Nolegsman

I was looking for the Stadtmuseum when I found him; he was sitting on his wheelchair in front of the entrance to a local restaurant where I was headed to ask for directions. A blob of a man, seemingly with no legs whatsoever, which made him look like one of those balance toys for kids – a clown sitting on a ball which you could push around as much as you like and it would never tip over. His lower bottom was so perfectly round, trousers-sleeves so empty, that I had to wonder whether he was, in fact, what you would call a half of a man.

Granted, this depiction is cruel, but politically correcting it will no doubt damage its accuracy and I should avoid that at all costs, especially when trying to tell a true story. He was well dressed: a warm winter coat and an elegant shirt and he was well shaved too; plus, on his winter coat there was this pin which could have been from WWI or WWII, except he wasn’t old enough to fight in neither; his left hand was kind of stretched out and the palm slightly curved, where one could drop a coin. So I couldn’t really make up my mind whether he was lurking for ingoing-outgoing restaurant clients who might spare him some change or a doggy-bag, or whether he was in fact one of those clients himself, who had just finished a gourmet meal, waiting outside of the restaurant for his long-legged wife, who was fixing her face in the toilettes; or perhaps he was just a man sitting there who happened to have no legs, whereas had he had them, I probably wouldn’t have made a point noticing him.

I had already stalled too long in front of him and stared too evidently at his crotch to simply continue along into the restaurant, so without losing my manners I immediately asked him if he could direct me to the much-desired Stadtmuseum. Why not? Surely they have ramps for disabled people there, so he must have visited it himself. For a while he didn’t say a word, long enough for me to feel how my bent back was becoming a burden on the muscles, and then he said: ”ich hätt’ gern deine Beine”.
This was a strange sentence. What struck me immediately, as I am not a native German, was the combination between the first half of the sentence, which was seemingly polite ”ich hätte gern”, meaning ”I would like to have”, and the second half, which was not impolite by itself, but was constructed in the second person ”deine” – your, instead of the polite German third person – ”Ihre”. Other than that, the sentence had an odd ring to it – ”deine Beine” – an awful rhyme which got me thinking: does he mean to say ”I wish I had your legs” – or any legs for that matter – or does he actually mean that he would like to have the pair which are attached to my waist, as one could say: ”I would like to have your trousers”.
That’s ridiculous! Even if such medical procedure existed and I had consented – it is impossible to imagine his penguin shaped torso balancing on my chicken sticks. Impossible as it was, the man was now grabbing my right leg with a strong grip of his stretched arm, his fingers closing tight on my thigh, so if ever the thought that he might be interested in my trousers crossed my mind, it was now crystal clear: it was my legs he was after.

Who could have imagined that in the far corner of Fischer Strasse in the middle of Berlin such a horror-film scene was reserved just for me? I took a step backwards with my left leg, only to realize that the length to which I stretched it was too optimistic – my right leg, anchored by the steel-grip of the nolegsman, would prevent my left foot from ever touching ground. I looked worryingly into the restaurant window in search of his wife, but no long-legged woman was there, nor could she save me now.
I realized at that moment, as I was standing there, that an escape would be impossible. It was either him or me and since I don’t have what it takes to take down a man, I guess it was bound to be him. But the slowness in which our struggle had been fought up until now gave me the chills; was I really doomed to wait so long for my inevitable end? why does he have to be ever-so-slow? I would rather have the bullet in the head than the knife in the belly, though I doubt that my wishes – even if uttered – would reach empathetic ears. I think I noticed a hearing-aid device too.

I have to report this to Henry, I thought, only he could believe it, if ever I get to have another coffee with him. Ach, Henry, if only you were here! you would undoubtedly free yourself from his grip with a sharp swoosh of your manly arm and send him rolling down the street until his speeding wheelchair, stopped by a local bench, will send him flying into the Spree, where his blob-of-a-torso will float downstream. And then you would also date his wife. You wouldn’t stop even for a second to think about me; you would act as if out of instinct and have it all over with in an Augenblick, as they say here; whereas I am wasting precious last seconds thinking about you, my friend.

I kept hoping for a brave waiter, a doorman even, to emerge from the restaurant and give nolegsman a coin, or whatever it is that he wants, shrug with his shoulders, send half a smile my way and wish me a pleasant evening. Then I would go back to my apartment, shaking off the frost-residue of the event from my winter-coat as I walk on down the street. I would enter my apartment, turn on the heating and throw my coat on the sofa, brush my teeth and go to bed.
That night I would have a dream: I’d dream I am a disabled man, with no legs, who is dreaming, as disabled people often do, that I have legs again and I would enjoy this comfort reserved for the disabled who can rid of their disability in their dreams. I would walk, run, jump and dance with a long-legged woman. Then I would wake up in cold sweat and though I would still have my real legs, for a second there I would feel like a nolegsman, waking up from his sweet dream.