I tried. Away with him, begone.
He won’t go.
Begone, you—
Franz yells, he wrings his hands. I need to see someone else, is no one coming, why has he stopped?
‘Oh, I know, you don’t like me, doesn’t taste good. Someone else’ll be along.’
Suffer them to approach. Suffer them to approach. The great, lat plains, the lonely brick houses giving out a reddish light. The towns all in a line, Frankfurt an der Oder, Guben, Sommerfeld, Liegnitz, Breslau, the towns appear with their stations, the towns with their great and small streets. Suffer them to approach, the cabs, the sliding, shooting cars.
And Reinhold goes and then he’s standing there again, winking at Franz: ‘Well, who’s done it, who’s tops, Frankie boy?’
And Franz trembles: I haven’t won, I know it.
Suffer to approach.
Next please.
And Franz, sitting up a little higher, has his fist clenched.
•
A loaf of bread is pushed into the oven, the enormous oven. The heat is unbelievable, the oven is creaking and snapping.
Ida! Now he’s gone. Thanks be to God you’re here, Ida. That was the grea
test villain there is in the world. Ida, it’s good that you’re here, he’s been teasing and tormenting me, what do you say, I’ve had a bad time, now’m sitting here, do you know where that is, Buch, the loony bin, I’m here under observation or maybe I’ve gone mad already. Go on, Ida, don’t turn your back on me. What’s she playing at? She’s standing in the kitchen. Yes, the girl’s standing in the kitchen. She’s pottering about, probly doing the dishes. But she keeps collapsing, one side of her has given way, like she’s got roomatism or something. Or someone’s biffing her, in the side. Stop hitting her, man, that’s not human, don’t, leave her be, leave her alone, leave that girl be, oh yes, oh go, who’s hitting her, she can’t stand up, stand up girl, turn round, look at me, who is it hitting you, it’s terrible.
‘It was you, Franz, you hit me and I died.’
No no, I never did that, that was established in court, I just did GBH, I weren’t to blame. You mustn’t say that, Ida.
‘Yes, it were you that killed me. Watch yourself, Franz.’
He shouts no no, he clenches his fist, he throws his arm up over his eyes, he can’t stop seeing it.
Suffer them, suffer them to approach, the travellers, they’re carrying sacks of potatoes on their backs, a boy is pushing a handcart along after them, his ears are cold, it’s 10 below, Breslau with Schweidnitzer Strasse, Kaiser-Wilhelm-Strasse, Kurfürstenstrasse.
And Franz moans: I’d be better off dead, who can stand this, I wish someone would come and strike me dead, I didn’t do all that, I didn’t know. He whimpers, he lisps, he can’t talk. The warder understands that he wants something. He asks him. The warder gives him a sip of mulled wine; the other two patients on the ward insist on it, he has to heat him up some wine.
Ida lurches over. Ida, stop lurching, I was in Tegel, I done my time. Then she stops lurching, she sits down, she presses her head down, she gets smaller and smaller and darker. There she lies – in the coffin – not moving.
Groans, Franz groans. His eyes. The warder sits down next to him, holds his hand. Someone should try and take that away, push the coffin away from him, I can’t get up, I can’t.