Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf Read Free Page A

the man by the hands: “Come along, The Rebbe’s got his house full. The grandchildren are sick. We’ll go somewhere else.” But the other chap did not want to get up. “Come along.” He had to get up. Then he whispered: “Don’t pull. Why don’t you leave me here?” “His house is full up, I tell you, didn’t you hear?” “Just lemme stay here,”
    With sparkling eyes the old man looked at the strange man who was now pleading, Thus spake Jeremiah, we would have healed Babylon, but she is not healed; forsake her, and let us go everyone into his own country, A sword is upon the Chaldeans and upon the inhabitants of Babylon.
    “If he doesn’t keep still, send him away.” “All right, all right, we won’t make any noise. I’ll sit with him, you can depend on me.” Without a word the old man rustled towards the door.
    Instruction through the Example of Zannovich
    And so the discharged prisoner in the tan summer topcoat was sitting on the sofa again. Sighing and shaking his head, the redbeard walked through the room: “Now don’t be angry because the old man was so excited. Are you from out of town?” “Yes, I am - I was -” The red walls, the beautiful walls, cells, he couldn’t help looking at them with longing, his back seemed glued to the red wall, it was a clever man had built it, he did not leave. And the man, like a doll, rolled from the sofa down to the carpet. In falling, he knocked the table to one side. “What’s that?” cried the red chap. The discharged convict stooped over the carpet, his hat rolled down beside his hands, he thrust his head downward, moaned: “Down into the ground, into the earth, where it’s dark!” The red-haired man rugged at him: “For God’s sake. You’re among strangers. Suppose the old man should come in. Get up.” But the other one did not let himself be pulled up, he held fast to the carpet, continued moaning. “Just keep quiet, for God’s sake, suppose the old man should hear you. We’ll get along all right.” “Nobody’ll get me away from here.” Like a mole.
    And as he could not get him up, the redbeard rubbed the curls on his temples, locked the door, and resolutely sat down on the floor beside him. He drew up his knees and looked at the table-legs in front of him: “It’s O. K. with me. Just stay where you are. I’ll sit down, too. Of course, it’s not comfortable, but what of it? You won’t tell me what’s wrong with you, so I’m going to tell you a story.” The discharged prisoner groaned, his head on the carpet. (Why’s he groaning and moaning? He’s gotta make a decision, that’s why, he’s gotta walk down some road-and, Franze, you don’t know of any road? You’re through with that bunk from the old days, and in the cell too, all you did was groan and hide away, and you didn’t think about anything, Franze.) The red-haired fellow said fiercely: “You shouldn’t bother so much about your own person. You should listen to others. Who told you there’s such a lot the matter with you? God won’t let any man drop out of his hands, but then there are also other people, don’t forget. Didn’t you read what Noah put into his ark, into his ship, when the great flood came? A pair of each. God didn’t forget any of them. Not even the lice on our heads did he forget. All of them were near and dear to him.” The other man was whimpering on the floor. (Whimpering doesn’t cost anything, a sick mouse can whimper. too.)
    The red chap let him go on whimpering and scratched his cheeks: “There’s a lot on earth-a man could tell a lot of stories about it, when he’s young and when he’s old. You see, I’m going to tell you the story of Zannovich, Stefan Zannovich. You never heard it. When you feel better, just sit up a bit. The blood goes to your head, it’s not good for you. My late father-God bless him-told us a good deal, he traveled a lot like the people of our race do, he lived to be over seventy, died after our dear mother,