it.
Das Wandern ist des Müllers Lust
and
Kommt ein Vogel geflogen
, which are so harmless that I have my doubts whether there isn’t some secret meaning hidden in them.And a cop wanted to give us a ticket, so the entire Athlete’s Club offered him
Asbach
, but he didn’t go for that. So I gave him this look — with my eyes and kissed one of the buttons on his uniform, and it got all foggy. And so did the cop. He didn’t cite us.
I’m so feverish and full of excitement. Oh Hubert. And I’m surrounded by roses and a ton of flowers. I hung the laurel wreath over my bed, right where the Holy Thusnelda used to be with her fat arms, but I feel closer to the wreath. And on my night table, which is so shabby-looking — I bought it from the Beckers, because she really needed the money — despite the fact that it looks like a bad marriage — on that table is Käsemann’s basket of roses with the bow flowing down onto my pillow. I’m going to put my face on top of it and go to sleep against the red letters: “Bravo to the young artist!” And unfortunately, I’m once again alone in bed.
If the doorbell rings, I’ll go crazy. Dear God, please help me. This is the end of my stardom. It’s all over — but for me that means it’s just beginning. My heart is a gramophone playing inside of me, scratching my bosom with a sharp needle. Of course I don’t have a bosom, because it smacks of the ordinary, like breastfeeding or an old opera diva where you can’t tell what’s bigger, her breasts or her voice. I’m writing in a fever and my hand is trembling. I’m trying to fill up the hours sitting in Therese’s furnishedroom, which she never uses. It’s always like that. What you have, you don’t need, and what you need, you don’t have. Dear God, my letters are trembling on the paper like the legs of dying mosquitoes. I have to stop.
Tonight I’m off to Berlin. You can go underground there, and Therese has a girlfriend there, where I can stay. I want to cry. But there’s a desire in me that has gotten me to this point. My head is like an oven heated with coal. I could be arrested any minute — because of the fur coat, because of the Ellmanns, because of Leo and a cop or Trapper’s general.… And all that because of Hubert and this feeling in my stomach that’s totally foreign to me.
It was last night — another
Wallenstein
. I arrive at the theater to put on my make-up, and Therese is there waiting for me — she was done at the office and I was just starting. So she says: “Doris, Hubert called.” He had asked about me, called up the Pimple-Face and Therese got on and set up a date at
Küppers Café
at eight, after the performance.
And it had to be that night that I was wearing my old raincoat — which happens about once a year — not so much because of rain, but because I needed sleep and wanted to go straight home, knowing my weakness for evening activities. And so I put on my disgusting coat that I wouldn’t wear to go anywhere.
I love Therese. She’s fabulous. As soon as I’m a star, I will shine on her and make her my sidekick. I’m scared.Wondering if they take away your powder puff in jail. I’ve never been there. Neither has Therese. There — I think I heard the doorbell — my eyes pop back into my head with a scream — I won’t open it — I’ll climb out the window when they come. They won’t get me! Never, never, never. Particularly now. I feel strong like a revolver. I’m a detective novel. Help me, dear God — I promise to cut “dear God” deep into my skin with a knife so it’ll draw blood — if you let me get to Berlin safely.
It’s quiet — it was just nerves. I’m biting my hand — it hurts so much that I stop being afraid.
So I was wearing my old rain coat — and Hubert
— Küppers Café
— no time to go home to change into the fox coat. I didn’t know what to do. I so wanted to impress Hubert and shine for him. And we were taking our make-up off with
Das Wandern ist des Müllers Lust
and
Kommt ein Vogel geflogen
, which are so harmless that I have my doubts whether there isn’t some secret meaning hidden in them.And a cop wanted to give us a ticket, so the entire Athlete’s Club offered him
Asbach
, but he didn’t go for that. So I gave him this look — with my eyes and kissed one of the buttons on his uniform, and it got all foggy. And so did the cop. He didn’t cite us.
I’m so feverish and full of excitement. Oh Hubert. And I’m surrounded by roses and a ton of flowers. I hung the laurel wreath over my bed, right where the Holy Thusnelda used to be with her fat arms, but I feel closer to the wreath. And on my night table, which is so shabby-looking — I bought it from the Beckers, because she really needed the money — despite the fact that it looks like a bad marriage — on that table is Käsemann’s basket of roses with the bow flowing down onto my pillow. I’m going to put my face on top of it and go to sleep against the red letters: “Bravo to the young artist!” And unfortunately, I’m once again alone in bed.
If the doorbell rings, I’ll go crazy. Dear God, please help me. This is the end of my stardom. It’s all over — but for me that means it’s just beginning. My heart is a gramophone playing inside of me, scratching my bosom with a sharp needle. Of course I don’t have a bosom, because it smacks of the ordinary, like breastfeeding or an old opera diva where you can’t tell what’s bigger, her breasts or her voice. I’m writing in a fever and my hand is trembling. I’m trying to fill up the hours sitting in Therese’s furnishedroom, which she never uses. It’s always like that. What you have, you don’t need, and what you need, you don’t have. Dear God, my letters are trembling on the paper like the legs of dying mosquitoes. I have to stop.
Tonight I’m off to Berlin. You can go underground there, and Therese has a girlfriend there, where I can stay. I want to cry. But there’s a desire in me that has gotten me to this point. My head is like an oven heated with coal. I could be arrested any minute — because of the fur coat, because of the Ellmanns, because of Leo and a cop or Trapper’s general.… And all that because of Hubert and this feeling in my stomach that’s totally foreign to me.
It was last night — another
Wallenstein
. I arrive at the theater to put on my make-up, and Therese is there waiting for me — she was done at the office and I was just starting. So she says: “Doris, Hubert called.” He had asked about me, called up the Pimple-Face and Therese got on and set up a date at
Küppers Café
at eight, after the performance.
And it had to be that night that I was wearing my old raincoat — which happens about once a year — not so much because of rain, but because I needed sleep and wanted to go straight home, knowing my weakness for evening activities. And so I put on my disgusting coat that I wouldn’t wear to go anywhere.
I love Therese. She’s fabulous. As soon as I’m a star, I will shine on her and make her my sidekick. I’m scared.Wondering if they take away your powder puff in jail. I’ve never been there. Neither has Therese. There — I think I heard the doorbell — my eyes pop back into my head with a scream — I won’t open it — I’ll climb out the window when they come. They won’t get me! Never, never, never. Particularly now. I feel strong like a revolver. I’m a detective novel. Help me, dear God — I promise to cut “dear God” deep into my skin with a knife so it’ll draw blood — if you let me get to Berlin safely.
It’s quiet — it was just nerves. I’m biting my hand — it hurts so much that I stop being afraid.
So I was wearing my old rain coat — and Hubert
— Küppers Café
— no time to go home to change into the fox coat. I didn’t know what to do. I so wanted to impress Hubert and shine for him. And we were taking our make-up off with
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