The Artificial Silk Girl (18 page)

The Green Moss is good to me. And he read my book, which shows me as someone who does lots of crazy things and whom you can’t trust and there’s so much I want — who can tell me what to do?

I would love to go dancing again. We would have to go together — and as I go to the bathroom, a guy accosts me — I tell him: Who do you think you are! I’m not free! And I’m one of those checkered cabs — are you free? — of course not, can’t you see that the sign is flipped over? I would love to live with my sign flipped over for a very long time. And I don’t mind if we’re not doing well because we would be together — don’t worry, we’re not alone, we can always laugh about something — we’ll always find something to eat, just watch. I could become a star, if only I became one for him. It’s so hard, all of that. Perhaps he would give me an education.

   I’m going to do it — my mother knows the address — I’m writing the letter:

“Dear Madam:

Once I stole your fur coat. Naturally, you will be mad at me. Did you love it a lot? I’ll have you know, I love it a lot. There were times where it lifted me up and made me a high-society woman and a stage and the beginning of a
star. And then there were times when I loved it just because it’s soft and feels like a human being all over my skin. And it’s gentle and kind. But I also had problems because of it, you better believe it. And I almost went as far as turning tricks, which is something a decent girl who wants to maintain her reputation shouldn’t do. I want to return the fur coat to you. It’s in perfect condition. I’ve always taken it off beforehand. My friend Tilli also treated it with great care. I want to believe now that you should not steal because of order and what have you. If I knew your face and I liked it, I wouldn’t have done this to you or at least I would have felt sorry for it. I don’t know your face, but I imagine you being overweight. That’s why I don’t have a bad conscience. It’s only because of order and my papers and because of the sacrifice I have to make, and because I want to be taken and out of love. Perhaps you have other fur coats, even an ermine one. It’s always the wrong ones who get everything. Please be good to my fur coat — please make sure it doesn’t suffer when you sulfur it. And I can tell you that a thousand fur coats could rain down on me, because anything is still possible for me, but I would never love another coat the same way I loved this one.

Sincerely yours,

Doris

P.S. I’m sending this letter and the coat to my mother. She will give them to you. I’m sure she knows your address,
because of course you made an incredible fuss that night at the theater. There’s nothing in it for you if you report me to the police. But I’m going to have terrible trouble and it would destroy me. So there’s no point in doing it.”

And so I took care of business.

Love for love’s sake is exhausting.

   I haven’t mentioned the letter to the fur lady yet. Just hinted at it.

“It’s really hard on me, Herr Ernst. Can you understand that it is particularly those things you stole with your own hands that you love the most?”

Says he: “But you don’t want to be a thief, Doris, do you?” Thief yes or no, it’s a nasty word, but can’t he understand me? We’re so different. We could kiss some time, but what else could happen? I’m no thief. But I’m going to believe him.

“Silly girl,” he says. I know, I know. Is he feeling sorry for me? That sort of thing just kills a man’s sensuality. I sure don’t want to get into all sorts of smooching in my book, but I feel very funny and there’s something of an earthquake happening in my head.

And I’m making my rounds going shopping for him. It’s so nice. There are small toy trains with children and a warm chilliness that makes my heart sing and train tracks and lots of stores and the sun is shining. And on
Bergstrasse
,
there are lots of stands and booths — Herr Schlappweisser, the smoked herrings — mandarin oranges, oranges and cooking apples — toothpaste on the street — a blue post office with mailboxes — twenty-five pfennigs for four bananas, twenty-five pfennigs, bananas from the Canary Islands — a booth that sells sausages — the air is so brown, it’s white and blue like lace for kitchen cabinets — take some, young lady, go on, take some — that’s a colleague, she’s from the office — What? Welfare. Welfare. Everybody is welfare — a colleague, she’s looking pale like a dirty towel — buy pins, a pack of sewing needles.
Im Prater blühn wieder die Bäume
 … he’s wearing a yellow arm band with three black dots on it and playing the harmonica — Jim is playing the harmonica — I think that’s the song they were playing when I lost my virginity — it’s been a long time
— Im Prater blühn wieder die Bäume
— my God, that song’s so old — Herr Ernst, if only you could come with me sometime. There’s the underpass with that yellow mosaic, sometimes you can hear the train thundering over your head when you pass through. I always hurry because I feel like it’s about to fall on my head.

Wenn wir beide
— take some, young woman — those beautiful fuzzy felt insoles — take some, ladies and gentlemen — that’s the kind of putty, super porcelain putty. Recommendations from here, recommendations from there
— Friedenau, Wilmersdorf, Steglitz
, all the
western suburbs are driving me crazy with their letters of recommendation — beauuutiful mimosas, the hardy flower, beauutiful yellow ones, the plant for winter, that one can take anything, that one can take three pairs of ironclad male boots — take some, young lady — young lady — that kind of street has something in it, it makes you feel pregnant with something. If only we could walk down that street together sometime. But they only have it in the morning, that kind of street only happens in the morning — and there’s so much life and people. And people who walk around in the morning in the fresh air tend to be unemployed and don’t have anything.

“That street life you see these days — it’s all about unemployment,” says Herr Schlappweisser — “that smoked herring has caviar in it — anything else? Lemons they have next door — Franz, watch out, the lady here has her eyes on your golden fruits of the south.”

And I’m having so much fun — there’s this stand that sells salmon and then there’s old Kreuzweisser, that’s Karl’s father, the one from the waiting room who I always got along with so well. I talk to him about his son. And he’s just as nice and as cheeky as his Karl. And he’s got a jolly tummy and wears a white coat like an abortionist. And I always buy something there for Ernst. Some kind of pink salmon — he can’t be making any money on that. “Say hello to your son for me, Herr Kreuzstange.” “There’s a billet doux for you from that childish boy, young lady,
do me a favor, don’t seduce him, he needs all his strength for his job, as does everybody these days.”

And Karl writes to me: “You still got your ambition — kiss my …”

Always those unelegant invitations which I heartily respond to. And I showed the letter to Herr Ernst and we both laughed about it, even though I was embarrassed because of the obscenities in it.

It’s okay to cry by yourself, but the most wonderful thing is if two can laugh about the same things.

But we don’t really enjoy the same things.

There’s this shiny desire in me to sing
— Das gibt’s nur einmal, das kommt
 … and I know no Tchaikovsky, only songs and no Schubert — but my skin is singing. He kissed me on my neck, which just so happens to be my most sensitive spot. And so many wonderful words — you just can’t think about them, they run through you like sparkling water. I’m completely gone and otherwise I feel like I’m ill with a fever and a stomachache
— Doris, dear little Doris, my little
— that goes right through me.

And again nothing. I can’t let on that I want to, because that’s just going to deter him — but oh God, I want to sing, I want to dance
— in die Welt hinein — Mein ist die schönste der Fraun — mein jam.…

So he asks me if I had never been afraid of getting sick or pregnant, that was so dangerous for me. My God, you can’t worry about everything! If you start that way, you’re
going to drive yourself crazy. You just have to hope that you’ll be lucky — after all, what else are you going to do? You could just as well be thinking about death all the time — that seems impossible too — just like the other thing — it would be the same, actually. I won’t believe that I could be dead until I’m actually dead — but then it’ll be too late and nothing to be done about it — but until then, I’m just going to live.

And then he kissed me on that spot on my neck — that’s life. By the way, now I think he’s gorgeous. He has this gentle smile on his face like a pediatrician. He has tiny black dots in his eyes. Sometimes I want to insult him, so I can love him even more — because then he would show his honor through his anger or his elegance through his gentleness — one or the other — it would be equally wonderful to me. Of course I don’t really want that to happen.

Father thou art in heaven, please make my inside so good and so fine that he can love me. I’m going to buy him a tie, because that’s something I can do. Someone once told me that I have an almost masculine understanding of it. I guess there are situations where having a past is to your advantage. Heavenly Father, perform a miracle and give me an education — I can do the rest myself with make-up.

I’ve thought up a surprise for him and purchased several candlesticks painted in ochre. Very subdued with a
reddish floral-style pattern — and candles, also in muted colors and lots of them. Because he loves candles. I think that’s stupid because you have to use so many of them to replace electric light. I love it when a room is well lit, except when I look as ugly as I did four weeks ago. But not anymore. My cheeks have a first-class natural pink shimmer to them. Tomorrow I’ll prepare the surprise for him, together with vases full of cyclamen. I’ve saved up too, you know. With a great deal of effort I have refrained from smoking those ten cigarettes for six and have sold them to Herr Kreuzweisser at five, who then resells them together with his salmon at six. Apiece. And then I’m going to illuminate.

I had also planned to embroider something, but it didn’t come out. I slightly damaged the cushion on the cork carpeting. He didn’t notice — which is the best part of it. If only he has patience — I’m getting an education — if he only has enough patience, for heaven’s sake.

   I’m at a fast-food restaurant at
Joachimsthaler Strasse
. It’s called “Quick.” That’s American. And everything is so fabulous and happy. In an hour, I’m going to pick him up at his office. I asked him: “Will this be bothersome to you?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

And then he says: “I’ve always wanted to ask you to
pick me up, but I thought it might be too much of an effort for you to go into town just for that.” And he doesn’t notice how much I want to. Could it be that that not noticing is love after all? When you’re in love like this, you’re no longer sure about yourself. And because you’re so afraid to do something wrong, you’re sure to be doing just about everything wrong. Or at least you’re completely different from the way you want to be, because you’re so full of love and anxiety — and you want to be a good person and the real you without any tricks or premeditation. And none of the usual bullshit, and you don’t want to think, just be nice and kind. And nothing else. Can a man take that? I’m going to dare show my love though.

And I prepared everything. I put my letter to the fur lady and the tie that goes with his bluish-gray suit on the table. I did a tremendous job mending his shirts, but I won’t put them there. I love him so much now that I don’t care if he notices how much I struggled to fix his shirts. And perhaps that’s true love. And then the cyclamen — they’re a little cold but nice. And all of those new painted candlesticks with candles in them. I’m going to meet him at the door and say: “Just a moment please.” Then I’ll go and light them — and I say: “Please. I prepared a cold supper for you and have filled tomatoes with my own hands. They’re a bit smeared with mayonnaise on the outside, but still much cheaper than at the store. And brisoletts and an arrangement of rolls with something on them and a
piece of useless parsley and a leaf of lettuce on the side. That’s for elegance.” How do I deserve to be this happy?

And now I’m at Quick — I love those automatons so much. I pulled for myself shrimp and Westphalian ham — there are lots of dishes where the name tastes the best, because when you’re German that always gives you this air of traveled superiority, and I used to know men who grew taller, as if someone had shoved an invisible pillow under their butt, just because they would order Italian salad, just because of the Italian. I couldn’t even finish the sandwiches I had pulled — but what a fairy tale this Berlin is — that automaton. And then I sit here by myself and all I can feel is: I’m going to go home soon. I have to look at all the people that fill up the restaurant and — are you going home? Please, I don’t have much time. I’m going to meet someone any minute to go home. I’m a decent woman, and every word I utter is about my love for the man in my life.

I had a cup of coffee and had the bathroom attendant curl my hair. Just in case. And I gave her an additional 20-pfennig tip — I’m going to tell him that. He gave me 5 marks — I want to return four of them to him. Otherwise I’d feel like I’m taking advantage of him. I never used to think about where men get their money from. I always had the impression that they just have it, from transactions and things like that. And then you don’t care. But when you know how someone makes his money and you watch
him get up early in the morning and all that, that gives you some consideration. Dear God, thank you — I have to go.

   Berlin is all covered with snow. It makes you drunk. You wake up and everything is sugar-coated. It’s snow and you get it delivered for free. It’s so beautiful, it makes me tremble. Sometimes I would think that he found me disgusting. We had all those candles — and my letter about the fur. So he says: “Doris, are you doing this for my sake?”

So I got angry. “Yes, of course — did you think it’s because of that fat old lady?” And then there was all that sentiment in the air and such terribly oppressive excitement, so you know in your bones: something’s happening. Things are starting to get all blurry.