The Fist lies on the Table
Now all who have read thus far can see the turn things have taken: it’s a turn backward, and for Franz it is finished. That strong man, Franz Biberkopf, the cobra, has actually bobbed up on the scene again. It was not easy, but he has come back.
He seemed to be there already, when he became Mieze’s pimp, and went around quite free with a gold cigarette case and an oarsman’s cap. Now he is really there, and how happy he is, now that all fear has left him. The roofs no longer totter, and his arm, well, that’s what he got for it. That screw which was loose in his head has been successfully operated on and taken out. He is a pimp now, and will become a criminal again, but all this does not hurt him, quite the contrary.
Everything is as it was in the beginning. But, as we may clearly see, it is not the old cobra we knew. It’s our old Franz Biberkopf, you can see that all right, but no more than that. First he was betrayed by his friend Lüders and bumped out of gear. The second time he was to be a lookout against his will, so Reinhold kicked him out of the car, and he was run over. Franz has had enough of it all; it would be enough for any plain man. He does not go into a monastery, nor does he work his head off, he goes on the war-path. He becomes not only a pimp and a criminal, but now he feels: just for spite. Now you will see Franz, not dancing alone, nor gluttonously enjoying his life, but in the dance itself. in a rattling dance with something else, something which will have to show not only how strong it is, but which is the stronger of the two, Franz or this other thing.
Franz Biberkopf had taken an oath out loud, when he got out of Tegel, and walked on solid earth again: 1 will lead a decent life. They did not let him keep that oath. Now he will see what he has left to say. He will ask if and why his arm was run over and cut off. Perhaps, who knows how things look in such a fellow’s head, perhaps Franz will get his arm back from Reinhold.
SEVENTH BOOK
Now the hammer crashes down, it crashes against Franz Biberkopf.
Pussi Uhl, Height of American Invasion, is Wilma spelt with a W or a V?
On the Alexanderplatz they go on fussing and bustling around. On the Konigstrasse, at the corner of Neue Friedrichstrasse, they want to pull down the house over the Salamander shoe-store. They are already pulling down the one next to it. Traffic beneath the Alex arch of the municipal railway becomes enormously difficult: they are building new pillars for the railway bridge; here you can look down into a nicely walled shaft where the pillars put their feet.
In order to get to the municipal railway station you have to walk up and down a little wooden staircase. The weather in Berlin is cooler. It often pours buckets. Autos and motor-cycles suffer a great deal from that, every day some of them start skidding and careening about, then they are sued for damages, and so on: frequently people break something or other, that’s the weather’s fault. Have you heard of the tragic case of Beese-Arnim, the aviator? He was questioned today by the criminal police; he is the leading figure in the shooting affray at the home of that old washed-out whore, Pussi Uhl, peace to her ashes! Beese (Edgar) started shooting wild in the Uhl woman’s home; but he’s always had queer things happen to him, according to the police. Once during the war they shot him down from a height of 1700 meters, hence the tragic case of aviator Beese-Arnim, shot down at 1700 meters, cheated out of his inheritance, in prison under an assumed name; the last act is still to come. After being shot down, he goes home and an insurance agent bilks him out of his money. But he was a sharper, and so the money wandered in the simplest way possible from flyer to sharper, and the flyer had no money left. From that moment on Beese changes his name to Auclaire. He is ashamed to face his family, because he is down and out. The dicks have ferreted all this out this morning at police headquarters and have written it down. It is also recorded there that he now found himself on the path of crime. Once he was sentenced to two years and a half in prison, and, because at that time he called himself Krachtowil, he was later on deported to Poland. It seems that it was then this peculiarly nasty and obscure affair with Pussi Uhl developed in Berlin. This Pussi Uhl baptized him “von Arnim” with special ceremonies which we would rather not talk about here, and all he subsequently did in the way of mischief was done under the name of “von Arnim.” Thus it was that on Tuesday, August 14, 1928, von Arnim planted a bullet in Pussi Uhl’s body, as to the why and the how, the underworld keeps mum about it, they don’t tattle out of school, even if they’re about to have their heads chopped off, why should they say anything to the bulls, their natural enemies? All that is known, is that the boxer Hein plays a role in the affair, and anyone who pretends to know human nature goes wrong in assuming it was a case of jealousy. Personally, I’d put my hand in the fire that there was no jealousy involved. Or if there was jealousy, then jealousy arising from some money matter, but money being the main motive. Beese, according to the police, has completely collapsed; believe it or not, as you want. You can take my word for it, the boy collapsed (if it’s true, at all) simply because the bulls are going to make inquiries now, and especially because he is angry with himself for shooting down that old Uhl woman. For what is he going to live on now? If only that broad don’t die on me now, he thinks. So we know quite enough about the tragic case of the flyer, Beese-Arnim, shot down at 1700 meters, cheated out of his inheritance, in prison under an assumed name.
The flood-tide of Americans visiting Berlin continues. Among the many thousands visiting the German metropolis, there are numerous prominent persons who have come to Berlin for professional or private reasons. Thus we have here (Hotel Esplanade) the chief secretary of the American Delegation to the Interparliamentary Union, Dr. Call, of Washington, who will be followed in a week by a number of American senators. Furthermore, in the next few days the chief of the New York fire department, John Kenlon, will arrive in Berlin; like Davis, the former Secretary of Labor, he will stop at the Hotel Adlon.
Claude G. Montefiore president of the World Union for religious and liberal Zionism has arrived from London; these conferences will take place in Berlin from August 18th to 21st: he is staying with Lady Lily H. Montague, his co-worker, who accompanies him, at the Hotel Esplanade.
Since the weather is so very bad, it might be better if we were to go inside, in the Central Market Hall, but there is a lot of noise there, we are almost knocked down by the handcars and these guys don’t even warn you. So we prefer to ride out to the Labor Court in Zimmerstrasse wnd take breakfast there. If you have had much to do with petty lives - and in the last analysis, Franz Biberkopf is far from being a famous man-you like to ride out occasionally to the West End and see what is happening there.
Room No. 60, Labor Court, refreshment room, a rather small room with a bar, quick coffee boiler, the bill-of-fare reads: Lunch: rice soup, roulade of beef (roll that r) 1 mark. A stout young gentleman wearing horn-rimmed glasses is sitting in a chair, eating his lunch. You look at him and you establish the fact that he has a steaming plate of roulade of beef. gravy, and potatoes standing in front of him, and is about to gulp them all down, one after the other. His eyes roam back and forth across the plate, though nobody is trying to take anything away from him, there’s nobody near him, he’s sitting all alone at his table, and he’s worried, he cuts up and mashes his fodder, and quickly shoves it into his mouth, bit by bit, bit by bit, by bit, and as he works one bit in, one out, one in, one out, as he cuts, bolts, and gulps, smacks, sniffs, and stodges, his eyes examine, his eyes observe, the ever-diminishing remnant upon the plate, watching it on all sides like two snappish dogs, and estimating its quantity. Another bit in, another out. Period. Now it is finished, now he gets up, flabby and stout, the fellow has put everything away, now he’d better pay. He fumbles in his vest pocket and smacks his lips: “How much is it, miss?” Then the fat baby goes out, puffing and blowing, and he loosens his trouser-buckle behind a bit, to give his belly enough room. He has got a good three pounds stowed away in his stomach, all victuals. Now things are going to get started in his belly, some
labor, now his belly has got to be busy with what that goof has thrown into it. His bowels shake and wobble, winding, twisting like earthworms, the glands do what they can, they squirt their juice into all that stuff, squirt away like firemen, saliva flows down from above, the fellow swallows, it flows down into his bowels, there is an attack on the kidneys, just like in department stores when the white-goods sales are on, and gently, gently, lo and behold, little drops begin to fall into the bladder, one little drop after the other. Just wait, my boy, wait, soon you will walk back, retrace your steps to the door marked “Gentlemen,” and that’s the way the world wags.
They are negotiating behind the doors. Wilma, domestic servant, how do you spell your name? I thought you spelt it with a V, here it is, well, let’s make it W. She became very fresh. She behaved improperly, get your bags packed, clear out of this house, we have witnesses for it. She doesn’t do it, too much sense of pride. Till the sixth, three days’ difference included, I am ready to pay ten marks, my wife is at the hospital. You may make a claim, Fraulein, 22.75 marks is the sum in dispute, but I wish to state that I absolutely refuse to stand for things like that. “You common, low-down dog,” I suppose my wife will be called to court when she is up again, but the plaintiff herself behaved insolently. The parties contract the following agreement.
Chauffeur Papke and Wilhelm Trotzke, film distributor, what kind of a case is this, it has just come up. Well, then please write: Wilhelm Trotzke, film distributor, appears in person, no, 1 have only his power of attorney, all right: So you have been employed as a chauffeur, that is to say, a relatively short time, I bumped into him with my car, bring me the keys, so you got in dutch with the car, what have you to say? On the 28th, it was a Friday, he was supposed to fetch the boss’s lady from Admiralsbad, it was in the Viktoriastrasse, they can testify that he was completely drunk. He is known as a drunkard in the whole neighborhood. See here, I never drink bad beer, anyhow. It was a German car, the repairs cost
387.20 marks. What kind of a collision was it anyway? I start slidin’ in a jiffy, it hasn’t any four-wheel brakes-and my front wheel hit his rear wheel. How much did you drink that day, you must have drunk something at breakfast, went to the boss’s house; that’s where 1 get my meals, the boss looks out for his help all right, because he’s a good man. Why, we don’t hold the man responsible for the damage, but the dismissal without giving notice, he forgot himself because of drunkenness. Get your things; they’re in the Viktoriastrasse, all dirtied up. And then the boss said over the telephone: he’s a damn fool, he smashed up the car. But you couldn’t hear that. yes, your telephone talks that loud, if he hasn’t any better manners than that; he also telephoned that I stole the extra wheel, I would like to ask that the witnesses be examined, I wouldn’t do anything of the kind, you’re both at fault, the boss said ass or fool, giving also the surname, do you want to settle it with 35 marks, it’s a quarter to twelve, there’s still time, you can call him up, if it’s all right, let him come here around quarter to one.
*
A girl is standing in front of the door downstairs in Zimmerstrasse; she has just passed by here, she raises her umbrella and puts a letter into the box. The letter says: Dear Ferdinand, your two letters received with thanks. I’ve been really disappointed by you a lot, never thought things would take such a turn with you. Well, you must admit yourself, we are both still awfully young to unite ourselves for good. I think that in the end you must see that. Maybe you thought I’m just a girl like all the others, but that’s where you got burnt, my boy. Or maybe you think I am a rich match? But that’s where you’re also on the wrong track. I’m only a working girl. I tell you this so you can act according. If I had known what was to come of it, I wouldn’t have started writing them letters. Well now you know my opinion, act according, you must know what you feel about it. Sincerely, Anna.
In the same house, a girl is sitting in the back building in the kitchen. Her mother has gone out shopping, the girl is secretly writing in her diary. She is 26 years old, out of work. The last entry on July 10th was as follows: Since yesterday afternoon I feel better again, but the good days are now so few and far between, I cannot speak freely to anybody, as I would like to. So I have decided now to write everything down. When my periods come, I am no good for anything; the least trifle causes me great distress. Everything I see at that time keeps calling forth new thoughts in me, I can’t get rid of them, and I get so nervous that I can hardly force myself to do anything at all. A great unrest within me drives me from one thing to another, and yet I cannot finish anything. For instance: Early in the morning, when I wake up, I would prefer not to get up; but I nevertheless force myself to do it, and talk myself into courage. But even dressing makes me very tired, and it takes a long time, because so many fancies are going round and round in my head. I am constantly tortured by the thought of doing something the wrong way, and causing some disaster. Often when I put a piece of coal into the stove, and a spark flies up, I get so frightened and feel I must examine everything about me to see that nothing has caught fire, and I might spoil something and start a fire without knowing it. All day long it’s the same thing: everything I have to do seems so difficult and if I force myself to do it, it takes a long time, in spite of all the pains I take to do it quickly. Thus the day passes and I haven’t done anything, because I have to think for such a long time before I make a move. When, in spite of all my efforts, I cannot get along in life, it makes me desperate, and then I cry a lot. This is the way my periods always show. They began when I was 12 years old. My parents took all this for deceit. At the age of 24 I tried to end my life on account of these periods, but I was saved. At that time I had had no sexual intercourse as yet, and so I put my hopes in this, but, alas, in vain. I have only had very moderate intercourse, and of late I don’t want to hear about it any more, because I also feel so weak, physically.
August 14th. For the last week I am again in a very bad state. I don’t know what will become of me if this goes on. I think that if I had nobody in the world, I would turn on the gas without further thought, but I cannot do this for mother’s sake. But I really wish very much I could develop some serious illness from which I would die. I have written everything down the way things really look inside me.
The Duel starts! It is rainy Weather
But for what reason (I kiss your little hand, madame, I kiss) for what reason, let’s think it over, think it over, Herbert, his felt slippers on, muses in his room, and it is raining, it drizzles and drizzles, can’t go downstairs at all, no more cigars left, no cigar-store in the house, for what reason, I wonder, is it raining like that in August, the whole month simply swimming away from a fellow, it splashes off like nothin’ on earth, for what reason does Franz go to see Reinhold of late and jaw and jaw about him? (I kiss your little hand, madame, and no less a person than Sigrid Onegin made people happy with her song, till he gave the whole thing up, risked his life and thus won his life.) He surely knows why, for what reason, he probably knows it all right, and then it’s always raining, he might as well come here.
“Gee, why brood about it? You oughta be glad, Herbert, that he gave up politics - if that fellow’s his friend-maybe.” “Well, Eva, his friend, just put a period there, young lady, I know better, betcha. He wants to get somethin’ outa him, he wants somethin’.” (For what reason, I’d like to know, the sale is agreed upon by the General Administration and so the price may be regarded as adequate.) “He wants somcthin’, and why he wants it, and why he’s always goin’ around there and alwaysjawin’ about it, well: he wants to give him the works; he wants to be in his good graces, you’ll see, Eva, and if he can get near ‘im, he’ll just bang away, and nobody’ll ever find out what happened.” “You think so?” “Well, maybe not!” That’s clear, I kiss your little hand, madame, but what rain! “Clear as mud!” “Think so, Herbert? I thought right away, too, it was a bit queer, that a man should let a fellow run over his arm and then go up and see him.” “Clear as mud. I getcha!”
I kiss. “Herbert, d’you mean it, that we shouldn’t tell him nothin’ about it, pretend we hadn’t noticed nothin’, and are quite blind?” “We’re jackasses, people can do anything with us they want.” “Yes, Herbert, that’s what we got to do about him, we’ll do it, got to. He’s such a funny guy.” The sale agreed upon by the General Administration so that the price obtained, but why, for what reason, must think it over, must think it over, the rain.
“You’ll see, Eva, we can keep mum all right, but we gotta look out. Watcha think, suppose those Pums fellows smell a rat? Eh?” “That’s what I say. I thought that right away. Oh Lord, why does he go there with his one arm?” “ ‘Cause it suits him . Only we gotta keep a sharp lookout, and Mieze, too.” ‘Til tell ‘er. What can we do, then?” “Gotta keep our eyes on Franz.” “If her old man would only leave her time for it.” “She might give him his walkin’ papers.” “Why, he’s talkin’ about marriage!” “Ha, ha, hal That’s certainly rich. What’s he after? And Franz?” “Oh, that’s nothin’. She just lets the old guy babble away, why no!?” “She’d better watch out for Franz. He’s tryin’ to get his man in that gang, and just wait, one of these days somebody’ll be brought up here in a coffin.” “For Lord’s sake, Herbert, now stop that!” “Eva, old girl, it needn’t be Franz, y’know. So Mieze’d better watch out.” “I’ll keep an eye on him, too. Y’know, that’s much worse than politics.” “Ye don’t understan’ that, Eva. A dame wouldn’t get that! I’m tellin’ you, Eva, it’s just beginning with Franz. He’s just gettin’ started.”
I kiss your little hand, madame, he mastered life, won his life by risking it outright, a funny August we’re having this year, just look, it’s raining cats and dogs.
Berlin Alexanderplatz Page 34
