by Irmgard Keun
“Doris, I’m so grateful that you’re here!” That’s what he said to me yesterday. It’s my apartment, my curtains, my cooking, my leathery skin of his. You, you belong to me — not because of money and a sofa to sleep on — I’m not lying, I’m not lying: please lose your job. I’m going to keep cooking — me and you — I’ll continue to take care of you — I of you — I’ll do laundry for people, I’ll take the Onyx kids for a walk in parks and along rivers with fallen leaves, I’ll type, I won’t work — but I will do it for us — don’t worry about losing your job, just go ahead. There’s a white letter with edges that makes me suspicious — of course I open it, I’m the lady of the house.
And it says:
“My dear Ernsty: I hurt you and I was bad to you. You won’t be able to love me any longer. But perhaps there will come a time when you won’t be angry with me anymore. I so much want to explain to you: see, my entire life, before I knew you, was a constant battle, a constant back and forth between success and failure, a tense wait for the next day, a constant change between a good mood and depression. Things were happening all the time — and when nothing was happening, then you could be sure that something particularly beautiful would happen tomorrow or the following week.
“And then my work at the dance academy — I was so happy every time that I had made some progress. How sad, how desperate was I when I thought I had come to a standstill. How beautiful it was to cross the street, catching words and gestures of passersby or a ray of sun on a pot of geraniums — those myriads of things that happen in the street, they turned into a tune in my head that I could feel in my entire body. (Did you know that I always wanted to dance under that big curved blue neon sign at the subway station?)
“And then there were more disappointments and the fear of not reaching one’s goal and I was tired on those days where I had just enough money to pay for thin tea and a dry roll. No, Ernsty, life wasn’t always beautiful, but it was colorful and lively and full of change. And then came that tacky spring, so sweet and so soft, that season that makes you melancholy and lonely when there’s nobody around whom you can love. And there you were all of a sudden, and nothing mattered to me anymore except our love. I was so happy and felt so safe surrounded by your kindness. And when we got married, I was so happy and proud that I had plans and a profession that I could sacrifice to you.
“And then I couldn’t keep it up. The first year things were lovely and nice, the second year I desperately wanted things to be lovely and nice and I lied to myself a little. During the third year, I was really struggling and gritting my teeth. And during the fourth year — Ernsty, I almost went crazy. I was dying to go back to my thin tea and my dry roll and all that hope and expectation and that ability to create something out of my inner self. And I was terrified that those quiet uneventful days would be all that was left for me, until the end of my life. And I was scared to grow old, scared to have missed out on something. And because you were so good to me and did everything for me, you just didn’t notice that I wasn’t happy. I also felt so stupid being one of those endless variations of the ‘misunderstood woman.’
“I just had been standing on my own feet for too long already, had lived with a profession I loved for too long. Perhaps you could have helped me, we could have talked about it — that’s the most stupid thing you can do when you’re married, to keep your mouth shut to avoid hurting the other person. That always goes wrong. Too much accumulates.
“And then I met — well, we were talking about dance and all of a sudden, it came over me: it’s not too late yet — but it could be too late tomorrow. And I was in love with him too. Yes, I was. And only now I know, it was already too late — now I know that over the years you have become stronger than everything else. I’m thinking about you a lot. I wish you well from the bottom of my heart. You won’t want to write to me, but I wanted you to hear from me — well, you’ve already heard enough from
Your Hanne.”
That’s women for you. Stuck the letter under the cork carpeting. Of course she put her return address, it’s under the cork carpeting too. I’m so agitated.
I’ll do anything for you, my dear person, anything. Please lose your job.
We went to the movies together. It was a movie about girls in uniforms. They were high-class girls, but they had the same problem I have. You love somebody and that brings tears to your eyes and gives you a red nose. You love somebody — it’s nothing you can understand. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a man or a woman or God.
It was very dark — he won’t take my hand? I put it close to him — why won’t he take it — I breathe his hair — where is that wandering grenade splinter? Am I the movies or love? Das ist die Liebe der Matrosen … I would sell the fur coat, if I could get paid for it in the currency of being able to touch his hair just once.
The movie is pulling me away from him, it’s so beautiful. I’m crying. There are lots of girls — would you despise me — you’re crying yourselves. You love a life or a teacher in the style of a cloister or you love a Green Moss or your future — am I any different from you, dear girls? He’s not taking my hand.
“Doris, do you see that girl to the left — she looks like my wife, if only I knew where she was — can you see her?” Yes, she’s under the cork flooring.
Good night, Green Moss — I’m too tired to go to sleep. I just got up from writing and walked over that spot on the cork carpeting, where she lies. That way I’m going to trample her to death.
My dear Green Moss, I drank from your cognac — do you think I’m ugly — don’t I have anything to offer to you? Blue eyes. Tired. Because it takes a tremendous amount of strength not to open the door that is white and right next to me. Good night. No good night at all. You’re all right, snoring away in your grief, while I’m lying awake with my happiness.
If you’re human, you have feelings. If you’re human, you know what it means if you want someone and they don’t want you. It’s like an electrified waiting period. Nothing more, nothing less. But it’s enough.
It’s a wonderful life. It could be even more wonderful, but already it’s so wonderful that I don’t have much to write in my book any more. He didn’t talk about his wife at all all night. We were dancing in his apartment. But in a very elegant way and without any pressure. And the only reason I’m writing about this is because he didn’t pressure me. And I’m bathing with lavender and press my clothes. A bit of color on my lips and I look in the mirror: Well, how do I look? I’ve tried myself out a bit by sitting in a café and I had an enormous effect, because you always get the most offers when you don’t need them. But it does make life difficult if you really like someone and you don’t feel like meeting anyone else and it turns you off and doesn’t change anything. And he’s not even my type.
I’m slightly drunk — I want him to be happy and I want him to notice and not notice that I want him to notice it. Vienna, Vienna, only you, Vienna — we were sitting there listening to the radio. Oh, it’s so beautiful. Das gibt’s nur einmal, das kommt nicht wieder — das ist zu schön um — Wien, Wien, nur du allein — Wien, Wien, bist du ein Rhein — denn man macht Musik mit dir — at moments like these, I feel like a poet, I can rhyme too, within limits of course, and I become a rhyme — Wien, Wien, nur du allein — God, I’m so drunk — Wien, Wien nur du allein — he poured me a cognac to get to my senses but in order to get rid of it in an elegant way, I would have to go to the bathroom, which means walking through his bedroom — I can’t walk in a straight line anymore and I’m awake with my new morality — it’s no fun going for a carousel ride in your own bed. But to put it bluntly, I resent having to walk through the bedroom of the man I love, just to throw up. So I prefer to write instead.
Found a bottle of seltzer and finished it — feeling better already.
I want to be a joy for him and distract him from his thoughts about his wife who’s lying under the cork carpeting and singing Schubert. And cooking alone doesn’t do the trick. But my thoughts w
ant to sacrifice something for him. So I’ll get my life in order and my papers. And then he says: “It won’t work, Doris, you can’t just take something. There has to be an order to things and that order exists only if one person protects the other.” I’ll think about it. It’s about the fur coat. I stole it. But now I love it — just as Ernst loves his wife. My fur coat has such soft hair and it has been through so much with me, sometimes things that were very difficult, but then there are small things we have in common as well. If Ernst forgets about his wife, I promise to forget about my fur coat. But it’s not really the same thing because his wife left him, and my fur coat would do no such thing. If I abandon my fur coat, I’ll wrong it.
The Green Moss is good to me. And he read my book, which shows me as someone who does lots of crazy things and whom you can’t trust and there’s so much I want — who can tell me what to do?
I would love to go dancing again. We would have to go together — and as I go to the bathroom, a guy accosts me — I tell him: Who do you think you are! I’m not free! And I’m one of those checkered cabs — are you free? — of course not, can’t you see that the sign is flipped over? I would love to live with my sign flipped over for a very long time. And I don’t mind if we’re not doing well because we would be together — don’t worry, we’re not alone, we can always laugh about something — we’ll always find something to eat, just watch. I could become a star, if only I became one for him. It’s so hard, all of that. Perhaps he would give me an education.
I’m going to do it — my mother knows the address — I’m writing the letter:
“Dear Madam:
Once I stole your fur coat. Naturally, you will be mad at me. Did you love it a lot? I’ll have you know, I love it a lot. There were times where it lifted me up and made me a high-society woman and a stage and the beginning of a star. And then there were times when I loved it just because it’s soft and feels like a human being all over my skin. And it’s gentle and kind. But I also had problems because of it, you better believe it. And I almost went as far as turning tricks, which is something a decent girl who wants to maintain her reputation shouldn’t do. I want to return the fur coat to you. It’s in perfect condition. I’ve always taken it off beforehand. My friend Tilli also treated it with great care. I want to believe now that you should not steal because of order and what have you. If I knew your face and I liked it, I wouldn’t have done this to you or at least I would have felt sorry for it. I don’t know your face, but I imagine you being overweight. That’s why I don’t have a bad conscience. It’s only because of order and my papers and because of the sacrifice I have to make, and because I want to be taken and out of love. Perhaps you have other fur coats, even an ermine one. It’s always the wrong ones who get everything. Please be good to my fur coat — please make sure it doesn’t suffer when you sulfur it. And I can tell you that a thousand fur coats could rain down on me, because anything is still possible for me, but I would never love another coat the same way I loved this one.
Sincerely yours,
Doris
P.S. I’m sending this letter and the coat to my mother. She will give them to you. I’m sure she knows your address, because of course you made an incredible fuss that night at the theater. There’s nothing in it for you if you report me to the police. But I’m going to have terrible trouble and it would destroy me. So there’s no point in doing it.”
And so I took care of business.
Love for love’s sake is exhausting.
I haven’t mentioned the letter to the fur lady yet. Just hinted at it.
“It’s really hard on me, Herr Ernst. Can you understand that it is particularly those things you stole with your own hands that you love the most?”
Says he: “But you don’t want to be a thief, Doris, do you?” Thief yes or no, it’s a nasty word, but can’t he understand me? We’re so different. We could kiss some time, but what else could happen? I’m no thief. But I’m going to believe him.
“Silly girl,” he says. I know, I know. Is he feeling sorry for me? That sort of thing just kills a man’s sensuality. I sure don’t want to get into all sorts of smooching in my book, but I feel very funny and there’s something of an earthquake happening in my head.
And I’m making my rounds going shopping for him. It’s so nice. There are small toy trains with children and a warm chilliness that makes my heart sing and train tracks and lots of stores and the sun is shining. And on Bergstrasse, there are lots of stands and booths — Herr Schlappweisser, the smoked herrings — mandarin oranges, oranges and cooking apples — toothpaste on the street — a blue post office with mailboxes — twenty-five pfennigs for four bananas, twenty-five pfennigs, bananas from the Canary Islands — a booth that sells sausages — the air is so brown, it’s white and blue like lace for kitchen cabinets — take some, young lady, go on, take some — that’s a colleague, she’s from the office — What? Welfare. Welfare. Everybody is welfare — a colleague, she’s looking pale like a dirty towel — buy pins, a pack of sewing needles. Im Prater blühn wieder die Bäume … he’s wearing a yellow arm band with three black dots on it and playing the harmonica — Jim is playing the harmonica — I think that’s the song they were playing when I lost my virginity — it’s been a long time — Im Prater blühn wieder die Bäume — my God, that song’s so old — Herr Ernst, if only you could come with me sometime. There’s the underpass with that yellow mosaic, sometimes you can hear the train thundering over your head when you pass through. I always hurry because I feel like it’s about to fall on my head.
Wenn wir beide — take some, young woman — those beautiful fuzzy felt insoles — take some, ladies and gentlemen — that’s the kind of putty, super porcelain putty. Recommendations from here, recommendations from there — Friedenau, Wilmersdorf, Steglitz, all the western suburbs are driving me crazy with their letters of recommendation — beauuutiful mimosas, the hardy flower, beauutiful yellow ones, the plant for winter, that one can take anything, that one can take three pairs of ironclad male boots — take some, young lady — young lady — that kind of street has something in it, it makes you feel pregnant with something. If only we could walk down that street together sometime. But they only have it in the morning, that kind of street only happens in the morning — and there’s so much life and people. And people who walk around in the morning in the fresh air tend to be unemployed and don’t have anything.
“That street life you see these days — it’s all about unemployment,” says Herr Schlappweisser — “that smoked herring has caviar in it — anything else? Lemons they have next door — Franz, watch out, the lady here has her eyes on your golden fruits of the south.”
And I’m having so much fun — there’s this stand that sells salmon and then there’s old Kreuzweisser, that’s Karl’s father, the one from the waiting room who I always got along with so well. I talk to him about his son. And he’s just as nice and as cheeky as his Karl. And he’s got a jolly tummy and wears a white coat like an abortionist. And I always buy something there for Ernst. Some kind of pink salmon — he can’t be making any money on that. “Say hello to your son for me, Herr Kreuzstange.” “There’s a billet doux for you from that childish boy, young lady, do me a favor, don’t seduce him, he needs all his strength for his job, as does everybody these days.”
And Karl writes to me: “You still got your ambition — kiss my …”
Always those unelegant invitations which I heartily respond to. And I showed the letter to Herr Ernst and we both laughed about it, even though I was embarrassed because of the obscenities in it.
It’s okay to cry by yourself, but the most wonderful thing is if two can laugh about the same things.
But we don’t really enjoy the same things.
There’s this shiny desire in me to sing — Das gibt’s nur einmal, das kommt … and I know no Tchaikovsky, only songs and no Schubert — but my skin is singing. He kissed me on my neck, which just so happens to be my most sensitive spot. And so many wond
erful words — you just can’t think about them, they run through you like sparkling water. I’m completely gone and otherwise I feel like I’m ill with a fever and a stomachache — Doris, dear little Doris, my little — that goes right through me.
And again nothing. I can’t let on that I want to, because that’s just going to deter him — but oh God, I want to sing, I want to dance — in die Welt hinein — Mein ist die schönste der Fraun — mein jam.…
So he asks me if I had never been afraid of getting sick or pregnant, that was so dangerous for me. My God, you can’t worry about everything! If you start that way, you’re going to drive yourself crazy. You just have to hope that you’ll be lucky — after all, what else are you going to do? You could just as well be thinking about death all the time — that seems impossible too — just like the other thing — it would be the same, actually. I won’t believe that I could be dead until I’m actually dead — but then it’ll be too late and nothing to be done about it — but until then, I’m just going to live.
And then he kissed me on that spot on my neck — that’s life. By the way, now I think he’s gorgeous. He has this gentle smile on his face like a pediatrician. He has tiny black dots in his eyes. Sometimes I want to insult him, so I can love him even more — because then he would show his honor through his anger or his elegance through his gentleness — one or the other — it would be equally wonderful to me. Of course I don’t really want that to happen.
Father thou art in heaven, please make my inside so good and so fine that he can love me. I’m going to buy him a tie, because that’s something I can do. Someone once told me that I have an almost masculine understanding of it. I guess there are situations where having a past is to your advantage. Heavenly Father, perform a miracle and give me an education — I can do the rest myself with make-up.
