Magic Hoffmann by Arjouni Jakob

Author:Arjouni, Jakob [Arjouni, Jakob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: No Exit Press
Published: 2013-07-04T16:00:00+00:00

There was still a strong smell of sulphuric acid in the hallway of the hotel. Photos of horses had replaced racing cars on the new wallpaper, and the new counter gleamed green. The fourth window was boarded up like the first three, and posters with sunrises and palm beaches had been pinned over it.

After Fred had assured himself there was no evening paper behind the counter, he pressed the bell. The same young man who had given him the key a couple of days before emerged from behind the door, albeit noticeably aged. His face was grey and caved in, his eyes stared apathetically. Fred could hear excited voices in the background.

With a shifty look the man said: ‘No vacancies.’

‘But I have a room. My name is Hoffmann .’ And Fred added with an approving look into the hallway: ‘You fixed it in no time.’

The man frowned, as if he were wondering whether Fred was making fun of him. Then he nodded weakly. ‘Now I know. Everything’s a bit confused today. Room thirty one, no?’ He looked across at the keys. ‘But you’ve got your key.’

‘I wanted to pay for yesterday and two more days.’ While the man looked in the ledger and punched some figures onto a calculator, Fred asked: ‘What’s sulphuric acid for?’

‘The expression of justified fears.’

‘What…?’

‘Someone’s thrown it in here for the fourth time - that’s when you can call it a neurosis.’

Thrown it in? Fred looked up at the boarded windows. Alarmed, he asked: ‘Does that mean that the police come in here?’

The question seemed to amuse the man - or rather to cheer him up strangely. His smile could scarcely be called funny.

‘Are you kidding? This whole joint could blow up, and a copper wouldn’t even look up from his plate of sausages. We poured out the acid ourselves, God knows why. And the fact that we paint graffiti all over the courtyard, saying we should crawl off and die, that is part of our culture.’

He prepared the bill, and Fred paid his money onto the counter. He had no idea what the man was trying to explain to him, but he was pleased that the police seemed to avoid the hotel for some reason.

The staircase was silent as ever. When Fred entered the room and turned the light on, his roommates droned away contentedly. Glittering fat and green, they turned nervous circles around the ceiling lamp.

Fred opened the window and collapsed on the bed. He counted his remaining money. It was enough for another two or three days.

He laid his head back and thought of Canada. A stream, a meadow and a log cabin appeared on the grey ceiling. The log cabin was a bar, and people were sitting on the veranda drinking HOPEMAN’S APPLE WINE and talking about the weather. Fred closed his eyes. Girls in colourful dresses were drinking his health and laughing. Johnny Guitar Watson was on the jukebox. …his thoughts flowed in English: Hey Hopeman, how are the apples this year? Very good, I think.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.