Batsceba Hardy - The-Apartment

height, five feet nine with no heels. Where could I embrace my instinct of
snooping, if not in the homeland of the Stasi? I believe there is no need to
explain what the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit is, or who captain Gerd
Wiesler of Das Leben der Anderen is.
Everybody talks about Berlin, even too much. Everybody eventually comes
here. Only few learn German. And even fewer stay. It’s a gateway city. For me,
it was my destination.
ey also got here by chance. Sebastian arrived first. He walked into my
Café on a windy day, letting in a cold gush of air. He sat on a worn-out
armchair in the corner of the back room, beside the old jukebox. He put his
leather bag on the ground, a cheap one of unknown color somewhere between
red wine and dark brown. Horrible. He glanced around just like a real estate
salesman hunting for clients. Over the years I’ve learned how to spot them at
first sight. Here in Berlin, where the whole city is for sale, it’s one of the most
common jobs. ey say investors just point their finger at the object on paper
and buy it, without even looking. Italians, Greeks, and Japanese, of course.
ey buy what the Danish bought right after the Wall came down and are
now reselling. To make a long story short, that’s how capitalism works. All I
know is that if I’m ever unable to continue paying the rent for my Café, I will
ask my father to invest in Berlin. You bet!
As for Sebastian, though I realized he was a real estate agent, I missed the
fact that he was not German. Well, he didn’t have the face typical of a 0-
year-old Italian man who is trying to survive in the most homelike city of
Europe: no big nose and no messy hair. Most of all he had no fat around his
waist, on the contrary his bones stuck out of his clothes. His long grayish hair,
up in a small ponytail, and his weird aspect carried out the bluff.
I addressed him with a joke: – Too much wind to enjoy the sun. – He
simply smiled back.
– An espresso – he ordered, and that’s how I realized he was Italian.
I am the one who called him Sebastian, without the “o” at the end.
– You should make your own business cards like that – I suggested to him
and we immediately became friends. More than friends, mates I would say.
He lent me the keys of the most beautiful apartments on sale and in return I
provided him a daily supply of food.
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