The Hustler: The Story of a Nameless Love From Friedrichstrasse by John Henry Mackay Page A
Authors: John Henry Mackay
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astonishing.
For him, life had no problems. His motto was: Take what you can, no matter where it comes from!
However, as open as he otherwise was, he stubbornly kept silent about this “where.”
Once, there appeared at the table of the cafe (not a “queer” one) where they often sat in the afternoons—drinking and playing dice to kill the long afternoon hours—a still quite young girl who sat down with them. “My fiancee,” was Atze’s only explanation and he soon left with her, after quickly arranging an appointment with Gunther, who stayed behind. Another time he left the lounge late in the evening—which almost never happened—with a gentleman whom he obviously must have known very well, and he only laughed strangely when Gunther asked him the next day who that had been (he had looked like a real criminal). A third time he surprised him in Little Mama’s lap, in a not exactly motherly embrace. They all three laughed over it. They were generally always laughing over everything. It was a merry time.
It lasted exactly two and a half weeks, during which money was always available in abundance.
*
Then, one day, Atze suddenly vanished.
This was one of his traits—suddenly to stay away for half or even a whole day, without saying where he was going. Then he would return as if nothing had happened, without a word of explanation or excuse.
He did not like to be questioned. Gunther had learned that and had adjusted accordingly.
But this time he stayed away—stayed away and did not return. When Gunther, who was beginning to be frightfully bored, pressured Little Mama, she only said:
“What can you do! That’s just the way he is. But I know that rascal. He’ll come back!”
And when he gave her an uneasy look:
“You can still come here, Chick, if you’ve got money, and sleep in his bed. I get four marks a night.”
(Until then they had always slept together in Atze’s bed, or Gunther had slept on the old sofa in the corner.)
Now, Gunther had no money, since he always handed over everything, but he now knew where to get it. The couple of days until Atze returned would go by all right without him.
Early in the afternoon, when the lounge where they had gone so many times opened, he went there, but was stopped by the proprietor.
“Not under eighteen! Strict police regulation!”
“But I’ve been here already so often—” he stammered.
“Yes, but not alone. Where is your friend?”
Well, he was not here, so he just went to another lounge. There he was allowed to sit, but he was not served. Besides him, another boy, even younger, was sitting there. And before the lounge filled up, the waiter drove them out.
What was he to do now?
He was not supposed to be a streetwalker. But after all what else remained for him?
He went to the “Tauenziehn.”
It was toward evening, and a huge mass of people pressed up and down one side of the street. An elegant but very mixed public—Berlin West. Many young girls, many young gentlemen. He had not gone twenty steps before he was signaled—into the side street.
Then he had five marks, though that too had been forbidden him: “Never under ten!”
He slept again in their bed and at noon, after enough sleep, he also got coffee from Little Mama.
But the next days were bad.
He no longer dared venture into the lounges. Of the gentlemen he had met there, he knew none more closely. He had hardly heard their names, had forgotten their houses.
But even if by chance one gentleman had remained in his memory, he would never have ventured there. Even if he had by chance met one of the gentlemen, the man would hardly have picked him up again. Never had he been picked up a second time. He was for them too indifferent to the one thing they wanted. Already when they saw him again in the lounges, they hardly knew him, but instead went with others.
What was left for him, as long as Atze was away, but to walk the streets—Tauentzienstrasse or even the Passage?
This he
For him, life had no problems. His motto was: Take what you can, no matter where it comes from!
However, as open as he otherwise was, he stubbornly kept silent about this “where.”
Once, there appeared at the table of the cafe (not a “queer” one) where they often sat in the afternoons—drinking and playing dice to kill the long afternoon hours—a still quite young girl who sat down with them. “My fiancee,” was Atze’s only explanation and he soon left with her, after quickly arranging an appointment with Gunther, who stayed behind. Another time he left the lounge late in the evening—which almost never happened—with a gentleman whom he obviously must have known very well, and he only laughed strangely when Gunther asked him the next day who that had been (he had looked like a real criminal). A third time he surprised him in Little Mama’s lap, in a not exactly motherly embrace. They all three laughed over it. They were generally always laughing over everything. It was a merry time.
It lasted exactly two and a half weeks, during which money was always available in abundance.
*
Then, one day, Atze suddenly vanished.
This was one of his traits—suddenly to stay away for half or even a whole day, without saying where he was going. Then he would return as if nothing had happened, without a word of explanation or excuse.
He did not like to be questioned. Gunther had learned that and had adjusted accordingly.
But this time he stayed away—stayed away and did not return. When Gunther, who was beginning to be frightfully bored, pressured Little Mama, she only said:
“What can you do! That’s just the way he is. But I know that rascal. He’ll come back!”
And when he gave her an uneasy look:
“You can still come here, Chick, if you’ve got money, and sleep in his bed. I get four marks a night.”
(Until then they had always slept together in Atze’s bed, or Gunther had slept on the old sofa in the corner.)
Now, Gunther had no money, since he always handed over everything, but he now knew where to get it. The couple of days until Atze returned would go by all right without him.
Early in the afternoon, when the lounge where they had gone so many times opened, he went there, but was stopped by the proprietor.
“Not under eighteen! Strict police regulation!”
“But I’ve been here already so often—” he stammered.
“Yes, but not alone. Where is your friend?”
Well, he was not here, so he just went to another lounge. There he was allowed to sit, but he was not served. Besides him, another boy, even younger, was sitting there. And before the lounge filled up, the waiter drove them out.
What was he to do now?
He was not supposed to be a streetwalker. But after all what else remained for him?
He went to the “Tauenziehn.”
It was toward evening, and a huge mass of people pressed up and down one side of the street. An elegant but very mixed public—Berlin West. Many young girls, many young gentlemen. He had not gone twenty steps before he was signaled—into the side street.
Then he had five marks, though that too had been forbidden him: “Never under ten!”
He slept again in their bed and at noon, after enough sleep, he also got coffee from Little Mama.
But the next days were bad.
He no longer dared venture into the lounges. Of the gentlemen he had met there, he knew none more closely. He had hardly heard their names, had forgotten their houses.
But even if by chance one gentleman had remained in his memory, he would never have ventured there. Even if he had by chance met one of the gentlemen, the man would hardly have picked him up again. Never had he been picked up a second time. He was for them too indifferent to the one thing they wanted. Already when they saw him again in the lounges, they hardly knew him, but instead went with others.
What was left for him, as long as Atze was away, but to walk the streets—Tauentzienstrasse or even the Passage?
This he
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