Martin
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You have a wonderful, impish smile that comes with the greatest sparkle in your eyes. I love it. Plus, I dig your accent! I am a Berliner, too, and it's sound is music to my ears..."
How did he react?
In a way that I will never forget. He said: "Ick krieje direkt ne Jänsehaut, kiek ma!" ("I am getting goosebumps, check it out!"), rolled up his sleeve and showed me his arm. His eyes got watery. He gave me five thank yous, at least. Turning to his friend Fatma he said: "Dit jibt ma Kraft! Echt jetze! Dit jibt ma Kraft, weitazumachn!" ("This helps me sustain! Seriously! This helps me go on!").
How did I feel?/What is the story?
How did I feel?! Let me ask you this: How would you feel if you just made a homeless alcoholic shed tears of joy with nothing but a few words?
Anyway let's start at the beginning.
I was waiting for the train at U Bahnhof (=metro station) Gneisenaustraße, my mind zooming in on my to do list, wondering what I was going to buy at the store in a second and how I was going to squeeze in my homework tonight. My heart was still open and smiling about having met the homecoming queen earlier. That's when, all of a sudden, I heard someone say "Dit riecht hier so nach Essen, Mensch, wat isn ditte?" ("How come it smells of food over here?").
Without turning around I responded: "There is a kebab place upstairs, must be their fragrance..."
"Mensch, richtije, da is jan Dönermann! Dit isset! Haick jani dran jedacht. Ick hab mir schon jefracht- wirste jetz irre oda wat, weil ick riech dit seit zwanzich Minutn! Ey, echt jut der Jeruch..." ("Oh right, there is a kebab place there! It's kept me wondering for twenty minutes. Smells so good...")
I turned my head and found myself looking at a man, a cigarette in one of his hands, a bottle of beer in the other.
"Yeah, food man. Great stuff. Better then cigarettes..."
"Haste recht. Is ne Scheißanjewohnheit. Nee, is keene Anjewohnheit, is ne Sucht." ("You're right. It's the worst habit. Actually it's not a habit, it's an addiction.")
"I hear you... I smoke, too."
"Wussteste, dis is gleij an zweeter Stelle aufer Liste von Häufigkeit der Süchte! Erst Alkohol, dann Kippen, dann.. wees nich... Pillen gloob ick, dann Heroin." ("Did you know it comes second in the list of the most widespread additions? First booze, then nicotine, then, I think, pills, then heroine.")
"Uh-huh! That's interesting!"
I smiled at him. In return the corners of his mouth lifted, he started grinning- and his face suddenly beamed with life. His eyes radiating, wrinkles everywhere...
"What's your name?"
"Martin."
"Hi Martin, I am Rosa."
He took another sip from his bottle. His fingers around the glass were swollen and red, the lines around his fingernails black. There was no doubt he was homeless. And an alcoholic: His friend was just coming back from the kiosk with a bottle of vodka for him. But his inside was not out there, somewhere. Instead he was here, right now. Present. I was sure what I was about to tell him would reach him- or at least I had high hopes.
"So Martin, I have a project."
"Echt ja? Weeste, dit is ma schomma passiert, zweema soja- Beede Male wans Sozialpädogoginnen, Meedels, alle beede, ham mich dann uffjenomm in ihrm Projekt, damals noch mit de Sucht unso, is ja jetz zum Glück nich, mehr, jetzt ist ja nur noch dit hier (mit Blick auf die Zigarette und die Bierflasche), obwohl dit ja eijentlich viel schlimma is.-- Na jenfalls bin ick jetz ma jespannt uff dein Projekt wa!" ("Really? Know what, that's happened to me before, twice actually, both times it was a social pedagogue getting/(( housing for me, back when it was really bad with the drugs.. Thank god that's over now, all that's left is this (he looked at the bottle and the cigarette) but actually that is worse than anything... So now I am dying to hear which project you got going on there!"
I expained the project to him, then said:
"You have a wonderful, impish smile that comes with the greatest sparkle in your eyes. I love it. Plus, I dig your accent! I am a Berliner, too, and it's sound is music to my ears..."
"Ick krieje direkt ne Jänsehaut, kiek ma!" ("I am getting goosebumps, check it out!"). He rolled up his sleeve and showed me his arm. His eyes got watery. He said thank you five times, at least. Turning to his friend Fatma he said:
"Dit jibt ma Kraft! Echt jetze! Dit jibt ma Kraft, weitazumachn!" ("This helps me sustain! Seriously! This helps me go on!").
The fact that I brought this person to tears and that what I told him was going to make him "sustain" for me was --- honestly, I am lacking words here. It does not happen often. But right now I don't know what to say.
While Martin was busy brushing his tears away his friend Fatma, who had brought him the Vodka, said: "This is so beautiful. Martin I can see them!"
"See who?"
"Your tears!", she grinned.
"Ick hab se doch schon wegjewischt, na Mensch..." ("I dashed them away, oh man...")
Fatma turned to me. "He is a bit overwhelmed now. You know we don't get that very often, that some actually treats us as humans."
I nodded.
"Hey Martin, one question! Can I take a picture of you?"
He looked like he was quite irritated that I had even asked.
"Die einzije Frage: Mit Mütze oda ohne?" ("The only question: With hat or without?")
"Whichever makes you feel most comfortable"
"Naja.. ohne is... aber mit... Ach ejal, icke bin wie ick bin!" ("Huh... Without.... but with... Aw, whatever, I am who I am!")
"Exactly! I love that attitude."
While he posed he said:
"Ey ick kann überhopt nich mehr uffhörn zu grinsen, wa? Dit baut ma so uff!!" ("Dude I can't stop smiling! This seriously builds me up!"
That's when my train came. I took a few steps towards him and opened my arms.
"I wish you all the best in the whole world, stay safe and most of all keep that smile and that dialect."
"Nee ick bin doch so dreckich..." ("No, I am so full of dirt...")
"I don't care."
We hugged.
As soon as I sat down in the train I felt a frog creeping up my throat. A few stops later I cried. Not because I was sad, not because I was happy-
It was all because I was so moved.