A Mysterious Puppeteer's Fleeting Magic at Berlin's Ostkreuz Station
At Ostkreuz station, an old man in a worn black coat sat quietly with a large suitcase. The case bore the words 'Handle with Care—Marionettes' and painted images of a king and queen. Around him, curious onlookers watched as he waited, seemingly out of step with the rush of the station.
A young boy named Leo noticed the puppets first. Drawn to the suitcase, he stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the figures inside.
The old man spoke softly to Leo, explaining that the puppets were asleep. He even claimed the king was snoring. When Leo's father urged him to leave the man alone, the old man waved it off—Leo could stay and watch.
The puppeteer admitted that the strings sometimes tangled, but that was just part of handling them. He spoke as if the marionettes had lives of their own, as if they were more than wood and thread. The station's other passengers glanced at him, some amused, others puzzled.
After a while, the old man told Leo and his father to move on—the puppets needed their rest. They made their way to the S-Bahn platform, where a voice over the train's speaker wished the old man safe travels. The announcement compared people to puppets, saying both grew colder over time. The words lingered as the train doors closed.
No records exist of a puppeteer with a 'Handle with Care—Marionettes' suitcase in Berlin's public or art scene. Searches turn up unrelated puppet theatres, but no trace of this man or his quiet performances. The moment at Ostkreuz station remains undocumented—just a fleeting encounter between an old man, his marionettes, and a boy who stopped to listen.
