Max Mechenmal was an independent manager of a newspaper kiosk. He
ate and drank well; he had relations with many women, but he was
careful. Because his salary was insufficient, he occasionally
permitted himself to take money from Ilka Leipke. Ilka Leipke was an
unusually small, but well-developed, elegant whore, who attracted
many men and women with her bizarre nature and apparently silly ideas,
as well as with her actually tasteful clothing. Miss Leipke loved
little Max Mechenmal. She called him her sweet dwarf. Max Mechenmal
was angry all his life that he was small.
Max Mechenmal came from an unfortunately impoverished family. He had
enjoyed an excellent education in an institution for retarded
children until he was forcibly dismissed at a very early age. The
reasons for his dismissal were not available; it seemed to have more
to do with the poverty of Mechenmal's relatives than with the fact
that he was clearly unbearable. For a while he wandered about
homeless, since his family no longer took any interest in him. He
supported himself mostly by petty larceny. Once the police picked
him up and he was brought to a home for neglected children. In the
home he was trained as a locksmith. He knew how to ingratiate
himself with his superiors by showing unusual dexterity and
willingness. He secretly tormented his younger, weaker comrades, or
he set the stronger ones against each other. He had no friends; when
he had completed his training and was released, the others were happy.
The unusual skill that Max Mechenmal, because of his technical gifts,
had developed in making keys and opening difficult locks he would
very gladly have used for breaking and entering, and burglary; he
would have liked to have become an infamous burglar. The proceeds
from the burglaries would have permitted him to dress elegantly, to
show off with the finest women. The sickening, massive fear of being
caught prevented him. He was content to seduce the daughters and
servants of the masters for whom he worked, and to commit occasional
burglaries that involved little risk. His ambition remained
unsatisfied.
By chance the direction of Mechenmal's life was changed. At the end
of a day's work, tired and in a bad mood, he was walking the streets.
Lights were scarcely visible, although it was very dark. In an
elegant ground-floor room, an elderly lady was arranging the fold of
her body.
In front of a basement, dirty little girls were singing the song of
the Lorelei. The windows were etched into the pale, sleeping houses
like black panes with bright crosses. The conglomeration of houses
resembled large, venturesome ships, which lay at anchor or were
gliding to a distant, beckoning sea. The little locksmith thought
about the last six women he had loved. His attention was attracted
by the hideously ringed eyes of a horribly hunch-backed gentleman who
smilingly, with marked pleasure, although somewhat fearfully, was
looking at him. The locksmith thought: hm--for fun, he remained
stopped; with his clear eyes, which shone like polished black buttons
on his face, he slyly watched the even smaller gentleman. Embarassed,
he took his hat off his head and spoke, stuttering, said that his
name was Kuno Kohn, and excused himself--little else could be made
out. The hunchback hid part of his face behind thin fingers, coughed,
and quickly moved on. The locksmith thought: hm, and went on his
way.
Then there was a tug on his arm. He turned his face: the hunchback
again stood next to him, still somewhat breathless from moving
quickly. Kuno Kohn was very red, but he could, without stuttering,
say: Excuse me for causing you more trouble. I always know
afterwards what I want to say." This he spoke extremely loudly, to
overcome his embarassment. Then he said: "Perhaps you have the time...
Perhaps I may invite you to look for a restaurant with me...or may
I assume that you have not yet eaten this evening." The locksmith
was not against the idea.
In a huge tavern, Kuno Kohn ordered food and beer for Max Mechenmal.
He himself did not eat, and he drank little. He enjoyed watching how
pleased the locksmith was. Later, probably, he sometimes stroked him
timidly on the chin. That pleased the locksmith. At first they
spoke of the misery of being alive, of the injustice of fate. After
Mechenmal drank his third glass of beer, he boasted of his beloved.
That was unpleasant for the hunchback. Up to that point he had
permitted the locksmith to talk. And his interest was indicated only
by the fact that he shut his blue eyes theatrically and approvingly,
as a result of which, for a few seconds, only miserable shadows were
visible, or he slowly shook his shapeless head, or he pressed his
nervous fingers sympathetically against Mechenmal's leg. Now he began
to express his own opinions. He cursed women. His voice seemed at
every moment to crack with excitement. He contended that anyone who
had the misfortune to be a woman must have the courage to be a whore,
that the whore is the essential woman, and that relations with women,
incidentally, are more or less degrading. When they left the tavern,
Kuno Kohn placed the hard, miserable bone that was his lower arm upon
Mechenmal's thick, flabby lower arm. A gold bracelet struck the
hunchback's wrist. On the way Kuno Kohn asked Mechenmal to spend the
night at his place. The locksmith agreed to the request.
Kuno Kohn lived in a large, ordinary room, in a summer-house on a
side street in the western section. However, the bed was
exceptionally wide, almost ostentatious. On the pillow lay yellowish
and red flowers. In front of the window stood a writing-table on
which there were some books--perhaps Baudelaire, George, Rilke. Near
it and on it lay sheets of paper, which were apparently covered with
finished and unfinished poems and treatises. On a shelf at a window
stood volumes of Goethe, Shakespeare, a Bible, and a translation of
Homer. On the table and chairs lay perhaps newspapers and pieces of
clothing. Somewhere lay yellowed photos of old people and children.
The locksmith looked at everything with curiosity.
They soon sat down. The conversation, which was lively at first,
gradually faltered. Kuno Kohn turned the lamp down. Later he spoke
softly and imploringly to the locksmith. Then he offered him the bed.
He himself would sleep on the sofa. The locksmith agreed.
Kuno Kohn arranged for a subordinate position for his friend
Mechenmal at a newspaper publishing office. Mechenmal picked up his
new trade with surprising swiftness, and very soon obtained
sufficient knowledge of salesmanship. He changed positions and
managed, by means of energy and all kinds of dirty tricks, after a
year and a few months, to hold a position of trust as an independent
manager of a newspaper kiosk.