Herr Lindner sat on his chair, weakened. In front of him were two empty schnapps glasses. A bailiff like that must do pretty well for himself, Grissmann thought with envy.

  Elsi’s affection for Grissmann had peaked. At some point he’s simply going to walk out on me, she told herself. Just like she had wanted to walk out on the blind man. If she hadn’t been so afraid of Sonnenberg, she would have gone right back to him. Anxiously, she glanced in his direction.

  Sonnenberg was smoking a cigar. The odd man who had said hello this morning was laughing, while the fat man was asleep. How could he sleep when Sonnenberg was in one of his bad moods? The blind man’s fits of rage would wake an elephant, she thought. She concluded that Sonnenberg was no longer furious.

  Grissmann was saying something to her, and she looked at him, but he was once again casting about for the other girl. No, he was definitely not the faithful type. He would soon walk out on her.

  Suddenly she heard her name being called. That was Sonnenberg. He was shouting so loudly that for a moment everyone stopped dancing. Instinctively Elsi freed herself from Grissmann. When Sonnenberg shouted, you had to jump. That much she knew.

  Grissmann looked at her, baffled. He wanted to put his arms back around her, but Sonnenberg started yelling again. Elsi left him and made her way through the crowd, without even turning to look at him. Grissmann followed her, angry. He wasn’t afraid of the blind man. Just you wait, he thought. The woman must be out of her mind. First she ate her fill on his money, then she danced with him, and now she wants to leave him standing there.

  “Just you wait,” Grissmann grumbled. He had his rights to defend. Rights he had just acquired. And therefore he was not about to put up with something like this!

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  At first Minchen and Handsome Wilhelm didn’t talk to each other. Each was trying to get used to the other’s movements and adjusting as needed.

  Minchen Lindner liked to dance, and she was glad her partner was a good dancer.

  “Tell me, mister in the black suit, do you have a name?”

  Minchen Lindner was not inhibited. She’d learned a lot about life, after all. She was no longer some innocent girl from the country. She was Herr von Sulm’s special friend and equipped with quite a bit of life experience. She didn’t attach any importance to form and enjoyed saying whatever popped into her head. That was precisely why she had come here, so she wouldn’t have to speak in such high-flown gibberish.

  Wilhelm was a little taken aback by the question. He was used to women courting him the way men usually court women. But Minchen’s verve appealed to him. He had been particularly impressed by the scene with Hagen and the old lady. She was not at a loss for words and had a sharp tongue; that much he had already ascertained.

  She didn’t appear to be a lady “from the guild”—if she were, she would have been better dressed. Wilhelm was a master of his trade and knew that the right face could earn a lot of money. Minchen Lindner had the right face, but he didn’t believe that she put it to professional use.

  Handsome Wilhelm introduced himself: “My name is Wilhelm Winter.”

  “I see,” said Minchen Lindner. “So that’s your name, or at least you claim it is. Because if your name really was Wilhelm Winter, the proprietor could have told that to the lady right away. But even though he knows you, he doesn’t actually know your real name. Which is why there’s all this confusion,” she concluded astutely.

  She believed her dance partner was what was known as a hard case. One of those whose work was under the table and on the sly, and whose endeavors clearly ran afoul of certain articles of the criminal code. That impressed her. Minchen Lindner had a sense of romance. The man was known as Handsome Wilhelm, but he didn’t appear to be a pimp. He didn’t look like one. Nor did he behave like one.

  He carried himself more like a proper criminal—a brigand, a bandit—and not some lowlife pimp. Minchen had far more sympathy for proper criminals than for parasitic panderers and fancy men. Criminals were real men. They cracked safes, ransacked cash registers, and waged heroic battles against the state, which was so much stronger than they were. That said, she had no sympathy for pickpockets, since one of them had stolen her purse once. But bank robbers, those were men all right. To be a robber like that was to be a fighter, Minchen thought. A man like that had class. She hoped that the man in her arms was an honest-to-God safecracker.

  She snuggled closer to him. She wanted to feel if he was carrying a revolver. But Handsome Wilhelm wasn’t carrying a revolver and had never possessed one. Disappointed, Minchen again put a little distance between the two of them.

  Wilhelm thought about what she had said. She was right. Did Heinrich possibly think he was a wanted man? Handsome Wilhelm was actually happy he wasn’t. His own sense of romance had suffered somewhat when he was in custody. There are two sides to every story, including the life of a criminal, as he well knew.

  “My name is Wilhelm Winter,” he repeated, “and I’ve never gone by anything else.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Minchen dreamily.

  “Why so?”

  “I thought you might be a hard case,” she openly admitted.

  “You’re thinking quite a bit about who I might be,” said Wilhelm, flattered.

  “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Are you from here?” he wanted to know.

  “No, I’m from there,” she answered pertly.

  Wilhelm laughed. “I like you. You’re all right,” he acknowledged.

  Minchen Lindner took note. “My name is Hermine Lindner,” she introduced herself.

  Wilhelm Winter shook his head.“Hermine sounds too severe. You ought to go by Minchen.”

  Minchen Lindner beamed. “That’s exactly what people call me.”

  Wilhelm acted jealous. “Who calls you that?”

  Minchen didn’t answer. She was thinking about her older gentlemen. And the thoughts were neither fond nor pleasant.

  “Who calls me that? That’s none of your business!” she said, instead.

  This girl was a lot of fun. It was fun not having to be Handsome Wilhelm, who anyone could claim in return for a certain percentage. Now he was back to being Wilhelm Winter. Here was a girl he liked, and everything was nice and easy.

  “But I’d really like to know.” He laughed, and picked up the pace.

  His laugh appealed to her. It was so fresh, so easygoing. Not like Herr von Sulm’s old man’s cackle and not awkward or doltish like some of the others. He laughed like a boy. Most definitely not a pimp. He was a worker or a clerk who’d had that odd suit made simply because he liked it.

  Minchen Lindner wasn’t set on bank robbers. There must be other real men out there as well. However she chose not to answer his question. Why should she lie to him? That wasn’t necessary.

  “You’re a regular here. Am I right?”

  Wilhelm confirmed this.

  “In that case why don’t you ask the piano player if he wouldn’t just prefer to pick up an axe. That would be quicker.”

  “What would be quicker?” he wanted to know.

  “Well,” said Minchen, in a serious tone of voice, “I’m assuming the man wants to destroy the piano.”

  Handsome Wilhelm laughed, delighted.

  Minchen Lindner suddenly remembered that she hadn’t come here just to dance, but also to give her father some money. She spotted him sitting at a table, drinking alone. If I give him the money now, he’ll just drink more, she considered. He isn’t going anywhere, so I’ll just give it to him later.

  All of a sudden someone came up to Wilhelm.

  “Hello, Willi,” said a heavily made-up girl.

  Wilhelm’s face turned red. He felt ashamed in front of Minchen Lindner. The girl with the painted face was dancing with a heavyset, boorish-looking man.

  “Hello, Elfriede,” he replied.

  They went on dancing, with Minchen poorer for the loss of an illusion. Aha, she thought—so that’s what he is, after all. Generally speaking, Minchen was not inclined to prejudice, but she harbored a particular aversion to pimps. She found the idea of a man living off prostitutes contemptible.

  Wilhelm sensed Minchen pulling away. He was annoyed. Why did Elfriede have to speak to him now of all times? She was probably jealous. Later he would give her a piece of his mind. But what use was that? Now Minchen Lindner was looking through him as if he wasn’t there.

  He tried to joke about it. “Berlin sure is small, you’re always running into acquaintances when you least want to.”

  Minchen didn’t react. She went on dancing automatically, indifferently.

  Wilhelm was exasperated with her. “Do you know what I am?” he asked.

  Minchen Lindner shook her head. Now he’s going to try and sell me the moon, she imagined.

  “I’m a pimp! A low-down common pimp!”

  He let go of her. “You’re shocked, right? Now you can find another partner. Because I’m sure you don’t want to dance with a pimp, right?”

  Minchen laughed. “Why not?”

  The fact that he was so frank about his profession made him again rise in her estimation. To be sure it was hardly a splendid business, but she was impressed by the way he came out and said it.

  “So why are you a pimp?” she wanted to know.

  Winter became more talkative. He wanted to explain to her how everything was tied together. After all, it wasn’t that he enjoyed the work: It was need that had compelled him to become what he was. “I’m unemployed,” he said.

  Minchen Lindner understood everything that entailed. She, too, had had a taste of that and had not been any more resilient than he had.

  “So, you’re unemployed,” she repeated, commiserating.

  Wilhelm warmed up somewhat. “But I’m looking for work. I’ve had enough of this, you understand? I don’t enjoy it. At all.”

  Minchen didn’t answer. She didn’t enjoy her profession, either. Being a pimp was probably worse, but she was sick and tired of what she did.

  “You know what?” Wilhelm said, changing the subject. “How about I show you the other room, our Liederkranz hall. You’re not a snitch, are you?”

  Minchen laughed. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  What Wilhelm had in mind went against half a dozen of the Ringverein’s regulations. But he didn’t care. As it was, he wanted to get out of the business. Why shouldn’t he show the girl around? They danced over to the taproom, and when they reached the door, they let go of each other.

  Frau Fliebusch was still eating. She seemed to have calmed down completely, and she gave the two a friendly nod.

  “My husband will pay you back,” she assured Minchen Lindner.

  “That’s not necessary,” Minchen replied.

  “Oh but I insist. You have to visit us sometime.”

  Minchen Lindner thanked her for the invitation. Crazy people should never be contradicted.

  Wilhelm led her down the same corridor he had come through with Herr Hagen.

  “You should feel flattered. The lady didn’t invite me,” he noted.

  Minchen laughed. “I doubt we’ll live to see the real Handsome Wilhelm return.”

  “I am the real one,” Wilhelm said, offended.

  “Now, now,” she countered. “You’re not exactly who you claim to be, either.”

  They stood by the heavy door, behind which they could hear the faint babble of deep voices.

  “Now, don’t say a word. It will only set them off,” he whispered, and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. She was enjoying the adventure. She was about to meet a genuine criminal gang—a real Ringverein.

  Wilhelm opened the door, and they both stepped inside.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The music played on, and the dancing couples stopped paying attention to the shouting blind man. Most assumed he was drunk, which was hardly noteworthy in the Jolly Huntsman. It was just a little too early, though. But people are different: Some don’t get drunk before midnight and others are soused substantially earlier. So the couples went on dancing.

  Elsi was terribly afraid of how the blind man would react. As she made her way to his table, she kept wondering if she really shouldn’t turn around. Sonnenberg was not going to let her behavior go unpunished. That much was certain. She slowed her pace.

  Grissmann wanted to catch up to her, but before he could, she was already at the table. “Yes, Max?” she asked innocently.

  The blind man sat up, taking notice. His face glowed with inner satisfaction. So, she had fallen in line and obeyed him, after all. Which is what she had to do, always.

  “Come and sit by me,” he said. His voice sounded inviting, but underneath, it was still smoldering with rage.

  Elsi sat down obediently, across the table from Sonnenberg. There she could escape more easily if he started up. His calm composure struck her as unnatural. She looked up. Grissmann was standing in front of her.

  “Well,” he asked, “don’t you want to go on dancing?”

  Sonnenberg slammed his fist on the table. “Clear off, boy! Or else there’ll be a thrashing! Have you lost your mind? Go on dancing? There’ll be no more dancing here! Here somebody’s going to get coldcocked! You got that, boy? Don’t even think …”

  Grissmann interrupted him. “Stop making such a racket! Or else I’ll smack you, blind or not!”

  Sonnenberg gave a start. “Because I’m blind, you think you can do what you want with my wife? Well you’re mistaken!” He stood up. “I gave my eyes for you shirkers. Come on, boy, let’s wrestle! Give me your chubby little hand! How about it?”

  Grissmann didn’t answer.

  “Well?” asked Sonnenberg. “Maybe you’d rather box? You want to sneak behind me and conk me over the head from behind? Or are you scared?”

  People at the nearby tables looked over, curious. The blind man had all sympathies on his side. They started calling out—the mildest shouts being “He’s absolutely right!” and “Cowardly dog!”

  A very brawny young man stood up and stepped over to the table. “Have a seat, blind man. If you’d like I can slap the boy around a little. Is that your son? Children need to be educated!” He reached back and was only waiting for the blind man’s go-ahead to let loose.

  Grissmann had imagined the whole thing differently. He had thought he would only be dealing with Sonnenberg. But now more and more people were joining in. He had no desire to get thrashed. “What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” he stammered sheepishly. “I was just joking.”

  Sonnenberg insisted on settling the matter himself. He was still a man, after all. He might not be able to see, but he could still wrestle, because then he could feel his opponent. I’ll chop him into kindling, he promised himself. “Thank you, but I’ll take care of my own affairs. That way I’ll know things will be done right,” he replied to the man. Then he turned to Grissmann. “Come, my friend, give me your hand. Let’s shake and make up!” Grissmann hesitated. He didn’t trust the blind man. Sonnenberg didn’t seem the least bit conciliatory, and looking at him now—the man was big and strong—Grissmann felt afraid.

  Elsi sat quietly on her chair and watched. She was glad that Sonnenberg’s fury had been diverted. She didn’t wish anything bad for Grissmann, but better him than her.

  Fundholz stood up. He tapped Sonnenberg on the shoulder, hoping to calm him down. “Let it go, Sonnenberg. Let’s have another drink. Everything’s all right. Grissmann didn’t mean anything.”

  Sonnenberg brushed him away in a very calm voice. “Sit down, Fundholz. Who says I want to do anything to him? He wanted to do something to me. You heard the man. He said blind or not …”

  Fundholz didn’t trust him. He knew Sonnenberg’s tricks, and he continued trying to calm him down. “Everything’s all right now.”

  Tönnchen smiled cheerfully at the old man, who patted him on the shoulder and sat back in his chair. Today of all days, when Fundholz was feeling so happy and free of care, Sonnenberg shouldn’t cause a ruckus. The old man wanted his peace and quiet.

  Sonnenberg was still holding his hand out to Grissmann. “Not up for it, are you? Afraid I might do something to you?” His last words did not encourage Grissmann. The brawny young man was ready to pounce and place Grissmann’s hand in Sonnenberg’s. Grissmann’s fear was evident to all.

  “There’s no weaseling out of it,” said the young man. “First he mouths off and then he wants to run off! That’s out of the question.”

  Grissmann actually was debating whether he shouldn’t simply run away, and this intention must have shown in his face. But he realized that wouldn’t work. Reluctantly he prepared to place his right hand in that of the blind man. With his left hand he carefully opened the knife in his pocket. Just in case, he thought.

  The commotion had not gone unnoticed. Herr Hagen came up to them, accompanied by two elegant gentlemen. “And this is Sonnenberg,” he said, by way of introduction. “Our accordion player. I’m sad to say he’s blind,” he added. It sounded like an excuse.

  Everyone turned around, surprised. Only now did they notice Herr Hagen, who was winking at them, and the two well-dressed gentlemen.

  “Probably more gawkers from the west come to look at our zoo,” one man said in a low voice to his girlfriend.

  Herr Hagen had heard the remark. Wrinkling his forehead in indignation, he said, “Anyone who doesn’t like things in the Jolly Huntsman is free to leave.” But the man liked things there and was silent.

  The two gentlemen had understood the man’s remark. They tried to erase the bad impression they seemed to have made by showing how easygoing they were. “Things are livelier out here with you boys,” the younger of the two said appreciatively. He was a lawyer and believed that, thanks to his knowledge of human nature, he had found the right tone. These folks like keeping things lively, he thought. So he went on, “There’s always something going on with you lot. It’s downright enviable!”

  The older man, a district judge from the province, who had entrusted himself to his friend’s guidance, joined in: “Enviable!” But he wasn’t feeling entirely comfortable. He could tell by the faces that there was tension in the air. There was evidently something going on between the burly blind man and the weak-looking fellow.

 

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