Free Magic Hoffmann by Jakob Arjouni Page A

a bare mattress, and pale, grey morning light streamed through the window. An old, discarded bar counter ran right across the room, with fifties-style bar stools around it. Film posters hung on the walls alongside photos of some cove who looked like he was spoiling for a duel.
    Fred had an evil taste in his mouth. As he sat up he saw half-digested, dried bits of beans stuck to his overalls. The Prince of Berlin. The prince didn’t feel too good.
    Fred stood up and padded along the dark hallway. Not a sound. Supporting himself on the walls, he arrived at the kitchen. Swabbed down and tidied, it lay bathed in morning light. Fred sighed. Quickly he turned to the fridge. He rummaged through the various compartments, but there was nothing edible other than mustard and some strange, rank roots. He took a bottle of orange juice, closed the door, turned round again, added a beer and went back to the room.
    Seated at the counter, he emptied the bottle of orange juice and stared out of the window. Children with satchels and women with scarves and shopping bags filled the pavements. He watched a young man escorting two prettily dressed, laughing little girls over the street, and pensively scratched a bean from his overalls. Then he opened the bottle of beer on the edge of the counter and lay back down on the mattress. Soon he was asleep again.
    Â 
    â€˜A school friend from Nürnberg once visited me when I was living with Ralph. Man, was that embarrassing. In the evening we wanted to go to Fuck Off and what did she wear? Some kind of pink, body-hugging outfit with the slogan Enjoy Sex! I tell you, the people who knew me looked at me the whole evening as if they were saying goodbye. I had to phone around for three days to square the thing away.’
    â€˜Fred has just spent four years in jail. It’s perfectly normal that he should have one too many.’
    â€˜All right Annette, one! And that haircut.’
    Suppressed laughter.
    Fred squeezed his eyes open and saw two blurred pairs of legs at the counter. The window was open, and a cool breeze blew through the room. He brought his eyes into focus and saw jeans and rectangular shoes. Slowly he turned his head around. Two women. One was broad and dark with a mass of jangling chains and amulets from her from neckline to her hip. The other was blond and plump. Two chubby round buttocks spilled over the bar stool, and warm oil seemed to flood through Fred’s veins. His Annette. His plump little Annette.
    â€˜Hey!’ he wheezed. Annette turned round, and he stared at a deathly white face. Fred was shocked.
    But when she leapt off the stool and threw herself on him, laughing, he quickly got over it. And when they lay in each other’s arms and Fred touched those shoulders he had missed for so long and Annette said: ‘You stink like the doorway to a dosshouse.’ He closed his eyes and he was happy.
    Â 
    â€˜I got your card, and actually I wanted to go straight to Dieburg, but then...’
    She really wanted to, and she really was glad to see Fred again, although she knew it wouldn’t be easy: her life had changed utterly over the last four years. Fred was Dieburg, and Dieburg was a long way away. Even the bank robbery - although it was the catalyst for the move to Berlin and gave her time to relax and plan the future - seldom came up in her thoughts, and when it did, it was as a foolish mistake which could have destroyed her life, and which it was better to forget. She was only dimly aware of the connection between this mistake and the money with which she had paid for board and lodging to this day. And now Fred! Whether he liked it or not, he had brought back the robbery, as if it had happened yesterday. And then there was his own peculiar manner. Annette was anything but sure that she would be able to cope with it these days. Previously he had been one of the most exciting guys in Dieburg, but there wasn’t much competition for a start, and