does it pay ?’
‘Hell, brother, ain’t no way it goin pay less than what we makin now.’
‘Sid’s got a point,’ said Paul.
‘A little one, maybe,’ said Chip, splashing water my way. ‘At least, that what all the ladies say.’
‘Haw haw,’ I said.
We was silent then, all of us adrift in the warm blue light. The water sloshed against the stone walls, the soft murmur echoing high up in the ceiling.
There was a thin cough. Then the kid stood, water streaming off his bony chest. ‘I think we should go,’ he said softly. His upper lip was trembling.
‘We just got here,’ said Paul.
‘I think he means to Paris,’ said Ernst.
Hiero looked embarrassed, dipped back into the water.
‘You think we should go?’ said Chip. ‘You think we should go to Paris, get away from the Housepainter? You think Armstrong enough of a reason? You reckon walkin about the streets of you own damn city without bein afraid you goin get killed be worth it? You think so?’
Hiero looked direct at Chip. ‘Yes,’ he said simply.
‘Aw, kid.’ Chip laughed. ‘You priceless. Course it is.’
‘The problem,’ said Ernst, ‘is how , exactly.’
‘Slow down,’ said Fritz. He sounded almost angry. ‘I’m not convinced. I’m sorry gents.’ He waded over to the shallow end, sat on the low steps, the water spilling over the walls of his thighs as he leaned on his knees. The hairs on his chest was plastered in a thick gluey rug. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘But I won’t jump just because she says it’s time to jump.’
‘It’s alright,’ said Ernst. ‘We’re only discussing here.’
‘It’s Paris , buck,’ said Chip. ‘Hell.’
‘Where would we stay?’ said Fritz. ‘How long would we go for?’
Ernst shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even know that we could go right away. We’d need visas.’
‘Give him a hour or so,’ said Chip. ‘Ernst always come up with something.’
‘Louis’ jane goin be here through the week,’ I said. ‘We ain’t got to decide nothin now.’
‘Good.’
Ernst cleared his throat. ‘Alright, then?’
‘Alright.’
But something in Fritz’s hesitation given us all pause, darkened the very waters we was floating in. Hell. We grown quiet then, and just splashed softly for a time. Finally Ernst cleared his throat, and with a old sadness in him, said, ‘Well, gents. I suppose I’ll be getting back to the Hound.’
‘Working late again? I can’t understand why you still write those articles, buck,’ said Paul. ‘No one gives a damn about jazz anymore.’
Ernst paused. ‘I do.’ He climbed gleaming white from that water like it done leeched all the blood from him.
We ain’t stayed long after that.
Outside, under the gas lamps, the square in front of the baths glowed like talcum. Folks strode dumb through the gloom. Back of my neck was still wet and I could feel the cool air across it. Chip give me a soft punch on the shoulder.
‘Let’s ankle, buck.’ He sounded gloomy.
I felt it too. I nodded.
The roads was dark. We kept our heads down, shoved our hands all up in our pockets, our hair damp in the night air. We walked slow, like we dreaded getting back. We could see Fritz, the kid and Paul some feet ahead in the darkness, and then they vanished in the shadows and we couldn’t see them no more.
I always adored Berlin at this hour – the stillness, the way the shadows crowded the shop windows. We passed a toy store with swastika balls in the window, a butcher’s with the iron gate dragged down. There was a thin silt on the air, a taste like dirt, and I snorted to get it out my nose. Then we heard the clatter of sharp voices, and down one hazy road we seen street crews at work in the dim light. Young urchins clutching steaming black pitchers, pouring tar between the uneven cobblestones. Vapour rising from the lines. Men in thick coveralls wiping the grime from their faces.
We slipped back into shadow,
‘Hell, brother, ain’t no way it goin pay less than what we makin now.’
‘Sid’s got a point,’ said Paul.
‘A little one, maybe,’ said Chip, splashing water my way. ‘At least, that what all the ladies say.’
‘Haw haw,’ I said.
We was silent then, all of us adrift in the warm blue light. The water sloshed against the stone walls, the soft murmur echoing high up in the ceiling.
There was a thin cough. Then the kid stood, water streaming off his bony chest. ‘I think we should go,’ he said softly. His upper lip was trembling.
‘We just got here,’ said Paul.
‘I think he means to Paris,’ said Ernst.
Hiero looked embarrassed, dipped back into the water.
‘You think we should go?’ said Chip. ‘You think we should go to Paris, get away from the Housepainter? You think Armstrong enough of a reason? You reckon walkin about the streets of you own damn city without bein afraid you goin get killed be worth it? You think so?’
Hiero looked direct at Chip. ‘Yes,’ he said simply.
‘Aw, kid.’ Chip laughed. ‘You priceless. Course it is.’
‘The problem,’ said Ernst, ‘is how , exactly.’
‘Slow down,’ said Fritz. He sounded almost angry. ‘I’m not convinced. I’m sorry gents.’ He waded over to the shallow end, sat on the low steps, the water spilling over the walls of his thighs as he leaned on his knees. The hairs on his chest was plastered in a thick gluey rug. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘But I won’t jump just because she says it’s time to jump.’
‘It’s alright,’ said Ernst. ‘We’re only discussing here.’
‘It’s Paris , buck,’ said Chip. ‘Hell.’
‘Where would we stay?’ said Fritz. ‘How long would we go for?’
Ernst shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even know that we could go right away. We’d need visas.’
‘Give him a hour or so,’ said Chip. ‘Ernst always come up with something.’
‘Louis’ jane goin be here through the week,’ I said. ‘We ain’t got to decide nothin now.’
‘Good.’
Ernst cleared his throat. ‘Alright, then?’
‘Alright.’
But something in Fritz’s hesitation given us all pause, darkened the very waters we was floating in. Hell. We grown quiet then, and just splashed softly for a time. Finally Ernst cleared his throat, and with a old sadness in him, said, ‘Well, gents. I suppose I’ll be getting back to the Hound.’
‘Working late again? I can’t understand why you still write those articles, buck,’ said Paul. ‘No one gives a damn about jazz anymore.’
Ernst paused. ‘I do.’ He climbed gleaming white from that water like it done leeched all the blood from him.
We ain’t stayed long after that.
Outside, under the gas lamps, the square in front of the baths glowed like talcum. Folks strode dumb through the gloom. Back of my neck was still wet and I could feel the cool air across it. Chip give me a soft punch on the shoulder.
‘Let’s ankle, buck.’ He sounded gloomy.
I felt it too. I nodded.
The roads was dark. We kept our heads down, shoved our hands all up in our pockets, our hair damp in the night air. We walked slow, like we dreaded getting back. We could see Fritz, the kid and Paul some feet ahead in the darkness, and then they vanished in the shadows and we couldn’t see them no more.
I always adored Berlin at this hour – the stillness, the way the shadows crowded the shop windows. We passed a toy store with swastika balls in the window, a butcher’s with the iron gate dragged down. There was a thin silt on the air, a taste like dirt, and I snorted to get it out my nose. Then we heard the clatter of sharp voices, and down one hazy road we seen street crews at work in the dim light. Young urchins clutching steaming black pitchers, pouring tar between the uneven cobblestones. Vapour rising from the lines. Men in thick coveralls wiping the grime from their faces.
We slipped back into shadow,
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