Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf (49 page)

Then he has her in his arms. That boy has a strong pair of arms. And how he can hug! To everything there is a season; a time to plant and a time to pluck up; a time to get and a time to lose. I can’t breathe. He won’t let go. It’s hot all right. Lemme go. If he does that again a couple of times, I’m done for. Gee, he’s got to tell me first, what’s the matter with Franz, what Franz really wants, and everything that’s happened and what those fellows think about it. “Now, lemme go, Reinhold.”

“All right.” He lets her go, stands there, then he falls down on the ground before her, kisses her shoes, he must be crazy, kisses her stockings, farther up, her dress, her hands, to everything a season, all the way up to her throat. She laughs, and moves her arms about excitedly: “Go away, go a way, you must be crazy.” He is on fire; they ought to give you a showerbath. He pants and coughs, he tries to bite her throat, he stammers something, but she can’t understand him. of his own accord he releases her throat, why, he’s just like a bull. His arm lies on hers, and while they walk, I he trees keep singing. “Look here, Mieze. here’s a nice little hollow place, just built for us-just look. A week-end love-nest. Somebody’s been cookin’ here. Let’s clear it up. Might get my pants dirty.” Shall I sit down now? Maybe he’ll talk better then. “Well, I don’t care. It’d be nicer 10 sit on a coat.” “Wait a minute, Mieze, I’ll take my coat off.” “That’s sweet of you.”

They are lying on a slope in a grassy hollow. She pushes a tin can away with her foot, then turns on to her belly and quickly slips her arm across his breast. So here we are. She smiles at him. When he pushes his vest off his chest and the anvil appears, she does not take her head away. “Now you’re gonna tell me something, Reinhold.” He crushes her to his breast, so here we are, fine, here’s the girl, everything’s jake, a fine kid, a humdinger. I’ll keep her a long time, and Franz can beef as much as he likes, he won’t get her back so soon as all that. Reinhold slides downwards, pulling Mieze along, presses her in his arms and kisses her mouth. He sucks himself in, not a thought in his head, only an ecstasy, a wild desire, pure savagery and that’s all there is to it, every gesture is prescribed, let none come near to impede him now! A rending, a tearing which no hurricane. no avalanche of rocks can hinder, it is the shell from a cannon, a mine exploding. All that rushes against it is shattered, thrust aside and on and on it goes, on and on.

“Oh, not so tight, Reinhold!” He makes me weak; if I don’t look out, he’ll get me. “Mieze.” He looks up blinking, but does not release her. “Well, Miezeken?” “Well, Reinhold?” “Whatcha studyin’ about me?” “Say, it’s really wicked what you’re doing to me. How long have you known Franz?” “Your Franz?” “Yes.” “Your Franz, well, is he still yours?” “Well, whose, then?” “Well, who am I?” “How d’you mean?” She wants to hide her head on his breast, but he forces it up. “Well, who am I?” She throws herself at him, presses her lips against his mouth, and he flames up again, I love him a bit too, the way he twists and burns. No flood of water, no giant firehose could extinguish that; flames are streaming out of the house, they grow from within. “So now you better let me go again.” “What do you want, girlie?” “Nothin’. To be with you.” “All right then, I’m yours too, ain’t I? Did you break with Franz?” “No.” “Did you break with him, Mieze?” “No, I’d rather you’d tell me somethin’ about him. You’ve known him for a long time.” “Can’t tell you anything about him.” “Aw, go on!” “I won’t tell you nothin’, Mieze.” He seizes her and throws her down by his side, but she wrestles with him: “No, I don’t want to.” “Don’t be such a mule, girlie.” “I wanta get up, I’m gettin’ all dirty here.” “And suppose I was to tell you somethin’ now.” “That’d be fine.” “What’ll I get for it, Mieze?” “Whatever you want.” “Everything?” “Well-we’ll see.” “Everything?” Their faces are close together, aflame. She doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure myself what I’ll do, something flashes through him, all thought gone, no thoughts, unconsciousness.

He sits up, must wipe my face off, pugh, the woods, you sure get dirty here. “I’ll tell you somethin’ about your Franz. I’ve known him a long time. You know, he’s a special kind of a bozo. We met in the Prenzlauer Allee saloon. Last winter. He was peddlin’ papers. And then he knew somebody there, Meck, that’s right. That’s where I got to know him. Then we used to meet there, and I told you somethin’ about the girls before, didn’t I?” “Is that true?” “And how! But he’s a boob, Biberkopf, that dumbbell, he can’t brag about it, it all comes from me, maybe you think it’s him that got me all them women? My God, his women! No, if he’d had his way, we’da gone to the Salvation Army, so as to mend my ways.” “But you ain’t mendin’ ‘em, are you, Reinhold?” “No, you can see that. Nothin’ doin’ with me. You got to take me the way I am. That’s as sure as you’re alive, and you can’t do nothin’ about it. But that guy, Mieze, that pimp o’ yours, that’s the guy you can change. You certainly are a pretty baby. Listen, sweetie, how can you pick up a bozo like that, with one ann, a pretty kid like you; you can get ten on each finger if you want to.” “Ah, cut that out.” “Well, yes, love’s blind in both eyes, but that’s the limit. You know what that pimp o’ yours wants with us now? He wants to play the big guy with us. Us, of all people! First he wanted to send me to the sinners’ bench at the Salvation Army, but it didn’t work. And now!” “Say, don’t knock him like that, I can’t listen to it.” “Tickle-tickle! I know, he’s your darlin’ little Franz, he’s still your dear little Franzeken, ain’t he?” “He don’t do nothin’ against you, Reinhold.”

To everything its season, to everything, everything. A terrible man, wish he’d let me go, I don’t want to bother with him, he needn’t tell me anything. “No, he don’t hurt us, he’d have a hard time doin’ it, Mieze. But you certainly caught a fine specimen in him, Mieze. Did he ever tell you anything about his arm? What? Ain’t you his girl, or wasn’t you? Come here, Miezeken, you’re my sweet little darling, don’t put on.” What’ll I do? I don’t want him. To everything its season, a time to plant, to pluck up, to rend, and to sew; to weep, and to dance; to lament, and to laugh. “Come on, Mieze, whatcha want with a nut like that? You’re my sweet little girl. Now don’t pretend. You’re not a countess yet, just because you’re with that feller. You oughta be glad to be rid of him.” You oughta be glad; why should I be? “Let ‘im beef now, he ain’t got his Mieze any more.” “Just stop that, and don’t push me like that. I’m not made of iron.” “No of flesh, of nice flesh, say Mieze, let’s have your little beak!” “What’s the matter with you, you fool. I told you not to push me. You’re on the wrong track. Since when am I your Mieze?”

Let’s get out of here. Left my hat down there. He’ll smash me up. Better run off. Already-he hasn’t gotten out of the hollow yet-she begins to yell, she yells “Franz” and starts to run. He gets up, and runs like mad, he’s caught her, he’s in his shirt-sleeves. They fall near a tree, and lie there. She kicks, but he’s over her. holding her mouth. “Are you gain’ to scream, you bitch, are you screamin’ again? What are you yellin’ about? Am I doin’ anything to you, will you keep quiet? He didn’t smash any of your bones the other day, did he? Better look out. that’s not my way of doin’ things.” He takes his hand away from her mouth. “I won’t yell.” “Then it’s all right. And now you get up, you, and go on back there and get your hat. I never use force on a woman. I ain’t never done it as long as I live. But you’d better not get me mad this way.”

He walks behind her.

“Needn’t brag about your Franz, even if you are his whore.” “I’m goin’ home now.” “Whatcha mean, gain’ home, got a screw loose, or somethin’, maybe you don’t know who you’re talkin’ to, you can talk that way to that poor nut o’ yours, but not to me.” “Ob-I don’t know what to do.” “Go back to the hollow like a good girl.”

When a little calf is to be slaughtered, they tie a rope round its neck and lead it to the bench. Then they lift the little calf, put it on the bench, and tie it firmly.

They walk to the hollow. He says: “Lie down.” “Me?” “If you yell! I like you, kid, otherwise I would’na come here, I tell you; even if you are his whore, that’s no reason why you should act like a countess. Better not start any of that with me. You know that don’t do no good to nobody. I don’t care whether it’s man, woman or child, I’m ticklish about it. You can learn a thing or two from your pimp. He can tell you somethin’. If it don’t embarrass him, that is. But you can hear it from me, too. I can tell you all about who he is. And what you’ll be in for, if you start somethin’ with me. Y’know he once wanted to try all that stuff he’s got up there in that noodle of his. I guess he wanted to squeal on us. He stood watch once where we was workin’. And he says he won’t help, he’s a respectable man. He ain’t got no holes in his jacket, that fellow. Come along, says I to him. So then he had to come along in the car, and I didn’t know what to do with the bozo, he always did have a big mouth, but wait a minute, there’s a car back of us, and I thinks to myself, now watch out, m’boy, you with your highfalutin’ airs, you gotta act decent to me. And out of the car he flies. Now you know where he left his arm.”

Icy hands, icy feet, so it was him. “Now you just lie down, and be nice, and behave proper.” He’s a murderer! “You dirty dog, you crook.” He beams. “Y’see. Now yell as hard as you can.” Now you’re goin’ to behave. She screams and weeps: “You dog, you wanted to kill him, you got him into trouble and now you want to have me, you nasty thing.” “Yep, that’s what I want.” “You nasty thing, I could spit on you.” He holds her mouth closed. “Are you goin’ to?” She turns blue, and tugs at his hand: “Murderer, help! Franz, Franzeken!”

Its season, its season, to everything its season! A time to strangle, a time to heal; to break down and to build up, to rend, and to sew, to everything its season. She throws herself down, trying to escape. They wrestle in the hollow. Help, Franz!

We’ll pull that job all right, we’ll playa little joke on your Franz, then he’ll have something to think about the whole week. “I wanta go home.” “Try and do it. Many a one has tried it.”

He kneels on her back, his hands are around her throat, his thumbs in the nape of her neck, her body contracts, contracts. Her body contracts. There’s a season, to be born, and to die, to be born and to die, to everything its season.

Murderer, you say, and you coaxed me here, and I guess you wanta fool me, you tart, but you don’t know Reinhold.

Power, power, there is a mower, has power which the Lord hath kept. Lemme go. She’s still writhing and kicking, she kicks from behind. We’ll set the child a-rocking, and the dogs can eat what remains of you.

Her body contracts, contracts, her body, Mieze’s body. Murderer, she says. She’ll find out, he probably told you that, your sweet Franz.

Whereupon the animal is given a blow on the neck with a wooden club, and the arteries on both sides of the neck are opened with the knife; a tin basin receives the blood.

It is eight o’clock, and the wood is fairly dark. The trees rock and sway. That was heavy work. Is she still talkin’? No, she’s stopped her yapping. The bitch. That’s what you get when you go out on an excursion with a tart like that.

Heap it with brushwood, tie a handkerchief to the next tree, so we can find it again. I’m through with her, where’s Karl? Must fetch him. A full hour later he is back with Karl, that guy has no guts, look how he’s lrembling, his knees are wobbly, and a fellow is expected to work with such a greenhorn! It is quite dark, they search with flashlights, here’s the handkerchief. They get spades from the car. The body is buried deep, sand on top, brushwood above, watch out for tracks, old boy, wipe ‘em away, pull yourself together, Karl. You act as if you were already in for it yourself. by golly.

“All right then, here’s my passport, it’s a good passport, Karle, and here’s some money and you’d better make yourself scarce as long as things are so hot. You’ll get some money, don’t you worry. Write to Pums’s address, as usual. I’ll go on back. Nobody’s seen me, and they can’t do anything to you, you’ve got your alibi. O.K. Now beat it.”

The trees rock and sway. To everything, everything.

It’s pitch dark. Her face is smashed, her teeth are smashed, her mouth, lips, tongue, throat, body, limbs, abdomen, all are smashed. I’m yourn, you shall console me. Stettin Depot Police Station, Aschinger’s; I’m feeling bad, come on, we’ll soon be home, I’m yourn.

The trees rock, and a wind rises. Whoo, hooh, hooh, oo, hoo. Night advances, her body lies there, all smashed up, her eyes, her tongue, her mouth, come on, we’ll soon be home. I’m yourn. A tree creaks on the edge of the wood. Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoooo, that’s the storm, it’s coming with fife and drum, it’s now lurking there above the wood, now it breaks loose howling and slithers down. A wailing in the brushwood. Like a scraping sound, and then it howls like a dog that’s locked up and wails and whimpers, just listen to him Whimper, someone must have stepped on him, and with a heavy heel. now it is silent again.

Whoo, whoo, whoo, the storm is coming up again, it is night the woods lie quiet, tree beside tree. They have grown up in peace. They are serried like a herd. They stand so penned together that the storm does not easily assail them, only the sentinels on the edge and the weaklings get it in the neck. Let’s cling together, let’s hold fast, it is night, the sun is gone, hoo, hooh, hoo, there it starts again, it’s here, it’s below, above, around us. A yellow-red glare in the sky, and night again, a yellow-red glare, night, the whimpering and whistling grows louder. It’s the sentinels, they know what’s coming, and they whimper, and with them the grass, it may bend and quiver, but what of the massive trees? Then suddenly the wind has ceased blowing, has given up, abandoned the game, but leaves them squeaking still, what will it do now?

If you want to demolish a house, you can’t do it with your hand, a steam-shovel is needed, or a charge of dynamite from below. All the wind does is to expand its chest a bit. Watch now how it draws in its breath and then puffs it out whoo, whoo, whoo, it draws it in and puffs it out whoo, whoo, whoo. Every breath is heavy as a mountain. Puffs it out, whoo, whoo, whoo. The mountain is rolled forward, rolled back, puffs it out, whoo, whoo, whoo. Back and forth. Its breath is weighty as a ball that drives and pushes against the wood. And when the wood stands serried, like a herd on the hills, the wind runs over the herd and goes roaring by.