Joseph Roth - Three Novellas

He put the thousand francs in his trouser pocket, and went down to the bank of the Seine, where, indifferent to being watched by any of his fellow-unfortunates, he washed his face, yes, and his neck too, almost joyfully. Then he put on his jacket again, and went out into the day, a day which he began by going into a tabac to buy cigarettes.

Now, he had enough change still left to pay for the cigarettes, but he didn’t know when he would get a chance to change the one-thousand-franc bill that had so miraculously turned up in his wallet. Because he was still able to appreciate that in the eyes of the world, or in the eyes of those that have authority in the world, there was a considerable inconsistency between his clothes and his overall appearance, and the possession of a one-thousand-franc banknote. Nevertheless, heartened by this renewed miracle, he decided he would show the banknote. At the same time, drawing on the remains of his prudence, he would say to the man at the cash-till in the tabac: “If you can’t change a thousand francs, I’ve got it in change too. But I would be glad to have it changed.”

To Andreas’s astonishment the patron of the tabac said: “No, on the contrary! I need a one-thousand-franc note, and your coming is most opportune.” And the man changed the one thousand francs. Then Andreas stayed awhile at the bar of the tabac, and drank three glasses of white wine; an expression of his gratitude to fate for the miracle.

7

While he was standing at the bar, he noticed a framed drawing on the wall, behind the broad back of his host, and the drawing reminded him of an old school friend at Olschowice. He asked the patron: “Who is that? I have a feeling I know him.” Thereupon the patron and the other customers standing at the bar all burst out laughing. “What!” they shouted to one another. “He doesn’t know who that is!”

Because, of course, as any normal person would have known, it was Kanjak, the great footballer from Silesia. But then how could a man who slept under bridges, an alcoholic like our Andreas, have known that? Feeling ashamed of himself anyway, particularly because he had just had his one-thousand-franc note changed, Andreas muttered: “Of course I know him, he even happens to be a friend of mine. It’s just not a terribly good likeness.” And, to avoid any further questions, he quickly paid and left.

Now, though, he was genuinely hungry. He made for the nearest restaurant, ate and drank red wine with his meal, had cheese and then coffee, and thought he would spend the afternoon at the cinema. Only he wasn’t quite sure which one to go to. But knowing that he had as much money on him at that moment as any of the prosperous types passing him on the pavement, he headed for the great boulevards. Between the Opera and the Boulevard des Capucines he looked for a film he might enjoy, and finally he found one. The poster advertising the film showed a man obviously bent on meeting his death in some far-distant adventure. It described him crawling through the desert under the searing rays of an implacable sun. That was the film for Andreas. He sat in the cinema, watching the man crossing the scorching desert. Andreas was just on the point of finding the hero an admirable character, and identifying with him, when the film abruptly took a happy turn, and the man in the desert was rescued by a passing caravan of scientific researchers, and whisked back to the cradle of European civilization. Whereupon Andreas lost all respect for the hero. He was about to get up and leave when there appeared on the screen the image of the school friend whose picture he had seen a little earlier, behind the proprietor’s back, when he had been propping up the bar. It was Kanjak the great footballer. Seeing him on the screen reminded Andreas that once, twenty years ago, he and Kanjak had shared a school bench, and he decided to make inquiries the next morning as to whether his old friend was presently in Paris.

For our Andreas had no less than nine hundred and eighty francs in his pocket.

And that is a not inconsiderable sum.

8

However, before he had even left the cinema, it occurred to him that there was actually no compelling reason why he should wait till tomorrow morning to find out the address of his friend and classmate; particularly in view of the rather large sum he had in his pocket.

Having so much money left had given Andreas such confidence that he decided to begin his inquiries for the address of his friend, the celebrated footballer Kanjak, right away, at the cashier’s desk. He imagined he might perhaps have to go to the cinema manager to get an answer. But no! There was no one in all Paris so well known as the footballer Kanjak! Even the doorman knew where he lived. He lived in a hotel on the Champs-Élysées. The doorman gave him its name; and our Andreas immediately set off there.

It was a small, quiet, distinguished hotel, just the sort of hotel where footballers and boxers, the elite of our time, like to live. Andreas felt rather odd as he stood in the foyer, and in the eyes of the hotel staff, he looked rather odd too. Still, they told him that the celebrated footballer Kanjak was at home, and was prepared to come down to the foyer straightaway.

And come down he did, a couple of minutes later, and the two of them recognized each other right away. They began exchanging old memories of their schooldays even as they stood there, and then they went out to eat together, and there was great merriment between them. They went out to eat together, and it so happened that the celebrated footballer asked his dissolute friend: “Why are you looking so dissolute, and what are those rags you’re wearing?”

“It would be a terrible thing,” replied Andreas, “if I were to tell you how that came to pass. And it would greatly impair our mutual joy at this happy reunion of ours. So don’t let’s talk about that. Let’s talk about more cheerful matters instead.”

“I’ve got an awful lot of suits,” said the celebrated footballer Kanjak, “and I would be only too glad to let you have one of them. We shared a bench at school, and you let me copy your answers. What’s a suit, compared to that! Where shall I have it sent?”

“You can’t,” replied Andreas, “because I haven’t got an address. For some time now, I’ve been living under the bridges on the banks of the Seine.”

“Very well,” said the footballer Kanjak, “in that case we’ll rent a room for you, expressly so that I can give you a suit. Come along!”

When they had eaten, they went along, and the footballer Kanjak rented a room, and the price of it was twenty-five francs per day, and it was situated near the marvelous church in Paris that goes by the name of “Madeleine.”

9

The room was on the fifth floor, and Andreas and the footballer had to take the lift up. Of course, Andreas had no luggage, but neither the porter nor the lift-boy nor anyone else on the hotel staff expressed any surprise at that. The whole thing was simply a miracle, and the nuts and bolts of a miracle have nothing miraculous about them. When they were both up in the room, the footballer Kanjak said to his former neighbor in class Andreas: “I expect you need some soap.”

“Oh,” replied Andreas, “I can get by without soap. I plan to stay here for a week without soap, but I’ll still wash. But what I would like is for us to order something to drink, in honor of the room.”

And the footballer called for a bottle of cognac, which they emptied between them. Then they left the room, and took a taxi up to Montmartre, to the café where the girls sat, and which Andreas had only lately visited by himself. After sitting there for a couple of hours, exchanging memories of their schooldays, the footballer took Andreas home, that is, to the hotel room he had rented for him, and he said: “It’s late now. I’ll leave you to yourself. Tomorrow I’ll send you two suits. And — do you need money?”