Cafe Babanussa (5 page)

“We made it,” Werner said and smiled at her.

“That was quite some trip . . . and wow, I saw the Wall up close.”

“You'll be seeing plenty of that while you're here—it's everywhere.”

Werner led her into the heart of the bustling station. He
walked very quickly and she had difficulty keeping up with him. The subway was dirty and worn down, full of old men and women. They passed a group of young punks wearing studded leather bands, heavy black army boots, dog collars and safety pins hanging from their ears. Strips of hair split their shorn, shiny scalps in half. Two careening drunks waved bottles of beer like flags, shouting loudly at everyone and no one in particular.

As Ruby and Werner squeezed out the doors with the other passengers, an older man jostled Ruby and sneered something under his breath.

“What was that about?” she asked. “That guy bumped into me and then sounded really angry.”

“Oh, don't worry. Our language always sounds harsh. It was nothing. Besides, Berliners are known to be grumpy.”

“Just what I need when I'm striking out in a new place.”

“Don't be silly, you'll be fine. But if you end up staying, you'll have to learn German.”

The cool spring air had a peculiar sharp scent that Ruby couldn't identify. The buildings were tall, grey and close together, blocking an easy view of the sky. Not far from the station, Werner steered the way to a sombre six-storey building with a crumbling facade. Through the entryway, a wide corridor led into a cement-paved courtyard surrounded on all sides by more decrepit buildings. As she looked up at the high windows, she imagined countless pairs of eyes staring down on her.

“I live in what's called the Hinterhaus, or the backhouse. These courtyards were originally built so that a horse and
buggy could come in, turn around and go back out. These houses are particular to Berlin—you won't find many of them anywhere else in Germany. Come, let's not stand here for too long,” he said, pushing her on. “My place is very small and there are some things you'll have to get used to.”

Ruby didn't consider herself a fussy person, but she was still surprised by the little closetlike chamber on the second landing, just large enough for a toilet, but no sink. When they reached the third floor, she was out of breath. As Werner unlocked the door to his apartment, he apologized that there was no shower or hot water; they would have to go to the public bathhouse down the road to wash.

“Of course I take sponge baths in the kitchen all the time, but every few days I go down the road and pay for a bath.”

Ruby laughed and said, “I know a few people back home who would have a problem with that.”

“Yes, I've heard that Americans are really obsessed with being clean and take baths every day.”

It occurred to Ruby that the meticulous, uptight German was just as much of a stereotype, yet she was too tired to ask whether that was just a myth. Inside the apartment, a short, dark hallway led to a kitchen barely wide enough for a table. From there, a door opened to a bed-sitting room with high ceilings. Werner had built a loft bed, leaving space below for a desk and sofa. Over the desk hung a print of Picasso's
Don Juan
. In the corner stood a seven-foot-tall ceramic structure with two metal doors at the bottom and a third one in the middle. When Ruby touched it, the heat singed her fingers.

“What's this thing? An oven?”

“That's what heats the rooms in most of the old buildings like this in Berlin. You put bricks of coal on the grate inside that second metal door, light them and let them heat through. The ashes fall down below and have to be scraped out into a pail. That'll be your job.”

“Jesus H. Christ. Now I'm Cinderella. Just what I always dreamed of.”

“Actually, it's a great way to heat the room, even if it is a bit messy. People used to bake things on the shelf inside that middle door. I'll bake you into gingerbread in there if you misbehave.”

“Don't you be telling me how to behave, or else I'll be the one shoving your head in there for some roasted Werner. Coal, huh? Is that what makes the air smell outside?”

“Yeah, this is mainly brown coal from East Germany, full of sulphur. You have to be careful when you light it that it burns properly, or you can generate poisonous gases.”

“So I might die while I'm sleeping?”

“Not too likely, but it's possible.”

The rest of the walls in the flat were covered with shelves stuffed with hundreds of books. Most titles were German, but Ruby recognized the names of many authors, including a whole row of works by Marx and Engels and anarchist writers like Kropotkin and Malatesta. On the top of the shelves were several intriguing postcard-sized prints.

Werner saw her studying them. “Those are reprints of woodcuts done by various artists,” he said.

“What's a woodcut?”

Ruby's parents were all about music and the civil and human rights movements. Their children had not been exposed to the fine arts very much, though Ruby had a flare for all sorts of crafts.

“You don't know? Where have you been all these years? How could you be so uninformed?”

“Werner, don't be such a snob. Not everyone has had a chance to learn about and experience the arts in the same way.”

Werner shrugged. “I am not a snob—it's simply a special technique where you carve out a design on a block of wood and use it for making prints. I can show you in some of my encyclopedias. Or better yet, we can check some out at one of the museums.”

“Sounds good.”

“So, what do you think?” he asked, gesturing out into the room. “Does it measure up to your standards, my princess?”

“It's fine. A little dark, maybe,” she said.

“The other buildings tend to block out the sun unless you live very high up or in the front house, facing out on the street.”

It hadn't escaped Ruby's notice that he had been quick to close the blinds as soon as they arrived, leaving the flat very dark.

“Do you want to stay? Try it out?”

Ruby pursed her lips and thought for a bit. She didn't feel that she had anything to lose by giving it a shot, and she liked that Werner looked nervous waiting for her answer. “Well, I think we should just go for it. Why not?”

“Great. I'm so glad you'll stay.” Werner's smile lit up the dark room. “What would you like to do next?” he asked as he placed her knapsack down on the floor.

“Sleep.”

“I thought we might go out for a walk.”

“Can we do that a little later? The train ride was unbearably long and I didn't sleep much.”

Werner seemed a touch disappointed but said, “Sure, sure, go ahead and lie down.”

Ruby climbed the ladder onto the loft bed and sank under the duvet.

When she woke an hour later, Werner was lying on the bed next to her, his eyes straying over her body. They snuggled close together. Ruby stretched herself out like a cat and began to take off her clothes. Werner practically jumped on her and was all over her and then in her in no time. Ruby was hot and bothered at first, but when they came to the finish line she began to imagine them rolling frozen grapes and ice cubes across each other's bodies, with a squirt of chocolate sauce here and there. She remembered Pierre at university introducing her to frozen grapes. She loved it because you could eat them and they were so deliciously crunchy and sweet and would soften slowly in your mouth.

Werner interrupted her daydreaming and said, “How'd you like that?”

“It was fine, but . . .”

“But what? What's wrong?”

“I would have liked some warm-up exercises first.”

“Warm-up exercises? What on earth do you mean?”

“Most women need a little more time and maybe even a few props to get going.”

“Ruby, I didn't sign up for a cooking course, I signed up for you!”

“Well, you did such a good job on my toes before, I had different expectations of you. But we're still just getting to know each other. Anyway, keep your mind open for me.”

Werner smiled. “Then, keep yours open for me as well. Just because you're here doesn't mean I won't see other women.”

Ruby raised her eyebrow as she looked at him.

“I mean I have other friends. Women friends. We go out, and sometimes we sleep together, and I expect to be able to continue. Not that you can't come along sometimes . . . I do want you to meet my friends. Anyway, the whole thing could be fun for both of us.”

“Well, thanks a lot! What you mean is we're going to have an open relationship. Do I get to come along for the sex?” She laughed. “It sounds a little risqué, but I'm not really the possessive type and I'm pretty open-minded.” She was already having more of an adventure than she'd anticipated. “All right, let's try it. Should we set out some rules?”

“Yes. We remain primary partners and we don't bring anybody home with us.”

“You sound as if you've done this before. What happens if we fall for someone else?”

“No falling in love. This is strictly for fun.”

“It's hardly something you can decide arbitrarily!”

“Do your best. I don't mean that we'll be out sexing every person we meet, but we shouldn't have to turn down an exciting opportunity.”

“Right. I'm all for exciting opportunities. But do you really think this will work in the long run?”

“Of course. Just remember not to bring anyone here,” he insisted. “I need my privacy.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious. Don't try to mix with the people here in the building and don't hang around in the courtyard. The landlord is a fascist pig and there are quotas for foreigners in this part of Berlin.”

“Are you telling me I have to hide? I didn't come here to be holed up in some shitty flat.”

“You should be okay because you're Canadian. Even so, you look more like a Turk, and they're the ones who have a lot of problems. The landlord treats the Turkish tenants like they're ignorant, filthy children. Just try not to get involved with anyone. Anyway, I'm looking for a new flat, so maybe we'll be out of here soon.”

Ruby mulled over the idea of an open relationship. Could she share Werner without getting jealous? Would he really let her wander, too? It would probably be harder in reality but she was willing to give it a go. This is what she had wanted, after all: to be free and have adventures.

Two days later, as they were heading out into the city,
they met the landlord huffing and puffing up the steps, his fat cheeks bulging out of a purply-red face.

“Und wer is denn das mit Ihnen?” Who have you got with you here?

Werner smiled coolly. “Just a friend visiting from Canada.”

He said something, plainly rude. Ruby nudged Werner, who translated under his breath. “Since when did they make them like that in Canada?”

Ruby squirmed under the gaze of the landlord's wormy eyes.

“Never mind, excuse us please. We're on our way out.”

“Canada. Not likely,” the man harrumphed, squeezing his bulbous body flat against the dingy brown walls to let them pass into the courtyard.

“Whew. So that was him, huh?” Ruby said.

“Yeah, don't worry. He can't touch you. Just stay out of his way.”

“Damn right I will.”

They strolled through the side streets of Moabit and along the River Spree, passing countless buildings with banners hanging from them. Angry words were scrawled in red and black, punctuated at either end with an encircled capital
A
. Werner explained that the
A
stood for anarchy and that these abandoned buildings, marked for demolition, had been taken over by squatters. A massive housing shortage plagued West Berlin; many building owners wanted to renovate, and the ensuing increase in rents forced tenants out. People were rising up in protest.

Ruby and Werner crossed over the river and entered the Tiergarten, a vast park in the middle of the city with wide, rolling lawns, plenty of beautiful old trees and bike paths galore. They threaded through the English Gardens and then the Hansaviertel, a little community built around a square in the late 1950s that featured buildings by Le Corbusier, Gropius and Mies van der Rohe. Continuing along the path of the Strassenbahn tracks that passed overhead, they reached the Saturday flea market on Strasse des 17 Juni. As they passed stalls selling bratwurst and knackers on buns with hot mustard, the smell of cinnamon and other spices wafted through the air. Well-dressed people slurped hot mulled wine, taking a break from the crush of the crowd.

“This is the market that all the American tourists and soldiers come to and that's why the prices are inflated,” Werner explained. “They don't realize that what they are buying isn't as antique as they believe.”

After much poking around, Ruby found some nice earrings.

“They're lovely,” Werner said. “Do you like them? Here, I'll buy them for you.”

She was pleased and put them on immediately. They stopped to get some mulled wine and she felt its warm spiciness flush her face. As they strolled arm in arm towards the end of the market, Ruby said, “What a beautiful day.” It was still early in the afternoon, so Werner suggested they head over to another market near Potsdamer Platz. They doubled back into the Tiergarten. Werner moved quickly, and Ruby struggled to keep up with him.

“We could have taken the U-Bahn,” he said, “but in this city you'll learn to walk a lot with me. My father used to take my sister and me out hiking in the hills every Sunday for miles on end, so I'm used to it.” Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a circular intersection in the park marked by a large golden statue of a man riding a horse. Four wide avenues branched off from the circle.

“That is the symbol of Bismarck defeating the French during the Franco-Prussian War, which happened on June 17,” Werner explained. “That's the name of the avenue that the flea market was on.”