there’s been a blizzard. Come on, we’ll go with the street cleaners, there’s always help taken on when it’s snowed.” In no time Willi is alert. As he gets dressed, he chokes down a couple of the leftover rolls from yesterday, and gives his little friend the last two. In the kitchen they hold their heads under the cold tap; Silesian Olga even has a rag for them to dry their heads on. Hurry, hurry, says little Willi. Jacket on, collar up, and cap. In the courtyard, the little fellow suddenly stops in the slush. “Have you got any papers, you need to show them.” Papers? Forget it, Willi Kludas. They don’t issue you with papers in the institution when you do a runner. Then I’m not going neither, the little fellow wants to say, out of solidarity, when all at once he gets an idea.
He can hardly speak for excitement, and it takes him a while to when he finally can. “You’ve still got twenty pfennigs, ain’t you? We’ll go out and buy a broom handle with that, and they’ll give us the side of a tea chest for nothing … Then we’ll rig up a snow shovel at Olga’s, and I know she’s got a broom too, an ancient thing. And then we’ll go round the shops. ‘Morning. Your bit of pavement looks parlous. Don’t think your customers will be willing to risk theirnecks on that. But if you like, we can get it cleaned up for you, nice and cheap …’ And I bet we’ll have earned us a couple of marks by afternoon. Isn’t that a good idea?” They dash into the nearest soap shop. A broom handle costs fifteen pfennigs, and they are able to pick up the lid of a box of soaps for nothing. Silesian Olga is flattered and cajoled till she coughs up her old broom and a few nails. The snow shovel is put together in no time, and the two Willis rush off.
To Breslauer Strasse. Their timing is perfect. The shopkeepers are just opening their stores, and, half-asleep still, are staring at the night’s slushy gift. Third time lucky. A bony little confectioneress biddy. Willi Kludas gives the pusher its initiation, the little man scratching after with the broom, and asks in the shop for some ashes to strew. At the end of half an hour, the snow is cleared away, and the biddy pays them each thirty pfennigs, and a bag of sweet leftovers. They’re in the black. They threw in the dairy basement next door. Just a few yards, but it’s thirty pfennigs between the two of them. Across the road, the big dry-cleaning business is too cheap to spare any change, they’ve sent their pallid girl trainee out on the street. Keep going, Willi. Here a nibble, there none. Here has been cleaned already, there they’re kept talking till they’re blue in the face, over a few pfennigs.
At the end of five hours, the boys are way up on Frankfurter Allee, and things are getting stickier. Clean pavements as far as the eye can see. “Call it a day, Willi?” “I think so too, Willi.” They stop for dinner in a cheap restaurant. Three courses, with soup and a wedge of pudding. Then they do the accounts. Even after paying for dinner, they each have four marks and change. Willi Kludas hasn’t had this much money since forever. They park their tools at Silesian Olga’s. Whoknows, maybe it’ll snow again tonight. Olga is delighted with a paper twist of sweets, and here are twice forty pfennigs for the night ahead.
My God, doesn’t Berlin look different when there’s something in your pockets that jingles! Even if it’s only four marks. Willi Kludas walks through the streets at the side of his friend, with a luminous grin on his face. Their bellies are full, they have cigarettes in their pockets, they have paid for the night, and they’re in the money. “Say, what do you think about going to the cinema?” asks the younger Willi. “Pritzkow’s only costs forty pfennigs.” The Pritzkow cinema on Münzstrasse is not just a cinema where they show Westerns and cop shows. It also serves as a warming hall and a dormitory for those sufficiently flush
He can hardly speak for excitement, and it takes him a while to when he finally can. “You’ve still got twenty pfennigs, ain’t you? We’ll go out and buy a broom handle with that, and they’ll give us the side of a tea chest for nothing … Then we’ll rig up a snow shovel at Olga’s, and I know she’s got a broom too, an ancient thing. And then we’ll go round the shops. ‘Morning. Your bit of pavement looks parlous. Don’t think your customers will be willing to risk theirnecks on that. But if you like, we can get it cleaned up for you, nice and cheap …’ And I bet we’ll have earned us a couple of marks by afternoon. Isn’t that a good idea?” They dash into the nearest soap shop. A broom handle costs fifteen pfennigs, and they are able to pick up the lid of a box of soaps for nothing. Silesian Olga is flattered and cajoled till she coughs up her old broom and a few nails. The snow shovel is put together in no time, and the two Willis rush off.
To Breslauer Strasse. Their timing is perfect. The shopkeepers are just opening their stores, and, half-asleep still, are staring at the night’s slushy gift. Third time lucky. A bony little confectioneress biddy. Willi Kludas gives the pusher its initiation, the little man scratching after with the broom, and asks in the shop for some ashes to strew. At the end of half an hour, the snow is cleared away, and the biddy pays them each thirty pfennigs, and a bag of sweet leftovers. They’re in the black. They threw in the dairy basement next door. Just a few yards, but it’s thirty pfennigs between the two of them. Across the road, the big dry-cleaning business is too cheap to spare any change, they’ve sent their pallid girl trainee out on the street. Keep going, Willi. Here a nibble, there none. Here has been cleaned already, there they’re kept talking till they’re blue in the face, over a few pfennigs.
At the end of five hours, the boys are way up on Frankfurter Allee, and things are getting stickier. Clean pavements as far as the eye can see. “Call it a day, Willi?” “I think so too, Willi.” They stop for dinner in a cheap restaurant. Three courses, with soup and a wedge of pudding. Then they do the accounts. Even after paying for dinner, they each have four marks and change. Willi Kludas hasn’t had this much money since forever. They park their tools at Silesian Olga’s. Whoknows, maybe it’ll snow again tonight. Olga is delighted with a paper twist of sweets, and here are twice forty pfennigs for the night ahead.
My God, doesn’t Berlin look different when there’s something in your pockets that jingles! Even if it’s only four marks. Willi Kludas walks through the streets at the side of his friend, with a luminous grin on his face. Their bellies are full, they have cigarettes in their pockets, they have paid for the night, and they’re in the money. “Say, what do you think about going to the cinema?” asks the younger Willi. “Pritzkow’s only costs forty pfennigs.” The Pritzkow cinema on Münzstrasse is not just a cinema where they show Westerns and cop shows. It also serves as a warming hall and a dormitory for those sufficiently flush
Similar Books
