She passed the small white table with two settings: two forks on the left, and a knife and spoon on the right, then salt, pepper and flowers, always wilting flowers. He had never sat there. It would have been too sad to sit alone.
Someday he would take this waitress out to dinner and they would eat at that table. She would get up and serve them both, or else no one would serve them and the food would come by itself, sliding like the black plastic tray on which she brought his change, Lincoln's wry face uppermost, his edges curling upward toward the distant fans.
So. You want to come with me? the blonde from Mannheim said in that calm slow voice.
Well, I don't know. Maybe. Can I kiss you?
She flinched. — Depends on where.
How long will I have with you?
Well, you know, we won't have all night, but I won't hurry you.
How much?
One hundred fifty deutsche marks.*
I don't have that much.
No? No credit card?
No. I'm sorry; I wish I could. I didn't know it was that much. I talked with a girl last night who told me a hundred. .
Nothing?
No.
It includes the price of the room.
I can't.
She stepped back.
I wish I could, he said again.
You know, the blonde from Mannheim explained, the more you pay the more you get.
I'm not surprised.
You want to try?
OK.
Sure, I'll try it.
The blonde from Mannheim unlocked the door, and they went up wide stairs. Just past the landing, where it could no longer be seen from the street, a red carpet began. These last stairs pulsated like blood vessels. Inside the salon where the loitering crowds of ladies in lingerie were pinkened by crimson lights, the red carpet thickened into something resembling endometrial lining, and he felt as if the blonde from Mannheim had led him into the womb of a ruby grapefruit. It was very dim and spacious and he walked beside her into this soundlessly cinematic dream of a brothel, a dream he'd had many times before.
She took him into the first room on the right. It had a red carpet, and the double bed had a red bedspread. The casement was open. She closed it and began to undress, which didn't take long. He laid the money down on the table.
I must go pay the rent, she said. Please undress.
He took his clothes off and lay down on the bedspread, which was warm, damp and smelly. After awhile he lifted it up and got beneath it. There was nothing there but a bare mattress covered with crumbs of something like old scabs.
The blonde from Mannheim returned and said: For what you gave me I can do nothing except with my hand.
Can I kiss you?
Never.
He looked at her. Then he got dressed.
The money is gone, you know, said the blonde. You can't get it back.
Why isn't that news? he said, tying his shoes.
You're not angry?
No, never mind, he said.
She followed him to the top of the stairs.
Well, then, goodnight, she said.
Goodnight, he said emptily.
He came back down onto Kürfurstendammstrasse where it was a late September night and a double-decker bus passed among street-lamped trees like a ghost. Greasy squares of sidewalk throbbed with the U-bahn's moling. Two men played a duet on electronic keyboard and xylophone. A crewcut boy in a denim vest sat with a knifeblade between his teeth. A clean straighthaired woman stood inspecting haloes in a jewelry shop; the haloes were watches. A little past eleven, a guard came and drew shutters over that window. Now the haloes were transubstantiated into denizens of the kingdom of squares.
For the purposes of free enterprise there were illuminated glass cubes displaying towels or else white lingerie on black dummies with roses. A blonde leaned against the nearest one, chewing gum alertly.
— You want to go back up with me? she said. I can make you very happy.
Can I kiss you?
No.
Some whores stood intense and still. Others in big boots waved to him with cheery wolf-whistles. He went to three of them and said: I'm sorry I don't have any money left but can I just kiss one of you?
OK, darling, laughed a redhead. I'll kiss you. — She sucked at her gum for awhile, strode up to him, pulled his head toward her and spat in his face.
* In 1992, 150 DM was about U.S. $94.
I speakee you good! I speakee you no problem! I sleep under you hotel? But afterward she drew her hand across her forehead, wiping the sweat of amazed disgust.
Once she had put her clothes on, she raised again her lovingness, like a man lifting an immense load of green bananas onto his head, and whispered: No problem. I likee you! No problem! I likee you! I speakee Mama come back here six-o'-clock morning.
