Франц Кафка - The Complete Stories (forword by John Updike)

"Although the pianist stopped, he neither left his brown bench nor appeared to understand me. He sighed and covered his face with his long fingers.

"I felt a trifle sorry for him and was about to encourage him to continue playing when the hostess approached with a group of people.

" 'That's a funny coincidence,' they said and laughed aloud as though I were about to do something unnatural.

"The girl also joined them, looked at me contemptuously, and said: 'Please, madame, do let him play. Perhaps he wants to make some contribution to the entertainment. He ought to be encouraged. Please let him.'

"Everyone laughed, obviously thinking, as I did, that it was meant ironically. Only the pianist was silent. Holding his head low, he stroked the wood of the bench with the forefinger of his left hand, as though he were making designs in sand. I began to tremble, and to hide it, thrust my hands into my trouser pockets. Nor could I speak clearly any longer, for my whole face wanted to cry. Thus I had to choose the words in such a way that the thought of my wanting to cry would appear ludicrous to the listeners.

" 'Madame,' I said, 'I must play now because —' As I had forgotten the reason I abruptly sat down at the piano. And then I remembered again. The pianist stood up and stepped tactfully over the bench, for I was blocking his way. 'Please turn out the light, I can only play in the dark.' I straightened myself.

"At that moment two gentlemen seized the bench and, whistling a song and rocking me to and fro, carried me far away from the piano to the dining table.

"Everyone watched with approval and the girl said: 'You see, madame, he played quite well. I knew he would. And you were so worried.'

"I understood and thanked her with a bow, which I carried out well.

"They poured me some lemonade and a girl with red lips held my glass while I drank. The hostess offered me a meringue on a silver salver and a girl in a pure white dress put the meringue in my mouth. Another girl, voluptuous and with a mass of fair hair, held a bunch of grapes over me, and all I had to do was pluck them off with my lips while she gazed into my receding eyes.

"Since everyone was treating me so well I was a little surprised that they were so unanimous in holding me back when I tried to return to the piano.

" 'That's enough now,' said the host, whom I had not noticed before. He went out and promptly returned with an enormous top hat and a copper-brown overcoat with a flowery design. 'Here are your things.'

"They weren't my things, of course, but I didn't want to put him to the trouble of looking again. The host helped me into the overcoat which fitted beautifully, clinging tightly to my thin body. Bending over slowly, a lady with a kind face buttoned the coat all the way down.

" 'Goodbye,' said the hostess, 'and come back soon. You know you're always welcome.' Whereupon everyone bowed as though they thought it necessary. I tried to do likewise, but my coat was too tight. So I took my hat and, no doubt awkwardly, walked out of the room.

"But as I passed through the front door with short steps I was assaulted from the sky by moon and stars and a great vaulted expanse, and from the Ringplatz by the Town Hall, the Virgin's pillar, the church.

"I walked calmly from the shadow into the moonlight, unbuttoned my overcoat, and warmed myself; then I put a stop to the humming of the night by raising my hands, and began to reflect as follows:

" 'What is it that makes you all behave as though you were real? Are you trying to make me believe I'm unreal, standing here absurdly on the green pavement? You, sky, surely it's a long time since you've been real, and as for you, Ringplatz, you never have been real.

"'It's true, you're all still superior to me, but only when I leave you alone.

" 'Thank God, moon, you are no longer moon, but perhaps it's negligent of me to go on calling you so-called moon, moon. Why do your spirits fall when I call you "forgotten paper lantern of a strange color"? And why do you almost withdraw when I call you "the Virgin's pillar"? As for you, pillar of the Virgin Mary, I hardly recognize your threatening attitude when I call you "moon shedding yellow light."

" 'It really seems to me that thinking about you doesn't do you any good; you lose in courage and health.

" 'God, how much more profitable it would be if the Thinker could learn from the Drunk!

" 'Why has everything become so quiet? I think the wind has dropped. And the small houses which often used to roll across the square as though on little wheels are rooted to the spot — calm — calm — one can't even see the thin black line that used to separate them from the ground.'

"And I started to run. I ran unimpeded three times around the great square, and as I didn't meet a drunk I ran on toward the Karlsgasse without slowing down and without any effort. My shadow, often smaller than myself, ran beside me along the wall as though in a gorge between the wall and the street level.

"As I passed the fire station I heard a noise coming from the Kleiner Ring, and as I turned into it I saw a drunk standing by the iron railing of the fountain, his arms held out sideways and his feet in wooden shoes stamping the ground.

"Stopping to get my breath, I went up to him, raised my top hat, and introduced myself:

" 'Good evening, gentle nobleman, I am twenty-three years of age, but as yet I have no name. But you, no doubt, hail from the great city of Paris — bearing extraordinary, well-nigh singable names. You are surrounded by the quite unnatural odor of the dissolute Court of France. No doubt your tinted eyes have beheld those great ladies standing on the high shining terrace, ironically twisting their narrow waists while the ends of their decorated trains, spread over the steps, are still lying on the sand in the garden. — And surely, menservants in daringly cut gray tailcoats and white knee breeches climb tall poles, their legs hugging them but their torsos frequently bent back and to the side, for they have to raise enormous gray linen sheets off the ground with thick ropes and spread them in the air, because the great lady has expressed the wish for a misty morning.'

"When he belched I felt almost frightened. 'Is it really true, sir,' I said, 'that you hail from our Paris, from that tempestuous Paris — ah, from that luxuriant hailstorm?'

"When he belched again, I said with embarrassment: 'I know, a great honor is being bestowed upon me.'

"And with nimble fingers I buttoned up my overcoat; then with ardor and yet timidly I said: 'I know you do not consider me worthy of an answer, but if I did not ask you today my life would be spent in weeping. I ask you, much-bespangled sir, is it true what I have been told? Are there people in Paris who consist only of sumptuous dresses, and are there houses that are only portals, and is it true that on summer days the sky over the city is a fleeting blue embellished only by little white clouds glued onto it, all in the shape of hearts? And have they a highly popular panopticon there containing nothing but trees to which small plaques are fastened bearing the names of the most famous heroes, criminals, and lovers?

" 'And then this other piece of news! This clearly fabricated news! These Paris streets, for instance, they suddenly branch off, don't they? They're turbulent, aren't they? Things are not always as they should be, how could they be, after all? Sometimes there's an accident, people gather together from the side streets with that urban stride that hardly touches the pavement; they are all filled with curiosity, but also with fear of disappointment; they breathe fast and stretch out their little heads. But when they touch one another they bow low and apologize: "I'm awfully sorry — I didn't mean it — there's such a crowd; forgive me, I beg you — it was most clumsy of me, I admit. My name is — my name's Jerome Faroche, I'm a grocer in the rue de Cabotin — allow me to invite you to lunch tomorrow — my wife would also be delighted."