Филип Керр - Metropolis

‘You’re wasted as a cop, you know.’

‘How’s that?’

Reichenbach tossed a coin into my hat. ‘All that detail? You should have been a scientist. Or a philosopher.’ Grinning broadly, he lit two cigarettes and put one in my mouth. ‘That’s made my day, Bernie. There’s nothing like arresting someone who’s guilty as sin itself to put you in a good mood, is there?’

‘It certainly beats arresting someone who’s innocent.’

I watched Kurt Reichenbach as he walked away, whistling and twirling his cane like Richard Tauber as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was wearing spats, which I hadn’t noticed before. A cop wearing spats . I almost laughed; I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he’d started to sing and dance. On the other side of Wilhelm-Ufer, he paused by a new open-top Brennabor — the car with the outside trunk and the tool kit on the running board — and opened the grey door. Before he climbed into the front seat, he turned and waved back at me, which did little for my cover, but made me grateful that Reichenbach was a friend. And he’d been right, of course. I should have had some backup. In too many ways I hadn’t thought through what I was doing at all. And I resolved to call Bernhard Weiss and discuss my undercover adventure with him as soon as I was home again.

But on my way back to the theatre and Brigitte, my mission seemed to end when one of the axles on the klutz wagon snapped. For a moment I just sat there; then a taxi driver asked me if I needed some assistance and I was obliged to tell him against all evidence to the contrary that I could manage perfectly well, which left the poor fellow looking both puzzled and irritated.

It was already clear to me that Prussian Emil hadn’t been using the contraption to get around the cobbled streets of the city but just to sit in, for the sake of appearances. It wasn’t nearly as sturdy as it needed to be and I imagined the burglar he worked with must have transported him to the scene of a crime in a nice comfortable car. For a second I debated taking the klutz wagon to a bicycle shop for repair, but that would have meant carrying it through the streets and risking the contempt and wrath of my fellow Berliners, who would very reasonably have concluded that I was a yokel catcher just like Prussian Emil. The possibility that they might assume the worst about all veteran beggars — even the genuine ones — and stop giving them money was enough to make me throw the thing into the canal, which I did when I was sure no one was looking.

I took off my army tunic and cap and dark glasses and walked back to the theatre on Schiffbauerdamm, relieved that the whole masquerade was very likely over. Rehearsals were finished for the day; the orchestra was already heading out the front door to the beer hall across the road. I went up to Brigitte’s room, and she removed my make-up. She didn’t say much because we had company: one of the stars of the show, the redheaded Lotte Lenya. She was smoking a cigarette, drinking whisky, humming and reading a copy of The Red Flag . I didn’t mind that she might have been a communist as much as that she seemed to mind me. It wasn’t that I was a cop: I’m sure Brigitte hadn’t told her. But as Brigitte worked on me and I began to relax, I started to whistle, which drew a look of such fierce hostility from Miss Lenya that I felt obliged to stop.

‘My Viennese mother once told me that she couldn’t ever trust a man who whistles,’ said Lotte, looking critically at me over the top of her spectacles. ‘Not ever. It’s the most damnable noise there is. When I asked her why she thought such a thing, she told me that thieves and murderers use whistling as a way to send each other coded signals. Did you know that even today whistling is banned in the Linden Arcade for this very reason? Oh yes. They’ll think you’re a rent boy and you’ll be asked to leave. But even worse than that, when some evil people wish to summon horrible devils and wicked demons that should not ever be named, they also whistle. This is why Muslims and Jews forbid it. It’s not just the fear of being ungodly; it’s the more ancient fear of calling something evil to your side. A dog that may not be a dog. A woman that may not be a woman. Or a man that may not be a man. A goat that may be the devil himself. The Vikings believed that whistling on board a ship would cause evil spirits to generate storm-force winds and they were quite likely to throw the offending man over the side to placate the gods.’

Lotte’s wide, heavily lipsticked mouth split open like a large fig in a mischievous smile. ‘All ignorant superstitions, of course. And much more important than any of these, the fact remains that you should never ever ever whistle in a theatre. The stage crews use whistling to communicate scene changes. People who whistle in theatres can confuse the stagehands into changing the set or the scenery and this can result in serious accidents. I know because I’ve seen it happen. Generally speaking, we just call this bad luck. And you know what theatre folk are like about that. Just remember that, my handsome friend; the next time you’re tempted to whistle in this place. Please, even when the lovely Brigitte is around, try to restrain your lips.’

With that, Lenya left. ‘Don’t mind her,’ Brigitte said. ‘Lotte’s famously cantankerous.’

‘No kidding.’

‘She’s something though, isn’t she?’

‘Not a female I’m likely to forget in a hurry. You’d best fetch some vinegar. I can still feel her sting.’ I made a face. ‘Is she a ladies’ club scorpion, do you think? One of those irregular lilac-hued females who can do very well without men? You know, like Sappho and my old schoolmistress?’

‘I told you. She’s married.’

‘So were you. And look how well that turned out.’

‘I can assure you, Lotte likes men as much as the next woman.’

‘Well, if the next woman’s you, then that’s all right. But if the next woman is a sharper or a garçonne from the Hohenzollern lounge, then I’m not so sure. Besides, Weiss has got a friend called Magnus Hirschfeld who estimates that there are more than two hundred and fifty thousand lesbians in Berlin.’

Brigitte laughed. ‘Nonsense.’

‘No, really. He counted them all as they came out of the city’s eighty-five lesbian nightclubs and sports associations. Not to mention all the theatres.’

‘Why would anyone do such a thing?’

‘Hirschfeld is pretty interested in sex. All kinds of sex. But don’t ask me why.’

‘By the way, where’s your klutz cart?’

‘It broke.’

‘You broke it?’

‘I guess I’m a bigger klutz than I realized.’

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I don’t know. Call the boss, I guess. See what he wants me to do. But I’ll tell him I’m thinking of throwing in the towel before someone strangles me with it. I had a run-in with a gang of wild boys today and I almost ended up being crippled for real.’

‘That doesn’t sound good. And just as I was getting used to you coming here.’

‘There are other places we can meet. Restaurants. Bedrooms. We might even do something really crazy and go for a walk in the park one day.’

‘Sure. But in here you’re under my control, and I like that. You’re very different from most of the men I meet in the theatre.’

‘I guess I must be. Now if I can only learn to control my whistling.’

‘Can you?’

‘Not when a first-division, bubble-bath blonde like you is around, angel. You’re going to make every Fritz you meet inclined to whistle like a castle in winter.’

Later that day, when I was looking comparatively normal again, I returned to the house on Nollendorfplatz, where I found that Frau Weitendorf was again worried about Robert Rankin.