The Hustler: The Story of a Nameless Love From Friedrichstrasse by John Henry Mackay Page B

hungry!”
    Gunther by no means wanted to come out with his five marks right away. So he seriously swore:
    “Not even a six-pence!”
    Atze tried to make a sad face, but did not succeed, and then said casually:
    “Well, then let’s just go to the Bear Cellar and Emil will have to put it on the cuff.”
    They went to the cellar pub where, the first day of their acquaintance, they had sat at the scrubbed white table, and where there were such gigantic portions of food.
    They had hardly finished eating—no cutlet diminished Gunther’s appetite—when he had related, down to the last details, what he had experienced in these days, at first with an undertone of resentment, but then with the babbling joy at finally being able to pour out his heart to his long-missed friend.
    Atze listened calmly. The moving complaints over the bad days left him cold. The story about the lounges seemed not to please him. Little Mama’s conduct was, however, understandable. And the guy who bilked him—well, that was only his own fault: “How come you didn’t keep your eyes open?”
    Gunther began to get angry, also over Atze’s exaggerated Berlin accent. Capable now of the most current turns of speech himself, he said, “Man, what’s with you! No one here talks like that.”
    “But me!” said Atze. “Me anyway!”
    When Gunther incidentally began to talk about his last acquaintance, the boring john who wanted to find him work and help him, who had begun by talking nonsense to him and then in the end wanted nothing from him, Atze paid attention. At first, he only said:
    “Ah ha, you swindler! You do have some dough!”
    Then, to Gunther’s amazement, he had him tell the whole story again, in fine detail, then leaned back in his chair (which he always did when a matter became serious for him), and finally said, with concern and reproach:
    “Chick, Chick!” he said with emphasis. “Do you still notice nothing. Will you never get smart? The man is in love with you!”
    Between them they had discussed everything, but never yet love. The word had never been said. Thus Gunther now looked at his friend almost as bewildered as in the first days of their acquaintance.
    Atze, however, remained serious, ordered two large cognacs, and—leaning back again—continued:
    “There’s no such thing as love. At least it’s never yet happened to me. But if it did—Chick, pay attention to what I’m telling you now—if one of them was to fall in love with me, I would really take advantage of him!”
    With that he got up, paid the check with Gunther’s money—for the first time decently earned—and took him home to Little Mama.
    3
    Nothing was left but for Gunther to show up at his meeting although he did not in the least feel like doing so.
    For one thing, Atze had ordered him to go, and then he had left him only fifty pennies when he left in the early morning, naturally again without saying when he would return.
    So in the afternoon, after working the streets unsuccessfully, he arrived punctually at the appointed corner by the bridge. His new friend was already standing there.
    The latter had a hard day’s work behind him, which had left him little time to think about anything else. But his face lit up when he saw him. So he did come! He became really joyful.
    “Well, Gunther, what shall we do now? I suppose it’s still too early to eat?”
    He was looked at in astonishment. What kind of nonsense was this again? Too early to eat? Why? Couldn’t one always eat, at any time of day? He could, at least.
    Graff saw his astonishment and it occurred to him that the boy was probably hungry again. He hastened to add, “But if you want to, we can eat right away.”
    They went to yesterday’s restaurant and sat at the same table, in the same seats, opposite one another. He also ordered something for himself. It seemed to him more tactful not to let him eat alone, although it was still too early for himself. He never ate in the evening before