Read Online The Artificial Silk Girl by Irmgard Keun - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Irmgard Keun
Ads: Link
don’t have anything, that’s enough — let’s make something out of nothing together.” And a disappointment came over him that made me sick to my stomach.
So I washed my face. It was a dark morning and I saw his face in bed, and it made me feel angry and disgusted. Sleeping with a stranger you don’t care about makes a woman bad. You have to know what you’re doing it for. Money or love.
So I left. It was five in the morning. The air was white and cold and wet like a sheet on the laundry line. Where was I to go? I had to wander around the park with the swans, who have small eyes and long necks that they use to dislike people. I can understand them but I don’t like them either, despite the fact that they are alive and that you should take pity on them. Everyone had left me. I spent several cold hours and felt like I had been buried in a cemetery on a rainy fall day. But it wasn’t raining or else I would have stayed under a roof, because of the fur coat.
I look so elegant in that fur. It’s like an unusual man who makes me beautiful through his love for me. I’m sureit used to belong to a fat lady with a lot of money — unfairly. It smells from checks and Deutsche Bank. But my skin is stronger. It smells of me now and
Chypre
— which is me, since Käsemann gave me three bottles of it. The coat wants me and I want it. We have each other.
And so I went to see Therese. She also realized that I have to flee, because flight is an erotic word for her. She gave me her savings. Dear God, I swear to you, I will return it to her with diamonds and all the good fortune in the world.
2
LATE FALL AND THE BIG CITY
I ’m in Berlin. Since a few days ago. After an all-night train ride and with 90 marks left. That’s what I have to live on until I come into some money. What I have since experienced is just incredible. Berlin descended on me like a comforter with a flaming floral design. The Westside is very elegant with bright lights — like fabulous stones, really expensive and in an ornate setting. We have enormous neon advertising around here. Sparkling lights surround me. And then there’s me and my fur coat. And elegant men like white-slave traders, without exactly trafficking in women at the moment, those no longer exist — but they look like it, because they would be doing it if there was money in it. A lot of shining black hair and deep-setnight eyes. Exciting. There are many women on the
Kurfürstendamm
. They simply walk. They have the same faces and a lot of moleskin fur — not exactly first class, in other words, but still chic — with arrogant legs and a great waft of perfume about them. There is a subway; it’s like an illuminated coffin on skis — under the ground and musty, and one is squashed. That is what I ride on. It’s interesting and it travels fast.
So I’m staying with Tilli Scherer in
Münzstrasse
, that’s near
Alexanderplatz
. There are unemployed people here who don’t even own a shirt, and so many of them. But we have two rooms and Tilli’s hair is dyed golden and her husband is away, putting down tram tracks near Essen. And she films. But she’s not getting any parts, and the agency is handling things unfairly. Tilli is soft and round like a down pillow and her eyes are like polished blue marbles. Sometimes she cries, because she likes to be comforted. So do I. Without her, I wouldn’t have a roof over my head. I’m grateful to her and we’re on the same wavelength and don’t give each other any trouble. When I see her face when she’s asleep, I have good thoughts about her. And that’s what’s important: how you react to someone while they’re sleeping and not exerting any influence over you. There are buses too, very high ones like observation towers that are moving. Sometimes I go on them. At home, we had lots of streets too, but they were familiar with each other. Here, there are so many morestreets that they can’t possibly all know each other. It’s a
So I washed my face. It was a dark morning and I saw his face in bed, and it made me feel angry and disgusted. Sleeping with a stranger you don’t care about makes a woman bad. You have to know what you’re doing it for. Money or love.
So I left. It was five in the morning. The air was white and cold and wet like a sheet on the laundry line. Where was I to go? I had to wander around the park with the swans, who have small eyes and long necks that they use to dislike people. I can understand them but I don’t like them either, despite the fact that they are alive and that you should take pity on them. Everyone had left me. I spent several cold hours and felt like I had been buried in a cemetery on a rainy fall day. But it wasn’t raining or else I would have stayed under a roof, because of the fur coat.
I look so elegant in that fur. It’s like an unusual man who makes me beautiful through his love for me. I’m sureit used to belong to a fat lady with a lot of money — unfairly. It smells from checks and Deutsche Bank. But my skin is stronger. It smells of me now and
Chypre
— which is me, since Käsemann gave me three bottles of it. The coat wants me and I want it. We have each other.
And so I went to see Therese. She also realized that I have to flee, because flight is an erotic word for her. She gave me her savings. Dear God, I swear to you, I will return it to her with diamonds and all the good fortune in the world.
2
LATE FALL AND THE BIG CITY
I ’m in Berlin. Since a few days ago. After an all-night train ride and with 90 marks left. That’s what I have to live on until I come into some money. What I have since experienced is just incredible. Berlin descended on me like a comforter with a flaming floral design. The Westside is very elegant with bright lights — like fabulous stones, really expensive and in an ornate setting. We have enormous neon advertising around here. Sparkling lights surround me. And then there’s me and my fur coat. And elegant men like white-slave traders, without exactly trafficking in women at the moment, those no longer exist — but they look like it, because they would be doing it if there was money in it. A lot of shining black hair and deep-setnight eyes. Exciting. There are many women on the
Kurfürstendamm
. They simply walk. They have the same faces and a lot of moleskin fur — not exactly first class, in other words, but still chic — with arrogant legs and a great waft of perfume about them. There is a subway; it’s like an illuminated coffin on skis — under the ground and musty, and one is squashed. That is what I ride on. It’s interesting and it travels fast.
So I’m staying with Tilli Scherer in
Münzstrasse
, that’s near
Alexanderplatz
. There are unemployed people here who don’t even own a shirt, and so many of them. But we have two rooms and Tilli’s hair is dyed golden and her husband is away, putting down tram tracks near Essen. And she films. But she’s not getting any parts, and the agency is handling things unfairly. Tilli is soft and round like a down pillow and her eyes are like polished blue marbles. Sometimes she cries, because she likes to be comforted. So do I. Without her, I wouldn’t have a roof over my head. I’m grateful to her and we’re on the same wavelength and don’t give each other any trouble. When I see her face when she’s asleep, I have good thoughts about her. And that’s what’s important: how you react to someone while they’re sleeping and not exerting any influence over you. There are buses too, very high ones like observation towers that are moving. Sometimes I go on them. At home, we had lots of streets too, but they were familiar with each other. Here, there are so many morestreets that they can’t possibly all know each other. It’s a
Similar Books
