Corruption . . .
Misery . . .
You are well off, you are alone, Hasse had said.
All very well—the man who is alone cannot be forsaken.
But sometimes, at night, the whole artificial structure collapses, life turns into a sobbing insistent melody; out of the senseless grinding of the everlasting barrel organ, rises up a whirlwind of wild desires, cravings, melancholy, hope, without direction seeking an object.
Ach, this pitiful need for a little bit of warmth—-couldn't it be two hands then and a face bowed near?
Or was that too only deception, surrender, and flight?
Was there nothing then, but to be alone?
I shut the window.
No, there was nothing.
For anything more, there was too little solid ground under one's feet.
But next morning I rose early and, before going to work, knocked up the proprietor of a little flowershop.
I selected a bunch of roses and asked him to send them off at once.
It felt a bit strange as I slowly wrote the address—Patricia Hollmann—on the card.
Chapter V
In his oldest clothes Koster had gone off to the income tax office.
He meant to try to get our tax reduced.
Lenz and I were alone in the workshop.
"Well, Gottfried," said I, "now for the old Cadillac!"
Our advertisement had appeared the night before.
So to-day we might reckon on customers—if anybody came at all, that is.
Anyway we must have the car ready.
First we went over the varnish with polishes.
It took on a wonderful shine and already looked as if it had cost another hundred marks.
Then we filled up the engine with the thickest oil there is.
The pistons were no longer first rate, and knocked a bit.
The thick oil made up for that and the engine ran wonderfully quietly.
And in the gears and the differential we put plenty of grease to make them completely silent.
Then we drove her out.
In the neighbourhood was a stretch of very bad road.
We took her over it at fifty kilometres.
The body rattled.
We let a quarter of an atmosphere out of the tyres.
That was an improvement.
We let out another quarter.
Now there wasn't a sound.
We drove back, oiled the squeaking bonnet, stuck a bit of rubber in between, put hot water in the radiator so that the engine would spring to it all right, and sprayed the car underneath once again with a petrol dust remover, so that it shone there as well.
Then Gottfried lifted his hands to heaven.
"Now come, blessed customer!
Dearest possessor of a pocketbook, come!
As the bridegroom awaiteth the coming of the bride, so we wait for thee!"
The bride kept us waiting.
So we shoved the baker's puffing billy over the pit and began to take down the front axle.
We worked steadily for some hours without speaking.
Then I heard Jupp at the petrol pump start to whistle,
"See what is coming here . . ."
I clambered out of the pit and looked through the window.
A little, undersized man was walking around the Cadillac.
He looked solid and respectable.
"Look here, Gottfried," I whispered, "do you think that's a bride?"