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- Herausgeber: LiteraturPlanet
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
The texts in this collection of stories deal with people on the edge of society, stranded as human flotsam at the central station, this labyrinthine center of modern societies. Realistic narratives alternate with texts that look at events as if under a magnifying glass, thus providing a new perspective on things.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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Edgar Fuhrmann
Central Station
Tales of Misery and Isolation
LiteraturPlanet
Imprint
© Verlag LiteraturPlanet, 2021
Im Borresch 14
66606 St. Wendel
http://www.literaturplanet.de
Cover: Andreas Mattern: Central Station
About the author:
Edgar Fuhrmann belongs to the circle of so-called Ecartists around the blogger Rother Baron, who founded the publishing house LiteraturPlanet in 2008. In his younger years, Fuhrmann travelled extensively by train. During this time, he repeatedly encountered people who had fallen on hard times for various reasons.
Thus, the texts in this collection of stories also deal with people on the edge of society, stranded as flotsam at the central station, this labyrinthine center of modern societies. Realistic narratives alternate with texts that look at events as if under a magnifying glass, thus providing a new perspective on things.
Central Station
The crowd a hurricane on rails
a poster lurking greedily
the lady staring a hundredfold
the gentleman a fish with naked gills
the tempestuous tides of the lovers
loudspeakers roaring out like soldiers
kisses crumpled breathlessly
a man in the abyss of the steep stairs
the drunkards' mournful harmonica
the homeless gaze of the beggars
a discarded body luring punters
in the basement an empty squint
staring a stabbed happiness
and scorn – only one among millions.
Railway Mission
Three homeless people meet at the railway mission on Christmas Eve. They exchange experiences and reminisce about the past.
Christmas Eve, a few minutes past eight in the evening. In the quiet room of the railway mission, three not exactly festively dressed figures are lolling about. Two of them are sitting on the plastic chairs lined up along the walls. In the back corner, someone has curled up in his coat.
In the middle of the room, on a rickety table, lies the evidence of a past expectation: two fir branches framing a candle stump. Advent is over.
After a while, one of the men starts a conversation.
"Have you been to church?"
"Nah, social center. Just had to listen to a priest."
"Anything special?"
"No, the usual Christmas sermon. And you?"
"I was sitting by the river."
"Wasn't it too cold?"
"It was all right. I wasn't alone, after all." He points to a large, bulbous bottle, already more than half empty.
The other laughs in understanding. "And during the day?"
"Pedestrian zone."
"Successful?"
"It wasn't that great. The charity thing kind of wears off, too."
"You're damn right. I haven't collected that much either."
"Want a sip?"
"No need, I've got some of my own."
They both open their bottles and drink. One of them points to the baggy coat in the corner. "Do you know him?"
"Nope, must be a tramp."
They raise their bottles to their lips again. A brief silence falls. Then one of them fumbles a photo out of his coat pocket. "That's my ex."
"Dead?"
"Sort of."
"Not bad, the lady. And the little boy next to her?"
"From my first marriage. Heavy fine, the rascal."
The photo disappears into the coat pocket. Shortly afterwards, the fingers emerge from it again and hold up a lighter.
"Let there be light!" the lighter owner murmurs. With that, he walks over to the table to light the candle stub.
"Watch out for the fir branches!" warns the other.
"I'll be careful."
"I tell you, that stuff burns like tinder."
Unperturbed, the lord of the light sets fire to the candle. Then he goes back to his place.
Devoutly, the two contemplate the still life. Suddenly, sounds are heard from the direction of the battered coat.
"I thought he was sleeping."
"Probably woke up."
It sounds like the one in the corner is pulling up the mucus in his nose.
"Hey, better get some aspirin!"
The one in the corner sobs.
"Hey man! What's wrong?"
"My dad is dead!"
"Bad thing!" whispers the questioner sympathetically.
"For a long time?" inquires his neighbour.
The one in the corner sobs again.
"Just take a sip. It'll help!"
"Haven't got anything left," it sobs from the battered coat.
"I see!" The fire maker reaches for his bottle, goes to the man in the corner and fills half of it into his bottle. As he does so, a sizable puddle forms beneath him. When he is finished, he pushes the half-filled bottle into the other man's hand.
"Brother?" he asks solemnly.
Holding up his bottle with one hand, he grabs the sobbing man by the shoulder. The latter runs his hand under his nose and then toasts his benefactor without getting up. After drinking, they return to their previous seating arrangement.
"My grandpa always got out the mandolin that day," recalls the lighter owner.
"I always carry a harmonica ," exclaims the one next to him.
He fumbles the instrument out of his pocket and plays the beginning of "Silent Night". The one in the corner sobs again. The harmonica falls silent.
"My mother used to tell us the Christmas story that evening," his neighbour remembers. He reflects briefly, then recites, half in thought: "And it came to pass in those days that ..."
"Who passed?" asks the one in the corner.
"Nobody – that's what happened there, you know?"
"What happened?"
"Wait a minute ... And it came to pass in those days that ... that all the world should be taxed."
"Taxed?" echoed the one next to him.
"It was just a census."
"Fucking cops!"
"Well, and the two, that is, Mary and Joseph, they also had to be registered. And for that they had to go to a big city. And now the thing was: the woman is pregnant. And as they come to the town, she suddenly realises that the child is coming."
"And the hospitals are all overcrowded, of course."
"Sure. And the hotels are full of bigwigs. Well, and the woman can hardly walk – because of the child. Anyway, the man keeps searching for help – but no one feels responsible."
"No doubt about it! At Christmas, they're all busy with themselves."
The other is completely engrossed in the story: "Well, the man runs from one place to another, but nothing works. And the woman moans and whines, just imagine. And when absolutely nothing more can be done, she simply lies down in a stable and gets her child there."
The one in the corner sobs again: "They really don't care how you feel!"
"But how they would have screamed if she had aborted!" interjects the one with the harmonica .
"But the child was alive," the narrator reassures them.
"Not quite likely!"
"Well, that's the way it's told in the story. And you know what the greatest thing was? – The child was Jesus Christ. And because of that, suddenly a star appears in the sky. And as the bigwigs see this, they go and deliver all kinds of jewelry in the stable."
"Probably glass beads."
"There was nothing said about that in the story."
The one next to him suddenly jumps up and waves his arms. "I want to see them all hanged, those bigwigs!"
"No," says the narrator, "that wouldn't have fit in with the story. The whole atmosphere wasn't like that ... Maybe they drank some mulled wine together."
The other sits down again. "But it's true, you know, sometimes ...."
"Calm down. Let's better have another sip!"
They toast each other. The one in the corner sobs again. "We were such a big family!"
On the table in the middle, the candle stub gradually glows towards its end. In the glaring neon light, its flame is barely visible.
The Bundle
The bundle lies directly on the path. Those who want to turn onto the platform from the station concourse can hardly get past it – especially if pushing a luggage trolley in front of them. In this case the luggage trolleys from the opposite direction have to wait to let them pass.
If people on both sides want to move quickly and no one is willing to wait, suitcases can fall down. Some people therefore park their luggage trolley and step over the bundle with the suitcases in their hands. But as the bundle is very bulky, travellers sometimes get caught in it and stumble. When this happens, some turn around shaking their heads before moving on.
Looking at the bundle from the left side, the first thing to notice are the two misshapen clumps stuck in two furrowed, cracked pieces of leather. Two tubular strips of fabric stretch down up to the clumps in the leather pieces. They are mostly covered by a dented ball of wool, from which single fibres hang out in many places. The leather is black in colour, the cloth panels are green, the ball of wool is patterned black and white. Everything is covered with the grey station dust.
From the ball of wool, two more tubular structures extend on either side, at the ends of which protrudes something that looks like thick, black and red spiders. At the top, the ball of wool merges into a bunch of sticky bristles. The bristles are followed by something elongated, marked by craters and a prominent elevation. The end of the bundle is formed by dusty threads entangled into each other.
It is really difficult to get past the bundle.
Finally two men dressed all in white approach the bundle. In each hand they hold the end of a long pole. Between the poles stretches an area of plastic, about three-quarters of which is covered with fabric. At the lower end of the surface lies a folded woollen blanket.
Having reached the bundle, the two men put down the poles. They move the bundle a little and touch it carefully. Then one of them grasps the bundle at the upper end of the woollen ball while the other puts his hands around the leather pieces. This allows them to lift the bundle comfortably and place it on the surface between the two poles.
In the end they spread the blanket over the bundle, leaving the upper part with the many craters and the entangled threads uncovered. After that, they grab the poles again to carry the bundle away.
