Berlin Alexanderplatz

by Alfred Doblin

  Suddenly something terrible happens. Eva saw Schreiber put his hand in his pocket. He wants to take out the money and coax Franz with the bills. But Eva has misunderstood the movement. She thinks he wants to get out a revolver and shoot Franz down, so he won’t say anything, he’s sent here to put Franz on the spot. And she jumps up from her chair, white as the wall, her face terribly distorted, screaming piercingly, then all at once she falls over her own legs, and gets up again. Franz rises with a start, Schreiber rises with a start, whatsa matter, whatsa matter wit’ her, oh boy, oh boy! She runs around the table to Franz, quickly, what am I to do, he’s going to shoot, it’s death, the end, it’s all over, murder, the world’s coming to an end, I don’t wanta die, don’t wanta get my block knocked off, it’s all over.

  She stands, runs, falls, stands in front of Franz, white, yelling, quivering throughout her whole body: “Beat it behind the mirror! Murder! Help! Help!” Her eyes are big as fists, as she screams: “Help!” An icy chill goes through the bones of the two men. Franz doesn’t know what’s the matter, he only sees the movement, what’s going to happen next? Then he understands: Schreiber has his right hand in the pocket of his trousers. Franz goes all a-tremble. It’s like that time when he was standing watch in the courtyard, they want to start up again. But he doesn’t want to, I tell you, he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to let himself be thrown under a car. He groans and tears himself free from Eva; the Grüne Post is lying on the floor, the Bulgarian is married to a Princess. Gotta see, first gotta get the chair in my hands. He groans aloud. As he has eyes for Schreiber alone and not for the chair, he kicks the chair over. We gotta get that chair and pounce on him. Gotta - auto on the Magdeburg road - they are ringing the alarm-bell of the hospital, Eva is still yelling, well, let’s save ourselves. Forward the air is thick, but we’ll push through! He bends to take hold of the chair. Schreiber, aghast, rushes out by the door, why they’re all crazy here! The doors begin to open along the corridor.

  Downstairs in the cafe they heard the screams and the tumult. Two men rush up at once and meet Schreiber on the stairs as he runs past them. But he keeps his head, and calls out as he waves towards them: Get a doctor quick, an apoplectic fit. And he’s off, clever dog, that he is.

  Upstairs in the room Franz is lying unconscious beside the chair. Eva crouches to one side between the window and the mirror, and screams as she crouches, as if she had seen a ghost. They lay Franz cautiously on his bed. The landlady knows all about Eva’s condition. She pours water over her head. Then Eva says softly: “Gimme a roll.” The men laugh: “She wants a roll.” The landlady lifts her by the shoulders, they put her on a chair. “She always says that, when she has an attack. But that’s not an apoplectic fit. It’s only nerves and her troubles with that sick man. He probably fell down. Well, why does he get up, anyway”? He’s always getting up, that makes her nervous.” “Then why was that fellow shouting about an apoplectic fit?” “Who?” “The one we passed on the stairs just now.” “Why, because he’s a damned ass. Don’t I know my Eva, five years now! Her mother is the same. When she screams, water’s the only thing that helps.”

  When Herbert gets home that evening, he gives Eva a revolver, it may come in handy, she must not wait till the other fellow shoots, then it’s too late. He himself starts off right away, looks for Schreiber, of course he can’t be found. All of Pums’s people are on a vacation, none of them wants to get mixed up in the affair, Schreiber, of course, has faded into space. He has pocketed Franz’s money and is off to Oranienburg, to the summer quarters. But not before he’s humbugged Reinhold; Biberkopf didn’t take the money, but Eva listened to reason, he slipped it to her, and she’ll fix it up. Well, that’s that.

  In spite of everything, the month of June has come to Berlin. The weather is still warm, but it looks like rain. Many things are happening in the world. The airship “Italia,” with General Nobile, has crashed, and sends a wireless to say where it is lying: viz., northeast of Spitzbergen, it is a difficult place to get to. Another airship has better luck, in one swoop it has raced from San Francisco to Australia, in 77 hours, and made a smooth landing. Then the King of Spain is at odds with Primo, his dictator, well, let’s hope things will be straightened out again. A pleasant impression, which one receives from the very first, is afforded by a certain betrothal between two young people from Baden and Sweden: A princess from matchbox land has made a safety-match with a prince of Baden. If you consider how far apart Baden and Sweden are, you are astonished that things can go pit-a-pat across such a distance. Yes, my son, I’m weak about women, they touch the spot where it’s too much for me! I kiss the first and think of the second, and steal a sly look at number three. I’m weak about women, yes, it’s no joke. What shall I do, I don’t try any more, and if some day for the women I go quite broke, then I’ll write “sold out” on my heart’s front-door.

  To which Charlie Amberg adds: I’ll pull out an eyelash and stab you dead with it. Then I’ll take a lipstick and make you all red with it. And if you’re still angry, there’s one more thing I’ll do: a poached egg I’ll order and splash spinach over you. You, you, you, you. Then I’ll order a poached egg and splash spinach over you.

  So the weather is still warm and it looks like rain; at noon it touches 72° Fahrenheit. Under these climatic conditions the girl-murderer Rutowski appears before the Criminal Court of Berlin and is called on to exonerate himself. In this connection the question crops up: Is the victim Else Arndt the run-away wife of a certain school-board member? He has written to say he considers it a possibility, perhaps a desirability, that the murdered woman, Else Arndt, should be his spouse. In the case of an affirmative answer, he wishes to give important testimony before the court. There is objectivity in the air, in the air there is objectivity, there it is in the air and it’s in the air, in the air. In the air there is something idiotic, in the air there is something hypnotic, it’s in the air, it’s in the air, and it won’t get out of the air.

  But next morning the municipal electric railway is opened. The National Railroad Board takes this as a pretext to stress once more the danger, attention, look out, don’t get on, wait your turn, you render yourself liable to punishment.

  Arise, weak Spirit, and get on your Feet

  There are states of swoon which amount to death in the living body. Franz Biberkopf, still unconscious, is put back into bed, he keeps on lying there on into the warm days and reaches this conclusion: I’m at death’s door, I feel it, I’m going to croak. If you don’t do something now, Franz, something real, final, comprehensive, if you don’t take a club in your hand, a saber, and beat around you, if you don’t run loose, no matter how, Franz, my li’l Franz, li’l Biberkopf, old horse, then it’s all over with you for sure, then you can have your measure taken for a coffin.

  Groaning: I don’t want to, and I don’t want to, and I won’t croak, he looks at the room, the wall-clock ticks, I’m still here, still am I here, they want to close in on me, Schreiber almost shot me down, but that shall not happen. Franz lifts his remaining arm: it shall not happen.

  A real fear pursues him now. He will not stay in bed. And even if he croaks in the street, he just must get out of bed, he has got to get out. Herbert Wischow has gone to Zoppot with dark-eyed Eva; she has a rich beau well on in years, a stock-exchange man whom she exploits. Herbert Wischow goes along with them incognito, the girl works well, they see each other every day, united they march, but sleep separately. In this beautiful summertime Franz Biberkopf goes marching back to the street again, alone again, our one and only Franz Biberkopf, tottering, but on his feet. Look at the cobra now, it creeps along, it moves, it has been injured. Hut it’s still the same old cobra, even if it has black circles under its eyes, and the fat reptile is now thin and wasted.

  Something has become clearer to the old boy, who drags himself through the streets now, in order not to croak in his room, something has become clearer than it was before to this old boy who is now running away, away from death
. Life has been worth something to him, anyway. Now he sniffs the air, he noses the streets as if they belonged to him and wanted to take him in. He gapes at the poster columns, as if they were an event in his life. Yes, my boy, you can’t go far now on your two legs, now you’ve got to clutch and cling tight to something firm, now you must set as many teeth and fingers as you have left together and hold on fast, just so as not to be knocked off.

  Life is a hellish thing, isn’t it? You knew it once before, that time in Henschke’s saloon when they wanted to kick you out with your armband, and that fellow attacked you, and you hadn’t done anything to him. And I thought that the world was peaceful, that there was law and order, but there’s something out of order, there they are and how terrible they seem now! That was in a moment of clairvoyance.

  And now come thou, come hither and I will show thee something. The great whore, the whore of Babylon, that sitteth upon many waters. And I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet colored beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet color, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand. And upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY. BABYLON THE GREAT. THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs.

  But Franz Biberkopf goes through the streets, jogging along in his own little way. He does not give in, and asks for nothing more than to get really well again and strong in his muscles. The weather is warm and summery; Franz wanders from cafe to cafe.

  He dodges the heat. In the cafe the big schooners of beer come sliding up. The first schooner says: I come from the cellar, from hops and malt. Now I am cool, what do I taste like?

  Franz says: Bitter, fine, cool.

  Yes, I cool you off, I cool all men off, then I make them warm and then I dispel their idle thoughts. Idle thoughts? Yes, the majority of all thoughts are idle. Aren’t they? - Maybe so. I leave you the last word.

  A small brandy stands before Franz with its bright yellow lights. Where did they pick you up?-They burnt me, man.-You certainly do bite, old fellow, you got claws. -Goshalmighty, that’s why I’m a brandy. Maybe you haven’t seen any of me for a long time?-Nope, I was almost dead, my little brandy-sprite, I was almost dead; I rode away without a return ticket. -You look it. -What d’y’ mean, look it, don’t talk rot! Let’s try you again, come here! Ah you’re good, you’ve got fire, you certainly have, young fellow. -The liquor ripples down his throat: and what fire!

  The smoke from the fire rises in Franz and makes his throat so dry that he has to take another schooner: you’re schooner number Two. I’ve had one already, what have you got to tell me? -Say, Fat, taste me first, then you can talk.-All right.

  The schooner says: Listen, if you have two more schooners and another kümmel and then a grog, you’ll bubble up just like peas. -Is that so? Yes, then you’ll get fat again, gee, you’re looking bad, feller! You really can’t go around with people like that. Take another swallow.

  Franz takes up the third: I’m swallowin’ all right. One after the other. Keep everything in order.

  He questions number Four: Watcha know, darling? -It only yawps delightedly. Franz pours it down his throat. I believe it. Everything, darling, everything you say, I believe, you’re me lambkin, we’ll go into the green pastures together.

  Third Conquest of Berlin

  And so Biberkopf has come to Berlin for the third time. The first time the roofs were about to slide off, then the Jews came and he was saved. The second time Lüders cheated him, but he swigged his way through. Now, the third time, his arm is gone, but he ventures courageously into the city. The man’s got courage, two-and threefold courage.

  Herbert and Eva had left him a nice wad of money which the bartender downstairs keeps for him. But Franz only takes a few pfennigs, resolving at the same time: I won’t take any of their money, I’ve got to make myself independent. He goes to the “Charity Association” and asks for help. “We’ll have to make inquiries first. “ “And what’ll I do in the meantime?” “You may come back in a few days.” “A fellow might starve to death in a few days.” “People don’t starve as fast as that in Berlin, that’s what they all say. And then we don’t hand out money, only tickets, and we pay your room-rent from here, and that’s your address all right, isn’t it?”

  And Franz leaves the “Charity Association,” and when he gets downstairs, the scales fall from his eyes: inquiries, say, they’re going to make inquiries, maybe they’ll inquire about my arm and how it all came about. He is standing in front of a cigar-store ruminating: they’ll try to find out what’s the matter with my arm, who paid the bill and what hospital I was in. That’s what they might ask. And then, what I was living on those last few months. You just wait.

  He broods as he strolls along: what can a fellow do then? Who shall I ask, what am I going to do now, and I don’t want to live offa their money, either.

  So for two days he walks around looking for Meek, between the Alex and the Rosenthaler Platz, he might talk to him about it, and he finds him all right, the second evening, on the Rosenthaler Platz. They look at each other. Franz wants to shake hands with him - how they had greeted each other that time after that affair with Lüders, with what joy, and now meek hesitantly gives him his hand, does not press it. Franz wants to start shaking again with his left hand, but Meek suddenly makes such a serious lace; what’s the matter with him, what’s up now? And they walk up Münzstrasse and walk and walk, and back through Rosenthaler Strasse again, and Franz still waits to hear whether Meek is not going to ask about his arm. But he doesn’t even do that, he keeps on looking sideways. Maybe I look too dirty for him. Whereupon Franz gets gay and asks about Cilly, what she’s doing.

  Oh, she’s fine, why shouldn’t she be, and Meck talks at great length about her. Franz forces himself to laugh. But the other still doesn’t ask about his arm, and suddenly Franz sees everything clearly, and he asks: “You still hang around the cafe in the Prenzlauer?” Meck says disparagingly: “Yes, sometimes.” Then Franz catches on, and he walks slowly, keeping always a step behind Meck: Pums has told him something about me, or Reinhold or Schreiber, and now he thinks I’m a burglar. And if I should start talking now, I’d have to tell him everything, but he can wait a long time till I open my mouth.

  And Franz gives a jerk and stands in front of Meek: “Well, Gottlieb, then let’s say good-bye, gotta go home, a cripple’s got to hit the hay early.” Meck looks him full in the face for the first time, takes his pipe out of his mouth, and wants to ask him something, but Franz waves him aside, no use asking questions, he has already givin’ him his hand, and is gone. Meck scratches his head and thinks to himself. I gotta give that one the once-over one of these days, and is dissatisfied with himself.

  Franz Biberkopf marches across the Rosenthaler Platz, he feels happy and says to himself: What’s the use of all this yapping, I gotta earn money, what’s Meck to me, I gotta get some money.

  You should have seen the way our Franz Biberkopf went hunting for money. Something new raged inside him. Eva and Herbert put their room at his disposal, but Franz would like to have a place of his own, otherwise he can’t get started right. Then comes the cursed moment, when Franz has found a place and his landlady puts the police registration papers in front of him. There he sits, our Franz, and he starts brooding again: if I write my name’s Biberkopf, they’ll look me up in their files right away, they’ll phone headquarters, and they’ll say, this way, old boy, and why don’t you show up once in a while, and what’s the matter with that arm, what hospital did you stay in, who paid for it, and it’s none of it true.

  And he rages across the table: Charity, do I need charity? I don’t want that, that’s no good for a free man; and still brooding and raging away, he writes a name on the registration blank, first Franz, and before him he sees the police station and the charity association in Grunerstrasse and the auto out of which
they had thrown him. He strokes the stump of his arm through his coat, they’re going to ask him about his arm, let ‘em go ahead, damn it all, I don’t care, I’ll do it.

  And as if writing with a stick he chisels thick letters into the paper: I’ve never been a coward, and my name, I won’t let any of ‘em steal it from me, that’s my name, that’s what I was born, and that’s what I’ll lemain: Franz Biberkopf. One thick letter after the other, Tegel Prison, the street bordered with black trees, the convicts sitting there, at their gluing, carpentry, repairing. Dip it in again, I’ll put a dot over the I. I’m not afraid of the coppers, nor of the bulls with their brass badges. Either I’m a free man or I’m not.

  There is a mower death yclept.

  Franz hands the registration blank to his landlady, well, that’s settled. All settled. And now let’s hitch up our breeches, straighten our legs out, and march right into Berlin.

  Clothes make the Man and another Man sees Things with other Eyes

  On Brunnenstrasse, where they are excavating for the subway, a horse has fallen into the hole. People have been standing around watching for half an hour when the firemen come with a wagon. They put a strap around the belly of the horse. It is standing on a lot of conduits and gas pipes, who knows if it hasn’t broken a leg, it trembles and neighs, from above only its head can be seen. They draw it up with a pulley, the animal strikes out with force.