Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980) s01e14 Episode Script

Why are two angels walking beside Franz? What kind of game is this? Where do two angels walk beside a man on Alexanderplatz, Berlin, in 1928: A man who has killed, and who is now a burglar and a pimp.
This tale of Franz Biberkopf and his oppressive, yet real and illuminating existence has progressed this far.
The more Franz Biberkopf writhes and foams, the clearer everything becomes.
The moment nears when everything will be illuminated.
Look, he's got a false arm.
He hasn't given up the game yet.
He doesn't want to be recognized.
Mr.
Biberkopf.
What's this distinguished gentleman been up to? He's a hardened criminal who should be thrown in jail.
He should get life: killing a woman, pinching things, robbery, and then another woman.
He's to blame for that too.
What does he expect? What do you think, Sarug? What would happen if this man were left to his own devices? It wouldn't make any difference.
Then we're superfluous? Yes, a little, I think, because we can't get him completely out of here.
If we were to take this man out of here, put him somewhere else, in another existence: has he done all he could do here? I don't know.
But this man is very ordinary.
Why do we have to protect him of all people? Ordinary, extraordinary, what does that mean? Is a beggar ordinary, or a rich man extraordinary? Tomorrow the rich man's a beggar, and the beggar's rich.
He puffs himself up, plays the innocent, decent guy.
Just look at the scoundrel.
But wait till a cop comes by! That'll knock his hat sideways.
Why should a guy like that go on living? I snuffed it too.
I was even younger than he is and already dead.
Not a peep out of me anymore! Take your hat off, you ape.
You're not a journalist, you dope.
You don't even know your ABCs.
Just wait, they'll get you too.
Leave him alone.
He's nuts.
He's got a screw loose.
Look, he's walking with two angels, and his sweetheart's a corpse at police headquarters.
He's all washed up.
You don't start yelling about a guy like that.
My life is over.
I'm finished.
I've had enough.
What city is this? What enormous city is this? And what kind of life did I lead in it? I didn't kill Mieze, though.
I didn't do that.
And I don't know how it all came about.
But she called out for you when she died.
She's probably arrived here already.
You end up here faster than you think.
"l can't go on living.
Say goodbye to my parents and my kid.
Life's become an agony for me.
Only Reinhold has me on his conscience.
Let him have his fun.
He just used me like a toy and bled me white.
A big, low-down good-for-nothing.
He was responsible for my misfortune.
I'm all washed-up.
" Is my Mieze here? Don't be sad.
You shouldn't be sad.
But where's my little Mieze? What's troubling you, my son? Speak up.
What's troubling you? I just wanted to see my Mieze, that's all.
I just happened to be passing by.
Look, I'm already dead.
Don't take life so hard, nor death, for that matter.
You can make things easier for yourself.
When I'd had enough and was sick, what did I do? Do you think I'd wait till I get bedsores? Why should l? I put the bottle of morphine next to me.
Then I said, "Turn up the music.
Piano, jazz, hits" I had them read to me from Plato, just the Symposium.
It's a beautiful dialogue.
And all the time, beneath the blanket I was secretly giving myself one shot after another.
I counted them: three times the fatal dose.
And all the time, I heard the tinkling of the piano.
It's amusing.
And the person reading to me spoke of Socrates.
There are clever people, and not so clever people.
Come here! Quick! Cut him down! He doesn't want to stay in his grave.
He keeps climbing up trees and hanging there all crooked.
Really? Why? He was sick for so long.
No one could help him, and they didn't want to send him away.
They kept saying he was just pretending.
So he went down to the cellar with a hammer and a nail.
I could hear him hammering.
I wondered what he was doing.
"Good that he's working and not just sitting around", I thought.
"Maybe he's building a rabbit hutch.
" But he was just hammering a thick nail into the ceiling.
He wanted to make sure.
What's the matter? Are you all right? Something wrong, young man? What are you whimpering about? Do you want to kill yourself too? No.
They've killed my girl, and I don't know where her body is.
Then take a look back there, where the new ones are.
My God, why can't you stay lying down here? Why do you have to keep climbing up the trees? In Berlin, in 1927, 48, 742 people died, not counting the stillborn: 4570 of tuberculosis, 6443 of cancer, 5656 of heart disease, 4818 of vascular disease, 5140 of strokes, 2419 of pneumonia, 961 of whooping cough; 562 children died of diphtheria, 123 of scarlet fever, 93 of measles.
A total of 3640 infants died, and there were 42,696 births.
Mieze! Mieze! Mieze, what have we done? Why did they do that to you? You didn't do anything, Mieze.
This man here, however ordinary his path through life may have seemed, differs in one respect from ordinary people.
What could it be that makes him different from ordinary people? You just said "ordinary" and "extraordinary" are words devoid of meaning.
This man has unwittingly failed to grow up, Sarug.
But he's about to now.
And everyone who suffers from this rare misfortune has the tendency, when on the threshold of seeing and feeling, to gain this insight and then slip away and die.
The exceptional strain has exhausted him, body and soul.
Do you understand? Yes, so far I understand.
But assuming we save his life, which is exhausted in body and soul, what sort of life will that be? An ordinary one, no more, no less.
Then why all our trouble and effort? Who could be interested in preserving such a life? That's precisely the secret.
You see, you don't know either, Sarug, how you became what you are, the way you were, how you came to be walking here with me and protecting other beings.
That's true, Terah.
I don't know.
One is never intrinsically strong, just by nature.
You must have been through something.
Strength has to be acquired.
You don't know how you acquired it.
Suddenly you're standing there, and things that are deadly to others are no longer a danger to you.
Mieze, Mieze! What can I do? Why don't they throw me in a grave like that? How much longer must it go on? Once more entering the field God's might will lead us on Fighting for him, We shall not yield Till the Lord's victory be won He who prays and trusts God's might May assured of victory be Through all the darkness And the night His soul be pure and free If Satan seeks to harm my soul Still I shall have no fear For God shall be my constant goal And him I shall revere He who prays and trusts God's might May assured of victory be Through all the darkness and the night His soul be pure and free Lueders! You were the first swine.
You were the first mean, low-down, dirty swine.
It was you who began to destroy me, who started eating away at me, ruining me.
It all started with you.
It's November 22.
Do you want to catch cold? Why don't you go to your beloved bar and have a drink? Hand Reinhold over! You belong in the madhouse with a nervous breakdown.
Let him come out, the scum, the horny bastard! Or don't you have the guts to? Who are you calling to if he doesn't answer? You're calling someone who's not here.
No one would be crazy enough to hide where you look for him.
Police! Hey, police, police! My God! Franz! What are you doing lying on the ground? Why? Everyone's looking for you, and with your arm, it's a wonder they haven't found you yet.
Have you found out anything else? There's nothing I can do.
I have to endure it.
He can destroy me.
He did the girl in, and here I stand like a fool.
We believe you, Franz.
We both believe you.
You go on until you break.
I've stood enough and done enough.
I can't do anymore.
No one can say I didn't defend myself.
But it's the straw that breaks the camel's back.
Since I can't kill Reinhold, I'll kill myself.
I'll go to hell with drums and trumpets sounding.
That's the man.
We'll go to hell with drums and trumpets sounding.
We're finished with this world.
To hell with it and everything in it, under it, and over it, and with all the people, the men and women, the infernal riffraff.
You can't rely on anyone.
If I were a little bird, I'd take a pile of crap and throw it behind me with both legs.
Then I'd fly away.
If there is a God, we're not only different from him because of our evil or virtue.
We all have a different nature and different lives.
We differ in manner, in our past and our future.
What's up, Andrei? I'm ashamed of myself.
I don't understand.
Why are you ashamed of yourself? Because of you.
Because of me? How come? Because I love you.
That's nonsense.
That's perfectly normal in here.
In here, people love each other, but outside, everything's different.
You forget all about it.
That's just it.
For all I care For all I care, it may be normal for everyone in here.
For everyone, but not for me.
For me, it's just not normal.
That's nonsense, Andrei.
It's because this is your first time in here.
Most people feel the same.
They feel ashamed, but once they're outside again, and everything's as it used to be, they laugh about it and say, "Oh, we just had a bit of fun in there.
" Better than no fun at all, you understand? It's not just that.
There's something else as well.
All my life, I was crazy about broads.
At the same time, I was sick of them and didn't know how to get rid of them.
I always suffered from the fact that I couldn't stand them and that they didn't go away.
All my life.
Now, when I imagine that they're letting you out, and I'm staying here For the first time, I don't understand myself.
I simply don't understand myself.
When they let you out the day after tomorrow, then In the past, that was all different, completely different.
Another four years I have to do here, all because of some stupidity.
What are four years? And without you as well.
I wouldn't even have known where to get the schnapps.
I'm really lost.
When you've been here a bit longer, you'll know all the tricks and get all the schnapps in the world.
I don't want to.
I don't want to.
I can't bear it.
I can't go on living like this.
And then there's that revolting Polack.
I can't bear it.
Andrei, what did he want anyway? Never mind.
It doesn't matter now anyway.
How could I know, my God, that it'd be four years? I never dreamed they'd give me four years.
What's up with you and this this Pole? You're a Pole yourself, aren't you? What do you have against him? I'm not a Pole.
That's what he wanted from me: to know I'm not a Pole.
I don't understand.
I thought your name's Andrei Moroskiewicz.
That's Polish, isn't it? That's just it: my name's not Andrei Moroskiewicz or anything like it.
That's just it.
And now he's trying to put the screws on me till I submit.
He wants to squeeze me out like a lemon.
He's got me in the palm of his hand.
Why do you have a Polish passport if that's not your name? My God, why do I have a passport like that? Simply because I wanted to be a real smart-ass.
I go to a streetcar stop and snatch a woman's purse, and I get myself arrested.
Then, when I'm in court, the passport turns out to belong to a guy who's wanted.
I love you so much.
Even if you're not a girl, I love to touch you.
You have such beautiful skin.
I'll be done for when you go.
It's all over for me.
I still don't understand the story about the name.
My God, it's simple.
I killed a girl.
Did you hear me? I did a girl in.
Don't look at me like that.
I didn't want to.
It just happened.
Come here.
Come to me.
There was a 1000-mark reward on Reinhold's head.
What was one to do? Go on unemployment and think about it with 1000 marks at stake? So they caught him and put him in a police cell.
The Death of a Child and the Birth of a Worthwhile Human Being What's up? He's badly hurt.
We must drive him to the hospital.
Baloney! It's best to finish him off.
We'll drive over him some more and throw him in the ditch.
In the prison, they think at first Franz Biberkopf is just pretending to be crazy, knowing that his head's on the block.
Then the doctor examines the prisoner.
They take him to the hospital in Moabit.
But they can't get a word out of him there either.
The man really seems to be insane.
He lies there all stiff, his eyes blinking occasionally.
When he refuses all food for two days, they drive him out to Buch, to the madhouse, a closed asylum.
It's the right thing to do: the man must be kept under observation.
No! No! No! No! She sits by the water, the great Babylon, the mother of whoring and all horrors on earth.
She sits on a scarlet beast, she has seven heads and ten horns.
It's a sight to see! She delights in every step you take.
She's drunk with the blood of the saints whom she tears apart.
Behold the horns with which she butts.
She comes from the abyss and leads to damnation.
Look at her: the pearls, the purple color, the scarlet her teeth, how she bares them, the bloated lips! Blood has flowed over them.
She has drunk with them.
Oh, whore, Babylon, golden yellow, poisonous eyes, bloated throat, the way she smiles at you! First, they put Franz in the observation ward, because he just lay stark naked without covering himself, and he kept tearing his nightshirt off.
That was the only sign of life Franz Biberkopf gave for several weeks.
He kept his eyes tightly shut.
He lay there stiff, refusing all nourishment, so that they had to force-feed him for weeks on end with only milk and eggs and a little cognac.
That's taking medical care too far.
Almost intrusive, isn't it? He has to learn.
That's what comes of it.
Yes, that's what comes of it.
Von Hardenberg, open up! I don't understand it, Biberkopf.
Why won't you let us help you? I just want to help you.
Von Hardenberg, open up! For God's sake, open your eyes! You can hear me.
I'm faking it too.
Home sweet home, you know.
Sweet home, that's under the earth for me.
If I'm not at home, I want to be put under the earth.
The microcephalics want to turn me into a troglodyte, a caveman, and this is the cave I'm meant to live in.
You know what a troglodyte is, don't you? That's what we are.
Awake, oh, damned of this earth! You who are constantly forced to starve.
As victims, you have fallen in battle, in holy love of the people.
You gave your utmost for the people and life and happiness and freedom.
That's us.
Hey don't you understand? That's us.
In magnificent chambers the tyrant feasts, drowning his unease in wine.
But a hand has long been writing warning signs on the sumptuous table.
I'm self-taught.
The things I've learned I learned myself, all from the penitentiary.
Now they lock me in here.
They take the people's rights away.
They regard me as a public danger.
Well, so I am.
I'm a freethinker, I tell you.
You see me sitting here, the calmest guy in the world, but if I'm provoked! The time will come when the people will awake, the mighty, strong, free people.
Rest easy, then, brothers.
Nobly, grandly you have sacrificed yourselves for us, I can't help but think that Biberkopf's ailment is psychogenic.
This stiffness has its origins in the mind.
His pathological state comes from inhibitions and constraints, which analysis could resolve, maybe through a regression to a far-removed mental state if "If", that big word "if".
That most regrettable word "if".
It's a pity, but this "if" is a big problem.
If Franz Biberkopf would speak, sit down together with us and cooperate with us in eliminating his conflict.
Next you'll believe that the paralysis is psychological and the spirochetes happen to be lice in his brain.
The mind, the mind! Oh, this modern catch-all for the emotions.
Medicine on the wings of song! If I were you, I'd try electricity.
That doesn't help either, but it's better than all this blather.
Basically, that's nonsense too.
If you use weak current, it doesn't help.
Use strong current, and you're really in for something.
One knows it from the war.
High-voltage treatment, "Oh, boy!" Anyway, that's not allowed here.
They call it modern torture.
Very well, then what should we do, in your opinion, in a case like Franz Biberkopf's? First, you make a diagnosis, and the right one if possible.
A game leg won't heal with sweet talk.
You can play the piano to it, it still won't heal.
You have to set the bones right and apply a splint.
Then it'll heal.
It's the same with a corn.
You have to put lotion on it, or buy better boots.
The latter is more expensive, but more effective.
So, what should we do in this Biberkopf case? I ask again, Dr.
Proll, what's your opinion? You just heard it, make the right diagnosis, which in this case, according to my outdated diagnostics, is catatonic stupor.
Unless, of course, there's some major organic cause behind it all: In the brain, a tumor in the midbrain.
Catatonic stupor.
Yes.
Lying there all stiff, the outbreaks of perspiration, then the occasional blinking of the eyes, observing us very well, but not saying anything, and not eating anything either.
But sooner or later, our Mr.
Malingerer or a psychogenic passes out.
Starve to death? Ha! He won't let things go that far.
What does this diagnosis do for the man? It doesn't help him at all.
What do you say as senior physician? He would have jumped at the chance long ago if the problem were in his so-called mind.
When a hard-boiled convict like him sees a young gentleman who knows damn all about him, pardon my French, and thinks he's a faith healer.
For a guy like that, you're a godsend.
That's fine with him.
And what he does, he would have done long ago.
You see, doctor, if the guy had his wits about him But that's just it, doctor.
He's inhibited.
In my opinion, it's the result of some blockage but caused by mental factors: a loss of reality, disappointment, denial, then childish, impulsive claims on reality, unsuccessful attempts to restore his hold on it.
Nonsense! Mental factors, indeed! Then he would experience different mental factors.
Then he would overcome the blockage and inhibitions, give them to you for Christmas.
In one week, he'd get up with your help.
My God, what a great faith healer you are! Praised be the new therapy! Send a telegram in tribute to Mr.
Freud in Vienna, and a week later he'll be walking the corridor with your help.
A miracle, a miracle! Hallelujah! Another week, and he'll know his way around the yard, and thanks to your benevolent support, a week later, behind your back, hallelujah, he'll be gone.
-I don't understand that.
We should give it another try.
I don't believe it.
-But I do.
You'll learn with time.
You need to have experienced all that.
So just don't torment the man anymore.
Believe me, there's no point.
"He who leaves things in God's hands" And the whole institution asks but one question: "What injection will our Franz get today?" And they laugh at the doctors behind their backs, because nothing works with him.
They can't get through to him.
He's a tough customer, one of the toughest.
He'll show them all.
He knows what he wants.
Who is this mendacious person? Biberkopf, yoo-hoo! A real hoopoe! A true cuckoo! He's probably waiting for the snow to fall, thinks we'll have gone then and won't come back.
The things he thinks! A guy like that can't think at all.
He has no brains upstairs.
He just wants to lie here and sulk or something.
We'll put a spoke in his wheel.
We have bones of iron.
Untie him.
Another goal! The goal's torn.
Watch this.
No goal.
An empty hole.
Snarl.
Calm down, gentlemen.
It's hardly worth it with that man.
The guy's not up to very much: there's no meat and no fat on him.
He'll soon be cold.
They're already putting hot-water bottles in his bed, and I've got his blood.
He has only a little of it left.
He can't puff himself up with that anymore.
It's as I said.
Just calm down, gentlemen.
Make Please make for me Please make a hole in the wall for me, so I can flee to the end of the world.
Man is an ugly beast, the foe of all foes, the most disgusting creature on earth.
It's not good to live within a human body.
I'd rather crouch beneath the earth, run across the fields and feed on what I find.
The wind blows, and the rain falls, and the cold comes and goes.
That's better than living in a human body.
You're almost there.
Keep going! Soon the hole will be big enough for me to get out; for me to get out of my skin.
Mieze! Franz, you have to believe me.
I didn't want to.
He just fell on me and said I should pray.
And suddenly You must believe me, Franz.
Why should I lie to you? Please, please, believe me, Franz! Franz! Wait! Franz! Please, please! Franz! Let me explain.
Franz! There sits the great Babylon by the water, the mother of whoring and all horrors on earth.
She sits on a scarlet beast with seven heads and ten horns-- Please, please, please, please! Not today.
Not today.
Keep her away! Keep her away! She's drunk with the blood of the saints whom she tears apart.
She comes from the abyss and leads to damnation.
Death sings a slow, slow song.
It is time for me to appear before you, for the seeds are flying out of the window, and you shake out your sheet as if you would never lie down again.
I am not just a reaper.
I am not just a sower.
What is important is to be here and to safeguard.
Oh, yes.
Oh, yes.
Oh, yes.
I stand here and have to record.
The man who lies here, surrendering life and body, is Franz Biberkopf.
Wherever he is, he knows where he's going and what he wants.
Sure, that is a lovely song.
But can you hear it? And what does it mean? Is it Death singing? I want to speak the plain truth, the plain truth.
And this truth is that Franz Biberkopf belongs to Death, this Death.
He hears him slowly singing, Iike a stutterer, with constant repetitions, like a saw cutting into wood.
I am here to record, Franz Biberkopf.
You wish to come to me.
You are right, Franz, to come to me.
How can a man thrive if he does not seek out death, true death, real death? Your whole life you've been safeguarding yourself.
Safeguarding: That's man's fearful desire.
And so everything stays as it is and doesn't move on.
I first spoke to you when Lueders deceived you.
You drank and held yourself guarded.
Your arm was smashed.
Your life was in danger, Franz.
Admit it.
You didn't think of death for a minute.
I sent you everything, but you didn't recognize me.
And when you found out who I was, you ran from me, ever more frantically.
You never thought of surrendering yourself.
And whatever you undertook, you clutched at the idea of strength, and that fixation still hasn't abated.
But it's no use.
You felt it yourself.
It's no use.
There comes the moment when nothing helps.
Death does not sing you a gentle song and put a choking collar around your neck.
I am the life, and the true strength.
At last, at last, I wish to safeguard myself no more.
Greater than the strongest cannon is my might.
You don't want to live free of me in your own right.
You want to experience your own self, put yourself to the test.
Life can't be worthwhile out of my sight.
Come closer to me so that you can see me, so that you can see how you lie at the bottom of the abyss.
It's so dark, I can't see a thing.
You just don't want to come closer to me.
Then I shall make light for you.
Then you will find your way.
If you lack courage to come in the dark, I shall make light, that you can better find your way to me.
Franz is screaming.
He's crawling along and screaming.
All night he screams.
Franz is on the march.
He screams into the day.
He screams into the morning.
Swing, drop, hack.
He screams into the noon.
Into the morning.
I think he's thirsty.
Maybe he's not thirsty after all.
Swing, hack, hack.
Swing, swing, hack.
Swing, hack.
He screams into the evening.
Night is coming.
Franz screams into the night.
I'm suffering.
It's good that you suffer.
Nothing could be better than for you to suffer.
Don't let me suffer.
Put an end to it.
Putting an end to it won't help.
Everything comes to an end by itself.
But it's in your hands.
Put an end to it.
All I have is a ball in my hand.
Everything else is in your hands.
What do I have in my hands? Put an end to it.
So that's how far things have come.
Here I am talking to you Iike an oppressor and hangman, and have to throttle you Iike some venomous, snapping animal.
I kept calling you.
What do you think I am, a phonograph? A gramophone you can wind up for fun, and then I have to call.
And when you've had enough, you turn me off? Is that what you think I am? Think what you like.
But now you see that things are different.
What have I done? Haven't I tortured myself enough? I don't know anyone who's suffered like me, so pitifully, so wretchedly.
-You were never here, you swine.
All my life, I never saw any Franz Biberkopf.
And when I sent Lueders to you, you didn't open your eyes.
You weren't folded up like a pocket knife.
You were boozing: One schnapps after another.
Nothing but boozing.
I wanted to be clean.
Clean.
But he deceived me.
And I tell you you didn't open your eyes, you crooked swine.
You go on about crooks and swindling, but you don't even look at people.
You don't ask why, and how come.
How can you be such a judge of people when you don't have any eyes? You were blind and cocky to boot.
Stuck-up Mr.
Biberkopf from the posh neighborhood.
And the world should be as he wants it.
It's all quite different, my boy, quite different.
Now you can see it.
It couldn't care less about you, the world couldn't.
When Reinhold seized you and threw you under the car, you didn't even pass out.
Our Franz Biberkopf didn't even pass out.
And while he's still under the wheels, he swears he'll be strong.
Doesn't say to himself, "Think it over.
Keep your wits about you.
" No, he says, "I want to be strong.
" You don't want to know I'm talking to you.
But now you hear me, don't you? Didn't notice? Why? What, then? And not least Mieze, Franz.
Shame on you Say it, "It's shameful!" Shout it out loud, "Shameful!" I can't.
I don't know why.
Shout it out loud, "Shameful!" She came to you, gave you affection, protected you.
She was happy with you.
And you? What was a human being to you? A person like a flower? You go and brag about her to Reinhold.
There before you, the height of feeling.
But you just want to be strong.
You're happy you can spar with Reinhold, that you're better than he is.
And you use her to provoke him.
Just think about it, whether it's not your fault she's not alive.
You didn't shed a tear for her.
The girl died for you.
For who else? You just babbled on, "I this, and I that and what injustices I've suffered How noble I am and fine".
And "People won't let me show what kind of guy I am.
" Say it, "It's shameful!" Shout it, "Shameful!" I don't know.
You've lost the battle.
You're finished.
You can pack up.
Put yourself in mothballs.
You're all washed up.
What a bastard.
You were given a head and a heart, eyes and ears and you'd like to be decent, whatever you call decent.
But you see, hear, and think nothing.
You live without any aim.
One can do what one likes.
What should I do, then? What? Just tell me what I should do.
I'm not saying a word.
Don't give me that crap! You have no head.
You have no ears.
You've never been born.
My God! You haven't even come into this world, you freak with your crazy ideas, with your wiseguy ideas.
Pope Biberkopf! He still has to be born, so that we can see how things really are.
The world needs different guys, brighter ones who see how things are: not made of sugar, but of sugar and dirt and all mixed up together.
But Hand over your heart.
Franz, your heart, so that you're finished, so I can throw it in the dirt where it belongs.
Let me think it over just a little longer, just a little.
Out with your heart, man.
Just a little.
Your heart, Franz.
I'll take it myself, your heart.
Get out of this mess! What's all this nonsense? It just doesn't make sense.
I can't give leave to anyone.
I need every man.
Have I made myself clear? I can't give leave to anyone.
I've work to do here.
No hard feelings.
I need every man.
When a guy has the word "death" on his lips, no one can tear it from him.
He'll turn it over in his mouth, and it'll be like a stone, a stony stone.
And no nourishment will grow from it.
In this way, many people have died.
For them, there was no going on.
They didn't know that they had to inflict but a single pain on themselves in order to go on, that only a small step was needed to go on.
But they were unable to take that step.
They didn't know it was just a weakness.
It was a cramp, a few minutes, a few seconds, and already they were gone, to a place where they were no longer called Karl Wilhelm, Minna, Franziska.
Black, pitch black, glowing red with anger and paralyzed with despair, they passed away.
They didn't know that they simply needed to glow white-hot, and they would have become soft, and everything would've been new again.
Oh, God, such a little girl! But she'll settle in over there.
She just has to be good, and everything will turn out fine.
Well Everywhere there are apartments where people warm themselves, and look fondly at each other, or sit coldly beside each other.
Dirty little holes and bars, where someone plays the piano.
Old hits usually, but sometimes brand-new ones.
Do you know this one? There.
There you are.
Go ahead.
Don't take any notice of me.
Really.
Come on.
Let's drive on.
What did Death say? I have to know what Death said.
I know you.
Hello, Lueders.
Yes, I was just waiting for him.
And he's such a little guy and shoelaces Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Yeah, that's what he did.
He robbed her, really robbed her.
I'm sitting in the bar, when in comes Lueders.
But when he sees me, he runs straight out again.
Maxie gives me a letter from her.
Everything's explained in it.
So, what happens to me now? All of a sudden my legs are chopped off, Iiterally chopped off.
"Why?" I ask myself.
Why? Why can't I stand up? What's up? What's wrong with you suddenly? As I said: "I can't move my legs anymore.
" It's just not possible.
They just won't move anymore.
Would you like a cognac, Biberkopf? Are you in mourning? Yes.
A personal loss? It's my legs.
They chopped off my legs.
I don't know Here! Didn't you sell hot dogs here once? Sure.
That's how we know each other.
But that was ages ago.
But the I mean the Oh, you mean the swastika? Yes, I wear it now, and with pride, Mr.
Biberkopf.
You wore it, too, back then.
Yes, I wore it, too, back then.
But didn't you tell me you're Jewish? Sure.
But that doesn't mean you have to take the wrong path.
Now I'm on the right one.
Good day, Mr.
Biberkopf.
Good morning, Lueders.
How are you? Not well at all, actually.
Cheers.
Don't run away.
Come back here.
Sit down on this chair.
Don't go away.
What did I ever do to you? Don't go away.
Let the night come, however black and like a void it is.
Let the black night come, the fields on which the stiff frost lies, the highways frozen solid.
Let the lonely brick houses come, from which a rosy light gleams.
Let the freezing wayfarers come, the coachmen on their vegetable carts, rolling into the city, with the horses up front.
The broad, flat, mute plains, across which suburban and express trains run, shedding white light on both sides in the darkness.
Let the people come.
There comes a call Like thunder's roar Like the clash of swords Waves dashing on the shore Rest easy Dear fatherland of mine Rest easy Dear fatherland of mine Proud and true stands the watch The watch On the Rhine Proud and true Stands the watch, the watch On the Rhine Reinhold! Reinhold.
Scum! Scum! Yes, that's what you are.
What do you want here? To play the big shot with me? No rain could ever wash you clean.
You bum.
You murderer.
You hoodlum.
It's a good thing you turned up.
I missed you.
Yes, come on, you swine.
Haven't they caught you yet? Be careful you don't get nabbed.
What's up with you now, Franz? What are you? I'm not a murderer.
Who introduced me to the girl? Who didn't care about her, huh? I had to crawl under the covers, big mouth! Who was that, then? You didn't have to kill her.
What does it matter? You almost beat the daylights out of her yourself.
And there was another one, they say, whose name was lda.
She's buried on Landsberger Allee.
She didn't find her way to the cemetery alone.
How about that? You don't say a word.
What does Mr.
Franz Biberkopf have to say, big mouth by profession? You threw me under the car.
That was you.
So what? If you're such a fool as to mess with me.
A fool? Haven't you noticed what a fool you are? You're in Buch, in the madhouse, and I'm doing fine.
Who's the fool, then? Fight with me.
Show me who you are, Franz Biberkopf.
Little Biberboy, huh? Why did I get so involved with you? Come on! Show me who you are.
Do you have the strength.
I should never have fought with you.
Boy, you annoy me.
You keep infuriating me.
You're a curse.
I should never have done it.
I'm no match for you.
I should never have done it.
You need strength, Franz, strength.
Keep away from me.
Keep away.
Away with you.
Keep away.
I want to see someone else.
Can't someone else come? Wait.
Someone else is coming right away.
Well, who's in the driver's seat now? Who's the winner, Franz? I haven't won.
I know that.
I haven't won.
He was the biggest bastard in the world.
Do you hear me? He taunted me until I didn't know whether I was coming or going.
That's how he provoked and taunted me.
Ida.
It's good that you've come.
I've had a bad time, you know.
Here I am in Buch in the madhouse.
Do you know where that is? Under observation, or maybe I'm crazy already.
Ida.
Come here.
Don't turn your back on me.
What's she doing here? She probably works in the kitchen.
-Yes, the girl works in the kitchen.
She washes the dishes, fusses around everywhere.
Yes, but what makes her buckle up like that? She keeps bending to one side, as if she had lumbago.
What's the matter with her? She keeps buckling up as if someone were beating her, as if someone were beating her.
Get out of here.
Hey, stop beating her! My God, it's inhuman.
Leave the girl alone.
Get out of here! Leave the girl alone.
My God, my God, my God! Who's beating you like that? Stand up straight.
She keeps buckling up.
She can't stand up straight anymore.
Stand straight, my girl.
Ida, for God's sake! Turn around and look at me.
Hey! Who's beating you so terribly? You, Franz.
You beat me to death.
No.
No, I didn't do that.
That was proven in court.
It was just battery.
It wasn't my fault.
Don't say that, lda.
Yes, you beat me to death.
You beat me to death, Franz.
-No! Better to be dead right away.
Better off dead right away.
It's unbearable.
Someone should come and beat me to death! Let him! It wasn't my fault I didn't I didn't I didn't know anything about it.
And don't buckle up anymore, lda.
I sat in Tegel for it.
I've served my sentence.
Come a little closer.
Come a little closer to me.
Give me your But take your gloves off, Mieze.
Sit down with me a while.
Don't be so aloof, Mieze.
Give me a kiss.
Stay with me, Mieze.
Stay with me.
I need you.
You've got to help me.
But I can't, Franz, I'm dead.
You know that.
Don't go, Mieze.
Stay with me.
I'd like to so much, but I can't.
You know Freienwalde.
You're not mad at me, are you? Don't be mad at me, Franz.
Let us extol what the pain does to Franz Biberkopf.
Let us speak of the destruction pain causes: Breaking off, cutting down, casting down, disintegrating.
That's what it does.
To everything there is a season: A time to choke and to heal, to break down and build up, to weep and laugh, to lament and dance, to seek and lose, to tear apart and fasten together.
Now is the time to choke, to lament, to seek and tear apart.
Franz struggles as he waits for Death, for a merciful death.
He thinks that Death, the merciful, the terminating, is now approaching.
At this evening hour, Franz Biberkopf died, former transport worker, burglar, pimp, killer.
Another man lay in the bed in which he had lain.
The other man has the same papers as Franz.
He looks like Franz, but in another world he has another name.
That, then, was the demise of Franz Biberkopf, whom I wished to describe from his release from Tegel Prison to his death in the Buch Mental Asylum in the winter of 1928-29.
Now I'll add a report about the first hours and days of a new man who has the same papers as he did.
All new beginnings are hard achieved.
Dear Fatherland, rest easy now.
My eyes are open.
I won't allow myself to be deceived.
The whore Babylon has lost.
She bickered, made an uproar, blathered and screamed, "What do you want with him? What do you want with this guy, Franz Biberkopf?" "Boil him till he's savory!" Death beats his drum roll.
"l can't see what you've got in your mug, you hyena", he said.
"l have Franz Biberkopf here.
I've shattered him.
But because he's strong and sound, he will have a new life.
" Then Death moved, and his huge gray cloak flapped.
There were shouts, shots, sounds of triumph, and rejoicing about Death.
The river and the marching legions: the legions marched in icy cold and wind.
They have come across from France, led by the great Napoleon.
The wind blows, snow whirls, bullets whistle.
The beast beneath the white snow shies and lashes out.
The victim is Death The rolling of trains, the roar of cannon, the explosion of hand grenades, a barrage of fire, 'Rest easy, dear fatherland.
Rest easy, dear fatherland.
' The dugouts inundated, the soldiers buried.
Death rolls up his cloak and sings, 'Oh, yes.
March on, march on!"' "Off to war with dauntless step we go, 100 drummers marching with us too.
Sunset, sunrise, light the way to our demise.
A hundred drummers drum: If we don't go straight ahead, we err around instead.
And Death rolls up his cloak and sings, 'Oh, yes, oh, yes.
' Off to war with dauntless step we go, a hundred drummers marching with us too.
A hundred drummers drum: You know the way or go astray.
One lies there, another drops.
" "One runs on, another stops.
Marching six abreast, two or three abreast.
So marches the French Revolution, so the Russian Revolution, the Peasant Wars, the Anabaptists.
They all march behind Death.
There is rejoicing in his wake.
Onward to freedom! To freedom! Brothers, onward to the sun, to freedom, brothers, to the light above!" "Death rolls up his cloak, sings and laughs, 'Oh, yes, oh, yes'.
" "Oh, yes, oh, yes.
" "And the field roars, 'Oh, yes, oh, yes!'" A chicken consists of the outside and the inside.
Remove the outside, and the inside remains.
Remove the inside, and the soul remains.
Mr.
Biberkopf, after the death of your mistress, Emilie Karsunke, you were mentally ill.
However, according to the reports, you are now fully recovered and fit to be questioned.
The deceased, whom you apparently called Mieze: in your opinion, did she have a relationship with the accused? Well, you know, we were good friends, the accused and me.
But he had a terrible, unnatural craving for women.
And so it happened.
Do you mean he was something like a sadist? Is that what you're trying to say? Whether he was a sadist by nature, I don't know, of course.
I imagine that Mieze That she resisted Reinhold in Freienwalde and then then then he did it in rage.
You know about his youth? No, your honor.
I didn't know him then.
And he didn't tell you anything? Did he drink? Well, it's like this, he used to not drink, but he started to recently.
I don't know how much.
In the past, he could hardly take a drop of beer: just lemonade and coffee.
Herbert's been nabbed.
He got two years in jail.
They certified me as nuts.
Yeah, I read about it in the paper.
Paragraph 51.
But I'm weak, Eva.
After all prison food is prison food.
The little one in your belly, it is no longer? The accused, Gottfried Meck, is herewith acquitted of the charge of complicity in the murder of Emilie Karsunke.
The accused, Reinhold Hoffmann, is sentenced to 10 years in prison for the manslaughter of the prostitute Emilie Karsunke.
No! Murderer! The court's finding is manslaughter committed in the heat of passion.
I will now read the grounds for the judgment.
He's an assistant gatekeeper in a factory.
What kind of fate is that? Immediately after the trial, Biberkopf is offered a job as an assistant gatekeeper in a factory.
He accepts it.
There is nothing further to report about his life here.
A thing may be stronger than I am.
When there are two of us, it's more difficult to be stronger than I am.
If there are ten of us, even more difficult.
If there are a thousand of us or a million, then it's really difficult.
But it's also nicer and better to be with others.
Then I sense and know everything much more certainly.
A ship is not firmly moored without a big anchor, and a man cannot exist without many other people.
What is true and what is false I shall know better now.
Dear fatherland, you can rest easy now.
I'll keep my eyes open and not allow myself to be deceived.
That's why I check everything.
And when the time's ripe, and I'm good and ready, I'll act accordingly.
Man is given reason and words, while oxen stand around in herds.
Biberkopf does his job as an assistant gateman, collects the numbers, checks the cars, watches who goes in and out.
Be alert.
There's something going on in the world.
All is not sweet in the world.
If they drop gas bombs, I'll suffocate.
No one knows why they dropped them, but you don't have to know.
There was time to take care of things like that.
If there's a war, and they draft him, though he doesn't know why, and the war goes on anyway, then that's his fault; and it serves him right.
Be alert.
Be alert.
One is not alone.
Hail and rain may fall from the sky.
There's nothing you can do about it, but about a lot of other things you can.
He won't shout as he used to do: "It's fate, fate!" You don't have to revere it as fate.
You must look it in the face, grasp it and destroy it.
Be alert.
Keep your eyes open.
Watch out.
A thousand people belong together.
Anyone who doesn't take care, will be a laughing stock or will be cut down.
The drum rolls behind him.
March on! March on! Off to war sure footedly we go, a hundred drummers with us too.
Sunset, sunrise flight the way to our demise.
Biberkopf is a minor employee.
We know what we know.
We had to pay dearly for that knowledge.