In a nutshell, your case is far from hopeless, on the contrary! So there’s just one more thing I want to tell you: Don’t sign anything! Better not to, better to stay independent. Independent people are better, there are no practical constraints, they’re more reliable. Talk to me voluntarily, it’s better that way! There’s nothing I want to know from you! Not what that guy, or that lady, or your grandma, or that guy’s great-grandma thinks about that other guy. . I know all that already. They think I’m a son of a bitch, and they’ll soon think the same of you. . if you sign anything. So, I don’t think much of what the little überfatso put in front of you with his chubby paws. . did he do that yet? If I were you I’d say, I’m not going to sign that, I’m staying independent.
(Enough! he thought. Enough, no more now. . He’d started up, frightened by a noise, by a ticking, dripping echo somewhere, lasting barely a second. He listened, but all was still; only everywhere, without beginning or end, was the barely audible hum of the stones. And yet there seemed to have been a step, several quick steps. . he’d thought for quite some time that he was being frequented down here. — But that was really enough now. . He stood up and started on his way. What made him spend hours thinking the boss’ thoughts. . adding his own thoughts, completing the boss’ speeches with his own words? — Evidently he barely had any choice left, evidently his mind could only choose between the boss and Feuerbach.
Painstakingly extinguishing the light behind him in each section of the basement, he made his way towards the exit, up towards the light of day, where perhaps now it was night again.)
As he walked he recalled what else the boss had said. After advising W. not to move to Leipzig. . Preferably not, or rather, definitely not, down there you’ll just be lost in the crowd. . he’d explained his words as follows: Here we have a certain allotment of options that doesn’t get used at all. . true, it’s much smaller than the one in Leipzig, but in Leipzig. . and in Berlin. . it gets exploited to the full, simply because there are enough people who can use it. There seem to be enough, I say to you, because opinions on these people can differ. Whereas with us there’s just no one, however much I look around. I mean the question of travelling to NonSoc States — you know what I mean! Here things have to get crazy before we get permits, we’d have to have people dying over there. But one or two numbers. . they say to themselves, numbers for passports, those we have. And I don’t have a proper writer here, for instance, I can’t keep requesting the visa for myself. I need an artist or a writer here in the district who I could conscience supporting over there for a year or more, sometimes a bit less.
Am I supposed to send the long-legged loser? I’d never see him again. You see, he’s also trying his hand at writing. . I could show you something he published, but let’s not get into that. With you we’d be sure that you’d be quick to grasp what you’re in for over there: publicity, publicity till you’ve got it coming out both ends, you’ll be oh so grateful to me. All joking aside, with you we wouldn’t be worried that you wouldn’t get enough invitations, that’s how the industry works over there, you’d just have to become a bit better known first. .
Better known? No one knows me at all, W. lamented.
I do. . and I’m not no one! — But moving right along, for these purposes a major publication over here wouldn’t even be that advantageous. . besides, it would take too long. Of course we could breathe down the printers’ necks and get you run off in three months, but it would come out in the end. . just imagine, because of you the, say, 111th edition of Kurella’s4 speeches gets postponed, that would draw attention. We’d have to place work of yours in magazines. . by no means your best work, and then we’d have to kick out the editor. . purge the whole editorial board, they’d probably be relieved. And all that because of your work, can you picture the press we’d get over there. .
At this point the boss laughed like the young-at-heart protagonist of a well-intentioned novel.
Or we take you together with a whole group, we do a whole bunch, we do an anthology. .
I’ve thought through all the variants, it would all take much too long. The drastic methods would be best, the press is more likely to fall for those, of course. . those work, by the 1st of May, June of next year we’d have you on location. So we arrest the man in question, a month later the whole world finds out about it, two weeks after that the media circus is at its height, and before things get critical for the reputation of the fatherland, we let you out again. . if necessary straight to West Berlin. Only the man in question would have to have a certain degree of stamina. . probably not a problem with you. . because of course things aren’t very cosy in there. I know what I’m talking about, I know our rest homes from the inside, you have to know what you’re doing, there are so-called imponderabilities, risk factors, if that means anything to you.
But even for that it would be better to make you known in the so-called Scene first, in a city, a larger one. . Leipzig, Magdeburg, maybe it doesn’t have to be Berlin right off the bat, the Scene knows no boundaries. You’d have to hang around there for a while and check things out. We’d ask you what form you’d like that to take. . if you want an easy job that earns you your pocket money, or if you want to be completely. . they’ve got quite a social consciousness there!. . in a vacuum, quasi with a burnt-out background and a penchant for expensive liquor. . that’s good, but better stilclass="underline" always after cheap booze, watch out for your liver, though! And after those Western women they’ve always got running around. . but you’d find that a bit more complicated. At any rate, you’d have to belong for a while, but not belong entirely. .
Of course you’d just be acting snoozy. In reality you’d have to be extremely alert. Even though nothing dramatic will be happening; you’ll probably get bored pretty quickly. That’s how I picture it being when you’re writing a story and you have to fill in all the everyday odds and ends that have to go in there to give the characters a real setting. . that’s what I’d keep in mind if I were you. That is, how to depict the day-to-day trivia. . that’s when writing is the hardest, I’d imagine. How does this character live, what from, where did he get the watch he’s wearing. And what do the people do when they’re not sitting around in the Scene’s bars and hangouts. How are the marriages holding up, if applicable, and always keep an eye on the kids, if applicable. Are there homosexual proclivities, that’s important. And what does the character eat. . because he is what he eats. And does he use the toilet. . and when; you’ve got to keep that in mind too. You can fill in the time later, though. These are all questions that arise when you’re writing, too. . the cigarette brand! Or are they cigars, reeking of sulphur and phosphorus. And of course you must never give clear answers yourself, you always have to be a bit mysterious. Then people will notice you, and you’ll get drawn in. So it’s best to keep mum about what you do, where you come from, act a bit confused, it’s perfectly fine to be ashamed of your background. . all you’ve got to do is think of the boss. Give the wrong destinations, Berlin instead of Leipzig, and later say you just misspoke. This ought to make your job infinitely interesting, and when you think about it, it’ll keep you on the ball. .
But W. couldn’t recall ever having read a spy novel or mystery in which one of the characters used the toilet, unless it was crucial to the plot. And such ‘day-to-day trivia’ was always left out as well if it didn’t bear on the reasoning in the case under investigation. — This was about the prose of everyday life, then, about realistic stories, about the realism of the stories he was to examine. It wasn’t about the realism of his own story. . which was thus left outside in the dark. — And this, W. said to himself, was the main feature of the non-existent socialist realism of which the boss had had such a poor opinion.