Free The Hustler: The Story of a Nameless Love From Friedrichstrasse by John Henry Mackay Page A

thought of being gypped? No, he been mistaken. What would he be likely to give him?
    Since something must finally be said, it was he who asked, and it was the age-old question:
    “Do you perhaps have a cigarette?”
    Graff hastily reached into his pocket. A smoke, of course; how could he have forgotten!
    “Yes. Here, you’re welcome. I hope they’re good enough!”
    As the two smoked, they became somewhat more comfortable.
    The first questions came.
    How was he called? His first name?
    “Gunther—” And he was called Hermann.
    Thus they gradually began a conversation. It dragged a bit, since the one always considered if he was questioning too much, while the other wondered more and more about this john, sitting here, ordering beer again, making no move to finally come to the goal of it all. Yet it was all the same to him. It was nice sitting here.
    What questions, however, were being asked! “It’s an interrogation,” Gunther thought, and he began coolly to lie with each new question.
    Work? No, he had none now. But of course he had. Lost it. Friends? Sure, he had friends, but they don’t help. You only have friends when you have money. Relatives? No, no relatives. Where does he live then? Together with another boy, but he couldn’t stay there longer, for he was already a week behind in his rent and couldn’t pay. Last night? Well, in the Tiergarten.
    The questioner’s heart contracted. It was going so badly for him! Therefore his hunger! He had come just in the nick of time.
    Pity welled up in him, that most dangerous of all matchmakers of love, confused him all the more, and made him ask, “May I help you? Help as a friend?” For that’s what he would like to be to him, a true friend!
    Now the boy was really dumbfounded. Was this man serious or was he making fun of him? Help? For nothing? As a friend?
    Then it occurred to him: a relationship! That’s what he wanted. But he did not want it. Atze had always said, “Just no relationship!” (He gave no reasons why not, but it sounded like an oath.) But why shouldn’t he let himself be helped, if the man here absolutely wanted to? So go to it. And right away.
    The other, however, abruptly stopped questioning, and kept silent, thinking.
    Then, after a quiet pause, he reached over the table and laid his hand lightly and tenderly over the slim and dirty hand opposite him. (How beautiful it was, this small and tender hand with its unclean but well-grown nails! How warm and beautiful it was, this hand, which he was touching for the first time!) And he said, as if entreating, softly and urgently:
    “Let me help you, Gunther! I would like to help you! You should suffer no more need!”
    He received no answer. The hand was not withdrawn. The boy looked straight ahead, crumpled up the remaining bread, and reached for a new cigarette. He heard further:
    “We’ll see one another again of course. As soon as can be—even tomorrow. I just have to think it over.” Then: “I will see if I can find a position for you. I can’t promise it to you today, but I will help you, as well as I can.” Further: “Where will you sleep today? Do you know a respectable hotel that will take you for tonight? We’ll see, then, tomorrow where we can find a room for you—with good and decent people.” Finally: “Can you manage—?” and he reached into his breast pocket and drew out his wallet. (How difficult it was to offer money!) “Can you get along with this until tomorrow?” A blue bill was furtively pressed into the boy’s hand.
    With a quick glance the boy had seen that the bill was five marks. Not much! But it occurred to him that he was getting it for nothing—the meal and cigarettes besides—and he became more satisfied. He quickly shoved the money into his pants pocket.
    He assumed they could go now. He finally grasped that the other wanted nothing more today.
    And so they left, after the bill had been settled.
    Outside, near the bridge, they stopped.
    Hermann