Robert Walser - The Tanners

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!”