Eternal Questions – Ralle and Oever

There are things that you come across all the time. People above all. For example, a partner or work colleagues. But of course also locations such as a bus stop, a place of work or an apartment. Two specific people in a specific place come into my sight every day, not physically, but symbolically: in the form of a preserved message on the hallway wall of a house in Berlin-Friedrichshain.

Sometimes, as I climb the stairs, I think that at some point a neutron bomb war will break out that will wipe out all of humanity, but not wipe out their legacy. A thousand years later, an extraterrestrial expedition will land on Earth and discover the preserved message on the wall in which “Oever” states that he was there at 8:15 p.m. as agreed, but “Ralle” was not and that “Oever” expresses surprise about this and asks to be called about it. By the way, the original wording goes like this: “Hello Ralle, I was here at 8:15 p.m. Where have you been? Call me, Oever.”

How long has this message actually been on the wall? At least since I’ve lived here, but when before that did Oever devote himself to modern cave painting? And does he still do that today or does he use Messenger? Are there many hallways in which Oever has immortalized himself or am I actually seeing the only original Oever, a masterpiece of Berlin dating history? Did the two still have their date or is it still pending?

Since the 1980s, it had been customary in East Berlin to attach a box of notes or a roll of tear-off sheets to the door so that someone like Oever could submissively leave a tiny message. Assuming Ralle had a note box like that, why did Oever, that asshole, scribble all over half the wall with his sniveling “You’ve stood me up” whine? Was Oever so angry at the time that he thought to himself: “Okay Ralle, you should never forget that you canceled the appointment, unless you repaint the wall or move.” If that was the case, then I can just say: Thank you, Oever, thank you.

And what about Ralle? Why wasn’t he there that evening? Didn’t he want to meet Oever? Was Ralle the craziest guy in Berlin at the time and had Oever, ugly as night, as interesting as an eraser, hurled himself at him and made an appointment that Ralle subsequently absolutely refused to keep? What did the name “Ralle” actually mean? Did he stand for “Ralf Leopold” or was Ralle always called Ralle or did he come from a foreign country where people were often called that? And “Oever”? Was that just the naked last name? Did everyone think Oever was so stupid that they only called him by his last name?

Questions upon questions that I haven’t been asking myself since yesterday, but for years. Ralle and Oever were more present in my life than any other people.

Once I came home drunk at night and, as I often do, was reading Oever’s message to Ralle when I thought for a moment that I was Ralle and immediately thought: “Oh shit, I’ve completely forgotten Oever.” But then I made sure I realized that I was neither Ralle, who didn’t want to meet Oever, nor Oever, who wanted to meet Ralle, and I felt relieved. But this experience made me decide to have the wall painting painted over to finally get rid of these tormentors. I called the property management, but they rejected my request with “Oh, and then we should paint the whole house, right?” and when I replied: “That wouldn’t be bad,” she hung up friendly woman just open. That meant I had to continue to make do with Ralle and Oever or do it myself. But then I would always look at a square layer of paint and know that behind it Oever Ralle had remembered it… oh, I’ll just leave it alone.

For a while, whenever I reached my floor, I tried to close my eyes, but then I would always bump into my apartment door.

I ended up getting a few buckets of paint and repainting the hallway walls from the bottom of the front door all the way up to my floor. As a favor to my neighbors who live further up, I could have painted the entire hallway, but I didn’t care about any of my neighbors.

I briefly had the thought that Oever might have visited someone else in this house and not met them, but on the one hand I didn’t want to find out more about that and on the other hand, the people living upstairs should have to deal with another mural by Oever.

I had never entered the house further than my floor. For a moment I suspected that Oever might be living in the house. I spontaneously put one foot on the step that led into the unknown and then let it go again. No, I didn’t want to know that.

Addendum

Later I moved to Wedding. Next to my apartment door there is a plasterboard panel that has served as a pin board for all kinds of messages over time. Presumably, in West Berlin too, people used to visit each other without an appointment and leave a message when no one opened the door. An old friend once wrote here before moving in: “Hello Robert, I couldn’t stick the wallpaper, the glue was too old.” But that’s not all. Further up there is a message from 2002: “Man Kuppe, where are you? I’m standing here like an idiot. Get in touch with me. Greetings, Pockel.”

In the meantime, the plasterboard cladding has been painted over by the property management. But often, when I open the door, I look at the spot and wonder whether “Pockel” is “Oever” and “Kuppe” used to be called “Ralle”.

It’s a shame I’ll never get an answer to this question.

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