Robert Walser - The Tanners

What a novelty it was for Simon to go hurrying through the streets with a basket or leather tote bag in his hand, to purchase meat and vegetables, to walk into shops and then run back home again. In the streets he saw people going about their various sorts of business, each animated by an intention, as he was himself. It seemed that people were surprised at his figure. Might his way of walking fail to accord with the full basket he was easily carrying? Were his gestures too unrestrained to correspond to his commission, that is, to running errands? But these were friendly glances he was receiving; for people saw he was hurrying and busy, and he must have given the impression of a dutiful man. “How beautiful it is,” Simon thought, “to rush through the streets like this with a duty in one’s head alongside all the swarms of people, being overtaken by a few who have longer legs, while flying past others who walk more indolently, as though they have lead in their shoes. How agreeable it is to be seen by these spick-and-span maidservants as one of their own, to observe what a sharp eye these simple creatures have, to note that they might be tempted to stop for a bit and chat with you for ten minutes. How the dogs go tearing along the street as if they were chasing the wind, and how busily the graybeards are still rushing about with their hunched necks and backs! Can you look at this and still wish merely to stroll? How charming women are whom you’re allowed to race past without attracting their notice. How could you expect them to notice you? That would certainly be something! It’s enough to have observant eyes yourself. Does a person have senses only to be kindled by others and not to kindle oneself? The eyes of women on a morning street like this are so utterly splendid when they gaze off into the distance. Eyes looking past you are more beautiful than eyes that gaze directly at you. It’s as if they lost something. How quickly you think and feel when you’re walking so briskly. Just don’t start looking at the sky! No, it’s best just to sense that somewhere up there, above your head and all the buildings, something beautiful and broad is hovering, a hovering something that is perhaps also blue and most certainly fragrant. You have duties — and this too is a hovering, flying, enthralling something. You are carrying on your person something that must be counted out and handed over if you wish to be seen as reliable, and given my present circumstances, I consider it infinitely agreeable to be reliable. Nature? Let it conceal itself for the moment. Yes, it seems to me as if it were in hiding there, behind the long rows of buildings. The forest has, for the time being, lost its appeal for me, and I don’t wish to be tempted by it. All the same, there’s something beautiful about thinking that everything’s still there while I fleetingly, busily rush through the blinding streets, paying no heed to anything that’s not simple enough to be understood by my nose.”—Once more he counted the money in his vest pocket with sentient fingers, not taking it out, and then went home.

Now he had the table to set.

He had to spread a clean white tablecloth over the table with the creases facing up, then lay out the plates in such a way that their rims didn’t protrude over the edge of the table, then distribute forks, knives and spoons, set glasses in their places along with a carafe of fresh water, lay napkins upon the plates and set the salt-cellar on the table. Setting and laying, placing and touching and arranging, touching daintily, then more firmly, touching cloth only with fingertips and plates with great care, distributing and adjusting, the silverware for instance, being noiseless in the process, swift and yet also cautious, both careful and bold, stiff and smooth, calm yet vigorous, not letting the glasses clink together or the plates clack, but also showing no astonishment should a clinking or clacking be heard, instead finding this comprehensible, and then announcing to one’s masters that the table was set before bringing out the dishes and withdrawing through the door, only to go back in again when the bell was rung, watching the food being eaten and taking pleasure in this, telling oneself it was more agreeable to watch others eat than to eat, then clearing the table again, carrying out the dishes, putting a leftover scrap of roast meat in one’s mouth and making an exultant face, as though this were an action that required an exultant look, then eating oneself and finding that one really did deserve to eat now: All these things Simon had to do. He didn’t have to do all of it, for instance he wasn’t required to look exultant when he stole, but it was his first tender theft, and for this reason he had to be exultant; for it reminded him vividly of childhood, when one steals something or other from the pantry and exults.

After the meal, he had to help the girl clean the dishes, wash and dry them, and the girl was not a little surprised to see how nimble he was at this task. Where had he learned how? “I used to live in the country,” Simon responded, “and in the country one does such things. I have a sister there who’s a teacher, I always helped her dry the dishes.”

“That was nice of you.”

To Simon it appeared quite marvelous to be laboring in this quiet kitchen in the middle of the big city. Who’d ever have thought it? No, human beings never quite managed to envision their futures. He who in earlier days had gone wandering freely across mountain meadows, sleeping like a hunter beneath the stars and gasping for breath when he discovered vistas that gave new expanse and depth to the earth below, who wished the sun were even hotter, the wind stormier, the nights darker and the cold more bitter when he ran around out of doors in all seasons and weather, searching, rubbing his hands together and puffing — now he was cooped up in a tiny kitchen drying a dripping plate while it was still warm. He was glad. “How glad I am to be so hemmed in, so confined, so enclosed,” he thought. “Why should a person always be hankering for wide open spaces, and isn’t longing so restrictive a sentiment? Here I am tightly squeezed in between four kitchen walls, but my heart is wide open and filled with the pleasure I take in my modest duty.”

He did find it a bit humiliating to be in a kitchen, occupied with a task ordinarily performed only by girls. It was a bit humiliating and a bit ridiculous, but nonetheless most certainly mysterious and odd. No one could possibly dream of finding him here. This thought had something gratifying and proud about it. Having such a thought could make one smile. The girl asked what he’d been in his former life, and he replied: “A copy clerk!” She couldn’t comprehend how a person could possess so little ambition as to leave behind his desk in order to creep into domestic service. Simon replied that his case, first of all, involved nothing that might be described as creeping, as she so charmingly expressed herself, and secondly it was still an open question which was preferable: sitting behind a desk or leading a plate wiper’s existence. He by far preferred the open, airy, warm, steamy, interesting kitchen to the dry-as-dust office where the air was usually stale and the general mood embittered. How could one feel bitter in a kitchen where a roast was stewing in the pan, vegetables cooking, soup steaming, the copper shining down so sweetly from the rack and the plates making such a friendly sound when one knocked them together. But being a servant, the spirited maiden rejoined — it wasn’t much, it didn’t amount to anything. He didn’t want to amount to anything, Simon said softly. She let that be the end of it, but she found he was a curious, difficult to understand person. But she also thought: “He’s decent,” and felt he might be “allowed some liberties.” Simon had just finished his drying when the lady walked into the kitchen and bid him come into the other room, she had a task for him. “What lovely task might she have for me,” Simon wondered, and he followed the woman striding on ahead. “During the afternoon, there’s nothing further for you to do, so you might as well read to my son and me. Do you know how to read aloud out of a book?” Simon said he did.