Chapter 39 Our Lady of '49

Currency reform came too soon and made me a fool to force me to do the same with Oscar's currency.There is nothing I can do, even if my hunchback does not produce capital, I have to live on it. I would have been a good citizen too.The period after the reformation of the currency, as we see it today, brought with it various premises for a temporarily prosperous Biedermeier.This period would have also contributed to Oskar's Biedermeier characteristics.I should have been a good husband, a decent man, and taken part in the rebuilding, and now I should have a modest stonemason's shop, pay wages and bread to thirty helpers, labourers, and apprentices, pay for all new office buildings and insurance The firm graces the building's facades with popular limestone and travertine.I should have been a businessman, a decent man, and a good husband, but Maria refused my marriage proposal.

-------- ① refers to the middle and petty bourgeoisie. At this time, Oscar thought of his hunchback and transferred the property to Art.Konev's life was maintained by tombstones, which is now a problem due to currency reform.I quit my job before he fired me.If I couldn't hang out in Gust Kester's kitchen, I'd be on the street.My custom-made stylish suit is also gradually worn out and becoming a bit scruffy.Although I didn't quarrel with Maria, I quarreled with Uncle, so I left Birk's apartment most mornings, first went to see the swans in Count Adolf's Square, and then went to see the swans in the palace garden.I sat in the park, small, brooding, but not cynical.Opposite is the Labor Bureau and the Academy of Arts, which are neighbors in Düsseldorf.

A person, sitting, sitting on such a park bench, until he becomes a log and needs to communicate.Elderly men, whether you come to the park or not depends on the weather.Old women, slowly turning into chatty girls again.At that time of season, black swans were chasing each other clamorously, lovers, others loved to watch them, and always saw that they had to be separated as expected.Some people throw away waste paper.The waste paper flew for a while, turned somersaults, and was finally poked away with a sharp stick by a man in a hat paid by the city. Oscar has sitting skills, and will use his knees to drive his legs to vibrate evenly.Before a fat girl in a fur coat, ex-Wehrmacht belt, and glasses accosted me, I must have noticed her and the two skinny boys.Talking to me was apparently the idea of ​​those two lads.They were all in black, in anarchist attire.Their appearance is so dangerous, yet they are ashamed to talk to me, a hunchback with a great meaning hidden in their appearance, directly.They convinced the fat girl in the fur coat.She came up, legs as thick as columns, and stammered until I asked her to sit down.She sat down, her spectacles clouded by the moisture and even the mist from the Rhine.She talked on and on until I asked her to clean her glasses first and then explain what she was going to say in a way I could understand.She waved the two skinny boys over.Without me asking, they say they are artists, painters and sculptors, and they're looking for a model right now.In the end, they told me with some enthusiasm that they believed I was the kind of model they were looking for.I made a few quick gestures with my thumb and forefinger, and they immediately told me about the pay for modeling at the Art Academy: one mark and eighty pfennigs per hour, and even two deutsche marks per hour for nude models.But the fat girl said no nude models were considered.

Why did Oscar agree?Is art seducing me?Did the pay seduce me?Art and pay simultaneously seduced me, and Oscar agreed.So I stood up, let the park bench and the park bench life be a thing of the past forever, followed the strutting girl in glasses and the two young men who walked and leaned forward, as if carrying their talents on their backs, passed the labor bureau, and stepped onto the ice cellar On Hill Street, walk into the partially destroyed Art Institute building. Professor Cuhen, with a black beard, black coal eyes, and a distinctive black wide-brimmed fedora, reminds me of the black dining cabinets I saw in my youth.His students thought me, the man on the park bench, a wonderful model, and so did he.

He walked around me for a long time, black coal eyes rolling, snorting sound, spraying black dirt from his nostrils, and then pinching an invisible enemy with black nails, he said: "Art is accusation, expression, passion! Art is black charcoal that consumes itself on white paper!" I provide models for this expendable art.Professor Couchen led me into his student's studio, carried me onto the turntable with his own hands, and turned it, not to make me dizzy, but to illustrate Oscar's body proportions from all sides.Sixteen easels moved closer to Oscar's side.The PFA professor also gave a short lecture.He demanded performance, and he was utterly obsessed with the word performance.Representing the blackness of the night of despair, he asserts, I, Oskar, embody the image of the ravaged man who accuses, provokes, and expresses timelessly the madness of this century.The professor also sent a thunderous roar at the easel: "Don't draw him, draw this crippled man, you should slaughter him, crucify him, and nail him to paper with charcoal!"

This is the signal to do it, sixteen charcoal pencils rustle behind the easel, screaming and fighting, consuming themselves, drawing my expression—that is, my hunchback, painting it black, black on black.Professor Cuhen's students all added a thick black to my hump, so that they inevitably fell into exaggeration and overestimated the size of my hump.They changed to a bigger paper, but it still couldn't fit my hunchback. At this time, Professor Cuhen gave the sixteen charcoal consumers a good idea, asking them not to start with the outline of my hunchback, because my hunchback is too expressive to fit any size of paper, and my hunchback is too expressive for any size of paper. The top fifth of that arc should be blacked out, my head first as far left as possible.

The shine of my hair is dark brown.Instead they painted me as a gypsy with drooping strands of hair.None of the sixteen apprentices noticed that Oscar had blue eyes.During the break—it is stipulated that the model can rest for a quarter of an hour after standing for a quarter of an hour. I looked at the upper left fifth of the drawing on the sixteen sheets.On every easel my worried and haggard face indicts society.This surprised me, but, to my surprise, my blue eyes lost their brightness.Where it should be shiny and flattering, the blackest charcoal streaks rolled, thinned, crumbled and stinged.

Considering the freedom of art, I said to myself, although these young sons of muses and girls who are entangled with art have seen the Rasputin in your heart, have they discovered the Goethe dozing in your heart? Would you like to wake him up lightly, show less, and rather draw him on paper with a moderately flashing stroke?Sixteen students, although they are so talented, Professor Cuhen, although his charcoal drawings are known as a masterpiece, have not left an acceptable portrait of Oscar for future generations.Only me, earning a lot of money and being respected, standing on the turntable for six hours a day, sometimes facing the clogged sink, sometimes looking at the gray, sky blue, and cloudy studio windows, Sometimes it was turned to a Spanish wall and offered a performance that brought me a mark eighty pfennig an hour.

After a few weeks, the students have been able to draw some cute little pictures.That is to say, their smearing performance is a little restrained, no longer exaggerating the size of my hump to infinity, they occasionally paint me from head to toe, from the button of the jacket outside the chest to the furthest protrusion that defines my hump. The out-of-the-box tops were moved to paper.It even has the status of painting background on many sheets of drawing paper.Despite currency reforms, young people appear to be still affected by the war.They built the ruins of accusatory black windows behind me, presented me as a hopeless, sallow refugee among the bursting stumps, and even locked me up, assiduously spreading a line of exaggeration behind me with black charcoal. With the watchtower watching me menacingly in the background, I still had to hold an empty rice bowl in my hand, and the bars of the prison sent the engraving of engraving behind me and over my head.Yeah, they tucked Oscar into a prisoner uniform, and all that for the sake of artistic expression.

However, they painted me as the black-haired gypsy Oscar, and they asked me not to use blue eyes but black charcoal eyes to see all kinds of horrors, and I also know that charcoal can't draw real barbed wire, so I also Just rest assured to be a model and stand still.Still, I was happy when sculptors—who are known to do without backgrounds related to a particular era—asked me to be a model, a nude model. This time it was not the students who came to talk to me, but the master himself who invited me.Professor Maroon is a friend of my Professor Heitan and Master Cuhen.One day, in Couchen's dark private studio, framed and framed in black charcoal, I was keeping still while the bearded Cohen drew me on paper with his characteristic linework.At this time, Professor Maroon came to visit him.Maroon was over fifty, short and wiry, and if it weren't for his Basque hat to prove he was an artist, his latest white coat would have made him look like a surgeon.

I saw right away that Maroun was a lover of classical forms, and because of the various proportions of my body, he was gazing at me with hostility.He taunted his friend, saying, he, Couchen, has been discrediting gypsy models, so he has been nicknamed "Gypsy Couchen" in artist circles, isn't he tired of painting?Is he trying to draw some freaks right now?Is it intended that after the fruitful and marketable period of the gypsies, a more fruitful and marketable period of the dwarfs be blotted out with black charcoal? Professor Cuchen reduced his friend's taunts to angry, night-black charcoal marks.He painted the darkest portrait of Oscar he has ever painted. It was really dark, with only a little light on my cheekbones, nose, forehead and hands. As for my hands, Cohen always spread his fingers apart. Too big, and wind pain tubercle added to enhance expressiveness, placed in the middle ground of his wanton charcoal marks.However, when this painting was exhibited in many art exhibitions later, I had a pair of blue eyes in the painting, that is to say, bright rather than dark eyes.Oscar believes that this is influenced by the sculptor Maroun.He was not a performance-heavy black rage, but a classicist, and my eyes lit his way with Gothic brilliance.The sculptor Maroun originally only loved symmetry, so it was only my eyes that could induce him to choose me as a model for his sculptures. Maroon's studio was bright, dusty, and almost empty, not a single finished product in sight.However, there are model skeletons of planned works everywhere.So perfectly conceived are they, that the wire, the iron, the bent lead pipes, without the clay, foreshadow the harmony of the future formed. I posed nude for this sculptor five hours a day for two marks an hour.With chalk, he marks a point on the turntable where my right leg, the support leg, should root.Draw a straight line up from the medial malleolus of the supporting leg just to the neck socket between the two clavicles.The left leg is the swimming leg.Still, the name is deceiving.I was not allowed to move it, or let it swim, though I let it bend slightly and loll to one side.This swimming leg also had to be rooted in the chalk circle on the turntable.During the weeks I posed for the sculptor Maroon, he was unable to find a corresponding position for my arms, which was as immovable as my legs.He had me try everything: left arm drooping, right arm angled over head; arms folded across chest; arms folded under hunchback; hands on hips.There are thousands of possible poses.Maroon experimented first on me, then on iron skeletons and bendable limbs of lead pipes. After a month of painstakingly searching for the pose, he finally decided to either turn me into clay, with my head resting on my crossed hands, or mold me into a glazed clay figure with an armless torso.But at this time, he was exhausted from making skeletons and changing skeletons, so although he grabbed a handful of clay from the clay box and arranged to shake it, he snapped the musty, unformed clay Throwing it back into the box, squatting down in front of the skeleton, staring at me and my skeleton, my fingers trembling: this skeleton is so perfect! He sighed resignedly, pretended to have a headache, but instead of getting mad at Oskar, he gave it up, the hunchback skeleton with supporting and swimming legs, the raised lead pipe arms, the wire fingers crossed on the back of the iron neck, Put it in the corner where all the other skeletons that have been done before are piled up.The planks of my empty hunchback, called butterflies, which were supposed to bear the clay, shook gently.They are not mocking, but rather realizing that they are useless. Then we drank tea and chatted for a full hour.This also counts as modeling time, and the sculptor pays me anyway.He spoke of the past, when he was as unknown as a young Michelangelo and had cast half-quintallons of clay onto skeletons to complete statues, most of which had been destroyed in wartime.I told him about Oskar's activities as a stonemason and engraver.We talked a little bit about business, and he took me to his students, so that they would also choose me as a sculpture model and make a skeleton according to Oscar. Professor Maroon had ten students, and if long hair was a gender marker, six of them could be identified as girls.Of the six, four were ugly but talented, and two were pretty, gossiping real girls.I've never been shy about modeling nude.Yes, Oskar even admired the surprised expressions of the two beautiful and gossiping sculpture girls.The first time they looked at me standing on the turntable, they were easily irritated, and concluded that Oscar, though hunchbacked and small in stature, had a genitals that could, if necessary, resemble any so-called normal masculine symbol. Compare the heights. Getting along with Master Maroon's students was a little different than getting along with the master himself.After two days, they had finished the skeleton.What a genius, they pursue the speed of genius, throwing clay between the lead pipes that are hastily and irregularly fixed.But they apparently missed the wooden butterflies hanging in my hunchback frame, and the damp clay was barely hanging, leaving Oscar covered in cracks all over his body.The ten freshly made Oscars were all crooked, their heads slumped between their feet, the clay from the lead pipes snapped off, and their hunchbacks slid into the hollows of their knees.Only then did I know how to respect Master Maroon.He is an excellent skeleton builder, and his skeletons are so perfect that there is no need to throw cheap clay at all. When the clay Oscar separated from the skeleton Oscar, the ugly but talented sculpture girls even shed tears.The pretty, chattering sculptural girl laughed as the flesh flaked symbolically and quickly from the bone.After a few weeks, however, the apprentice sculptors managed to make a few decent skeletons, first in clay, then in plaster and imitation marble, to be exhibited at the end of the term.In the process, I was given the opportunity to repeatedly draw new comparisons between the ugly, gifted girl and the beautiful, garrulous girl.Ugly but artistic virgins copied my head, limbs, and hunchback with considerable care, but out of strange coyness ignored my phallus, or sloppily followed the traditional line style.Lovely, big-eyed, delicate-fingered virgins pay little attention to the proportions of my limbs, but take great care to accurately imitate my beautiful genitals.In this regard, the four young men who studied sculpture should not forget to report.They abstracted me, knocked me into a square with little flat strips of wood, what the ugly virgins ignored and the beautiful virgins did realistically, and they did it in the spirit of Baba The man's comprehension was made into a rectangular wooden block on top of two square wooden blocks of the same size, like the organs of a king who committed a fertility madness made of building blocks, erected in space. Maybe it was because of my blue eyes, or maybe it was because of the heaters the sculptors put around the naked Oscar, that the young painters who came to visit the lovely sculpted girl noticed that my blue eyes were either irradiated The pictorial allure of crab-red skin lured me upstairs from the sculpture and printmaking studios on the ground floor, where I mixed colors on their palette. At first the painters were too impressed with my blue eyes.To them it seemed that I was blue all over, and they were going to paint me blue from head to toe with their paintbrushes.Oscar's healthy flesh, his wavy brown hair, his fresh blood-red mouth, all shone with an eerie blue; A sickly yellow, which hastened the rotting of my flesh. It's Mardi Gras, a week-long celebration in the school basement.There, Oskar discovers Ulla.Oskar took her as a muse and led her to the painters, only then did they paint him in another color. Is it the Monday before Lent?It was the Monday before Lent, and I decided to go to the festivities, get dressed up, and Oscar, dressed up, was going to squeeze into the crowd. Maria saw me standing in front of the mirror and said, "Stay at home, Oskar, I'll trample you to death." But she helped me make up again and cut off my hair.Her older sister, Gust, made a clown costume out of cloth while she rapped.At first, I thought something Velázquez-esque floated before my eyes.I would also like to see myself in the guise of Nases the Grandmaster, or Prince Eugen.I ended up standing in front of the big mirror, whose wartime glass had cracked a slash and distorted my reflection, but the colorful, bulging cardigan with the bells was still clearly visible .My son watched it and laughed so hard that he coughed.At this point, I whispered to myself in an unhappy voice: You're Yorick the Clown now, Oscar.But where is the king you can fool? Already boarded the tram which will take me to Lating Gate near the College.I noticed that ordinary people dressed as cowboys and Spanish girls who were going to the office or the store didn't laugh out loud when they saw me, but were taken aback.They all kept a certain distance from me, so, although the tram was full of people, I got a seat.In front of the academy, the police brandished rubber batons that they were real, not disguised.The celebration of the artistic youth was called "Muse Pond", the venue was full, but the crowd still wanted to capture the building, and there were clashes with the police, partly bloody clashes, but anyway, it was a colorful event. conflict. Oscar let the small bell hanging on his left sleeve speak and parted the crowd.A policeman, who saw my figure at a glance due to his profession, bowed his head and saluted me, asked me what I was doing, then waved a rubber stick and led me to the basement of the celebration place.There was cooking fish and it wasn't cooked yet.No one would believe today that an artist's celebration is a party of the artist himself celebrating a festival.Most of the students at the Academy of Arts, with painted but still serious, tense faces, stood behind the counters of the authentic but somewhat rickety bar, selling beer, champagne, wieners and schnapps for a little extra money.Most of the real fun-seekers at the artist's celebration are the townspeople.During the annual festival, they spend lavishly and celebrate like artists. For about an hour, I frightened couples on the stairs, in corners, and under tables who were looking for some excitement in the unpleasant atmosphere.Then I made friends with two Chinese girls, who must have had Greek blood in their veins, for they were practicing a kind of love that was sung on the island of Lesbos centuries ago.They cuddled, twiddled, and dismissed my sensitivities for some pretty amusing scenes.They drank hot champagne with me and, with my permission, tested the resistance of my rather pointed hump.The experiment worked, and they were all lucky, reaffirming my thesis that a hunchback brings good luck to women. -------- ①This refers to homosexuality. However, the longer this association with women lasts, the more it makes me sad.All kinds of thoughts dominate me, and the political situation makes me worry.I dipped in champagne and drew the blockade of Berlin① on the desktop, and traced the air corridor. Seeing that the two Chinese girls could not get together, I was also desperate for the reunification of Germany, so I started to do things I had never done before. : Oscar, who plays Yorick, is going to find the meaning of life. -------- ① Refers to the blockade of West Berlin by the Soviet Union after Britain, France, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg signed the Brussels Defense Treaty with the support of the United States. My two ladies cried when they couldn't think of anything else worth seeing.Tears left traces on the faces of the disguised Chinese, revealing their true colors.I stood up, my cardigan puffed and my bells jingling, trying to get two-thirds of my body home and leave one third for a little chance encounter at the carnival.I met—no, he greeted me—Sergeant Lankers. Do you guys still remember?We met him at the Atlantic Wall in the summer of 1944.There he guards the concrete and smokes my master Bebra's cigarettes. The stairs were full of people sitting next to each other, hugging and kissing wildly.I was trying to go upstairs and was lighting myself a cigarette when someone patted me.A sergeant in the last world war said, "Hey man, can I have a cigarette?" Not surprisingly, aided by this remark, and also because his fancy dress suit was army gray, I recognized him instantly.Still, I wouldn't revisit old acquaintances if the sergeant and cement painter hadn't had Muse himself on his knees. Readers, please let me talk to the cement painter first, and then paint the muse!I not only gave him cigarettes, but also lit him with a lighter.As he smoked, I said, "Do you remember, Sergeant Lankers? The Bebra frontline troupe? Mysterious, savage, boring?" When I asked this question, the artist was startled. The cigarette was not dropped, but Muse fell from his lap.I picked up the long-legged girl who was very drunk and handed it back to him.The two of us, Lankers and Oskar, recalled together: Lieutenant Herzog, Lankers called him a cranky fellow, and swore at him.He obviously remembered my master Bebra and the nuns, who were looking for crabs among Rommel's asparagus.And I was astonished at the appearance of the Muse.She came dressed as an angel, wearing a hat made of the malleable cardboard used to package eggs for export, and despite being drunk and wretched with broken wings, she still showed some arts and crafts of the celestial maiden Charm. "This is Ula," Lankers, the painter, told me. "She studied tailoring, and now she wants to be an artist, but I don't agree. You can make money as a tailor, but you can't make money from art." Oscar can make a lot of money doing art!He then proposed to recommend Ulla, a seamstress, to be a model and muse to the painters at the Academy of Art.After listening to my suggestion, Lankers was overjoyed, and he took out three cigarettes from my cigarette case, and he invited me to his studio, but in a blink of an eye he became stingy again, saying that the taxi fare there would be free I'll pick it up. We set off at once, leaving the carnival to his studio in Rue Citad, and I paid for the taxi.Lankers made coffee for us to sober up, and the muse came back to life.I picked her throat with the index finger of my right hand, and after she vomited for a while, she was almost awake. I saw only now that her pale blue eyes were always full of surprise.I heard her voice, a little shrill, weak, but charming.Lankers, the painter, told her about my proposal, which was not so much a suggestion as an order to go to the Art Academy to be a model.She refused first, unwilling to go to the art academy to be a muse or model, and only wanted to belong to the painter Lankers.Lankers put on a straight face, without saying a word, like a talented painter likes to do, raised his big hand and slapped her several times, asked her again, then smiled with satisfaction, and his temper changed again, because Sobbing like an angel, she said she would be a well-paid model and, if possible, a muse to the painters of the Academy of Arts. The reader must imagine that Ulla is about 1.78 meters tall, tall and slender, charming and cute, and very fragile, reminiscent of Botticelli and Cranach at the same time.We're double nude together.Her flesh is slender and smooth, covered with the fine hair of a child, and the lobster meat is roughly the color of her flesh.Her hair was also thin, but long, and hay-yellow.The hair on the lower body is curly and reddish, forming a small triangle.Ulla shaves her underarms once a week. -------- ① Botticelli (1445～1510), an Italian painter, whose main works include "The Birth of Venus". ② Cranach (1472-1553), a painter during the German Reformation, had paintings of nude women. As expected, the average student didn't have many ways to draw us, drawing her arms too long, drawing my head too big, falling into all the beginner's mistakes: you can't draw us all in the picture. to paper. It wasn't until Ziggy and Raskolnikov discovered us that paintings that fit the image of the muse and me were produced. She sleeps and I scare her: fauns and nymphs. I squatted, and she bent over me, her small breasts were always a little cold, stroking my hair: beauty and monster. She lay down and I put on the horned horned head mask and played between her long legs: lady and unicorn. These were painted in the style of Zigg or Raskolnikov, in colour, or in tasteful shades of grey, detailing with a fine brush, or, as Zigg was accustomed, with a scraper of genius, just Hints at the air of mystery surrounding Ulla and Oscar.With our help, Raskolnikov found the way to surrealism: Oscar's face turned into a honey-yellow clock face, just like the grandfather clock in my house; Roses, this is planted by Ulla; she is smiling at the top, drags her long legs at the bottom, her stomach is cut open; I will be in it, squatting between her liver and the cards, looking through a picture book .They also loved putting us in costumes, drawing Ulla as Colombina and me as a sad white-faced clown.Finally, Raskolnikov—so called because he was always talking about guilt and atonement—showed his talent and painted a masterpiece: I am sitting on Ulla's downy left On the thigh, naked, a deformed child, she is the Madonna, and Oskar remains motionless as Jesus. -------- ①Columbina, a lively and happy country girl or maid in Italian masquerade comedy. ② Raskolnikov, this nickname is derived from the word Raskolnik, originally referring to a split sect of the Russian Orthodox Church. This painting was exhibited many times later, titled: "Our Lady in 1949".It was used again as a poster, which also proved effective, before it fell into the eyes of my good townsman Maria, causing a family quarrel.However, a Rheinland industrialist still bought it at a high price, and today it hangs in the conference hall of an office building, influencing the decision-making of the directors. I was also entertained by the genius nonsense people did to take advantage of my hunchback and figure.Besides, Ulla and I were always hired as double nude models for two marks and fifty pfennigs an hour each.Ulla also thinks it's good to be a model.The slapped, hard-hitting painter Lankers has also treated her a lot better since she brought the money home on time.He hit her only when the abstract work of his genius called for his wrath.Lankers never used her as a purely visual model, so she was, in a sense, a muse to the painter, because only those slaps he slapped gave his painter's hand real creative potential. Ulla was a weeping, fragile creature with an angelic grit at heart, but it also spurred me on to violence.Still, I kept myself under control, and when my desire felt whipped, I took her to the confectionary, and with the air of a gentleman--a thing acquired in my dealings with artists--led her, Treat her like a tall plant beside my diminutive body, walk among the stupefied passers-by on bustling King's Boulevard, buy her lavender stockings, rose-coloured gloves. Her relationship with the painter Raskolnikov was different.He could often have the closest intercourse with Ulla without being near her.He asked her to spread her legs on the turntable and pose, but instead of drawing, he sat on a small stool a few steps away from her and muttered: sin, atonement, but stared in that direction until Miao Si's lower body was wet and opened up, and Raskolnikov also achieved relief through watching and chanting, jumped up from the stool, and added a few marvelous strokes to the "Our Lady of 1949" on the drawing board. Raskolnikov stared at me sometimes too, though for different reasons.He thinks something is missing in me.He talked about the vacuum between my hands and stuffed things between my fingers one after another.With his surreal fantasies, he can come up with many things.He armed Oscar with a pistol and made me, playing Jesus, aim at the Virgin.He made me hand her an hourglass, a mirror, and the Madonna in the mirror turned ugly because it was a convex mirror.Scissors, fish bones, telephone receivers, skulls, small planes, tanks, and ocean liners, I have taken them with both hands, but Raskolnikov soon discovered that the vacuum was still not filled. Oskar dreaded the day when the painter would bring the only thing that was destined for me.He finally brought the drums.I yelled, "No!" Raskolnikov said: "Take the drum, Oskar, I've recognized you!" I was shaking: "Never again! This is a thing of the past!" He, gloomyly: "Nothing will pass, everything will start again. Sin, atonement, sin again!" I, with the last of my strength, said, "Oscar has already confessed, so let's get rid of this drum! I'm willing to take anything, but I don't want this iron sheet!" I cry and Ulla bends over me.Tears clouded my eyes, she could kiss me without hindrance, Muse kissed me hard.Anyone who has been kissed by the Muse will surely understand that after receiving this seal-like kiss, Oskar immediately took over the drum and the iron sheet.He abandoned it a few years ago and buried it in the sand at Saspe Cemetery. However, I didn't beat the drums.Bad enough that I was just posing and being painted as the drumming Jesus on the naked left thigh of Our Lady of '49! That's how Maria saw me on a poster announcing an art fair.She went to the exhibition without telling me, and probably stood in front of the painting for a long time, furious that she had picked me up with my son Kurt's student ruler while she was talking to me.A few months ago, she found a job in a larger gourmet restaurant with a good salary. She first worked as a salesperson, and because of her ability, she soon became a cashier.The woman in front of me was no longer a refugee from the East doing black market transactions, but a naturalized person in the West who followed the customs and kept her own law.She therefore quite convincingly called me a dirty pig, a whore-beating billy goat, a depraved fellow, and she never wanted to see my dirty money from dirty work, nor even me Arrived. Although Maria soon retracted this last sentence, and fourteen days later, took a considerable part of the money I earned as a model for house money, I decided to give up my relationship with her, with her sister Gust and Living with my son Kurt.My original intention was to get away far away, to Hamburg and, if possible, to return to the sea.Maria accepted my intention to move rather quickly, but she persuaded me, with the help of her sister Gust, to find a room in Düsseldorf anyway, near them and little Kurt .