Chapter 43 on coconut fiber rugs

At the time, Oscar thus gave his friend Klepp a reason to get out of bed.He was overjoyed, jumped up from the musty quilt, even washed his body with water, became a new man completely, and said: "Wonderful!" He also said, "I can get benefits from the world!" Today, Oscar Became a bedridden person.So I can say with certainty that Klepp is going to treat me in the same way because I got him out of his bed in the noodle kitchen and now he's going to get me out of the recuperation And my railed bed in the nursing home. I must be content with his visits once a week, I must listen to his optimistic grandiose speeches about jazz music, his musical communist manifestos, because when he was bedridden, he was a loyal Royalist, a champion of the English royal family, But as soon as I took his bed, his bagpipes, and Elizabeth, he became a member of the German Communist Party paying membership fees.This is still an illegal hobby of his: drinking beer and eating blood sausage, while telling the innocuous little people standing in front of the wine cabinet to study the label of the bottle, the full-time jazz band and the Soviet farm All are happy groups.

Today's society offers few opportunities for a person awakened from sleep.Once Klepp is out of the bed he hides in, he can become gay - which is even more attractive after being outlawed.Jazzmania is the second faith offered to him.Third, he, a baptized Protestant, could convert to Catholicism. As for Klepp, he can only do so.He keeps the way to all faiths.His prudence, his tanned flesh, and his applause-sustained sense of humor gave him a prescription which, according to its flexible principles, mixed the teachings of Marx with the myths of jazz.If one day a left-wing priest like a worker priest blocks his way, other factors.It has primary, secondary, material and spiritual points.If the priest is a collector of New Orleans jazz records, then this Marxist jazz fanatic will go to receive communion from that day on, and share the stench described above with his new brother. The stench of typical churches mingled together.

Today, if I get out of bed, so will my fate.So, this kid Klip is trying to lure me out of bed with promises of how warm life is.He filed petition after petition to the court and worked hand in hand with my attorney to ask the court to reopen my case.He wants Oscar to be acquitted, Oscar to be released, and our Oscar to be released from the nursing home!why?Klepp was jealous that I was bedridden. However, I do not regret making a bedridden friend an upright, plodding, even running friend when I was a lodger at the Zeidlers'.Apart from the hours I devoted with heavy heart to Mother Dorothea, my private life was carefree. "Hello! Klepp!" I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Let's start a jazz band!" He stroked my hunchback.He loved it almost as much as his belly. "Oscar and I, we're starting a jazz band!" Klip announced to the world. "It's just that we don't have a decent guitar player, and of course he has to play the banjo." Exactly.Between the flute and the drum there must be an instrument playing the second melody.It would have been nice to have a bass plucked instrument, even purely from the looks of the band, but bass players were hard to come by at the time, so we went all out to find the missing guitar player.We went to the cinema a lot, and as I reported at the beginning of this book, we had our pictures taken twice a week, drinking beer, eating blood sausage and onions, and making all kinds of silly things out of passport photos.At that time, Klepp met the red-haired Ilse, and rashly sent her a photo of himself, just for this matter, he must marry her.The only thing we didn't find was the guitarist.

-------- ① Banjo, a long-necked stringed instrument of African-Americans. My work as a model at the Art Academy made it possible for me to get a taste of the bull's-eye windows of Düsseldorf's Old Town, with its cheese and mustard, the smell of beer and the jolt of the Lower Rhine.However, it was when I was around Klepp that I really learned about these things.We looked for guitarists everywhere, in the area around Langitus Church, in all the taverns, especially in Rue Lating, at the Unicorn, because Bobby played and danced there.Sometimes he would have us up on stage to play the flute and the tin drum, and applaud my tin drum, although Bobby himself was a good percussionist, but he was missing a finger on his right hand.

While we didn't get a guitarist at "The Unicorn", I got some familiarity with the scene, and with my past experience with frontline troupes, I could have been a passable percussionist in the short term Yes, but from time to time, Sister Dorothea gets in the way of my best efforts. Half of my thoughts are always with her.It would be even more painful if the other half of my mind was pouring out on my tin drum.As it turned out, my thoughts always began with the tin drum and ended with Sister Dorothea's necklace.Klepp knew this, and he was always able to deftly fill in the gaps left by my inadvertent drumming with his flute.Whenever he saw that half of Oscar's mind wandered off, he said with concern: "You must be hungry, may I have a blood sausage for you?"

Klepp always senses a wolf-like hunger behind any trouble in this world, so he also believes that any trouble can be cured with a blood sausage.During those days, Oskar ate a lot of fresh blood sausage and onion rings, and drank a lot of beer, so as to convince his friend Klepp that Oskar's trouble was hunger and not Sister Dorothea. We usually left Zeidler's apartment on Jülichstrasse early in the morning and had breakfast in the Old Town.I only go to art college when we need money for movie tickets.Meanwhile, Muse Ulla was engaged to the painter Lankers for the third or fourth time, and she couldn't get away from it, because Lankers got the first batch of big tasks entrusted to him by the industry.Without a muse, Oscar would not be interested in being a model alone.People paint him alone and discredit him, which can be increased to the extreme.In this way, I set my heart on my friend Klepp, because I couldn't find peace with Maria and little Coulter.Her boss and married suitor, Steinzel, was there every night.

One day in the early autumn of 1949, Klepp and I left our respective rooms, met in the corridor, in front of the opaline glass door, and were about to leave the apartment with our musical instruments when Zeidler put his living room and bedroom together. The door opened a crack to greet us. He pokes out a rolled, narrow, thick carpet and pushes it in front of us, asking us to help him lay it down and nail it down.This is a coconut fiber carpet, eight meters and twenty long.However, the corridor in Zeidler's apartment is seven meters forty-five meters long.So Klepp and I had to cut seventy-five centimeters off the carpet.We sat and worked, and cutting the coir rugs was a laborious job.As a result, we cut off an extra two centimeters.The width of the carpet is exactly the same as the width of the corridor.Zeidler said he couldn't bend over and asked us to help nail the rug to the floor.Oscar came up with an idea: give the carpet a little while nailing.So, the missing two centimeters were also made up, only a tiny bit short.We used wide flat-headed nails because the coir rug is not tightly woven and narrow-headed nails won't hold up well.Neither Oscar nor Klepp tapped their thumbs by mistake.But we bent some nails after all.This can only be blamed on the poor quality of the nails that Zeidler had in stock, which were before the reform of the currency system.When the coconut fiber rug was half-nailed to the floor, we put down our hammers, crossed ourselves, and looked up at the hedgehog who supervised our work, not aggressively, but expectantly.He also went into his living room-bedroom.Three came back from his stock of liqueur glasses, and a bottle of double cereal.We dry rods for the durability of coconut fiber rugs, and then look at him not aggressively but expectantly, and the implication is: Coconut fiber rugs make people thirsty.Double cereal was poured one after another into the hedgehog's three liqueur glasses.The goblets were presumably happy, too, until they were broken to pieces again, for the hedgehog was again in a fit of rage at his being too big.First, Klepp deliberately dropped the liqueur glass on the coconut fiber carpet. The glass did not break or make a sound.We all say that coconut fiber rugs are great.Mrs. Zeidler, who watched us from the living room-bedroom, shared our praise for the coco-fiber rug, which made the hedgehog furious because it protected falling liqueur glasses from damage.He stomped on the part of the carpet that hadn't been nailed down, picked up the three empty wine glasses, and carried them into the living-bedroom.We heard the rattle of the glass case, and three liqueur glasses were not enough for him, and he took several more out of the case.Immediately after Oskar heard the music he was familiar with, and in front of his wise eyes appeared the continuous burning stove of Zeidler's house. At the foot of the stove were the fragments of eight liqueur glasses. Zeidler stooped to get the tin dustpan and broom, As Zeidler sweeps into a pile the pieces he shattered as a hedgehog.However, Frau Zeidler remained at the door, despite all the noises behind her.She was very interested in what we were doing, especially when the pricks were pissing off and we took up the hammer again.The hedgehog didn't show up again, but left the bottle of double cereal with us.We picked up the wine bottle and poured it down our throats one mouthful at a time.At first, we were a little embarrassed in front of Mrs. Zeidler.But she just gave us a friendly nod, which didn't impress us, handed her the bottle, and let her take a sip too.We did a good job, however, hammering nail after nail into the coir carpet.When Oskar was nailing the carpet in front of the nurse's cubicle, the opaline glass door jingled every time he struck the hammer.It caused him so much pain in his heart that he had to put down the hammer in this painful moment.But no sooner had he passed the opal-glass door of Sister Rothea's cell than his spirits improved again, and the hammer obeyed.When everything hits the nail on the head, so does the coconut fiber rug.Broad-headed nails ran from corner to corner, digging deep into the neck of the floor, their flat ends poking out just above the eddy, heaving, swirling coconut fibers.We smugly strode up and down the corridors, enjoying the length of the rug, complimenting our work, and pointing out that laying a coir rug on an empty stomach without breakfast and holding it in place is not easy.Finally, Mrs. Zeidler stepped onto the new, virginal coco-fiber rug, stepped over it into the kitchen, and poured us coffee and fried poached eggs in the pan.We dined in my room, and Frau Zeidler left in a hurry, she had to go to work at Mannesmann.We left the door open, slightly tired, eating and looking at our creations, a coco-fiber rug rolling towards us like a torrent.

A cheap rug, even if it had some exchange value before the currency reform, would not require so much ink!why?Reasonable question.Oscar listened and answered first: It was on this coconut fiber carpet that I met Sister Dorothea for the first time that night. It was nearly midnight when I returned home filled with beer and blood sausage.I left Klepp in the old city.He went looking for a guitarist.I found the keyhole in Zeidler's apartment, stepped on the coir carpet in the hallway, walked through the dark milky glass door, entered my room, found my bed, undressed, but couldn't find my bed. Pajamas, pajamas to Maria to wash.I found the 75cm piece of coconut fiber rug that we cut when we laid the rug, and I put it in front of the bed as a bed rug.I go to bed, but can't sleep.

There seems to be no reason to tell you what Oscar is thinking about because of his insomnia, or what he is thinking about but churning in his head.Today, I think I have found the cause of my insomnia.Before I went to bed, I stood with my bare feet on my new bedside rug, which was the coir rug.The coconut fiber sticks to my bare feet, digs into the skin, enters the bloodstream, and even long after I lay down, I feel like I'm standing on the coconut fiber, so I can't sleep because there's nothing like standing on it with bare feet Unsettling, drowsy, and thought-promoting can be found on coconut fiber rugs.

Long after midnight, almost three o'clock in the morning, Oscar was lying on the bed but seemed to be standing on the carpet, unable to fall asleep.Then he heard a door open in the corridor, and then another.This is Klepp, who didn't find the guitarist and came home with blood sausage, I thought, but I knew it wasn't Klepp who opened one door and then the other.Then I thought, since you can't sleep in bed anyway, but you feel the coconut fibers on the soles of your feet pricking you, you might as well just get out of bed, not relying on your imagination, but stand down on the coconut fiber carpet in front of your bed .Oscar did.Then there were consequences.As soon as I stood on the carpet, the seventy-five-centimeter long cut-out immediately reminded me of its origin through the soles of my feet, and the seven-meter-forty-three-meter-long coconut fiber carpet in the corridor.Whether it was because I sympathized with this cut piece of coconut fiber, or because I heard the sound of two doors in the corridor, and guessed it was Klepp coming back, but thought it wasn't him, Oskar bent down anyway, because he went to bed Unable to find his pajamas before, he grabbed the two corners of the coconut fiber rug in front of the bed, spread his legs apart until his feet were no longer on the rug but on the floor, and pulled the rug out between his legs. Come out, lift up the seventy-five-centimeter blanket, and hold it in front of his naked one-meter-two-one-meter body, skillfully covering his naked body.Therefore, the section from the collarbone to the knee is within the sphere of influence of coconut fiber.Oscar walked out of his dark room, walked into the dark corridor, and stepped on the coconut fiber carpet. At this moment, he lifted up the fiber coat behind which he was hiding.

Stimulated by the fibers of the carpet, I took small steps in a hurry, trying to get rid of the influence from under my feet, trying to save myself, and walked desperately towards the place where there was no coconut fiber matting, and entered the bathroom, what is so strange about it? Woolen cloth? The bathroom was as dark as the hallway and my room, but someone else was occupying it.It was the woman who revealed this to me in a low voice.My coir rind also touched a standing man's knee.I didn't deploy to evacuate the bathroom because I was threatened by the coco fiber carpet behind me, but the guy sitting in front of me told me to evacuate the bathroom: "Who are you? What do you want? Get out!" Voice in front of me Said that it was not Frau Zeidler's voice anyway.It has a crying voice: "Who are you?" "Well, Sister Dorothea, guess what!" I made a joke, which should have eased the faint sadness of our meeting.She didn't want to guess, she stood up, reached out to grab me in the dark, and wanted to push me from the bathroom to the carpet in the hallway, but her hand brushed over my head, and then went down It is not I who touch and hold, but my fiber apron, my coco fiber husk.She exclaimed again, women were all the same, as if she had to exclaim.She mistook me for someone, for Sister Dorothea trembled and whispered, "My God, it's a devil!" and I couldn't help giggling.It was not malicious, but she thought it was the devil's laughter, and I don't like to hear the word devil.When she again asked, rather timidly, "Who are you?" Oscar replied, "I am Satan, and I have come to visit Sister Dorothea!" She added, "My God, what is this for?" I slowly got into the role, and Satan, he also acted as the person who gave the lines in my heart. "Because Satan loves Sister Rothea," I said. "No, no, no, I don't want to!" She still rushed forward, trying to break through, but bumped into the satanic fibers of my coconut suit again, her pajamas were so thin, and her ten little fingers were trapped. Go to the tropical jungle of the abductor, so that her whole body is limp and paralyzed.This must have been a mild collapse, and Sister Dorothea fell forward.I hastened to lift the outer skin that was blocking my body high, and hugged her when she fell, and persisted until I made a decision that was in line with my Satanic role.I stepped back a little, let her walk on her knees, but being careful not to let her knees touch the tile floor of the bathroom, but touching the coconut fiber carpet in the hallway, and then let her face backwards and head west, that is, flushing. It fell down the length of the carpet, following Klepp's door.Her back, which is at least 1.60 meters long, touched the coconut fiber carpet, and I covered her with the fiber in my hand, but it was only 75 centimeters, starting from her chin and covering most of her thighs. .I pulled the rug up another ten centimeters to cover her mouth and expose Sister Dorothea's nose so that she could breathe unhindered, which was quite loud.At this moment, Oskar himself lay down, lying on the carpet in front of his old bed, causing thousands of fibers to vibrate.Instead of asking for direct contact with Sister Dorothea, he let the coconut fibers work and at the same time began to talk to Sister Dorothea.She collapsed slightly, whispered: "God, God!" repeatedly asked Oscar's name and origin.I called myself Satan, uttered the word Satan in a Satanic accent, relied on Satan's cues, and pictured hell as a dwelling place.At this moment, she was fighting between two rugs.I do gymnastics on the rug in front of my bed, making the rug vibrate, and the coconut fiber gives Sister Dorothea the same feeling that soda powder gave to my beloved Maria years ago, only soda powder makes me full and full. Effectively, I failed embarrassingly on the coconut rug.I failed to throw the error out.In the years of soda powder, my little friend was strong and purposeful, and now, on the coconut fiber, it hangs down, no interest, petty, no purpose in front of it, and it should not ask it, my pure reason Persuasion and Sister Dorothea's sighs and sighs were of no avail.She was whispering, moaning, pleading, "Come on, Satan, come on!" I had to comfort her, "Satan is coming. Satan is coming." I murmured in an exaggeratedly satanic accent.At the same time, I talked to Satan who had lived in me since the day I was baptized (he still lives there).I scolded him: Satan, don't be a game breaker!I begged him: Please don't make me lose my face!I'm afraid of his flattery: you weren't like this before, think about the past, think about Maria, or think about the widow Greve, think about the two of us driving in sunny Paris with the little Rosewitha Just kidding!But he answered me happily and unafraid of repeating: I'm not having fun, Oscar.When Satan has no pleasure, virtue triumphs.After all, Satan will have no fun someday. In this way, he was unable to support me, and brought out the proverbs in the almanac and so on.And I, moving wearily through the coconut fiber rug, tormenting poor Sister Dorothea's skin, finally, in answer to her pleading "Come, Satan, oh, come!" In a desperate, pointless, unmotivated charge, I attempted to hit the black target with my unloaded pistol.She wanted to do her Satan a favor too, her arms broke free from under the coconut rug, she wanted to hug me, and she hugged me too, touched my hunchback, my warm human skin that wasn't coconut fiber at all, lost She got the Satan she wanted, and no longer said vaguely: "Come on, Satan, come on!" But cleared her throat, and asked the question at the beginning in a different register: "God, are you Who? What do you want?" At this time, I had to admit defeat and admit that the name on my ID card was Oskar Matzerath, her neighbor, and I loved her from the bottom of my heart, Sister Dorothea. The schadenfreude will say that Sister Dorothea then swore and knocked me off the coco-fiber rug.However, Oscar, who was sad but also slightly satisfied, said that was not the case.Sister Dorothea slowly, I might rather say meditatively, hesitantly let go of my hunchback with hands and arms, like caresses of infinite sorrow.Immediately she burst into sobs and whimpers, which I heard, but not yelling.Little did I know, she slipped away from under me and the coconut rug, and let me slide down, the hallway rug absorbing her footsteps.I heard a door open, a key turned, and the six opalescent panes of glass on the door of Sister Dorothea's closet, illuminated by the lights in the room, acquire their reality. Oscar lay down, covering his body with the rug, which still retained some warmth from Satan's games.My eyes fixed on the square illuminated by the lights.From time to time, a figure flits across the milky white glass.Now she's going to the wardrobe, I said to myself, now she's going to the dresser.Oscar made a begging attempt.I covered the carpet and crawled towards the door, clawed at the door panel with my nails, lifted up a little bit, raised a begging hand, and shook it in front of the bottom two panes of glass.However, Sister Dorothea did not open the door.She paced tirelessly between wardrobes and dressing tables with mirrors.I know what's going on, but I dare not admit it: Sister Dorothea is packing to run away from me.I must even bury the tiny hope that she would let me see her face illuminated by the lights when she left the cell.First it went dark behind the opaline glass, then I heard the key turn, the door open, shoes on the coconut fiber carpet.I reached for it and found a mouthful of the box and her thigh in stockings.That's when one of those brutish sneakers I'd seen in her closet kicked me right in the chest, knocking me over the carpet.Oscar struggled again, and called out pleadingly: "Sister Dorothea!" At this moment, the door of the apartment had been locked, and a woman left me. You and everyone who understands my pain will say this now: Go to bed, Oscar.What are you looking for in the corridors after this disgrace!Four o'clock in the morning.You lie naked on a coconut fiber rug, barely covered by a fiber rug.Hands and knees were chafed.Your heart is bleeding, you've lost your shame, but you've lost your home.You woke up Mr. Zeidler.He woke up his wife.They're coming soon, and their bedroom-living room door is open and looking at you.Go to bed, Oscar, the clock will strike five soon! At the time, I was lying on the coconut fiber rug, and I told myself the same thing.I was cold, but I lay still.I tried to recall the form of Sister Dorothea.All I could feel was the coconut fiber, and that stuff between my teeth.A bright light falls on Oskar; the door to the Zeidler's living-bedroom opens a crack.Zeidler's hedgehog head with another head covered in metal curlers, that's Mrs. Zeidler.They were dumbfounded, he coughed, she giggled, he called me, I ignored her, she giggled again, he told her to be quiet, she wanted to know what was wrong with me, he said no, she said here It's a decent family. He threatened to cancel the lease, but I remained silent because I hadn't reached the point where I couldn't bear it.The Zeidlers opened the door and he switched on the lights in the corridor.They walked towards me, staring at fierce, fierce, fierce little eyes.He was going to stop venting his anger in a liqueur glass, he stood beside me, condescending, Oskar waited for the hedgehog to get angry, but Zeidler had to keep his anger in his stomach, because there was a noise in the stairwell, an invisible The key was looking for the door of the suite and finally found it.It was Klepp who came in, bringing with him another man who was as drunk as himself.This is Scholer, the guitarist who has finally been found. The two consoled Zeidler and his wife, bent over to Oscar, picked me up without asking any questions, and carried me into my room with the piece of Satan's coconut fiber. Klepp rubbed me to warm myself.The guitarist fetches my clothes.The two helped me dress and dry my tears.sobbing.Morning light outside the window.sparrow.Klepp hung up the drum for me, took out his little wooden flute, and sobbed.Guitarist with guitar on his back.sparrow.The two friends, one on the left and the other on the right, put me in the middle and led Oskar, who was sobbing and defenseless, out of the trap, out of the house on Jülichstrasse, towards the sparrow, freed him from the influence of the coconut fiber, and led I walked through the morning streets, across the palace gardens, past the planetarium, to the banks of the Rhine.The gray Rhine is going to Holland, laden with steamers, and floating with laundry. On that humid September morning, from six o'clock to nine o'clock in the morning, flute player Klepp, guitarist Schöller and percussionist Oskar sat on the right bank of the Rhine, playing music, coordinating skillfully, and sharing a bottle Wine, winking at Bai Yang on the other side, accompanied the collier from Duisburg struggling upstream with fast joyful, slow mournful Mississippi music, while looking for the newly formed jazz band a name. As the sun stained the morning mist and the music betrayed the request for an outdated breakfast, Oskar rose to his feet.Having drummed himself off from the night before, he took out the banknotes from his jacket pocket, which meant breakfast was settled, and announced to his friends the name of the new band, the Rhine Trio.We had our names and went to have breakfast together.