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probably still got a fire going, what’s she cooking today anyway? She sniffed. Green herring.
    Incomprehensible verses keep running through his head in a circle. When you cook soup, Fraulein Stein, I’ll get a spoon, Fraulein Stein. If you cook noodles, Fraulein Stein, give me some noodles, Fraulein Stein. Tumbling down, tumbling up. He groaned aloud: “Maybe you don’t like me?” “Why not, come on, I’m a lovin’ gal, I am.” He fell back into bed, grunted and moaned. She rubbed her neck. “I have to laugh myself sick. Just keep quiet there. You don’t bother me.” She laughed, raised her fat arms, stuck her stockinged feet out from under the cover. “I can’t help it.”
    Lets get out of this. Air. Still raining. What’s the matter? I’ll have to get myself another gal. First let’s get some sleep, Franz, what’se matter with you, anyway?
    Sexual potency depends upon the concentered action of 1. the internal secretory system, 2. the nervous system, and 3. the sexual apparatus. The glands participating in this potency are: the pituitary gland, the thyroid gland, the suprarenal gland, the prostate gland, the seminal vesicle, and the epididymis. In this system the spermatic gland preponderates. Through the matter prepared by it, the entire sexual apparatus is charged from the cerebral cortex to the genitals. The erotic impression releases the erotic tension of the cerebral cortex, the current flows as an erotic stimulus from the cerebral cortex to the switch center in the interbrain. The stimulus then rolls down the spine. Not unimpeded, however, for, before leaving the brain, it has to pass the brakes of the inhibitions, those predominantly psychic inhibitions which playa large role in the form of moral scruples, lack of self-confidence, fear of humiliation, fear of infection and impregnation, and things of this order.
    In the evening there he is, shambling down Elsasser Strasse. Don’t be afraid, m’boy, don’t pretend you’re tired. “How much for the pleasure, kid?” The black gal is fine, got hips, a toothsome piece. When a gal’s got a man, that she loves, ain’t it gran’? “My you’re a gay one, sweetie. Did you just come into a fortune?” “And how! You’ll get some change out of it.” “Why not.” But, nevertheless, he is afraid.
    And afterwards in the room, flowers behind the curtain, a clean little room, a nice little room, Why, the girl even has a phonograph, she sings for him, artificial silk stockings, rayon, no blouse, pitch-black eyes: ‘Tm a cabaret singer, I am. You know where? Anywhere I like. Just now I got no engagement, you know. I go into nice-looking joints and I ask. Then I do my stunt. It’s a wow. Hey, quit tickling.” “Aw, come on.” “Nope, hands off, that knocks hell out of my business. My act-be nice now, sweetie-you see, I hold an auction in the place, no plate collection either; whoever gives me something, can kiss me. Crazy, ain’t it! In a public place, too. Nobody under fifty pfennigs. Say, I get everything. Here on my shoulder. There, go ahead, it’s all right.” She puts on a man’s top hat, croaks into his face, shakes her hips, her arms akimbo: “Theodore, what did you mean last night, when you smiled at me so gay and bright? Theodore, what was it you hoped to gain, when you stood me to pig’s knuckles and fine champagne?”
    While sitting on his lap, she pulls a cigarette out of his waistcoat and sticks it into her mouth; she looks yearningly into his eyes, tenderly rubs her ear on his and chirps: “Do you know what homesickness is? When your heart is torn by homesickness? Everything seems so cold and dreary.” She hums a tune, stretches herself on the sofa. She puffs, strokes his hair, trills, laughs.
    Sweat on his brow. Again that fear. And suddenly his head slithers off. Boom, the bell rings, get up, five-thirty, six o’clock, cells opened, boom, boom, brush your coat quickly, suppose the old man makes inspection, no, not today.