employer who paid at least twice what Wolfgang could have got elsewhere. The main cause for Wolfgang to celebrate was that Kurt was a genuine fan. He loved his jazz in a way that only the young love their music. Like a first love. Their discovery, defining them and their generation. To Kurt jazz was a religion, a way of living. He knew every record just in from the States and the names of half the side men in New Orleans. But he didn’t use this knowledge to impose his vision on his club. He respected Wolfgang absolutely and gave him a completely free hand.
‘Just make sure it’s out there, Daddy,’ he said. ‘Blow it hot hot hot!’
Wolfgang could scarcely believe his luck.
‘All the other assholes I’ve worked for don’t give a damn about the music,’ he told Frieda on the morning after his first night at the Joplin. ‘Those cloth-eared pricks only play jazz because it brings in the gangsters and the flappers; they’d play nursery rhymes or bloody Wagner if they thought it would pay. Even the ones who pretend to understand the music would be happy if we played Alexander’s Ragtime Band and The Yankee Doodle Boy back to back all night. But Kurt’s different, he’s got soul . He only bought the club so he can listen to the band. It’s like his own great big grown-up toy.’
‘That’s nice,’ Frieda observed dryly between sips of coffee and bites of black bread. She was working away at some statistical papers and did not look up. ‘I dealt with three cases of rickets yesterday.’
‘Oh?’ said Wolfgang rather surprised. ‘That can’t have been much fun.’
‘It was heartbreaking actually. Lack of nutrients, pure and simple. They don’t need a doctor, they need a meal. The city Oberbürgermeister says that a quarter of all school kids in Berlin are under normal height and weight due to malnutrition. Imagine that. In the twentieth century.’
Wolfgang was of course somewhat deflated at Frieda’s reaction to what he’d imagined was wonderful news.
‘What’s rickets and malnutrition got to do with my new job?’ he asked.
‘Nothing really. Except that with the city slowly starving to death it’s nice that one big kid got his own club to play with, that’s all.’
‘And you’re saying that it’s Kurt’s fault the country’s completely fucked, are you?’
‘Don’t swear. The boys might be awake. They’re picking things up you know.’ Frieda continued to tick and cross boxes on the forms she was working on.
‘Well, there speaks the great radical! Swearing is the language of the proletariat, isn’t it? I thought you were supposed to be all for the working bloody class?’
‘I want a fairer world, not a coarser one, Wolf.’
‘You sound like your mother.’
‘And that’s a criticism, is it?’
‘You decide.’
‘Wolf, I’m just asking you to watch your language a bit. Edeltraud told me that a couple of days ago in the Volkspark an old gentleman patted Otto on the head and Ottster told him to fuck off.’
‘Good for him. You don’t mess around with a man’s hair, that’s well known. They’d kill you for it in the south side of Chicago.’
‘Edeltraud thought it was funny, which is of course half the problem.’
Wolfgang lit up another Lucky, his fourth of the morning, but with the money he would now be earning he could afford to smoke as many as he liked.
‘Look, I don’t want to talk about Edeltraud, or old gits in the park. I want to know why you seem to feel that my new job’s got something to do with you treating kids for rickets.’
‘Come on, Wolf,’ Frieda said, putting away her papers and taking her cup and plate to the sink where she managed to crush a cockroach with a serving spoon. ‘You know very well that all these people getting rich quick is making a terrible situation worse. If your Kurt can afford to buy his own nightclub he must have got the money from somewhere.’
‘What? From starving children?’
‘Indirectly.’
‘He got it
‘Just make sure it’s out there, Daddy,’ he said. ‘Blow it hot hot hot!’
Wolfgang could scarcely believe his luck.
‘All the other assholes I’ve worked for don’t give a damn about the music,’ he told Frieda on the morning after his first night at the Joplin. ‘Those cloth-eared pricks only play jazz because it brings in the gangsters and the flappers; they’d play nursery rhymes or bloody Wagner if they thought it would pay. Even the ones who pretend to understand the music would be happy if we played Alexander’s Ragtime Band and The Yankee Doodle Boy back to back all night. But Kurt’s different, he’s got soul . He only bought the club so he can listen to the band. It’s like his own great big grown-up toy.’
‘That’s nice,’ Frieda observed dryly between sips of coffee and bites of black bread. She was working away at some statistical papers and did not look up. ‘I dealt with three cases of rickets yesterday.’
‘Oh?’ said Wolfgang rather surprised. ‘That can’t have been much fun.’
‘It was heartbreaking actually. Lack of nutrients, pure and simple. They don’t need a doctor, they need a meal. The city Oberbürgermeister says that a quarter of all school kids in Berlin are under normal height and weight due to malnutrition. Imagine that. In the twentieth century.’
Wolfgang was of course somewhat deflated at Frieda’s reaction to what he’d imagined was wonderful news.
‘What’s rickets and malnutrition got to do with my new job?’ he asked.
‘Nothing really. Except that with the city slowly starving to death it’s nice that one big kid got his own club to play with, that’s all.’
‘And you’re saying that it’s Kurt’s fault the country’s completely fucked, are you?’
‘Don’t swear. The boys might be awake. They’re picking things up you know.’ Frieda continued to tick and cross boxes on the forms she was working on.
‘Well, there speaks the great radical! Swearing is the language of the proletariat, isn’t it? I thought you were supposed to be all for the working bloody class?’
‘I want a fairer world, not a coarser one, Wolf.’
‘You sound like your mother.’
‘And that’s a criticism, is it?’
‘You decide.’
‘Wolf, I’m just asking you to watch your language a bit. Edeltraud told me that a couple of days ago in the Volkspark an old gentleman patted Otto on the head and Ottster told him to fuck off.’
‘Good for him. You don’t mess around with a man’s hair, that’s well known. They’d kill you for it in the south side of Chicago.’
‘Edeltraud thought it was funny, which is of course half the problem.’
Wolfgang lit up another Lucky, his fourth of the morning, but with the money he would now be earning he could afford to smoke as many as he liked.
‘Look, I don’t want to talk about Edeltraud, or old gits in the park. I want to know why you seem to feel that my new job’s got something to do with you treating kids for rickets.’
‘Come on, Wolf,’ Frieda said, putting away her papers and taking her cup and plate to the sink where she managed to crush a cockroach with a serving spoon. ‘You know very well that all these people getting rich quick is making a terrible situation worse. If your Kurt can afford to buy his own nightclub he must have got the money from somewhere.’
‘What? From starving children?’
‘Indirectly.’
‘He got it
Similar Books
