Read Online The Hustler: The Story of a Nameless Love From Friedrichstrasse by John Henry Mackay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Henry Mackay
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expression appeared angry and cross, as if awakened from sleep.
He now saw his face. Because of the distance, it was not entirely clear—but he recognized it again. It was he!
And at the same time, it appeared to him that the boy was aware of him too. As if he was looking at him, inspecting him. He was not mistaken, was he? Was it possible that the boy had also recognized him? Would he now immediately jump up and run away again, as if driven?
No, he only stood up slowly, as if tired, and, without glancing back, walked slowly in the direction of the Brandenburg Gate.
What should he do? Should he follow him? The fear of losing him again made him totally indecisive. Then the same fear drove him on. He stood up and slowly followed him.
The boy had stopped, but still without looking around. As if he were waiting.
Now Graff was beside him, stood before him, approached closer, and with a terrible effort searched for the first words.
Only when the boy looked up at him, did he bring out with difficulty: “Excuse me if I speak to you. But haven’t we seen one another before?”
The boy’s odd eyes looked at him, but not, he believed, with fear or anxiety, nor startled or curious, but with complete indifference.
“Where then?” he heard the boy ask in return. The young voice was bright and clear.
“In . . . in the Passage. About four weeks ago—”
Four weeks ago, Gunther thought. I’ve not even been here that long. But yes, it could have been that long. For him time did not exist and he had long since stopped counting the days and weeks.
Then it must be one of those men from the early time. He looked at him. He had no recollection. He had not gone with him, had he? If so, he would probably have recognized him. But those had been mostly older men, not a young one, like this man. He had not the faintest recollection. Perhaps he had just spoken to him and nothing had come of it. So many had done that. Besides, it was really all the same. Best to act as if he remembered.
He looked at him again from the side. He appeared decently dressed. Did he have money? These young people usually did not have much themselves.
And how excited he was! He could probably hardly wait! For sure he could hardly speak. And the way he was looking at him!
They could not remain standing where they were. People were already looking at them. They both felt it.
So they walked on farther beside one another.
Graff thought and thought. What should he say so as not to lose the boy again?
He finally brought out: “Do you still have time? We could walk a bit. In the Tiergarten perhaps, if it’s all right with you—”
He was thinking of his garden cafe in the “Zelten.” There they would be able to talk undisturbed.
Rage welled up again in the boy.
In the Tiergarten, naturally, again in the Tiergarten! So he does not have money for a room in a hotel, or he wants to save it. So probably not much will come from this. And why did he always use the polite pronoun “Sie” with him? It had never occurred to anyone before to address him with “Sie.” Either he was stupid or he was not from here.
All right, then, to the Tiergarten, for all I care. But he resolved that he would no longer let himself be caught with fine words, as this had all the appearance of being. And if he let himself be dragged into the Tiergarten, tired and hungry as he was, he wanted to see money—beforehand.
Letting himself be gypped a second time on the same day was simply not going to happen!
His companion was thinking meanwhile: Of course he recognized me again! Even if he doesn’t say so. Otherwise, he would not have stopped and waited until I spoke to him. But why was he so quiet? Perhaps he was tired and preferred to sit. It was certainly not going well for him. How might it have been going for him altogether in these weeks? Did he have a job? Probably not, for otherwise how could he be free at this hour of the day? Perhaps he had no work at all. But I must
He now saw his face. Because of the distance, it was not entirely clear—but he recognized it again. It was he!
And at the same time, it appeared to him that the boy was aware of him too. As if he was looking at him, inspecting him. He was not mistaken, was he? Was it possible that the boy had also recognized him? Would he now immediately jump up and run away again, as if driven?
No, he only stood up slowly, as if tired, and, without glancing back, walked slowly in the direction of the Brandenburg Gate.
What should he do? Should he follow him? The fear of losing him again made him totally indecisive. Then the same fear drove him on. He stood up and slowly followed him.
The boy had stopped, but still without looking around. As if he were waiting.
Now Graff was beside him, stood before him, approached closer, and with a terrible effort searched for the first words.
Only when the boy looked up at him, did he bring out with difficulty: “Excuse me if I speak to you. But haven’t we seen one another before?”
The boy’s odd eyes looked at him, but not, he believed, with fear or anxiety, nor startled or curious, but with complete indifference.
“Where then?” he heard the boy ask in return. The young voice was bright and clear.
“In . . . in the Passage. About four weeks ago—”
Four weeks ago, Gunther thought. I’ve not even been here that long. But yes, it could have been that long. For him time did not exist and he had long since stopped counting the days and weeks.
Then it must be one of those men from the early time. He looked at him. He had no recollection. He had not gone with him, had he? If so, he would probably have recognized him. But those had been mostly older men, not a young one, like this man. He had not the faintest recollection. Perhaps he had just spoken to him and nothing had come of it. So many had done that. Besides, it was really all the same. Best to act as if he remembered.
He looked at him again from the side. He appeared decently dressed. Did he have money? These young people usually did not have much themselves.
And how excited he was! He could probably hardly wait! For sure he could hardly speak. And the way he was looking at him!
They could not remain standing where they were. People were already looking at them. They both felt it.
So they walked on farther beside one another.
Graff thought and thought. What should he say so as not to lose the boy again?
He finally brought out: “Do you still have time? We could walk a bit. In the Tiergarten perhaps, if it’s all right with you—”
He was thinking of his garden cafe in the “Zelten.” There they would be able to talk undisturbed.
Rage welled up again in the boy.
In the Tiergarten, naturally, again in the Tiergarten! So he does not have money for a room in a hotel, or he wants to save it. So probably not much will come from this. And why did he always use the polite pronoun “Sie” with him? It had never occurred to anyone before to address him with “Sie.” Either he was stupid or he was not from here.
All right, then, to the Tiergarten, for all I care. But he resolved that he would no longer let himself be caught with fine words, as this had all the appearance of being. And if he let himself be dragged into the Tiergarten, tired and hungry as he was, he wanted to see money—beforehand.
Letting himself be gypped a second time on the same day was simply not going to happen!
His companion was thinking meanwhile: Of course he recognized me again! Even if he doesn’t say so. Otherwise, he would not have stopped and waited until I spoke to him. But why was he so quiet? Perhaps he was tired and preferred to sit. It was certainly not going well for him. How might it have been going for him altogether in these weeks? Did he have a job? Probably not, for otherwise how could he be free at this hour of the day? Perhaps he had no work at all. But I must
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