Berlin shuffle, p.15
Berlin Shuffle, page 15
Wilhelm Winter looked at her in astonishment. Her accusation struck him as so off the mark there was no point in getting angry.
Hagen on the other hand did react. “Looks like you have a screw loose,” he said harshly. “And you won’t be waiting here for as long as it suits you, but just as long as it suits me. So keep that in mind! Besides, I would advise you not to insult my guests!”
Minchen Lindner had been listening closely. She felt very sorry for the old lady who had called her “a lovely person.” The compliment made Minchen feel somewhat obliged. The woman really did seem crazy. But that wasn’t important. She wasn’t harming anyone, and the fat proprietor had no reason to bark at her like that.
She walked over to the group. “There’s no reason for you to blow up at her like that!” she said to Hagen.
He turned around and stared at her in amazement. “And who might this cheeky bigmouth be?” he asked.
Minchen Lindner placed her hands on her hips and gave him a scornful look. “If that’s how you treat people, then everybody might as well leave, right? Because either you’re running a tavern here or a Buddhist monastery! But if it’s a public tavern, then the lady can stay the same as anybody else!”
Hagen had to laugh. He liked this girl. “Well, if you say so, then I guess I better listen!”
He tried to stroke her cheek, but she pulled her head away.
“You’re right about that. It’s best you just keep your mouth shut,” Minchen said dramatically.
Wilhelm started to laugh.
Hagen was annoyed. “Listen here, you little cutie, why don’t you simmer down,” he demanded.
Handsome Wilhelm stepped up. “Would you like to dance, Fräulein?”
She sized him up warily and decided he was very much to her liking. Only his suit seemed a little peculiar. But that wasn’t so important.
“Maybe later. First I want to make sure this business is settled.”
“Come on, Heinrich,” Wilhelm said, in a calming voice. “The lady isn’t doing anything. Why shouldn’t she go on sitting there?”
“Fine,” Hagen conceded. “I’m not a monster. Just no more insults. About being mean and so on, I’m not a mean person. I’m running a tavern and have the right to demand that my guests eat or drink something. This isn’t a homeless shelter. I only let her stay because she said she was waiting for you.”
Minchen Lindner was in a magnanimous mood. “Give the lady something to eat. I’ll pay for it.” She took a three-mark coin out of her purse and handed it to Hagen.
He gave a playful bow. “I kiss your hand, milady. This is good for three meals, and I’ll add one as well, so that makes four.”
Frau Fliebusch had barely followed the negotiations. But she understood that she was allowed to stay.
Minchen Lindner walked over to her and held out her hand. “Goodbye. You have four dinners paid for. Don’t let yourself be duped.”
Before Frau Fliebusch could thank her, she had left the room with Wilhelm.
Frau Fliebusch called out after her: “Thanks very much, dear child. I’ll repay you when my husband comes back.”
TWENTY-SIX
Sonnenberg’s fury had intensified tremendously. One dance followed the next, and Elsi had yet to come back. She had never dared do that before. This was open revolt.
Fundholz was still sitting next to him. Sonnenberg had let go of his hand, but Fundholz stayed anyway, because there was schnapps! Lots of schnapps. Sonnenberg kept ordering more. As soon as he downed one glass, he asked for another. His fury made him thirsty. He was no longer completely sober.
Fundholz, too, was already inebriated. He just blinked away at Sonnenberg without paying any attention to all the man’s angry grumbling. He actually felt happy and lighthearted. It was amazing! He hadn’t felt so exhilarated in a long time. He was no longer thinking about the encounter with his wife. He was no longer drinking to settle his nerves: He was savoring the taste, and growing more cheerful with every glass.
Despite the music and the general din, Tönnchen had slumped back in his chair and fallen asleep like a tired child. He must have been having good dreams, because he was smiling even in his sleep.
As he watched him, Fundholz couldn’t help feeling a twinge of emotion. What a character! Simply drifts off to sleep. In the middle of the tavern, in spite of all the noise. He admired the fat man for his ability to withdraw into himself like that.
Sonnenberg, on the other hand, was cursing louder and louder, with no consideration for the people at the nearby tables. Not that this seemed to bother anyone: Other people were just as loud.
A woman at one table kept shrieking with laughter at high volume. She was positively bursting with enthusiasm. Whenever she laughed, many others would join in—it was contagious. Only Sonnenberg found her annoying.
“Someone needs to land a beer glass on her head,” he groaned. “This shrieking is unbearable! It sounds like a band saw on metal.”
“Band saw is good,” Fundholz said laughing.
But Fundholz’s praise did nothing to lighten Sonnenberg’s mood. “Can you see those two?” he asked.
Fundholz could see them. They were dancing nearby. Grissmann was pressing the woman even closer than before. But Fundholz didn’t tell that to Sonnenberg. Why stir things up, he thought. He’s a lot better off if he doesn’t know than if I tell him. Most misfortune comes from knowing too much. What you don’t know can’t upset you.
“No,” he lied. “I don’t see them. Grissmann has some money. Maybe he offered to buy her something to eat in the taproom. He’s a decent fellow, you know, this Grissmann!”
Sonnenberg sneered, “I know all about this kind of decent fellow. Your Grissmann’s nothing but a filthy bastard!”
Fundholz didn’t answer. He was in a good mood and had no desire to argue. What for? Everything would happen as it should. He couldn’t prevent Grissmann from stealing Sonnenberg’s wife.
“Oh come on, it’s not all that bad,” he said, and laughed again.
Sonnenberg was suspicious about the old man’s repeated laughter.
“You must be drunk,” he grumbled.
Fundholz didn’t respond. Let Sonnenberg think he was drunk. The main thing was that the blind man would order more schnapps.
Back when they used to go begging together, Sonnenberg had always made off with all the money Fundholz had cadged. So let him pay for once! Then maybe everything would even itself out. Maybe Annie, too, will someday have to make amends.
Fundholz slapped his hand to his mouth. “Enough of that, Fundholz!” he ordered himself out loud. He lifted his glass, peered inside, and determined there was still something left. He tilted it back. One shouldn’t tempt fate, he thought. Because fate might be tempted to make matters worse. He again recalled his streak of bad luck. “You never know when it might break,” he said out loud.
Sonnenberg let out an angry snarl. “What are you babbling on about? Go ahead and talk to yourself where you like, but not when I’m paying for what you’re guzzling!”
Fundholz realized that Sonnenberg needed to vent his spleen. Let him go on ranting, he thought blithely. As long as he orders another drink.
But for the moment that was far from Sonnenberg’s mind. “What kind of man are you anyway? You spend the whole night boozing, hardly saying a word, and when you do open your mouth, you just talk to yourself. If you weren’t such a dunderhead, you’d have told me long ago where the two have gone. Instead you just sit here telling me lies. Maybe you’re even helping the others, huh?”
Fundholz laughed. “I’m not helping anyone! This whole thing’s none of my business.”
He really was feeling jolly this evening, practically talkative. Once again he cautioned himself, but this time more quietly: “Better stop your crowing, Fundholz!”
Sonnenberg was annoyed at Fundholz’s previous declaration. “If you don’t want to help me, then why are you sitting here? Unbelievable!”
Fundholz sobered up a little. There probably wouldn’t be any more schnapps. That’s what happens when you celebrate too soon. “All right, then I’ll be leaving,” he muttered.
But that was the last thing Sonnenberg wanted. “Of course you would. First you drink your fill and then you walk out on me. You’re really just a mean son of a bitch. And you call yourself a friend!”
Fundholz looked at him in surprise. “So what do you want me to do? Stay or go?”
Instead of answering, Sonnenberg bellowed out to a waiter, “Four schnapps,” he ordered, “and hurry up about it!”
Fundholz stayed. He didn’t want to pass up his share of schnapps.
Sonnenberg called for something to smoke. A man came with cigars and cigarettes. Sonnenberg chose two cigars at fifteen pfennig apiece. One was for Fundholz.
Sonnenberg’s bill now exceeded the cash he had on hand. But since he was a regular patron and as such enjoyed a certain amount of credit, that didn’t matter.
Fundholz had never seen the man in such a giving mood. Sonnenberg’s distress and anger were so great that he was generous out of desperation. The schnapps arrived, and they drank. Sonnenberg emptied both glasses one after the other, while Fundholz saved his second shot for later.
The liquor only exacerbated the blind man’s rage. He chewed away on his cigar and finally flung it angrily on the table. Fundholz picked it up carefully and placed it in the ashtray.
“Outrageous,” he yelled at Fundholz, “calling this a cigar. This is no cigar, it’s a piece of rolled-up filth! Call over the scoundrel who sold these so I can give him a piece of my mind.”
Fundholz thought his cigar tasted perfectly fine. He had no intention of complying with Sonnenberg’s wish. He didn’t want to cause a scandal.
Suddenly Sonnenberg yelled across the entire hall, “Elsi!”
Then, when no one answered, he shouted again, even more loudly, “Elsi, you damn bitch, are you coming or not? I’ll break every bone in your body if you don’t get your tail over here right now.”
The people at the next table over laughed. The dancing couples paused for a moment. Even the piano stopped.
In the ensuing silence the blind man screamed, “Well, are you coming? Or do I have to fetch you?”
Tönnchen woke up and looked around, afraid.
Fundholz didn’t like having so many curious eyes looking at him on account of the blind man. “Don’t make such a racket, Sonnenberg,” he said.
But the blind man didn’t listen. “If she doesn’t come here right this minute, she’ll be sorry!”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Grissmann was still dancing with Elsi. But she thought he seemed strangely distracted.
He was thinking about the pretty girl he had just seen and comparing her with Elsi, although there really was no comparison. The court bailiff’s daughter—for that’s who he assumed she was—was an attractive girl. Exceptionally attractive, in fact.
As he led her clumsily across the floor, he no longer found Elsi very appealing. Her face was not attractive, he decided, especially compared to the other girl. Why didn’t he have a pretty girlfriend? It seemed that the other girl didn’t like him, though.
Well, he thought, she can have any type of man she chooses. Men with money. After all, everything depends on money. If he had money, then he would also have beautiful women. Ten marks was nothing to them, of course. But just wait, Grissmann thought. One day I, too, will have money, and then you’ll show me a little more courtesy.
He maneuvered them closer to the piano. He wanted to see if the girl had already located the bailiff. Elsi snuggled close to him, but Grissmann didn’t react. He was looking for Herr Lindner.
The bailiff had a whole row of empty beer glasses in front of him. The tavern was so busy, the waiters hadn’t had a chance to clear things away.
Grissmann danced close to the bailiff’s table. “Hello,” he called.
Herr Lindner carefully set down his glass and looked up. “Hello,” he answered, slurring his speech.
Grissmann called out to him, “Your daughter is here!”
“Minchen?” asked Lindner in return, without great interest.
So her name was Minchen.
“That’s right,” Grissmann confirmed.
Herr Lindner felt for his missing mustache. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she?” he slurred.
Grissmann agreed. “Very pretty in fact!”
The bailiff nodded, flattered. “You should meet her, Herr …”
“Grissmann.”
“Herr Grissmann,” the bailiff repeated. He raised his glass. “Prost, young lady,” he said to Elsi.
Elsi smiled back. “Prost.” However, she thought Grissmann was far too interested in this girl. Sonnenberg was much more solid. But now Grissmann was once again holding her tightly.
Grissmann knew nothing about dancing. He didn’t waltz so much as spin around and around. No matter what was playing, he simply pressed his partner close and turned in time to the music, or not in time. Nor was he alone in this: Nearly all the couples danced that way.
As a rule, workers do not take dance lessons. They have neither the money nor the time. And why should they? They’re not interested in acting out some pantomime, and they don’t have any particular desire to develop their style. They simply dance to enjoy themselves, which they do. But just like in any establishment, there were people in the Jolly Huntsman who weren’t dancing only for themselves but were performing for others and wanted to be admired. For them dancing was not recreation or pleasure, but hard work. They sweated as they attempted to float across the floor. But no one paid them any attention, much to their displeasure.
On this evening at the Jolly Huntsman, it was above all the pimps who were on display. Bored with the official meeting, they had decided to enter the dance hall—at least the younger ones had, since the older generation was still engaged in serious deliberations. They had a style of their own. They swung their hips and danced seemingly without effort, though in fact this apparent ease took quite a bit of work. But they lived off the ladies, like butterflies off flowers, and were competing to expand their protectorate.
There weren’t many prostitutes in the Jolly Huntsman, but the trained eyes of the pimps easily spotted them. They were generally better dressed, with higher hemlines, abundant makeup, and additional qualities that distinguished them from the other female guests. They appeared very easygoing, happy to give a friendly glance to anyone they fancied. They and the pimps made up the jeunesse dorée of the lower classes. And just like the genuine jeunesse dorée, they had no steady employment and simply went through life in the same happy-go-lucky way as the golden youth of the upper class.
As they grew older, the business became more complicated. But for now, they were young, and life wasn’t so difficult. That was the thinking of the professionals, who had come to terms with themselves and were content. The amateurs did not patronize the Jolly Huntsman. The amateurs were not happy-go-lucky. The amateurs said each time that for them it was the last time.
Grissmann admired the various couples that floated by so easily and elegantly. He knew what they did for a living. But it wasn’t that which bothered him. He would have engaged in the same occupation if he could. But sadly no one wanted him.
He said to Elsi, snidely, “Look at them showing off and acting as though they were something else. The pimps!”
Elsi nodded, but suddenly Grissmann caught sight of Minchen Lindner. She was dancing with a good-looking young man in a black suit. Both danced well, without much effort. Grissmann watched them with envy. This fancy man in his ridiculous jacket had snatched the girl away from him. That was mean. He stepped on Elsi’s toes, but this time he didn’t apologize. He knew her well enough already, and it was no longer necessary to be overly polite, he thought.
Elsi followed his gaze. The same girl as before. She saw rage and disappointment in his face. Elsi wasn’t overly endowed with intellect, but that much was clear to her. Grissmann might be nice, but he would definitely not be faithful, at least no longer than he felt he needed to be. Sonnenberg was much more decent. Yes, Sonnenberg beat her. But she was sure Sonnenberg wouldn’t walk out on her. What would become of her if Grissmann just left her?
Elsi didn’t want to wind up back on the streets. But she knew there was hardly any other way to earn money. She vacillated. Grissmann was a lot more pleasant than the blind man. After all, he spoke like a human being and not like some bellowing beast. But Sonnenberg had his advantages. With him, there was always something to eat, for example.
Grissmann didn’t notice her shift in mood. He didn’t want to be annoyed by Minchen Lindner anymore and so turned back to Elsi. “Let’s go somewhere else this evening,” he whispered to her. Elsi smiled, but she was no longer so certain that anything would come of that. For his part, Grissmann had decided that he didn’t want to let go of what he had until he found something better.
Once again they danced past the table with the court bailiff. Something strange had taken place with Herr Lindner. He was no longer drinking and seemed to be occupied with a weighty problem. He was holding his right hand in front of his mouth and staring at the piano. As the couple danced past, he waved to them with his left hand.
Herr Lindner seemed to be choking down something. Just as the two were right next to him, it happened. The bailiff opened his mouth. “This damned awful beer,” he wanted to say, but didn’t get past “this damned.” Then he returned to the establishment a considerable portion of the beer he had drunk. He happened to have a weak stomach.
But neither Elsi nor Grissmann cared about that, and they spun away, disgusted. It was still so early. They went on dancing, and when, a few minutes later, Grissmann looked back at Court Bailiff Lindner, a waiter was already busy wiping things up.
