The Tanners (5 page)

Yours, Klaus.

When a week had passed, Simon entered his employer’s office just as
evening was arriving and made the following speech: “You have disappointed me.
Don’t look so astonished, there’s nothing to be done about it, I shall quit your
place of business this very day and ask that you pay me my wages. Please, let
me
finish. I know perfectly well what I want. During the past week I’ve come to
realize that the entire book trade is nothing less than ghastly if it must
entail standing at one’s desk from early morning till late at night while out
of
doors the gentlest winter sun is gleaming, and forces one to scrunch one’s back,
since the desk is far too small given my stature, writing like some accursed
happenstance copyist and performing work unsuitable for a mind such as my own.
I
am capable of performing quite different tasks, esteemed sir, than the ones
entrusted to me here. I’d expected to be able to sell books in your shop, wait
on elegant individuals, bow and bid adieu to the customers when they’re ready
to
depart. What’s more, I’d imagined I might be allowed to peer into the mysterious
universe of the book trade and glimpse the world’s features in the visage and
operation of your enterprise. But I experienced nothing of the sort. Do you
imagine my young years in such a sorry state that I need to crumple up and
suffocate in a lousy bookshop? You are equally mistaken if you suppose, for
example, that a young man’s back exists in order to be hunched. Why didn’t you
allocate for my use a good proper desk so I could comfortably sit or stand? Are
not splendid American-sized desks available for purchase? If one
wishes to have an employee, I believe, one should know how to accommodate him.
This is a knack which, apparently, you don’t have. Lord knows, all sorts of
things are demanded of a young beginner: industry, loyalty, punctuality, tact,
sobriety, modesty, moderation, purpose, and who knows what else. But to whom
would it ever occur to start demanding virtues from a business owner such as
yourself? Should my strength, my desire for activity, the pleasure I take in
my
own person, and the talent for being so gloriously capable of all these things
be squandered on an old, meager, narrow bookshop? No, before I do any such
squandering, I might join the army and sell my freedom altogether, if only for
the sake of getting rid of it. It does not please me, respected sir, to own a
half-measure, I would prefer to number among those who are utterly
without possessions, for then at least my soul will still belong to me. You may
be thinking it’s inappropriate for me to speak with such vehemence, and that
this is not a fitting place for a speech: So be it, I shall hold my tongue, pay
me what I am owed and you will never set eyes on me again.”

The old bookseller was quite astonished now to hear this young, quiet,
shy individual—who had worked so conscientiously during the past week—speaking
in such a way. From the adjoining work rooms, some five heads belonging to
clerks and shop assistants pressed together, watching and witnessing this scene.
The old gentleman said: “If I had suspected you of such inclinations, Mr. Simon,
I would have thought twice before offering you employment in my shop. You appear
to be quite peculiarly fickle. Since a desk isn’t to your liking, the entire
enterprise displeases you. From what region of the world do you come, and are
all the young people there cut from the same cloth? Just look how you are now
standing before me—the old man. No doubt you don’t yourself know what, in that
callow head of yours, you actually want. Well, I have no intention of preventing
you from leaving—here is your money, but in all honesty I must say this gives
me
no pleasure.” The bookseller paid him his money, and Simon pocketed it.

When he arrived at home, he saw his brother’s letter lying on the
table, he read it and then thought to himself: “He’s a good person, but I’m not
going to write to him. I don’t know how to describe my circumstances, and they
aren’t worth describing anyhow. I’ve no cause for complaint, and just as little
reason to jump for joy, but grounds aplenty to keep silent. It’s quite true,
the
things he writes, but for just that reason I shall be satisfied with the
truth—let’s leave it at that. That he is unhappy is something he himself must
come to terms with, but I don’t believe he is really so terribly unhappy.
Letters often come out sounding that way. Writing a letter, you get carried away
and make incautious remarks. In letters, the soul always wishes to do the
talking, and generally it makes a fool of itself. So it’s best I don’t write.”
—And with this, the matter was settled. Simon was filled with thoughts,
with beautiful thoughts. Whenever he was thinking, beautiful thoughts flooded
his mind quite involuntarily. The next morning—the sun was blindingly bright—he
reported to the Employment Referral Office. The man who sat there writing got
to
his feet. This man knew Simon quite well and was in the habit of addressing him
with a sort of mocking agreeable familiarity. “Ah, Mr. Simon! Back again? What
brings you to us today?”

“I’m looking for a job.”

“You’ve certainly stopped by here often enough while seeking
employment, a person might be tempted to think you uncannily swift when it comes
to job-seeking.” The man laughed, but his laugh was gentle; he was
incapable of harsh laughter. “What was your last place of employment, if I’m
allowed to ask?”

Simon replied: “I was a nurse. I proved to be in possession of all
those qualities needed for tending the infirm. Why does your jaw drop at my
admission? Is it so terribly strange for a man my age to try out various
professions and attempt to make himself useful to all different sorts of people?
I find this quite a nice trait in myself, for it requires a certain courage.
My
dignity is in no way injured—on the contrary, I pride myself on being able to
solve all manner of life problems without trembling in the face of difficulties
that might scare most people off. I am useful, and this certainty is enough to
satisfy my pride. I wish to be of service.”

“And so why did you not continue in the nursing profession?” the man
asked.

“I don’t have time to stick to a single profession,” Simon replied,
“and it would never occur to me to repose, as many do, upon one type of
profession as if it were a mattress with springs. No, I wouldn’t succeed at that
even if I lived to be a thousand. I’d rather go and join the army.”

“Be careful that’s not what happens.”

“There are other escape routes as well. The army remark is just a
casual expression I’ve gotten in the habit of using to conclude my speeches.
There are so many ways out for a young man like myself. In the summertime, I
can
go find a farmer and work in the fields to help bring in the harvest on time:
He’ll welcome me and be grateful for my strength. He’ll feed me and feed me
well, they really cook out in the country, and when I leave him again, he’ll
press a few banknotes into my hand, and his young daughter, a
fresh-faced lovely girl, will smile at me in parting in such a way
that she will occupy my thoughts for a long time as I continue on my road. What
harm is there in being on the road, even if it’s raining or snowing, as long
you
have healthy limbs and remain free from cares? You, squeezed into your corner
there, cannot even imagine how glorious it is to ramble down country roads. If
they’re dusty, then dusty is just how they are, no need to trouble your head
about it. Afterwards you find yourself a cozy cool spot at the edge of the
forest and as you lie there your eyes enjoy the most splendid view, and your
senses repose in the most natural way, and your thoughts wander as taste and
pleasure fancy. You’ll no doubt counter that another person can do just the same
thing—you yourself, for example, when you’re on vacation. But vacations, what
are they? The thought of them makes me laugh. I wish to have nothing to do with
vacations. One might even say I hate them. Whatever you do, just don’t set me
up
with a position involving vacations. This wouldn’t appeal to me at all—in fact
I
think I’d die if I were given vacations. As far as I’m concerned I wish to do
battle with life, fighting until I keel over: I wish to taste neither freedom
nor comfort, I hate freedom if it’s hurled at my feet the way you throw a dog
a
bone. That’s vacation for you. If you might happen to think you see standing
before you a man with a hankering for a vacation, you are very much mistaken,
but I have every reason to suspect this is just what you think of me, alas.”

“Here’s a temporary post at a lawyer’s office that needs filling for
approximately one month. Would that suit you?”

“Most certainly, sir.”

With this, Simon landed in the lawyer’s office. He earned a pretty
penny there and was perfectly content. Never had the world appeared lovelier
to
him than during this lawyer episode.
He made some pleasant acquaintances,
spent the day writing in an easy, effortless manner, checked over
calculations, took
dictation—at which he was particularly
skillful—and to his own surprise behaved in such a charming way that his
superior took a lively interest in him; he drank his daily cup of tea in the
afternoon, and while he was writing, daydreamed out the breezy bright window.
Daydreaming without neglecting his duties—he was supremely skilled at this. “I
am earning so much money,” he thought to himself, “that I could have a young
woman.” The moon often shone in the window as he worked, and this enchanted
him.

In conversation with his little ladyfriend Rosa, Simon expressed
himself in the following manner: “My lawyer has a long red nose and is a tyrant,
but I get along with him quite well. I take his grumpy dictatorial nature as
humorous and am myself surprised at how well I submit to all his commandments,
many of which are unfair. I love it when things get a bit caustic, that suits
me
well, launching me to certain warm heights and whetting my appetite for work.
He
has a beautiful slender wife whom I should like to paint if I were a painter.
She has, take my word for it, wonderful large eyes and splendid arms. Often she
busies herself with something or other in the office; how she must look down
on
me, poor devil of a copy clerk. When I look upon such women I tremble and yet
I’m happy. Are you laughing? Unfortunately I am accustomed to show myself before
you without inhibitions, and I can only hope this pleases you.”

Indeed Rosa did love it when people were open with her. She was a
peculiar girl. Her eyes had a marvelous gleam, and her lips were downright
lovely.

Simon went on: “When I’m on my way to work at eight in the morning, I
feel so beautifully connected to all the others who must also report to work
at
eight. What a great barracks modern life is! And yet how beautiful and
contemplative all this uniformity. Constantly you long for something that might
be approaching, something you ought to encounter. You’re so utterly bereft of
possessions, so very much the poor devil, and you find yourself utterly at sea
amid all this erudite, orderly precision. I ascend the four flights of stairs,
go in, say “Good morning” and begin my work. Good God, how little is being asked
of me, how little knowledge they expect. How little those around me seem to
suspect I might be capable of quite different things. But this charming lack
of
demandingness on the part of my employers suits me perfectly. I can think while
I am working—I have great prospects of becoming a thinker. I often think of
you!”

Rosa laughed. “What a scoundrel you are. But do go on, it’s quite
interesting, what you’re saying.”

“The world is in point of fact marvelous,” Simon continued, “I can be
sitting here with you and no one can stop us from chatting for hours. I know
you
like listening to me. It’s your opinion that my way of speaking is not without
grace, though now I find myself compelled to laugh horribly inside because I’ve
said this. But it’s my habit to say anything and everything that comes to my
mind, even if it should happen to be, for example, self-praise. I can
also criticize myself with just the same lightness—I’m even pleased when I have
occasion to do so. Why shouldn’t we say whatever’s on our minds? How much is
lost if you insist on first examining everything at length. I don’t like to
spend too long considering before I speak, and whether the words are suitable
or
not, out they come! If I am vain, my vanity will inevitably come to light; if
I
were miserly, there would be miserliness speaking in my words; if I am decent,
then doubtless my respectability will peal out from my lips; and if God had made
an honest man of me, stalwartness would emanate from me regardless of what I
was
saying. In this respect I find myself free of worries, because I know myself
and
us a little and because I would be ashamed to display timidity while speaking.
If, for example, I insult, wound, injure or annoy someone with words, can’t I
make this bad impression disappear again with the next few words? I never start
thinking about how I am speaking until I notice disagreeable wrinkles on the
face of my listener, such as those I now see on your face, Rosa.”

“It’s something else—”

“Are you tired?”

“Go home now, why don’t you, Simon. It’s quite true I’m feeling tired.
You’re sweet when you talk. I’m very fond of you.”

Rosa held out her little hand to her young friend, who kissed it, said
good night and departed. When he was gone, little Rosa sat there for a long time
crying quietly to herself. She was weeping over her beloved, a young man with
curls on his head, an elegant gait, an aristocratic mouth, but a dissolute
lifestyle. “And so you love the one who doesn’t deserve it,” she said to
herself, “and yet should I love out of reason, out of wishing to assign value?
How laughable. What do I care about what is valuable—all I want is what I love.”
Then she went to bed.