Chapter 3 No.3

On the next day, Frank was not awaked by the shrill sound of his alarm, after an sorrowful and restless night, but by the disgusting stench which came from the stairway. The smell had not been liquidated by anyone – against the spirit of the age.

Only in the early morning hours, he had been able to sleep for a while, because of his constant brooding and the unpleasant thoughts that had tortured him during the night.

As first thought of the new grey day, the face of Mr. Sasse appeared in his head and the face of citizen 1-564398B-278843 changed to a hateful grimace, when he mused about killing the official with an iron rod.

?This damn hybrid! If my life goes down the drain, because of that guy, then I will smash the skull of this bastard before I go to hell!", hissed Frank, erupting in anger.

He finally crept out of his bed and stared down at the dirty street in front of his apartement block.

?Damn! What shall I do now?", he thought. ?I must find a new job, otherwise they will close the account on my Scanchip, because I can`t pay the fucking calculations any longer."

After a further hour of useless musing, he left his dwelling, tried not to inhale too deeply on the corridor, and walked the dark stairs down to the ground floor.

The elevator was defective since months and nobody seemed to waste a thought about repairing it. The only one, Frank could imagine as a potential employer in this hardship, was Stefan Meise, the junkdealer, an old schoolmate.

Meise`s scrapyard was about half an hour foot march distant from Frank`s apartment block. He hit the road, walked down the ugly street, which was covered with garbage, and finally reached his goal – a place full of rusty cars and all kinds of metal debris.

Nevertheless, Stefan Meise was not difficult to find between the mountains of scrap iron. He was very tall, thick, bearded and looked hardly differed from what he collected and sold.

?Hello Stefan! How are you?", welcomed him Frank quietly, trying to smile.

?Oh, Frank Kohlhaas! What`s up, man?", answered the thick junkdealer. "You haven`t been here for ages!"

"I just thought, I could visit you. Does the scrap metal trade still run, Stefan?", asked Frank. ?You have here... eh... a lot of rusty stuff...Where do you find so much junk?"

?Ha! I collect, what I can find. As all junkdealers do. Why do you ask me this, Frank? Can I help you?", returned Meise.

?I have lost my job yesterday", told Frank, while the fat man looked at him quizzically. Then, Meise stroke with his oily, broad fingers over his dirty black overall.

?That`s a disaster, Frank! And now?", asked Stefan and shook his head.

?Now, I`m looking for something new. Some kind of temporary job, you know? Perhaps, you still need another helping hand?", murmured the young man.

For half a minute, Meise just googled at the unemployed man with his yellowish, bulging eyes. Then he looked around and tried to give his unpleasant answer as carefully as possible.

?Working for me?", he inquired. ?Thus, Frank, the situation is...eh...the times are bad. We all know this, my friend. I almost run everything alone here and only Ralf helps me from time to time. This is actually enough. I don`t need a second man, sorry!"

Frank Kohlhaas had never been a good actor and who saw him now, could feel his disappointment.

?And only for two months?", he asked.

?I need none here, and I can`t afford a second man, Frank!", explained the thick, filthy man and turned away. ?I'm sorry, but I have to do some work now. No offense, but there is no chance for you to find work here."

Back home, Frank hissed one of his worst curses and kicked against the kitchen table. He desperately scanned his brain for other possibilities of employment and checked all production complexes around Berlin in his mind. But the problem was, that his boss had given him a negative entry in his Scanchip register after the conflict with Mr. Sasse, what made it difficult to get a job in another steel plant.

He still had 246 Globes on his electronic account for this month. More than 400 Globes he had to pay only for his apartment in this rotted estate of prefabricated houses. Time pressed now, with each day a little bit more, and the dark shadow of despair grew with the passing hours. It occupied Frank`s mind like a malicious ulcer.

After the young man had watched an extremely stupid sitcom, he switched off the television and tried to sleep. But it was only 23, 00 o'clock and regrettably the exhaustion had not achieved the necessary level yet, to turn off Frank`s brain and give him some peace of mind.

Several hours followed, when Frank was staring at the dark ceiling, cursing the production complex 42-B with all its superiors, supervisors and workers.