The Complete Stories (forword by John Updike)

"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."

" 'So they go on talking while the street lies numb and the smoke from the chimneys falls between the houses. That's how it is. But it might happen that two carriages stop on a crowded boulevard of a distinguished neighborhood. Serious-looking menservants open the doors. Eight elegant Siberian wolfhounds come prancing out and jump barking across the boulevard. And it's said that they are young Parisian dandies in disguise.'

"His eyes were almost shut. When I fell silent, he stuck both hands in his mouth and tore at his lower jaw. His clothes were covered with dirt. Perhaps he had been thrown out of some tavern and hadn't yet realized it.

"Perhaps it was that short quiet lull between night and day when our heads loll back unexpectedly, when everything stands still without our knowing it, since we are not looking at it, and then disappears; we remain alone, our bodies bent, then look around but no longer see anything, nor even feel any resistance in the air yet inwardly we cling to the memory that at a certain distance from us stand houses with roofs and with fortunately angular chimneys down which the darkness flows through garrets into various rooms. And it is fortunate that tomorrow will be a day on which, unlikely as it may seem, one will be able to see everything.

"Now the drunk jerked up his eyebrows so that a brightness appeared between them and his eyes, and he explained in fits and starts: 'It's like this, you see — I'm sleepy, you see, so that's why I'm going to sleep. — You see, I've a brother-in-law on the Wenzelsplatz — that's where I'm going, for I live there, for that's where I have my bed — so I'll be off —. But I don't know his name, you see, or where he lives — seems I've forgotten — but never mind, for I don't even know if I have a brother-in-law at all. — But I'll be off now, you see —. Do you think I'll find him?'

"To which, without thinking, I said: 'That's certain. But you're coming from abroad and your servants don't happen to be with you. Allow me to show you the way.'

"He didn't answer. So I offered him my arm, to give him some support."

d Continued Conversation Between

the Fat Man and the Supplicant

For some time already I had been trying to cheer myself up. I rubbed my body and said to myself: "It's time you spoke. You're becoming embarrassed. Do you feel oppressed? Just wait! You know these situations. Think it over at your leisure. Even the landscape will wait.

"It's the same as it was at the party last week. Someone is reading aloud from a manuscript. At his request I myself have copied one page. When I see my handwriting among the pages written by him, I take fright. It's without any stability. People are bending over it from three sides of the table. In tears, I swear it's not my handwriting."

"But what is the connection with today? It's entirely up to you to start a sensible conversation. Everything's peaceful. Just make an effort, my friend! — You surely can find an objection. — You can say: 'I'm sleepy. I've a headache. Goodbye.' Quick then, quick! Make yourself conspicuous! — What's that? Again obstacles and more obstacles? What does it remind you of? — I remember a high plateau which rose against the wide sky as a shield to the earth. I saw it from a mountain and prepared myself to wander through it. I began to sing."

My lips were dry and disobedient as I said: "Ought it not to be possible to live differently?"

"No," he said, questioning, smiling.