Days in the city had grown warmer, weather that made us want to buy daffodils; but at night it was colder, although the chill lost its bite when the wind was still. The heavy smell of brown coal had receded somewhat from the older parts of the city, though my apartment still had that slightly sulfuric air. I had already, in a fever of spring cleaning, wiped the top of the closet and the candles clean of the film of orange-brown dust that had settled on it in the months of heating. Even while I did it I was certain that another film would accumulate; this spring was too early to last.
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Until I lived in a Berlin apartment heated only by a coal-burning stove, I didn't really know what winter was. |
The year before, winter had lasted well into April, and I had worn sweaters as late as June, in spite of the short nights and long sunny days. Now, the sun was treacherous; it was a weather for getting sick. The sun looked warm, the sky cold; living in the courtyard, one rarely saw passers-by to gauge the cold by their clothing. And so I miscalculated, wore turtlenecks on the warm days and took my spring jacket into the cold.
Still, the incipient warmness infected me. The undertone of warmth even in the cold wind made me believe in new beginnings, made me clean my room - deeply, not the usual dumping in piles, but organizing the closet and even the drawers - and gave me a vigour with which to withstand the various Behördengänge which lay before me: renewing my passport, asking for an exemption from the Rundfunkgebühren and from some phone costs, getting a health pass to prove I really was allowed to work selling food. There was more, too, and all to be done before I left for Cologne - Köln, really! - which was a city where I breathed more deeply and freely than ever in this cold northern staid Berlin. In Köln I would believe that spring had come. It was not a city that would resist me, while Berlin would strike me, slap me even when I was already willing to give up.
I have grown used to it now, and have even learned to use my friendliness as a weapon, but I will always remember it as the city of the evil-mooded. It infects as well, and in the spring, with the hope of Köln, and the planned trip to Scotland, I become more closely myself - more the girl from the Midwest who, years ago, was surprised at how unfriendly the East Coast was. Now I can use a smile as my armor and sword - it says, you cannot hurt me, and it says, my life is a good one and I will smile. A smile irritates more than words, irritates all those people who, for reasons of their own, wish to bring me into their misery. The woman whose son doesn't speak to her anymore, the man whose wife is sleeping with her boss, the man who hates the fact that he is gay - those who turn to making others miserable so they at least will not be alone in this. If I can maintain my pleasantness, they will not have won. And we will all know it, they and I.