Free Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf by Alfred Döblin Page A

Meck with the sheet of paper: ‘‘I’m a member now, yes, sir! I’m a member of the Berlin local Group. There, read that, there it is: Berlin local Group, National Association, and what does it say here: of the Itinerant Tradesmen of Germany. Great, heh!” “And what are you, a dealer in textiles? Here it says textiles. But since when is that your line, Franz? What kind of textiles have you got?” “But I didn’t say textiles, I said stockings and aprons. He just would have it that way, textiles. But it doesn’t matter, I don’t have to pay till the first of the month.” “Well, old boy, first of all, suppose you should go in for china plates now, or kitchen pails, or let’s say you trade in animals, like these gentlemen here: gentlemen, isn’t it nonsense for a man to get himself a membership card for textiles when he might be going to deal in cattle?” “I advise you not to do anything in cattle. Cattle are low. You’d better go in for small live-stock.” “But he isn’t going in for anything at all, yet. That’s a fact. Gentlemen, this fellow’s only sitting around here and would like to do something. You might just as well tell him, yes, sir, Franz, go in for mouse-traps or plaster heads.” “If it’s necessary, Gottlieb, if you can make a living at it, why not? Not particularly mouse-traps, there’s already a strong competition on the part of the drug-stores with their patent poisons, but plaster heads, why shouldn’t a man take plaster heads into the small towns?” “You see, there you are: he gets himself a ticket for aprons and is going in for plaster heads.”
    “Gottlieb, that’s not it; gentlemen, you’re right, but you mustn’t turn the thing around like that. You ought to explain a thing properly and show it in its proper light, like the hunchbacked chap did about that Frankfort business, when you weren’t listening.” “Because I got nothing to do with Frankfort. And these gentlemen ain’t either.” “All right, Gottlieb, that’s fine, gentlemen, don’t wanta reproach you, only I, for my part, in my humble way, I was listening, and it was great, the way he illustrated everything, so calmly, but forcefully too, although he had a weak voice, and the man has a weak chest, too, and the way everything was arranged in order and the way he led up to the resolution, every point clean-cut a fine thing, he’s got a good head on him, and accurate even to mentioning the toilets they didn’t like. Of course, I had that business with the Jews, you know, don’t you? Once, gentlemen, when I felt very low, two Jews helped me by telling me stories. They spoke to me, decent people, who didn’t know me, and then they told me about a Pole or somebody or other, and it was nothing but a story and still it was very good, a good lesson for me in the situation I was in. I thought: Cognac would have done the work, too. But who knows? Afterwards I was going good, and on my feet again.” One of the live-stock dealers puffed and grinned: “Before that you must have got a pretty big wallop in the neck?” “No joking, gentlemen. Besides, you are right. It was some wallop! Might happen to you, too, in life, that things come plopping down on your head and make your knees wobble. Might happen to anybody, a dirty break like that. What are you going to do with your wobbly knees afterwards? You run around the streets, Brunnenstrasse, Rosenthaler Tor, Alex. You run around sometimes and can’t even read the street signs. Clever people helped me then, they talked to me and told me a lotta things, people with heads on ‘em, and from that you learn this: You shouldn’t swear by money or cognac or the lousy pennies you pay in dues. The main thing is, head high, and see that you use it and that you know what’s goin’ on around you, so you don’t get knocked out before you know it. Then everything’s not half bad. That’s it, gentlemen. That’s how it strikes me.”
    “And so, sir, I mean