Blood Brothers (18 page)

Heinz had woken up. And so horrible was his sense of a botched youth that prison or borstal appeared the lesser evil. He will certainly not attempt to run away from an institution again. Quietly, no longer dreaming, he will endure the torments of borstal life. On his twenty-first birthday — or perhaps sooner, with good behavior — a spineless being, a cringing serf will leave the institution, and take up the cudgels against life. Heinz will fight with his hat in his hand.

Depressed and irresolute, the five remaining members of the gang wind through the streets. They no longer have the courage necessary for criminal deeds. Things will go back to being the way they were before Jonny, and before Fred. Prostitution for the odd thaler here or there, otherwise starve and starve. Homeless, homeless for such a long time that a mattress in a hostel seems like paradise. Or perhaps they will seek to join another gang. Working under a leader, picking
pockets, small break-ins, car thefts … whatever this new gang specializes in.

Is there another way? Work, honest-to-goodness work? Even if such a miracle came to pass and someone came along asking “Will you work for me?” it would be over as soon as it was asked! The papers! The official confirmation that so-and-so, born on such-and-such a date, is allowed to run around freely, and isn’t condemned to be in a welfare home … this confirmation will break anyone’s neck, because it hasn’t been provided. Because they aren’t allowed to run around freely. They are welfare kids, liable to be locked away, even if they’ve done nothing wrong!
To guard against falling into moral turpitude
, is what it says in the paragraph that delivers these minors into “social provision.”

But the children, committed to the institution whose function is to guard them against turpitude, only learn from their comrades how to make money in the easiest ways. How you make skeleton keys out of wire … how you crack a safe … how you break and enter a window without smashing glass … how and where you sell your body in Berlin … And: how you escape from the institution and make use of the things you’ve learned, or starve to death.

18

HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF UNEMPLOYED
are racking their brains for ways of making a living — for the basis of the most frugal existence. Thousands of new jobs come into being, jobs that could only have been thought up in sheer despair. From the man hawking pretzels round the bars, to the man who lends out umbrellas in unexpected rain showers. From “watch your car, mister” to the “Sherpa” in the garbage mountains on the edge of the city. A plethora of weird notions, sobering proof of a desire to remain honest, even in the teeth of the need to live and to eat.

This thing that eludes thousands: Willi and Ludwig pulled it off right away. Their business, the buying and reconditioning of old footwear, has kept them fed. For two months now, they’ve been trekking around various parts of Berlin, parroting their sentence: “We’re paying up to two marks for …” On one occasion, they even did pay two marks. See, it happens. Someone had won a handsome pair of brown shoes in a trade-union tombola. For ten pfennigs. Unfortunately, though, the (un)lucky winner had size-eleven feet, while the shoes he won were a pair of tens. You do what you can for your union. You even wear shoes that don’t fit, so as not to offend the secretary. Twice the winner wore the cheap but painfully tight
shoes. Then, with a hideous curse, he flung them into a dark corner; from where, as related, they came to be in Ludwig’s sack after two marks had changed hands. They were sold on for five …

Ludwig and Willi are sitting in their parlor at Frau Bauerbach’s. They have just sold twenty-three pairs of shoes to dealers for a healthy margin. Their gang days are far, far in the past. There is a tacit agreement between them not to mention the Brothers. Nor have they run into any of them, either. From time to time they see a face that looks half-familiar. But they disregard it, and the fellow probably thinks he doesn’t know them either. They no longer hang out in bars. Sure, they have the odd pint now and again, and they go to the cinema, but apart from that, they mind the pennies. So much so that, in the past two months, they’ve managed to put by one hundred and fifty marks. Frau Bauerbach gets her rent on the nail, and she is more than happy with her two “brothers.” Also, the faked registration has yet to rear its ugly head. In Willi’s case, the danger isn’t that great anyway. In six months he’ll be of age. Then he can get papers issued for himself. Ludwig, though, is only nineteen; they’ve got him for a good two years yet.

“Hey, Ludwig, we need to buy some more leather,” says Willi. “Okay, let’s do it right away.” They ride out to Invalidenstrasse. There’s a leather business there where they pay wholesale prices. They buy ten pounds of scrap leather, plus some nails, and finally two proper cobbler’s aprons. Their old sacking ones are in tatters. They walk over to catch the underground at Rosenthaler Platz. On the platform stands a young man. Willi and Ludwig don’t notice him, but he recognises them both right away.

It’s Hermann Plettner, the thief of the left-luggage ticket. He hasn’t forgotten his ferocious beating in the summer house. Ludwig and Willi climb onto the train and sit down. Plettner follows them, but stays in the doorway, keeping an eye on them. He feels a burning rage. How can he avenge himself, principally on the fellow who shopped him to the gang? Ludwig. The other fellow, Willi, was there as well when he was given his beating. When Ludwig and Willi get off at Neukölln, Plettner follows them. He sees them turn down Ziethenstrasse and disappear into Frau Bauerbach’s basement, and not come back out. His plan is decided. He runs to the nearest telephone box, and asks to be put through to the Neukölln police. Even though he doesn’t know anything about the two of them, he is sure that the police will be interested in Ludwig and Willi. Gang members are always in trouble with the law, he thinks. Not giving his own name, he tells the police the address on Ziethenstrasse … “two people you want to see are living there. But you’d better hurry, because I don’t know how long they’re going to stay there.” He hangs up, and lights a cigarette. That’s taken care of that then … the boys are finished.

Ludwig and Willi are just sorting through the leather scraps when there’s a knock on the door. Frau Bauerbach is out having coffee with an acquaintance. Ludwig answers the door. Two gentlemen. “Does Frau Bauerbach live here?” “Yes.” “Can we come in?” Once inside, the gentlemen identify themselves as detectives. Ludwig and Willi stand there like statues, even though they have a sinking feeling … sinking at a terrifying velocity into a bottomless abyss. “You must be tenants here, is that right?” asks one of the detectives. “…  yes … er, yes …” “But we have no record of any tenants at Bauerbach’s.
Can we see your papers?” Papers … no record … Help! Who can help us?…

“We … er, I … don’t have any … any papers.” “What, no papers? What’s your name then? And yours?” Willi gets a grip on himself and gives his details. The official consults his list of wanted persons. “Aha. Absconded from the institution at H., and we’re looking for you in connection with something else as well, is that right?” The other thing will be the beating that Friedrich took, thinks Willi. “Yes.” “What about you?” The detective turns to Ludwig. He gives them his details too. No point in trying the fake Kaiweit papers. “What have you been doing with yourself all this time? What have you lived off?” the officer asks. Willi and Ludwig show off their cobbler’s workshop, the pile of acquired shoes. They see a little spark of hope. Maybe they’ll let us go, if they see we’re working. The detective looks at his colleague. Both ask questions. How much did you earn from dealing shoes? Was it enough to live off?

Ludwig hurries across to the wardrobe. “Here, Inspector, see this, one hundred and fifty marks, all of it money we’ve saved up. Come by honestly, from our work!” His hands pluck at the bills, he reckons up the silver money: “We’ve led honest lives, and worked hard, Inspector. And now you want to lock us up again?” He goes up to the detective, takes him by both arms: “Leave us be … allow us to work! Give us some legal documents … please, Herr Inspector, please, please!” The officers can tell that Ludwig isn’t trying to pull the wool over their eyes. “Now sit down, boys, let’s have a sensible chat.” Willi and Ludwig obediently sit, their eyes on the lips of the policemen. “Do you want to know how we happened to find you?” “No … no …” “About an hour
ago, you were denounced. A stranger called us, said a couple of wanted men were staying at this address. Do you have any idea who that might have been?” The boys look at each other: Do you know? Do you? “No, Inspector.” They don’t know. All they know is that it wasn’t one of the Blood Brothers. But they’re not going to mention them anyway; each of them is firmly set on that.

“Well, boys, I guess you know we’re going to have to book you. Maybe the family court will let you go, once they hear you’re in work. Pack a few things, we’ll need to hold on to your cash for the time being, and then we’ll go.” “You can write your landlady a note saying you’ve suddenly had to go away,” suggests the other officer. Ludwig does so.
Dear Frau Bauerbach, we’ve had to go away for a week or two. Will you keep our things safe for us. Here’s money for the next two weeks.
Mechanically they stuff the leather scraps back into the bag, move the latest acquisitions into a corner, and pack a few personal effects. “All set?” “I suppose …” “Cheer up. It may never happen,” the officer attempts to comfort them.

It may never happen, Herr Inspector? What do you know about us? It’s bad, it’s awful. Now everything’s finished again. You’re sending us back to the institution. Before long we won’t be able to stick it there anymore … We’ll run away again … we’ll starve again, and finally wind up in another gang. You won’t let us do proper honest work … You just want to harass us, and lock us away and beat us up … but help and support? No chance! “Let’s be having you, then.” They walk out, flanking one officer, the second following some way behind. They’re no crooks, after all … whoever it was who denounced the boys is certainly a far greater villain, and definitely a miserable piece of work. In the station at Neukölln, a
short statement is taken down. Tomorrow morning they’ll be taken over to the Alex. Then they’ll know more.

In response to their pleas, and intercession from the arresting officers, Ludwig and Willi are allowed to share a cell. Not two hours ago they were sitting in their parlor with cups of coffee, now a chilly cell is their abode. “Who do you think shopped us, Willi?” asks a tormented Ludwig. They rack their brains, but they can’t think of anyone mean enough to have done something like that. They spend the night without sleeping. The transition was too dramatic, too abrupt. They discuss a few practicalities, in the event that they are separated. Willi is to report the hundred and fifty marks as his exclusively — after all, he’ll be out in six months.

Willi scoots up to Ludwig: “You know, when I get out, then you can make a break for it again. We’ve got money. We’ll meet up in Berlin, and stick together. We won’t let them break us up.” “But if I do run away, Willi, the first place they’ll come looking for me is wherever you are. You’ll have proper papers, you’ll be registered. They’ll find me right away,” Ludwig mutters, discouraged. “Okay, so I won’t register. We’ll live somewhere, the way we lived in Ziethenstrasse. What’s the worst thing that can happen? If they work out that I’m not registered, I’ll get a fine, and we’ll move somewhere else. If they catch you, then you just break out again. But we’ll carry on with our business. Here, Ludwig, shake my hand, we won’t let them grind us down. We won’t go back to the gang, we’ve done all right with the shoes.” “It would be nice if we were able to stick together, Willi. If I have a mate like you, then I won’t worry about having to go back to Jonny’s mob in the end.”

Early in the morning, the van takes them to Alexanderplatz. Once again, Ludwig finds himself in the pen. It’s Willi’s
first time in police detention. They are each taken to single cells. They’ve discussed everything anyway. The day after, Willi is brought before the investigating magistrate. “There’s a case against you for assault on the educator Friedrich. Then there’s a demand from the institution at H. for your return. So you will be taken back there. A substantial sum of money — one hundred and fifty marks — was found on you. According to your statement, you came by it honestly. Tell me about it.” Willi tells him. He says nothing about past contacts with the gang. The magistrate takes notes, and Willi is taken away again.

Ludwig’s statement tallies with Willi’s. “In all probability you will be found to have broken the terms of your parole, and will have to serve the balance of your sentence. Running away isn’t usually thought of as compatible with probation.”

A few days go by. Ludwig and Willi are only able to see each other from a distance, during exercise in the prison yard. They are unable to communicate. One afternoon, Ludwig is again taken before the magistrate. “We have made enquiries with your landlady on Ziethenstrasse. The woman has given you a glowing report. As a consequence, the juvenile court is prepared to find that you are not in breach of the terms of your probation. You will be taken back to H. tomorrow, with your associate Willi Kludas. But don’t do any more stupid stunts, or attempt to run away. If you do, you’ll have to serve the balance of your punishment.” Willi is told he is being taken back to the institution, and will then face charges of common assault.

The next morning, they see each other in the pen again. A police car takes them and their transporters to the railway station. As the train pulls out, Willi and Ludwig glance at each other: in six months’ time we’ll be back in Berlin.

19

LATE IN THE EVENING,
the two escorts and their charges, Willi and Ludwig, arrive at the local train station. This is where, four months before, Willi crawled into the wood wool that was on its way to Cologne. At the station they are met by a vehicle from the institution, and they drive down the avenue along which Willi had run to freedom once: one, two, three, four … one, two, three, four … don’t let up, Willi! Slowly, the wagon trundles back to the institution.