Wolfgang Hilbig - 'I'

Sensing that W. was struggling with a feeling of dejection, she lingered outside the door. — No, he said, it’s a very good time. Maybe I’m really not quite rested up yet. And I don’t know what I can offer you to drink, should I make you a tea?

He knew she didn’t like it when he messed around with immersion heaters in his room; regarding him as forgetful, she feared he’d set the flat on fire, but she turned down the suggestion to make the tea upstairs in her kitchen, and sat down in the armchair. — I wanted to tell you something about Harry, she repeated, and about the guy you’re hiding out from.

OK, said W., tell me. . What a windfall, she was talking on her own about Harry Falbe, who was of such interest to his case officer. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to worry about subtly sounding her out. . but suddenly the whole story left him cold, all that caught his attention was a peculiar tone in the woman’s voice. She washed two cups at the little side table next to the water faucet, while he kept an eye on the filled pot with the immersion heater. She had left him the seat behind his paper-strewn desk; he set the teacups down heedlessly on the scribbled sheets and pushed an opened packet of sugar cubes over towards her; still hanging back, she tried to fish the tea bag out of the hot liquid with her fingertips. Then, haltingly, often repeating herself, she told a crude story about Harry, who had been chased around the city for weeks, even months, by a person who had to have been Feuerbach. — She gave W. a description of his superior which he couldn’t have topped himself. — You know, that wiry guy, the tall lean one, she said; at that the agitation in her voice died down again, and her tone was disdainful. He was always wearing that plaid suit, you don’t get those here, grey and yellow plaid, I don’t know if people are still wearing those. And a scarf tucked in, probably it’s supposed to look American, or maybe English, at any rate it’s supposed to get attention. And to go with the dyed hair, he had some grey highlights put in, am I right? Everything’s fake about the guy, even his eternal smirking is fake. Anyway, this guy, with those lips of his, like a man in the movies, so pale. . yellow, I thought first off, that’s the colour of his skin. . and his eyes like fish eyes. . maybe they were green, no, they were grey, he stuck his aristocratic nose in here. .

Without missing a beat she went on with the story about Harry: they were constantly coming after ‘the boy’, that had happened even back in A., where he came from. When he was still living there. . And here in Berlin it just went on like that, can you imagine?

Of course, said W.; he lifted the two teabags out of the cups with the spoon and tossed them into the ashtray.

And you know why? said Frau Falbe. They kept trying to prove that he wants to go West — when so many people want to do that! That’s what it was always about, mostly, as far as I know. That’s why they dragged him out of bed at night. This guy, this snitch, he’d ring my doorbell at six in the morning, for example, and say, Come on, go down there and unlock the door for me, right now. .

Excuse me, W. interrupted, wasn’t that what he really wanted? I mean, you already told me he really wanted to go West.

Of course they all want to at that age. . and why shouldn’t they? But he’s over that now, he doesn’t want to any more, and he’s always told the truth to me.

Why doesn’t he want to any more. .? Maybe he has a girlfriend somewhere, a kid. .?

A kid? Not that I know.

Do you have any idea where he is now?

She shrugged her shoulders: No idea where he is now. He was back recently, for two days, but not in your room. And now he’s disappeared again, he’s always disappearing.

How can a person disappear here. .?

Ignoring his question, she went on with her story: Nuh-uh, I’m not doing that, I said. He’s sleeping now, you can’t go in there. Oh yes I can, the guy said, and can I ever. Unlock that door immediately, he’s not sleeping, he just spends all night thinking about. . you know! You know he does it to himself with his hand. . yes, that’s what the guy said, he’ll just be lying there spending all night. . jerking off! Yep, he said, you don’t have to come in with me. — It must have cost her an effort to quote Feuerbach verbatim; W. felt slightly awkward, she had uttered the words ‘jerk off’ in a hollow, guttural voice, leaning her head way over the table; W. flinched as they hit him in the face.

And then he took Harry away, it was still dark, practically the middle of the night. And it wasn’t the last time, once he even came at 11.30 p.m., I was still watching TV. And they had Harry there all night, they were trying to prove he wants to go West again. And you know what happened then? Harry told me when he came back at ten in the morning. .

W. said he didn’t, though he had an inkling of the revolting turn such interrogations could take; his discomfort increased.

They wanted to prove something else against him, they never talked about the business with the West for long, Harry said. They claimed he was that way , that was what he was supposed to confess there!

Homosexual? asked W.

Yes, that he’s a homo, that he’s gay, that’s what they said to him, but I know better, Harry never lies to me. And you know the next thing that happened that night, the guy stuck the gun up inside him.

That can’t be! said W.

Oh yes it can, he stuck it up inside him, Harry told me everything. Harry didn’t have anything on, you see, just his coat over his pyjamas, that’s how they put him in the car and took him with them. And in his office he stuck the gun up his butt and said, should I pull the trigger? That’s just what you need, you son-of-a bitch faggot, he said, admit you’re a faggot, or I’ll pull the trigger. .

Unbelievable! said W. — he tried to visualize this scene. . was it possible to picture Feuerbach in such a tableau, Feuerbach the elegant cynic with his gingerly fingers? W. shook his head and said: That’s an absolutely hair-raising story!

You can believe me, she insisted, Harry told it to me right afterwards. He’d never tell it to anyone but me. And you could even still see it, he still had a wound from the gun, I’m telling you. And after that he vanished from Berlin for four whole weeks.

And where did he vanish to?

He said he couldn’t tell me. Because they were sure to come back and question me. And then it was better if I didn’t know. It was true, they did come. . of course I didn’t say a word. I don’t know, I told them, I never know where he is, and then they went away again. And I tell that to everyone, no one gets anything out of me. And then Harry came back and said, I’ll show them. I’ll make a baby, yeah. . he said to me, I’ll make you a baby. He actually said that to me. Or I’ll make a baby with another girl down there in A. Harry, I said, I believe you that you’re normal, it’s no reason to go making a baby. You’ll never be able to pay for it, and the young lady’s stuck with the kid. No good will ever come of that. .

W. would have regarded this story as sheer fantasy if it hadn’t come from Frau Falbe. . Maybe Harry had made it up? You couldn’t put it past him, he must have heard about plenty of crazy things in prison. — Still, there would have been no pressing reason to make up a thing like that; Harry could have concocted better stories to elicit his landlady’s sympathy, and he wouldn’t even have had to concoct them. Had he told the truth after all? In the end it didn’t matter. . but W. felt a certain pleasure at the thought that his case officer had suddenly acquired this sort of reputation. . he didn’t begrudge it to him! It would almost be a pity if the story were just made up, he thought gleefully. . and besides he was personally familiar with certain of Feuerbach’s moods when drunk. — The story was irrelevant, really. . much more interesting was the tone in which Frau Falbe had told it to him.