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REDINGS ESSAY

Or even a symbol of the whole universe, as an infinite circle, filled with many small but “Grammophon” and “Telefunken”. The shop window was not filled with smart-
circles? Why else were there so many books and films bearing the “button” in their phones and tablets but Tchaikovsky sheet music and piano stools. Behind the
titles? War of the Buttons, Jim Button, Benjamin Button? Customers huddled in the entrance door, no Muzak was blaring and no LED lights were flashing. Here, behind
crowded store. An elderly lady asked for sewing needles – “but the very thin ones!“ a door handle the shape of a clef, a different world was waiting: “Musikhaus
–, an elegant fashion designer asked for rhinestone buttons in gold and silver, an art Bading”. Established 1919. Mrs Bading sat on a chair in front of the counter and
student from Dortmund needed buttons of the Syrian state railway uniform. A mil- greeted Caro and me as warmheartedly as if she had known us for years. Being 82
lion buttons were stored at “Button Paul, Zossener Strasse, Owner: Paul Button”, in years old, Mrs Bading was the second-oldest person here, the daughter of the com-
cupboards, boxes and tins, high up to the circular ceiling luminaire, which shim- pany founder frequently popped in as well. She was 92 years of age. And then there
mered as white as the finest mother-of-pearl button. “He will never find a button was Mr Götz, the youngster at the age of 67. Caro leafed through the boxes with sheet
like that one.” Caro looked at the proprietor doubtingly, then she turned her head music. She found Reinhard Mey right away. “Über den Wolken”. “Have films been
looked at me. “He can, but large, yellow 1970s buttons are not easy to find. Tell him screened here?” I pointed at the small hand-painted glass sign “demonstration
that it needs to be made of plastic and there has to be a black, round varnished room” above the cellar steps. Mr Götz shook his head. “No, shellacs were played
plate in the middle.” Caro asked for it and Mr Button, juvenile despite his grey hair, down there. On gramophones, in the demonstration cabins.” We went down the
walked towards one of the ceiling-high cabinets and handed Caro a button: large, steps, past the cabins, past the long line of faded photographs. Opera singers, con-
yellow, made of plastic, with a black varnished plate in the middle. “Thank you,” ductors, actors. Johannes Heesters, Otto Klemperer, Hans Albers. With dedications
said Caro. “My pleasure,” replied Mr Button. to the company founders. Didn’t we just hear a sound? Charleston sounds or waltz
Maybe someone performed magic here? Abracadabra, a shop for joke items on a or was it only the humming of the traffic rushing by? “Hey, at Musik Bading you can-
cemetery site. It said “King of Magic”, on a cemetery site in Berlin-Neukölln. Located not just buy things, you also get something as a present,” whispered Caro. “What do
between kebab restaurants and mobile shops. It was possible to call this building a you get?” I asked. “A journey through time.” Caro smiled, the second time that day.
“sales pavilion” or, slightly more gruffly, a post-war makeshift shed. Pieced together “I won.” Caro did not even look at me. I said it again, slightly louder. “We are in the

from broken bricks, building timber and a cast-iron coal-fired stove. It had warmed fifth store. Hüte Kleemann, Schönhauser Allee, established 1905. I won!” Caro did
the store to this day. Yes, the “King of Magic” was old. 130 years old. Greened by a not turn around, she looked in the mirror, with a hat on her head, the fourth one.
magician from Vienna. He bequeathed a magic shop to each of his four daughters. Of course, these were not winter hats any longer. Mrs Persche, the milliner and
One in Cologne, one in Munich, one in Vienna, and one in Berlin. Owners had owner of the shop, took the hat from the art deco shelf and carefully put the new
changed, wars came and went, emperors, revolutionists, dictators, Schmidts, Kohls model on Caro’s head, a self creation. “This is a Fascinator,” she explained. “It is
and Merkels, but the magic store has persisted. Now it was run by Mrs German and made of very fine, soft rabbit fur felt.” “Do your own creations have names?” I want-
Mrs Hinze, two young, modern women who are conscious of the uniqueness of the ed to be funny: “The Swallow’s Nest or The Leaning Tower of Pisa or the like?” “No,
“King of Magic”. Kids were in the shop, looking around, giggling: plastic faeces and I am not really into art, I am rather into craftsmanship,” Mrs Persche gave the
popping cigarettes, worm pills and rabbit teeth, rubber chicken heads and the “Ato- Fascinator another scrutinizing look. “When I was trained, at the end of the 1980s,
mic Robot Man“ made of sheet metal, closely packed together in glass showcases. everyone was still wearing a hat, here in East Berlin. But when after the Turnaround
A customer asked for a “foam brick”, which he needed for a hoax with his landlord the number of cars increased, which are all wonderfully warm, fewer and fewer peo-
and was handed a hard foam brick looking deceptively real. “Now it is my turn!” ple needed hats.” Mrs Persche pulled the tulle on one of her hats back into shape.
Caro shoved me. “Do you have magic ink?” The two women behind the counter ans- “But now they return. Several prominent people wear them, too, Robert Stadlober,
wered in unison: “Yes, two types, the blue scary ink and the red one, magic blood.” Peter Fox. The majority of people buying hats in my shop are young men.” Caro did
I looked at Caro. “Magic blood,” she said and smiled, for the first time that day. not listen, Caro looked at her reflection in the mirror, pushed the hat back and forth,
The underground tunnel was undergoing construction works, Karl-Marx-Straße was left and right, turned to the left and then to the right. She even looked in a second
blocked, so we walked the last few metres. The house was very conspicuous. Not mirror and smiled. “It looks great, doesn’t it?! Really great!” She looked at me, pertly
because it was bigger or more beautiful or spruced up but because it differed from pushed the hat back to show her face and gave me an infectious smile. “Yes,” I said,
all the other ones. The neon sign did not say “McDonalds” or “Hennes & Mauritz” “Yes, it looks great!”

056 • AIT 1/2.2017