I Sleep in Hitler's Room (29 page)

His Honor missed his calling. He should have been the Theologian.

Adolf tells me that he goes to the mosque “twice or three times a week.”

Do you also fast on Ramadan?

“I am Catholic.” He doesn’t go there to pray, he explains, he goes there to keep in touch. OK. It’s time to figure out this guy in more detail.

I’ll repeat a sentence, you will tell me who said it to me. Deal?

He nods, with a wink and a smile.

“Most Turks living in Duisburg love Germans, love Jews, love Israelis and are happy to live in Germany.” First: Agree or not?

People sitting next to us start laughing.

Adolf says, “No. I don’t agree.”

Now: Who do you think gave me this statement?

“The imam.”

No. One more chance.

“Muhammed Al.”

How did you know?

“I know him.”

Is he a bullshitter?

“Yes.”

What would you have said to Muhammed if he tried to sell you the same line?

“You are a bomb layer, this is not the truth.”

Some people in the community, especially independent artists, complain that as of next year Adolf will be cutting their budget, threatening small culture organizations with sudden demise. He says he has no more money. He must pay for the opera, the Duisburg Theater, the Philharmonic, and there is not much left.

The sign of his fight with the small arts organizations comes to the fore when a couple, he with hair down to the middle of his back and she with her hair standing up like a bush, passes next to us. “You see,” says Adolf, “this is Culture . . .”

But I am still with my Turks.

Does the Turkish presence change the culture in this land? If so, how?

“Twenty years ago nobody knew of Döner, today it’s second to the Currywurst.”

What else?

“Food is the first step to accepting another culture.”

What else?

“When going to an appointment with Turkish people, you don’t have to be on time.”

Else?

“It used to be that you were ashamed if you came late. Today, people come ten, fifteen minutes later. People now are more relaxed. Basically, we would have more heart attacks today if not for the Turkish community.”

And what changes happened with the Turks? What have they learned from you? Are they getting more heart attacks now?

“They learned that when they come late they have to apologize. Before, they just came half an hour late. Today, when they come half an hour late, they say: ‘I am sorry I am late, but there was an accident . . .’ The Chinese arrive too early, the Germans are on time, the Hondurans come at some point of same day.”

You should have been a comedian—

“Politics is comedy.”

What’s next for Aoldf, after Duisburg?

“That’s it. The top.”

Come on, now you talk like Muhammed Al. Give me a better answer, more honest.

“OK. My dream is to be the pope. Only problem is that I wouldn’t be able to have sex.”

Adolf likes his city, he loves it. He does whatever he can to put it on the map. Culture is his way of doing it. He also tries hard to keep the peace here. He goes to the mosque to keep in touch and on friendly terms with the Turkish community. He thinks they’re important for his city. The way he sees it, the Turkish people have a big role to play in Duisburg. They have big families, unlike the German Germans. The young belong to them. And the young are the future.

Night descends on the park, and as soon as this happens an unbelievable light show begins, displaying its magic. Old rutted steel machines are covered with multiple light colors and shadows, many shapes, and various frequencies. Miraculously, the rutted steel turns into shiny diamonds. It’s magic!

Tons of young people are dancing. Loud. Sweating. They are full of energy.

Adolf Sauerland looks at the crowd and smiles. Tons of people make him happy.

Adolf asks how long I plan to be in the vicinity. I say that I’m actually in Dortmund for an event and after that I leave. He wants me not to leave and offers to put me up in a hotel in Duisburg for a few days, following my Public Thinking. I accept.

Now I have considerable time to explore the area.

To Marxloh I go.

And find Mustafa.

Marxloh is a Turkish area, or at least known as such, and is financially at rock bottom. “If you want to rent an apartment and you say you are from Marxloh, nobody will rent you anything,” says Mustafa. He should know. He tried and he failed, even though he has enough money. “I told the landlady that I would pay her one year in advance,” Mustafa recalls, “but she said, ‘No. I don’t know what you will sell from your room.’ ”

Mustafa has a blue-eyed blond girlfriend, he tells me. But that’s OK.

Why is it OK?

“Because she respects my culture.”

How does she do that?

“The shower is always ready for me after we have sex.”

You take a shower after sex?

“Yes, sure.”

Sure?

“Yes.”

Why?

“It says in the Quran.”

Sure?

“Yes!”

You know where in the Quran?

“Yes.”

Sure?

“Yes!”

Where?

“In that sura, what’s the name of the sura—”

If I gave you the Quran you could show it to me?

“Yes.”

Do you have the Quran here?

“Yes.”

Can we take a look together?

“We can, yes, but not now. I am so tired today!”

Mustafa loves Marxloh. He and some friends opened a campaign called “Made in Marxloh.” They distribute postcards and stickers with this slogan.

What was made in Marxloh?

“It’s about having pride, it’s not about money. We are proud to come from here, from Marxloh.”

By the way, in case I didn’t know, Mustafa tells me:

“My girlfriend, she is partly Jewish.”

Really?

“She told me.”

Rabbi Helmut Schmidt, you have many children here!

And if you two have a child, will you take him to the mosque?

“Yes!”

And to the synagogue as well, since the mom is a Jew?

“If I go with him to the synagogue, that’s OK.”

Why should you go with him, you also want to be a Jew?

“No. I will go with him so that I can teach him what’s right and what’s not.”

Will be interesting to see if such a child will also take a shower after sex, when he’s old enough to understand.

Mustafa turns to his friend, sitting nearby, Halil. “Do you remember the women we saw, especially the one in hijab. Wasn’t she sexy? Very sexy, right?”

Wait. Women wearing hijab are sexy?

“Yes.”

Sexier than the ones without it?

“All depends on how you wear the hijab! Hijab can be very, very sexy! It’s like a jewel.”

Yes. This is Duisburg. Its images, its prejudices, its passions, its words of no meaning, and some of heavy meanings, a place where people have totally opposite ways of looking at the same thing. And one thing I know: I like this Mustafa. The man has a lot of life in him and much, much warmth.

Mustafa shares with me that he doesn’t view himself as Turkish. “Turkey is only about money. It’s not me. Neither is Germany. My identity is Marxloh. Duisburg.”

“Come again,” he says as I get ready to leave, “and I will show you real people.”

But reality will have to wait. Dortmund is calling.

There’s a tattoo event in Dortmund, the Fifteenth International Tattoo and Piercing Convention. Who could pass on such an opportunity? Not me. Doesn’t take me long from the moment I find out about it till I find myself joining in.

The place is packed. Which is not big news by itself. Many events, I lately notice, are packed. Almost everywhere I go. Except for the synagogues.

So many pierced and tattooed people in one place is a strange sight to encounter. Each of them probably thinks he or she looks unique, but to an observer they are all part of the same
Verein
, the Nuts
Verein
.

Here’s Tim, tattooed over half his body , waiting for his turn to start tattooing his other half.

How much is this pleasure?

“Today I will spend two hundred euros on my left arm. This is first part of a tattoo work that will in the end will cost me fifteen hundred euros.”

Why are you doing this?

“I want to modify my body to make it conform to my personal taste and being.”

Can you explain to me what’s on your tattooed arm, the right one? I don’t really get it.

“Odin, God of Thunder, with two ravens, Huginn and Munin. Plus, a Viking funeral scene.”

Wow. This man is a walking encyclopedia. What do you do for a living?

“I am employed by a social-insurance company.”

Is your left arm ‘naked’? I mean, is that what you feel?

“No.”

Then what’s missing? Why don’t you leave your skin alone?

“It’s very boring to be un-tattooed.”

What’s boring about it? Aren’t you a handsome man? Is that what you think?

“Tattoos make it more—”

He is smiling, either to himself or to me. Let’s try to understand him.

Is it more sexy?

“Yes. The girls really like it. They like the bad-guy image.”

You know this for a fact?

“Yes.”

Your tattoos attract girls?

“Yes.”

Do you have a girlfriend at present?

“No.”

Maybe you need more tattoos, to attract the ladies. Is that it?

Tim nods.

What about the ladies, would you prefer your girlfriend, when you get one, to be tattooed as well?

“Yes.”

Let’s imagine it together: What tattoo would you like on a woman’s breasts?

“Some tribal stuff.”

What’s tribal?

“Black ornaments.”

What would you like on a girl’s ass?

“A little heart or a kiss. Big lips in a kiss.”

Very nice image. And what would you like on her private parts?

“Flowers with tribals.”

What do you have on your ass?

“Nothing.”

So your ass is not very sexy?

“No.”

What else can you tell me?

“I would like to have all my body tattooed.”

That’s your life’s mission?

“Yes.”

Tim is not alone in the world. Here’s Rolf, a man into piercing. Rolf has metal stuff all over his face. His upper lip is full of piercings, forming a metal moustache. But not only there. His lower lip is distorted from the constant weight on it. By a cautious estimate, he has fifty to sixty piercings on his face. Looking at him, if you dare, is a guarantee to have nightmares three nights in a row. At least. Who is he, a refugee from a mental institution? Let me see if this man can even use his mouth to speak.

What do you do for a living?

“Computers.”

Computer analyst?

“Yes.”

Why so many piercings?

“Tattoos are not enough, they don’t give you ‘feelings’ like piercings.”

You feel them all the time?

“Not all the time, but—”

You feel them now?

“I feel them now.”

The weight, the metal?

“I feel them.”

Why are you doing this?

“The girls like it.”

You sure?

“Yes, the girls like it!”

Do you have a girlfriend?

“Not yet.”

But you’re sure the girls like it?

“Yes.”

I stop a gorgeous girl passing not far from us. Could you come here a moment, please?

She does.

Do you think this is sexy?

“Yes.”

OK. Would you like to go out on a date with him?

“Yes.”

How about this evening? I can arrange it for you.

“Not this evening, but—”

Tomorrow at some point?

“No, no.”

Why not?

She takes me aside and begs me to stop.

But Rolf still has hopes. He and Tim.

And so do many other people in Dortmund. They have their hopes. Today it’s Germany versus Argentina. A group of fans walk the street outside singing “Argentina is homosexual.” I have no clue how and where they got this information. It would be nice if Tim and Rolf were gay; they would make an outstanding couple.

At half-time, Germany stands at 1–0 over Argentina. Then the rain pours down mercilessly on the fans at the Friedensplatz’s Public Viewing. You would think they would run for cover, but no. They get even more excited. They are charged. Flags up as high as can be, they scream-sing deutschland! Over and over. Their loyalty, so to speak, pays off. Germany wins 4–0. The crowd cheers when they see Chancellor Merkel on the screen and boo at the appearance of the Argentinean coach, Maradonna.