chapter 51 Geni

Geni

Three thirty in the morning was no time to be found upon the streets of Berlin unless you had a reason to be there, sanctioned by the Reich. Frank had no such reason and needed to become invisible and not in Berlin very quickly. He slipped into the shadows as a door opened, a quadrilateral of yellow light cutting the muddy oppressive heat that still clung to the buildings, a quadrilateral that proceeded to hold the silhouette of a more than corpulent male figure.

“That’s enough for you for the night! Werner; you are a great comedian, but an even greater piss-head. I hope you survive Munich to entertain us again before Christmas. Now, as the Fuhrer himself would put it, fuck off back to Cologne”. The silhouette slumped, turned and was surprised to feel a light arm around its shoulders.

“Cologne, well, we are fellow travellers, thrown together by fortune!” Frank was disgusted by the stench of sweat, cheap spirits and rancid bratwurst, but he needed cover and a way out of Berlin, and so he gave his new friend a slap on the back and flashed a handful of banknotes. “Werner, I am delighted to meet you. I believe we can help each other out here. You see I can’t get to my car due to an argument with my wife, and my other home is in Cologne, where I need to be until she cools off. I assume this,” and Frank flicked about a million Marks under Werner’s nose, “could help you in some way.”

“I am a comedian….but are you having a joke?” Werner held Frank’s fistful of money and tried to focus on it.

“I am Norwegian; I don’t even know what a joke is.”

The silhouette pulled a hip-flask from his jacket and registered a dumb disbelief, finding it empty. He rubbed his eyes and turned his attention to Frank.

“You look very clever to me, Mr. Norwegian; so tell me this, what do you call a genius in Norway?”

“Well, geni is the normal term.”

“No, a tourist is the correct term, Mr Dumbfuck Norway.”

Frank let his hand hover for a fraction over Werner’s back before giving him a friendly hug. His way out of Berlin had just promoted itself to his way into Frank IV. This evening was life-changing in the most profound sense, and Frank did not do comedy. Werner was going to die as soon as he had got Frank back to Cologne. Die, and yet live forever. The comedian would be amused by the fact that he had just met his companion for eternity: if he could get past the fact that Frank would stick a knife into his brain, liquify the matter and pour it into the nutriment before sealing the deal. Oh well, Frank knew which of them was the real genius, and Werner was no Buster Keaton.

“This could be a fine mess you’ve got me out of, Werner.”

“Decadent American Communist reference my friend. But funny, and about comedy. I like you.” Werner put his arm around Frank’s shoulder. “What’s your name? I know a place where we can get some fine Irish Whisky. Buy a bottle and I am sure we can get to Cologne together if you can face a night on a small couch with two cats, one of which is incontinent.”

“I can handle that.”

“The other cat is dead, has been for some weeks…. Very smelly….and there are maggots, but that’s life!”

“To life, to death, and to Cologne!” said Frank, slipping a couple of notes into Werner’s hand. “Frank Korner. I feel we have a great future before us Werner.”

“Werner Hesse, I don’t give a fuck about the future unless it has the name Jameson printed on the label. Jameson, bed and Cologne. But first, Jameson.”

“Thank God the Irish Republic continues to trade with Germany; and Norway of course.” Frank found himself almost blinded by the image of Prionsias O’Connell, the contributor to Frank III, as he raised a glass of Jameson before feeling the hard steel enter his skull from below and behind the left ear. The affections as well as the intelligences of his contributors seemed to cling. Nature and nurture? Frank didn’t give a damn as long as he could get out of Berlin and get into a new body. He felt semen snake from his ass. It was time for a new start.