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

with a hanging lamp, two Jews running around, one with brown hair and one with red hair, both wearing black plush hats, quarreling with each other. He pursued his red-haired friend: “Say, listen to me, is that true, what he told about the man, how he went to pieces and how they killed him?” The brownbeard yelled: “Killed, did I say killed? He killed himself.” The redbeard: “Well, then, he killed himself.” The ex-convict: “And what did they do, the others?” The redbeard: “Who, who?” “Well, there probably were others like him, like Stefan. Most likely they weren’t all ministers and knackers and bankers.” The red and the brown fellow exchanged glances. The redhead: “Well, what could they do? They looked on.”
    The discharged prisoner in the tan summer topcoat, the big fellow, stepped from behind the sofa, took up his hat, brushed it, and put it on the table; then he threw his coat back, and without saying a word, unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Here, take a look at my pants. I was that stout and now they stand out, two thick fists, one on top of the other, that’s from short victuals. All gone. The whole caboodle gone to the devil. That’s how you go to pieces, because you weren’t always the way you should have been. I don’t know as the others are much better. Nope. Don’t believe it. They just try to drive a man crazy.”
    The brownbeard whispered to the redbeard: “There you got it.” “What have I got?” “Well, a convict.” “What of it?” The discharged prisoner: “Then they say: you are discharged and back you go, right back into the dirt, and it’s the same dirt as before. It’s no laughing matter.” He buttoned his waistcoat again: “You can see from that, the way they do. They take the dead man out of his hole, the lousy fool with the dog wagon comes and dumps a dead man, who killed himself, on the wagon, the damned stinking swine-why didn’t they knock his brains out? Sinning against a human being like that, and it don’t matter who it is.” The red-haired man sadly: “What can you do about it?” “Yes, sir, arewe nothing, just because we did something once? Everybody who has been in jail can get back on his feet again and it don’t matter what he did.” (To repent! A fellow’s got to have air! Hit outl Then everything will lie behind us, then everything’ll be over, fear and everything.) “I just wanted to show you: Don’t you listen to everything my brother-in-law tells you. You can’t always do everything you want to, sometimes it works just as well another way.” “That’s no justice to throw a fellow on the dungheap like a cur and then dump garbage on top of him, and that’s the justice they give a dead man. Ough, hell. But now I’ve got to leave you. Give me your paw. You mean well and you, too, (he pressed the red-haired fellow’s hand). My name’s Biberkopf, Franz. Was nice of you to take me in. My dicky-bird has already sung its bit in the courtyard. Well, here’s how, merry business, it’ll soon be over.” The two Jews shook hands with him and smiled. The redhead held his hand for a long time, beamed: “Now you’re all right. And I’ll be glad if you have time and can come around one day.” “Thanks, we’ll fix that up, we’ll find time all right, only no money. And give the old gentleman who was there my regards. That boy’s got strength in that hand of his, say, he musta been a butcher once. Ow, we’ll have to put the rug straight, it’s all crumpled up. No, let’s do it all ourselves, and the table, like this.” He worked on the floor, laughed over his shoulder to the redhead: “Well, here we sat and told each other a lot. A good place to sit down, askin’ your pardon.”
    They accompanied him to the door, the red-haired fellow was still worried: “Will you be able to walk alone?” The brownbeard nudged him: “Don’t call him back.” The ex-convict, walking erect, shook his head, pushed the air from him with both arms