Frank came to no solution in this night and not even
the smallest glimmer of hope seemed to shine somewhere.
the smallest glimmer of hope seemed to shine somewhere.
Orwell - 1984
",
said the labourer very quietly to himself.
„AH right, men! That could be done - halfway! Enjoy your
meal! ", called the official of the "Ministry for Production
Supervision" and A-341 looked forward to a hungry bite in
his softened roll.
But while his teeth eagerly crushed the salty piece of
salami, he was hit by an angry look of Mr. Sasse. The
supervisor narrowed his eyes to slits and looked like an
aggressive bulldog.
„A-341! Yes, you! Come to me! Hurry! ", he roared at the top
of his lungs.
This got Frank's adrenalin flowing. He didn't need quarrel at
work anymore.
„Come on, A-341! ", yelled Mr. Sasse, waving the worker
nearer. Kohlhaas followed the order immediately.
„l am just a fool for you, isn't it? ", hissed the man.
„Eh. . . no! Of course not, Sir. . . eh. . . Mr. Sasse! ", stammered
Frank.
J fail to see what you mean. . . ", he added stumbling.
„How I mean this, you idiot? ", screamed the official with a
look which gave the young man the biggest possible
uneasiness. A malicious silence prevailed for several
oppressive seconds. Meanwhile, the eyes of the superior
threateningly became smaller and bushy, black eyebrows
were pushed over them.
A second later, Frank saw a fist with fatty fingers fly towards
his face. It suddenly hurt and his nasal bone reacted with a
cracking on the punch. While some blood threads flowed
down from his nose, A-341 heard a growl: „How I mean that,
you numbskull? "
12
„lf I give the instruction that the „One-World-Song" has to be
sung, you have to sing it too. This was an order! ",
completed Mr. Sasse his powerful argument.
His intonation varied now between satisfaction and
rampantly growing meanness. In the meantime, Kohlhaas
had gone to the ground. This punch had been really hard
and Sasse gave him another kick in the ribs now.
„Do you understand, idiot? You probably think, that you
have a special status here, isn't it? ", he roared.
The other workers googled at him and hid their faces behind
their rolls. Meanwhile, Kohlhaas felt like a kicked dog,
humiliated in front of the rest of his colleagues - what was
very close to reality. Without considering his action, he
jumped up and positioned himself in front of the official of
the "Ministry for Production Supervision".
"You can be glad, that you are my superior, otherwise I
would break you every bone! ", screamed Frank with boiling
fury. Gert Sasse was baffled. A-341 obstinately wiped off
the blood from his lip.
One hour later, the worker still waited in front of the door of
the production complex leader. Sasse was in his office and
Frank heard him swearing and ranting. This was no good
sign.
„A-341, come in! ", resounded the voice of the highest boss
of this work plant over the brightly illuminated corridor. The
young man started moving and took a seat on the chair in
the middle of the office room. A short silence followed, then
it began.
J took a look on your Scanchip, A-341! ", reported Mr.
Reimers, the production complex leader. „ln the ten years of
your activity here, you had come too late three times. Apart
from that, this is not the first time that you make a spectacle
13
of yourself. You are already occured to me, because of
subversive statements at work which can probably also be
confirmed by your colleagues. We have even marked you
with a blue code 67-Beta, if you didn't know it yet, A-341!
We will examine the video tapes of your working days in this
complex in the next days, with our new "Voice-Analysis-
System", and Tim sure that we will find some more
subversive statements.
But what you have done today, is a real scandal!
Threatening an official of the highest authority of production
supervision. Is there just air in your head, boy? If I don't
take drastic measures in a case like this, my superiors will
make me a lot of problems.
I must dismiss you, A-341! Further, I am correctly obligated,
to react on such an unbelievable incident with a message to
the responsible administration. Disappear now from this
production complex, and never come back, A-341! "
Frank Kohlhaas, the just dismissed worker, was struck
dumb with horror. His vocal chords seemed to be rusted, his
throat was tied and his courage was put on ice somewhere.
He went out, just went out, pale as death, with a roaring
head, without answering. Frank had lost his job, his source
for subsistence. And this was no fun in these joyless days.
Like in trance, the young man went into the changing room
of the production complex and absently opened the baggy
sheet door of his spint. . . Dismissal" - this word sounded like
the cut of a razor in the ear of each listener in this time. It
was related to the word . . liquidation", because it was the
destruction of the social existence. Being dismissed meant
to get no more Globes, as the international currency was
called since the year 2018. If Frank would not find a new
employment as soon as possible, he could lose his
apartment, his food and finally also his life. Any social
14
security, warranted by the state, had completely been
abolished since the total collapse of world economy in
winter 2012/13. And it was more than difficult, to find work in
a time, in which the industrial production in old Central and
Western Europe had mostly been outsourced to the Third
World. Therefore, millions of Europeans tried to survive by
doing extremly bad paid jobs in this dark present. They had
nothing to lose, so they were glad about every breadline
wage they could get. Those, who were not able to find a
possibility to earn some money in any way, ended as
beggars and homeless people, hanging around under
bridges or in vacant house ruins.
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. J must find a
new job, otherwise they will close the account on my
Scanchip, because I can't pay the fucking calculations any
longer. "
15
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.
„l 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.
16
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.
„l need none here, and I can't afford a second man, Frank! ",
explained the thick, filthy man and turned away. „l'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.
17
Several hours followed, when Frank was staring at the dark
ceiling, cursing the production complex 42-B with all its
superiors, supervisors and workers.
Then the stench from the hall became noticeable to him
again and the fog of despair in his head swelled so strongly
that the young man thought about killing himself.
He mused about operating the bad thoughts and concerns
under his skullcap with a heavy-calibered shotgun which
would completely spread his brain over the yellowed
wallpaper behind his bedstead. And Frank Kohlhaas still
thought about many other things in this terrible night.
He brooded over his so far senseless life, the isolation, the
monotonousness and the gaping abyss that waited for him
now.
Frank came to no solution in this night and not even
the smallest glimmer of hope seemed to shine somewhere.
Nothing. Outside it was dark. In front of the house, Frank
could recognize a few ripped garbage bags, which already
lay there since several weeks. Then he was finally so tired,
that he fell asleep with his head on the window sill.
Up to the end of the week, the search for a new job was
unsuccessful - as he had already expected it. It seemed
that there was no more work at all, in the periphery of
several kilometers. Furthermore, a inquiry at the local
administration had proven that Frank had meanwhile a
negative entry in his Scanchip register, because of
. . disturbance of peace at the workplace".
. . Perhaps, the idea with the shotgun is not too bad at all! But
before that, I will visit this Sasse! ", grumbled Frank on
Friday, when the short weekend for his former colleagues of
the production complex 42-B began.
On Saturday and Sunday, he invested his last Globes in the
cheap liquor from the kiosk at the corner. Alone in his small,
modestly furnished apartment, in the dark block of flats, in a
18
much darker time. His fate and his pain was not noticed by
anyone else. Just like Frank Kohlhaas had never noticed
the pain of the others who lifed their lives in their
honeycombs, behind the shabby, gray walls of this
plattenbau.
If he would drink himself to death or blew his head away, he
would soon smell like the corridor on his floor, and it would
probably not even been noticed by his neighbors. This
thought was somehow so sick that it elecited Frank a
tormented smile.
Hard alcohol had not the best reputation, but one thing was
clear: It had already given millions of desperate people a
good sleep. No concern could be so big, that it couldn't be
drowned in a wave of the good and, above all, cheap booze
from the nearby kiosk. Frank checked this old truth in a
"self-experiment".
„Beep! Beep! Beep! ", it resounded on Monday at 6. 30
o'clock in the morning from the kitchen, where the drunk
man had forgotten his Scanchip. „Beep! Beep! Beep! "
An electronic woman's voice always repeated. . .
„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "
„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "
„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "
„Hmmm. . . ", hummed Frank, still a bit dazed from the night
before.
19
„Damn! What? ", he muttered and rolled out of his bed which
still smelled of alcohol.
„What the hell? Damn! Shut up! ", he grunted and walked
with a bad headache to the kitchen table.
It lasted a little eternity until Frank had remembered the pin
code and had found his way through the message-menu of
the Scanchip.
"What. . . ? "
"Citation? What? ", whispered citizen 1-564398B-278843. He
had to read it twice, in order to believe it. Did somebody try
to kid him?
„What the fuck is that? ", he could only say.
Official citation:
Citizen 1-564398B-278843,
You are officially cited to an automated trial on
14. 08. 2027 at 8. 00 o'clock.
Accusations:
- Massive disturbation at the workplace
- Theoretical aggravated battery
Appear at the mentioned time in court cell 4/211, at your
local juridical complex. In the case of nonappearance,
you will be punished with the deletion of your Scanchip
or arrest! (*§127b, „Citizen Obligations and theoretical
Sanctions")
Official document code: 257789000-0100567-
2345441 1 1 3-EGN-59900-4/21 1
Culprit number: 319444-556. 77
20
Thank you for your cooperation!
Frank's atomised brain began to hurt and to rotate.
. . Citation? What do you want from me? "
He was totally confused and couldn't remember any crimes
in his past life.
. . Just because I've yelled at this damned Sasse? ", he
thought. . . This can't be true! I finally did not touch him. I
have just lost control for some seconds. I don't understand
this. And what the hell do they mean with . . theoretical
aggravated battery"? "
And there was no doubt. Frank Kohlhaas, the helping out
citizen with the official code 1-564398B-278843, had never
done something bad to another person. Except for the time
in the kindergarten, back then, as he had given this stupid
Kevin a little slap and his parents had been called to the
authorithies. The local education officials had briefly
become anxiously and had explanied that Frank would have
some . . subliminal aggressions" and a . . precarious masculine
behavior". Then they had suggested a therapy with
tranquilizers.
But this was many years ago. Furthermore, the therapy
could be avoided, after the child had repetend its "sins" in
front of a committee of psychologists and social
pedagogues, and his parents had insured, that they would
immediately report Frank's next "crimes", if he would
become noticeable again in this context.
But he never became noticeable again. He always stuck to
the rules until this day; in the kindergarten, the elementary
school and everywhere else. Since his fifth year of life, he
had always been a good boy. No, he was not noticeable at
all. And of course he was no human being with . . subliminal
aggressions". Sometimes in his thoughts or dreams, he beat
up a superior or an administrative coworker, but this was a
21
secret and Frank had never talked about his thought crimes.
He was just "normal", as he meant.
Apart from this, it was also the first time that the otherwise
perfectly inconspicuous plattenbau-inhabitant Frank
Kohlhaas had come in contact with an . . automated trial". The
citizen had already heard about this, once in the news,
since it had been introduced by the World Government
three years ago. But the young man could not imagine, what
this strange process really was. But why should a decent
person like Frank think about such things? He had never
become culpable and had nothing to do with criminality.
Therefore, the accused had not the foggiest notion, what
waited for him now and so he wasn't too much concerned
about this citation.
It was probably nothing but a pure formality, circumstances,
which could be clarified. Frank had not hurt anybody and
therefore he also could not be condemned. The young man
had already lost his job, because of the so called
"disturbation of peace at the workplace". There was no
reason to be worried, thought Kohlhaas.
Now the unemployed man absently hit the button . . Voice
Presentation" so that the message was slowly read out by a
computer-animated woman's voice. This was also a
novelty. The administration had introduced the "Voice
Presentation" some years ago, because more and more
citizens of Berlin were illiterate, above all, the younger
generation. So an important official message had always to
be available in read out form.
The rest of this day wasn't very spectacular and the
"automated trail" was already tomorrow. . . Then I will have a
reason to rise", said Frank to himself and grinned cynically.
Shortly afterwards, Kohlhaas tried to call his father to ask
him for some money, but he didn't reach anybody during
22
the whole day. Nevertheless, there was some more liquor in
the kitchen. Frank decided to get royally drunk once again,
and fell asleep at midnight. He almost forgot to set his
alarm-clock. . .
23
Automated Trial
Although it was August, this morning was very cold and
dark. Frank's neck hurt and he had another headache from
last night's drunkenness. The local juridical complex was
over one hour foot march distant from his apartment block,
but the citizen thought, that it could be a good idea to go
and get some, more or less, fresh air. In addition, he could
fight the aftereffects of his hangover.
He hastily gulped down some toast, swallowed the
dissolvable coffee and examined the label on the plastic can
of the coffee powder.
„Globe Food" was written on it and Frank could see a world
ball. Above the globe was a pyramid with an eye on its top.
At the bottom of the picture was the slogan: „Food for the
people! "
„Amusing symbol! ", murmured Frank into his three-day
beard.
He had never noticed this logo before, although he only
bought his food in the cheap „Globe Food" supermarkets,
which dominated Berlin. Then the thought left his head
again, as fast as it had come.
The unusual cold weather let Frank shiver. A draft of fresh
air blew through the dark stairway and temporary flushed
away even the smell of bad eggs. In front of him, a neighbor
walked down to the exit and Frank considered if he had
seen the face of this man ever before.
The man said something sounding like "Hello! ", but
Kohlhaas wasn't sure. The accused slowly walked forward
and was still dizzy. He briefly looked at the playground in
the yard and beheld some children who were screaming
24
with shrill voices in an incomprehensible language. Was it
Turkish? Or Arabic?
When the clock indicated 7. 43, he could already recognize
the outlines of the juridical complex from the distance. It was
a large red building with hundreds of windows and over 30
floors. Dozens of court cells were in front of it, one of them
was waiting for him. The chambers, in which people could
get their "automated trial", were made of a gray metal and
about four meters wide, as Frank guessed from his distant
view.
Three other citizens already stood before them, between
them were some police officers. Slowly he became nervous.
Perhaps this hearing was nevertheless more unpleasantly,
than he had imagined at first.
Now it was necessary to pass an electrical gate, which was
protected by a doorman in a small, brown house. The
official gave Frank a sign to come nearer.
„Come here! ", he called.
The young man ran forward and positioned himself in front
of the entrance of the guardroom.
„Scanchip! ", said the doorman, holding a laser scanner in
his hand. Wordlessly he pulled the Scanchip out of Frank's
hand, without looking at him, and said after a short „beep" of
his code reader: „Court cell 4/211! Hurry up! It is nearly 8. 00
o'clock! If you come too late, it will be just more expensive
for you! "
Frank's heart started to pound faster. Fearfully, he started
to search the court cells, in order to find his number. The
other accused examined him with some brief looks.
„Row 4! Shit! I must hurry up. . . 211. . . ", lamented Frank,
becoming more and more nervous. Meanwhile, only two
minutes remained, till his hearing would start. He began to
25
run and with a racing heart and an increasing headache, he
correctly reached his court cell in time.
Gasping for breath, he was welcomed by an electronic
woman's voice: . . Welcome citizen 1-564398B-278843, to
your automated trail! Please enter your culprit number on
the display and press OK! "
Frank pulled the Scanchip out of his trouser pocket, opened
the message menu, and tried to enter his culprit number. A
rarely known panic attacked him now. He looked around,
gasping for breath again.
said the labourer very quietly to himself.
„AH right, men! That could be done - halfway! Enjoy your
meal! ", called the official of the "Ministry for Production
Supervision" and A-341 looked forward to a hungry bite in
his softened roll.
But while his teeth eagerly crushed the salty piece of
salami, he was hit by an angry look of Mr. Sasse. The
supervisor narrowed his eyes to slits and looked like an
aggressive bulldog.
„A-341! Yes, you! Come to me! Hurry! ", he roared at the top
of his lungs.
This got Frank's adrenalin flowing. He didn't need quarrel at
work anymore.
„Come on, A-341! ", yelled Mr. Sasse, waving the worker
nearer. Kohlhaas followed the order immediately.
„l am just a fool for you, isn't it? ", hissed the man.
„Eh. . . no! Of course not, Sir. . . eh. . . Mr. Sasse! ", stammered
Frank.
J fail to see what you mean. . . ", he added stumbling.
„How I mean this, you idiot? ", screamed the official with a
look which gave the young man the biggest possible
uneasiness. A malicious silence prevailed for several
oppressive seconds. Meanwhile, the eyes of the superior
threateningly became smaller and bushy, black eyebrows
were pushed over them.
A second later, Frank saw a fist with fatty fingers fly towards
his face. It suddenly hurt and his nasal bone reacted with a
cracking on the punch. While some blood threads flowed
down from his nose, A-341 heard a growl: „How I mean that,
you numbskull? "
12
„lf I give the instruction that the „One-World-Song" has to be
sung, you have to sing it too. This was an order! ",
completed Mr. Sasse his powerful argument.
His intonation varied now between satisfaction and
rampantly growing meanness. In the meantime, Kohlhaas
had gone to the ground. This punch had been really hard
and Sasse gave him another kick in the ribs now.
„Do you understand, idiot? You probably think, that you
have a special status here, isn't it? ", he roared.
The other workers googled at him and hid their faces behind
their rolls. Meanwhile, Kohlhaas felt like a kicked dog,
humiliated in front of the rest of his colleagues - what was
very close to reality. Without considering his action, he
jumped up and positioned himself in front of the official of
the "Ministry for Production Supervision".
"You can be glad, that you are my superior, otherwise I
would break you every bone! ", screamed Frank with boiling
fury. Gert Sasse was baffled. A-341 obstinately wiped off
the blood from his lip.
One hour later, the worker still waited in front of the door of
the production complex leader. Sasse was in his office and
Frank heard him swearing and ranting. This was no good
sign.
„A-341, come in! ", resounded the voice of the highest boss
of this work plant over the brightly illuminated corridor. The
young man started moving and took a seat on the chair in
the middle of the office room. A short silence followed, then
it began.
J took a look on your Scanchip, A-341! ", reported Mr.
Reimers, the production complex leader. „ln the ten years of
your activity here, you had come too late three times. Apart
from that, this is not the first time that you make a spectacle
13
of yourself. You are already occured to me, because of
subversive statements at work which can probably also be
confirmed by your colleagues. We have even marked you
with a blue code 67-Beta, if you didn't know it yet, A-341!
We will examine the video tapes of your working days in this
complex in the next days, with our new "Voice-Analysis-
System", and Tim sure that we will find some more
subversive statements.
But what you have done today, is a real scandal!
Threatening an official of the highest authority of production
supervision. Is there just air in your head, boy? If I don't
take drastic measures in a case like this, my superiors will
make me a lot of problems.
I must dismiss you, A-341! Further, I am correctly obligated,
to react on such an unbelievable incident with a message to
the responsible administration. Disappear now from this
production complex, and never come back, A-341! "
Frank Kohlhaas, the just dismissed worker, was struck
dumb with horror. His vocal chords seemed to be rusted, his
throat was tied and his courage was put on ice somewhere.
He went out, just went out, pale as death, with a roaring
head, without answering. Frank had lost his job, his source
for subsistence. And this was no fun in these joyless days.
Like in trance, the young man went into the changing room
of the production complex and absently opened the baggy
sheet door of his spint. . . Dismissal" - this word sounded like
the cut of a razor in the ear of each listener in this time. It
was related to the word . . liquidation", because it was the
destruction of the social existence. Being dismissed meant
to get no more Globes, as the international currency was
called since the year 2018. If Frank would not find a new
employment as soon as possible, he could lose his
apartment, his food and finally also his life. Any social
14
security, warranted by the state, had completely been
abolished since the total collapse of world economy in
winter 2012/13. And it was more than difficult, to find work in
a time, in which the industrial production in old Central and
Western Europe had mostly been outsourced to the Third
World. Therefore, millions of Europeans tried to survive by
doing extremly bad paid jobs in this dark present. They had
nothing to lose, so they were glad about every breadline
wage they could get. Those, who were not able to find a
possibility to earn some money in any way, ended as
beggars and homeless people, hanging around under
bridges or in vacant house ruins.
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. J must find a
new job, otherwise they will close the account on my
Scanchip, because I can't pay the fucking calculations any
longer. "
15
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.
„l 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.
16
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.
„l need none here, and I can't afford a second man, Frank! ",
explained the thick, filthy man and turned away. „l'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.
17
Several hours followed, when Frank was staring at the dark
ceiling, cursing the production complex 42-B with all its
superiors, supervisors and workers.
Then the stench from the hall became noticeable to him
again and the fog of despair in his head swelled so strongly
that the young man thought about killing himself.
He mused about operating the bad thoughts and concerns
under his skullcap with a heavy-calibered shotgun which
would completely spread his brain over the yellowed
wallpaper behind his bedstead. And Frank Kohlhaas still
thought about many other things in this terrible night.
He brooded over his so far senseless life, the isolation, the
monotonousness and the gaping abyss that waited for him
now.
Frank came to no solution in this night and not even
the smallest glimmer of hope seemed to shine somewhere.
Nothing. Outside it was dark. In front of the house, Frank
could recognize a few ripped garbage bags, which already
lay there since several weeks. Then he was finally so tired,
that he fell asleep with his head on the window sill.
Up to the end of the week, the search for a new job was
unsuccessful - as he had already expected it. It seemed
that there was no more work at all, in the periphery of
several kilometers. Furthermore, a inquiry at the local
administration had proven that Frank had meanwhile a
negative entry in his Scanchip register, because of
. . disturbance of peace at the workplace".
. . Perhaps, the idea with the shotgun is not too bad at all! But
before that, I will visit this Sasse! ", grumbled Frank on
Friday, when the short weekend for his former colleagues of
the production complex 42-B began.
On Saturday and Sunday, he invested his last Globes in the
cheap liquor from the kiosk at the corner. Alone in his small,
modestly furnished apartment, in the dark block of flats, in a
18
much darker time. His fate and his pain was not noticed by
anyone else. Just like Frank Kohlhaas had never noticed
the pain of the others who lifed their lives in their
honeycombs, behind the shabby, gray walls of this
plattenbau.
If he would drink himself to death or blew his head away, he
would soon smell like the corridor on his floor, and it would
probably not even been noticed by his neighbors. This
thought was somehow so sick that it elecited Frank a
tormented smile.
Hard alcohol had not the best reputation, but one thing was
clear: It had already given millions of desperate people a
good sleep. No concern could be so big, that it couldn't be
drowned in a wave of the good and, above all, cheap booze
from the nearby kiosk. Frank checked this old truth in a
"self-experiment".
„Beep! Beep! Beep! ", it resounded on Monday at 6. 30
o'clock in the morning from the kitchen, where the drunk
man had forgotten his Scanchip. „Beep! Beep! Beep! "
An electronic woman's voice always repeated. . .
„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "
„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "
„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "
„Hmmm. . . ", hummed Frank, still a bit dazed from the night
before.
19
„Damn! What? ", he muttered and rolled out of his bed which
still smelled of alcohol.
„What the hell? Damn! Shut up! ", he grunted and walked
with a bad headache to the kitchen table.
It lasted a little eternity until Frank had remembered the pin
code and had found his way through the message-menu of
the Scanchip.
"What. . . ? "
"Citation? What? ", whispered citizen 1-564398B-278843. He
had to read it twice, in order to believe it. Did somebody try
to kid him?
„What the fuck is that? ", he could only say.
Official citation:
Citizen 1-564398B-278843,
You are officially cited to an automated trial on
14. 08. 2027 at 8. 00 o'clock.
Accusations:
- Massive disturbation at the workplace
- Theoretical aggravated battery
Appear at the mentioned time in court cell 4/211, at your
local juridical complex. In the case of nonappearance,
you will be punished with the deletion of your Scanchip
or arrest! (*§127b, „Citizen Obligations and theoretical
Sanctions")
Official document code: 257789000-0100567-
2345441 1 1 3-EGN-59900-4/21 1
Culprit number: 319444-556. 77
20
Thank you for your cooperation!
Frank's atomised brain began to hurt and to rotate.
. . Citation? What do you want from me? "
He was totally confused and couldn't remember any crimes
in his past life.
. . Just because I've yelled at this damned Sasse? ", he
thought. . . This can't be true! I finally did not touch him. I
have just lost control for some seconds. I don't understand
this. And what the hell do they mean with . . theoretical
aggravated battery"? "
And there was no doubt. Frank Kohlhaas, the helping out
citizen with the official code 1-564398B-278843, had never
done something bad to another person. Except for the time
in the kindergarten, back then, as he had given this stupid
Kevin a little slap and his parents had been called to the
authorithies. The local education officials had briefly
become anxiously and had explanied that Frank would have
some . . subliminal aggressions" and a . . precarious masculine
behavior". Then they had suggested a therapy with
tranquilizers.
But this was many years ago. Furthermore, the therapy
could be avoided, after the child had repetend its "sins" in
front of a committee of psychologists and social
pedagogues, and his parents had insured, that they would
immediately report Frank's next "crimes", if he would
become noticeable again in this context.
But he never became noticeable again. He always stuck to
the rules until this day; in the kindergarten, the elementary
school and everywhere else. Since his fifth year of life, he
had always been a good boy. No, he was not noticeable at
all. And of course he was no human being with . . subliminal
aggressions". Sometimes in his thoughts or dreams, he beat
up a superior or an administrative coworker, but this was a
21
secret and Frank had never talked about his thought crimes.
He was just "normal", as he meant.
Apart from this, it was also the first time that the otherwise
perfectly inconspicuous plattenbau-inhabitant Frank
Kohlhaas had come in contact with an . . automated trial". The
citizen had already heard about this, once in the news,
since it had been introduced by the World Government
three years ago. But the young man could not imagine, what
this strange process really was. But why should a decent
person like Frank think about such things? He had never
become culpable and had nothing to do with criminality.
Therefore, the accused had not the foggiest notion, what
waited for him now and so he wasn't too much concerned
about this citation.
It was probably nothing but a pure formality, circumstances,
which could be clarified. Frank had not hurt anybody and
therefore he also could not be condemned. The young man
had already lost his job, because of the so called
"disturbation of peace at the workplace". There was no
reason to be worried, thought Kohlhaas.
Now the unemployed man absently hit the button . . Voice
Presentation" so that the message was slowly read out by a
computer-animated woman's voice. This was also a
novelty. The administration had introduced the "Voice
Presentation" some years ago, because more and more
citizens of Berlin were illiterate, above all, the younger
generation. So an important official message had always to
be available in read out form.
The rest of this day wasn't very spectacular and the
"automated trail" was already tomorrow. . . Then I will have a
reason to rise", said Frank to himself and grinned cynically.
Shortly afterwards, Kohlhaas tried to call his father to ask
him for some money, but he didn't reach anybody during
22
the whole day. Nevertheless, there was some more liquor in
the kitchen. Frank decided to get royally drunk once again,
and fell asleep at midnight. He almost forgot to set his
alarm-clock. . .
23
Automated Trial
Although it was August, this morning was very cold and
dark. Frank's neck hurt and he had another headache from
last night's drunkenness. The local juridical complex was
over one hour foot march distant from his apartment block,
but the citizen thought, that it could be a good idea to go
and get some, more or less, fresh air. In addition, he could
fight the aftereffects of his hangover.
He hastily gulped down some toast, swallowed the
dissolvable coffee and examined the label on the plastic can
of the coffee powder.
„Globe Food" was written on it and Frank could see a world
ball. Above the globe was a pyramid with an eye on its top.
At the bottom of the picture was the slogan: „Food for the
people! "
„Amusing symbol! ", murmured Frank into his three-day
beard.
He had never noticed this logo before, although he only
bought his food in the cheap „Globe Food" supermarkets,
which dominated Berlin. Then the thought left his head
again, as fast as it had come.
The unusual cold weather let Frank shiver. A draft of fresh
air blew through the dark stairway and temporary flushed
away even the smell of bad eggs. In front of him, a neighbor
walked down to the exit and Frank considered if he had
seen the face of this man ever before.
The man said something sounding like "Hello! ", but
Kohlhaas wasn't sure. The accused slowly walked forward
and was still dizzy. He briefly looked at the playground in
the yard and beheld some children who were screaming
24
with shrill voices in an incomprehensible language. Was it
Turkish? Or Arabic?
When the clock indicated 7. 43, he could already recognize
the outlines of the juridical complex from the distance. It was
a large red building with hundreds of windows and over 30
floors. Dozens of court cells were in front of it, one of them
was waiting for him. The chambers, in which people could
get their "automated trial", were made of a gray metal and
about four meters wide, as Frank guessed from his distant
view.
Three other citizens already stood before them, between
them were some police officers. Slowly he became nervous.
Perhaps this hearing was nevertheless more unpleasantly,
than he had imagined at first.
Now it was necessary to pass an electrical gate, which was
protected by a doorman in a small, brown house. The
official gave Frank a sign to come nearer.
„Come here! ", he called.
The young man ran forward and positioned himself in front
of the entrance of the guardroom.
„Scanchip! ", said the doorman, holding a laser scanner in
his hand. Wordlessly he pulled the Scanchip out of Frank's
hand, without looking at him, and said after a short „beep" of
his code reader: „Court cell 4/211! Hurry up! It is nearly 8. 00
o'clock! If you come too late, it will be just more expensive
for you! "
Frank's heart started to pound faster. Fearfully, he started
to search the court cells, in order to find his number. The
other accused examined him with some brief looks.
„Row 4! Shit! I must hurry up. . . 211. . . ", lamented Frank,
becoming more and more nervous. Meanwhile, only two
minutes remained, till his hearing would start. He began to
25
run and with a racing heart and an increasing headache, he
correctly reached his court cell in time.
Gasping for breath, he was welcomed by an electronic
woman's voice: . . Welcome citizen 1-564398B-278843, to
your automated trail! Please enter your culprit number on
the display and press OK! "
Frank pulled the Scanchip out of his trouser pocket, opened
the message menu, and tried to enter his culprit number. A
rarely known panic attacked him now. He looked around,
gasping for breath again.
