Jakob Arjouni

Fred, Nickel and Annette are young and dream of a life in Canada, far from their small town in Germany. They rob a bank in Berlin to get money. And when Fred is let out of prison and visits Annette, the Wall has come down and Berlin has changed enormously.

"Görlitzer station." Fred opened the door of the train, which ran overground at this point, and merged into the stream of agitated people. They rushed down the stairs, past dogs and begging teenagers, until the stream dispersed in various directions, and people disappeared into houses, shops, pubs and courtyards. Seconds later, Fred was alone with the beggars. He unfolded his map and looked around for street signs. "Gi´s a mark, man." A green-haired type in tights and a motorcycle jacket sidled up to Fred. An Alsatian slobbered at his side. Wealthy quarter this Kreuzberg, thought Fred; even the beggars own dogs. He shook his head and ran off. It was shortly after half seven, and the cloudy sky was beginning to turn dark. Soon he realised that the area was anything but wealthy. The houses and streets were decaying, the pubs emitted a harsh stench of fags, beer and rancid fat, and old women wandered round with handcarts full of firewood. But they weren´t really poor either: more and more well-fed dogs approached him. Their young owners were admittedly only half as well fed and looked pitifully grey and ragged, but they didn´t seem to care about their appearance in the slightest. On the contrary: they paraded their self-satisfied earnestness, and seemed proud, as if their poverty were some kind of rare craft. Fred became more convinced that in Berlin, a sunny disposition was bad manners.

The nearer he got to Annette´s address, the smarter the houses became, the cleaner and leafier the streets. Now the pedestrians looked like students or pianists, and the pubs smelt of food. When he stood in front of number fourteen, darkness had fallen, and it had begun to drizzle. On the ground floor was a bar with small, round, dirty windows, like portholes. A strange noise emerged, reminiscent of the juddering of a damaged fridge motor. Inscribed sheets hung from the windows above: NEVER AGAIN or SOLIDARITY WITH - the wind had covered the rest of the message. Fred entered the dismal hallway in a state of high excitement. On the wall to the right were letterboxes, and Fred found Annette´s name next to three others which he didn´t know. But where was the flat? Staircases to right and left, then another courtyard with two more staircases to the sides and one straight ahead. No panel of doorbells. Fred looked round the courtyard. Somewhere a vacuum cleaner droned, and he could hear bright laughter from the first floor. He had no alternative but to climb one staircase after another. Berlin bids you unwelcome. Even the nameplates seemed designed to make it difficult for strangers: they had been painted over or covered with stars made from straws; some were of pottery, one was even knitted. Often, in the dim light of the hallway, Fred could see only colourful chaos at first glance.