A Berlin novel

An excerpt from the novel « L’exposition », by J.Sexer

... which takes place in Berlin in the years of the Weimar Republic. The novel is written in French but it will soon be available in English translation.

Available on Amazon: L'exposition, un roman berlinois

The first day of Bang in Berlin would not deserve to be stated in detail if this gentleman was not going to play a role of first order in the genesis of the work of art which several years later will concern so much Morel, the art dealer, and Hans Schattendorf, the head of Cultural Action in Spandau.

Bang had taken the train from Copenhagen to Edser and from there a ferry to Rostock. At nine o'clock in the morning of a day of 1925, his train stopped with a bump under the glass roof of the Lehrter Bahnhof.

After leaving the station, he could admire the neo-classical silhouette of the Reichstag on the other side of the Spree, with its purple rectangular dome and its four towers, one in each corner of the building. To the right and left, trains were passing over the river, passengers from the suburbs queued up for the bus that would take them to their workplaces in the city center, or they hurried towards the S-Bahn , the urban railway that connects the Lehrter with other railway nodes of the capital.

Bang had imagined Berlin as a dark city, all brown and black. Large imposing buildings, facing small squares, narrow openings in a dense medieval fabric. But he saw nothing medieval here ; The Unter den Linden, wide and luminous, people walking quietly under the trees, sitting in the public benches of the central aisle or sipping coffee in the terraces. An intense traffic, well regulated by policemen with precise gestures.

On a trafic island in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the Friedrichstrasse, a black man of papier-mache. Elegant costume, bow tie and hat, his hands on his waist. With a big smile, he announces the good news: "In Berlin or Paramaribo, I drink nothing but coffee Schibo."

The signs of a policeman force the taxi to stop. From the Friedrichstrasse, a dozen young ladies are approaching while dancing a cancan: an advertising for a show at the Admirals-Palast. "It's the Tiller-girls," says the driver. "But," puts forward Bang, "Their sign says Jackson-girls." "Psss," answers the driver, shrugging his shoulders, "the city is full of these girls, and there are always new ones coming from London or Leipzig, I’ll be damned if I know. I just hope they don’t try to cross the street right now... »

Very close to his hotel, at the Wittenbergplatz, Bang finds a café: the Schimmel. The menu offers a wide variety of drinks: Moka coffee, Fachinger mineral water, Tarragona wine, Vermouth of Cadiz, Elixir of Antwerp. But it was hot in Berlin this October of 1925. He did not choose neither an Arak grog or a Goldwasser from Danzig:

"Ein Bier, bitte."

The brillantined waiter moves away with a nod.