himself. He seems well intentioned. Maybe he knows our problems, and he’s some kind of a seer or something.”
“He’s raving,” says Janosch, “and my mother taught me you should never listen to people who’re raving. You should get out of their way.”
“Then a lot of us would have to get out of your way too,” I say. “We’re all raving. All he is, is old.”
“But that’s the point,” says Janosch. “He’s old and we’re young. The two don’t go together. They never have. Old people have a completely different attitude to life. They don’t like us. And we don’t like them. No kid on earth would set off to Munich with this old guy right now. And what’s he doing here anyway? He lives in Munich.”
“I expect he was visiting his wife’s grave. He’s got a perfectly good reason to be here.”
“I don’t trust the whole thing,” Janosch retorts. “Maybe he’s just one of the staff from the school, and he’ll rat on us or something.”
“He won’t rat on us,” I tell him. “Let’s go with him. Flo and the others agree—don’t you?”
“We’ll go with the old man,” says Fat Felix. “He’s okay. And no matter how you look at it, it’s better than a night on a park bench. I think we’ll be in good hands. You with us, Janosch?”
Janosch’s face darkens. There’s a harsh light in his eyes. “Can any of you tell me why
we
always land in this shit headfirst?” he wants to know.
“Because we’re alive,” says Florian, “and because we’re young.”
“That’s not an argument,” says Janosch.
“Of course it’s an argument,” says Florian. “We’re here, that’s all. And so long as we’re here, we can always land in the shit headfirst.”
“Is that how you see it, Lebert?” asks Janosch.
“That’s how I see it,” I say.
Fat Felix goes over to the old man. “We’re coming with you. The bus should be here in five minutes.”
Janosch stares up at the sky. It’s quite dark already. The main street stretches away ahead of us, bleak and empty. I feel a bit uneasy. There’s a sort of animal electricity. I’ve never done anything like this before. I think I can say the same about the end of any particular day in Neuseelen Boarding School. Everything is sort of stirred up. New. I’ve been here four months. Amazing how fast the time goes.
“I know that I know nothing,” Janosch suddenly lets drop. “Some philosopher once said that, didn’t he?”
“Haven’t a clue,” I reply. “Are we supposed to know that?”
“What are we supposed to know?” asks Janosch. “That we know nothing?”
“No,” I reply. “That we’re supposed to know who said it.”
“Oh, yes, I think we’re supposed to know.”
“So who said it?” I ask.
“Haven’t a clue,” says Janosch. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. Philosophers are just bums who think they have to explain everything. But there’s nothing to explain. All they have to do is take a look at the world, and they’d know that it’s fucking beautiful. Their propositions are idiotic.”
“You’re probably right, Janosch,” I say, “although
I know that I know nothing
is a pronouncement I can really use. In math, for example.”
“But it isn’t usually intended for that,” says Janosch.
“For what then?”
“For us, of course.”
“For us?”
“Yes, for us. To explain that you don’t have to know anything to be crazy.”
“This proposition doesn’t have a thing to do with
crazy,
” I reply.
“Yes it does,” says Janosch. “The proposition is crazy
.
”
“I don’t understand it as a proposition,” I say. “Maybe it’s just too crazy
.
Main thing is that everything just keeps going, and we all find our own way.”
“Our way to Munich?”
“Our way to wherever. Don’t you want to go wherever?”
“Every place we find ourselves is
wherever.
If you just make sure they can’t ever padlock your mind, then you’ll always live up to
wherever,
wherever it is.”
A
“He’s raving,” says Janosch, “and my mother taught me you should never listen to people who’re raving. You should get out of their way.”
“Then a lot of us would have to get out of your way too,” I say. “We’re all raving. All he is, is old.”
“But that’s the point,” says Janosch. “He’s old and we’re young. The two don’t go together. They never have. Old people have a completely different attitude to life. They don’t like us. And we don’t like them. No kid on earth would set off to Munich with this old guy right now. And what’s he doing here anyway? He lives in Munich.”
“I expect he was visiting his wife’s grave. He’s got a perfectly good reason to be here.”
“I don’t trust the whole thing,” Janosch retorts. “Maybe he’s just one of the staff from the school, and he’ll rat on us or something.”
“He won’t rat on us,” I tell him. “Let’s go with him. Flo and the others agree—don’t you?”
“We’ll go with the old man,” says Fat Felix. “He’s okay. And no matter how you look at it, it’s better than a night on a park bench. I think we’ll be in good hands. You with us, Janosch?”
Janosch’s face darkens. There’s a harsh light in his eyes. “Can any of you tell me why
we
always land in this shit headfirst?” he wants to know.
“Because we’re alive,” says Florian, “and because we’re young.”
“That’s not an argument,” says Janosch.
“Of course it’s an argument,” says Florian. “We’re here, that’s all. And so long as we’re here, we can always land in the shit headfirst.”
“Is that how you see it, Lebert?” asks Janosch.
“That’s how I see it,” I say.
Fat Felix goes over to the old man. “We’re coming with you. The bus should be here in five minutes.”
Janosch stares up at the sky. It’s quite dark already. The main street stretches away ahead of us, bleak and empty. I feel a bit uneasy. There’s a sort of animal electricity. I’ve never done anything like this before. I think I can say the same about the end of any particular day in Neuseelen Boarding School. Everything is sort of stirred up. New. I’ve been here four months. Amazing how fast the time goes.
“I know that I know nothing,” Janosch suddenly lets drop. “Some philosopher once said that, didn’t he?”
“Haven’t a clue,” I reply. “Are we supposed to know that?”
“What are we supposed to know?” asks Janosch. “That we know nothing?”
“No,” I reply. “That we’re supposed to know who said it.”
“Oh, yes, I think we’re supposed to know.”
“So who said it?” I ask.
“Haven’t a clue,” says Janosch. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. Philosophers are just bums who think they have to explain everything. But there’s nothing to explain. All they have to do is take a look at the world, and they’d know that it’s fucking beautiful. Their propositions are idiotic.”
“You’re probably right, Janosch,” I say, “although
I know that I know nothing
is a pronouncement I can really use. In math, for example.”
“But it isn’t usually intended for that,” says Janosch.
“For what then?”
“For us, of course.”
“For us?”
“Yes, for us. To explain that you don’t have to know anything to be crazy.”
“This proposition doesn’t have a thing to do with
crazy,
” I reply.
“Yes it does,” says Janosch. “The proposition is crazy
.
”
“I don’t understand it as a proposition,” I say. “Maybe it’s just too crazy
.
Main thing is that everything just keeps going, and we all find our own way.”
“Our way to Munich?”
“Our way to wherever. Don’t you want to go wherever?”
“Every place we find ourselves is
wherever.
If you just make sure they can’t ever padlock your mind, then you’ll always live up to
wherever,
wherever it is.”
A
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