Yes, it was obvious. He was trying too hard. Though he had been out with her before, with Frederick, and they were friends, Herr Lippert now felt unsure of himself.
He saw her in a new way. She was an attractive woman, an experienced and older woman, married, which made him wonder… With her experience, Herr Lippert thought, she could have her choice of men, and she certainly had other suitors, Frederick for one. He had never known a woman like her. She didn’t fit a mold, in that she could be flirtatious and joyful while at same time serious and sincere.
They were sitting together at a small table, and while he looked into her brown eyes, he pressed his knee against hers. To his surprise she moved her knee away, and he made more of this than he perhaps should have.
She noticed but said nothing. He felt relieved. And Pauline herself continued to smile and treat him as if nothing had happened. When the time came for them to leave, he didn’t suggest that they go to his flat as he planned. He chickened out. He didn’t know if Pauline would’ve gone with him, and he couldn’t have known that if she had it would’ve ended of their friendship. He didn’t have the courage, but that was a good thing.
The next day, as usual, he went to the Obdachlosenhein. Frederick and Pauline were working the serving line, and he saw that they hadn’t changed, when he’d expected everything to be different. But he felt odd. In this setting of communion and sharing and wholesomeness…where there was an extraordinary outpouring of generosity, the like of which he hadn’t seen anywhere else, he wasn’t now sure he belonged. He could scarcely bear to look at Pauline. She seemed humble. He felt awful. She greeted him with the smile that he had grown to expect. He felt relieved, and even before they said a word to each other he saw that she wasn’t going to embarrass him. Even then, he found it hard to join his friends, though he had a set job to do. After he put an apron on, all he could say was, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Of course Frederick made a snide remark, but Pauline very simply said, “We missed you.”
“Can we talk…later…when we’re finished?”
“Why not? We’re friends.”
“I was hoping we still were.”
“What?” Frederick asked. “What’s going on?”
“What? Frederick, you can be part of it. There’s nothing going on.” Herr Lippert was amazed at how quickly he recovered.
In the evening they all went to Café Central for hot chocolate and pieces of cake. They had no trouble getting in. Again, puzzlingly, there were few people there, and most of those who were there were regulars who came at least once a week for a meeting of some sort. The waiter who served them was as much of fixture as the lone person who showed up every night to think and write. Café Central was known to the whole city and was the meeting place of the intellectual and the bohemian. With crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling, the place had the feel of the bourgeois, yet here was where more than one revolution was hatched.
They watched people arrive at the appointed time for this or that meeting, and while they watched Frederick remembered the times that he had attended Freud’s circle there. He still went occasionally, knowing that Freud wouldn’t be happy with him because he missed too many meetings. The waiter placed him, and Frederick was pleased when the waiter asked him, “The usual, sir?” He paid for everything, though it was expensive; and all the while he paid attention to what his friends were saying.
She asked, “How does it feel to be an honorary guest of the Cafe? You must like it, and to sit with Freud.” A little later she said, “All right. We’re going to start a revolution, organize our workers, and take our inspiration from…”
“Here? Trotsky?”
“No, silly, Karl Kraus. And yes, here…and now.”
Randy Ford
