Nightmare in Berlin by Hans Fallada Page B

judge.
    How young she was, how full of life, and how alluringly she laughed at the judge’s stories, however witless and inane! Doll began to tell stories himself, and if anyone could tell a good story, it was him. Unlike the circuit judge and the vet, he didn’t just repeat the same old anecdotes he’d wheeled out a hundred times before; Doll’s stories just popped into his head, from different times in his life, as if he had never thought of them before. He spoke more quickly — it all came tumbling out, his tales trumping everybody else’s — and in between times he ordered wine, and more wine, and kept it flowing freely.
    It turned into a great evening. It makes quite an impression on a man in his late forties when a beautiful young woman in her twenties lets him know that she finds him interesting. But the youthful interest being shown in him did not rob Doll of his powers of critical observation, and they alerted him to the fact that while he was talking intently with his neighbour on his left, the old vet on his right was looking after his own needs. The vet had long since lost any interest in stories or women; all he cared about was alcohol. There was plenty of alcohol around the table, but to Piglet Willem’s way of thinking it was being drunk too slowly. When he saw that all eyes were fixed on the young woman, the vet reached out and felt for the bottle. He quickly filled his glass, drained it, and promptly filled it again …
    â€˜Whoa there!’ cried Doll, who appeared to have his back to him, but had seen everything. ‘That’s not on! As long as I’m buying, I’ll be the one to say when!’ And with that, he took the bottle from Wilhelm’s hand, though not ungently.
    Needless to say, everyone promptly rounded on the old freeloader and soak, teasing him unmercifully. They made fun of him, dredged up the most embarrassing stories about him, and accused him to his face in the meanest fashion. But it didn’t bother him very much; he felt no shame. He was long accustomed to having his human dignity insulted as the price for every cadged drink. This had been happening for so long, and so often, that by now all his human dignity was long gone. He despised them all, of course, and they could all have dropped down dead before his eyes — he wouldn’t have cared, because alcohol was all he cared about now. So he let them mock and bait him, it all fell on deaf ears, and as his podgy, age-spotted hand gripped the stem of the wine glass, he thought to himself: I’ve had two more glasses of wine than you have! And: If I get the chance, I’ll try it again!
    Nor did he have to wait very long for an opportunity. Sitting at their table was a beautiful, blooming young woman, and a terrible flirt — they could have old Piglet Willem any time they wanted, but as long as she was in their midst, they were determined to make the most of her. So the vet sat there, ignored by everyone. This time, Doll really did turn his back on him completely. Three times he reached out and touched the wine bottle, and then drew his hand back. The fourth time he grabbed hold of the bottle and poured himself some more wine …
    Immediately, Doll’s head swivelled round over his shoulder, and this time he said, without any attempt at gentleness: ‘If we’re drinking too slowly for you on this table, maybe you’d like to go and sit somewhere else? There are plenty of tables free …’ And as the vet looked at him with a hesitant, incredulous, almost beseeching expression, he made his meaning even clearer: ‘Did you not understand? I want you to leave the table, now! I’ve had enough of your cheek!!’
    Slowly, the old man got to his feet. Slowly, he walked across the room to a table in the far corner. (As it was very late, long after closing time, the room was empty except for the regulars around their table.) For a moment he had