Telegrams of the Soul by Peter Altenberg

well bred. On the eighth day of our incipient acquaintance he said to me one evening in the course of a stroll:
    â€œWhy, pray tell, don’t you give up your criminal plans to take my life?!”
    â€œSince I have no such plans, I cannot give them up!”
    â€œI have nothing against you personally, you are merely the operative agent of a higher power to whom both you and I are beholden! Nevertheless, exceptionally, I enjoin you to cease and desist in this plot to bring about my annihilation, socially, and in all other senses!” From then on I let myself be drawn into this peculiar duel between a healthy spirit (my own) and a sick one in the naïve hope of making him realize through logical argument the folly of his delusion. Unfortunately, each acknowledgment that he’d been wrong about me made him all the more unhappy, desperate and, above all, dogged in his resolve! In his view, I was simply being shrewder, more cunning in my deception. For instance, he bought himself ten Egyptian cigarettes. Upon his emergence from the tobacconist’s, he said: “The cigarettes were poisoned on your orders!” I suggested he save them for me, said I’d smoke them all in front of his eyes from then till nightfall. Whereupon he hissed: “Swindler!”
    One evening he said: “I hope your supper tastes particularly good this evening!” “Why?” “Because it’s your last!” Whereupon he pulled out a Browning revolver. He walked me home as usual. I switched on the light in my room, after ten minutes switched it off again, remained seated in the dark for a half hour, then I ventureddown the street to see the mayor, Dr. Wolfsgruber. The old man lay sick in bed. Upon learning the name of the person in question the mayor passed word through his chambermaid: He’d receive me in his downstairs parlor, but without any lights on. He said to me: “You have my profound thanks on behalf of our little town! Don’t go to bed, take the earliest train out, unfortunately we thought he was harmless! Thanks again, and be assured of my prompt attention to all necessary actions that must, alas, be taken, in light of your report!”
    It was, however, the opinion of the dear little town that “meshuganeh attract each other!”

An Experience
    Hans Schliessmann implored me to come out Friday night to the Park Hotel in Hietzing, where the spirited and tasteful Dostal, band member of the 26ers, was concertizing solo in the large and lovely garden. The concert ended at twelve midnight and Schliessmann was concerned I should catch the last tram home. But it rattled right past us. At that very moment an elegant rubber-tired coach pulled up directly in front of us, and two sassy girls’ voices cried out with joy: “Peter, Jesus, Peter, what ever are you doing here in Hietzing?!”—“I missed the last tram,” I replied, businesslike, and without any overt exuberance at the pleasure of seeing the lovely, racy girls again.—“Don’t you worry now, Peter, we’ll take you along in our carriage, we’re headed for Vienna anyways, what a lucky coincidence—.” Hans Schliessmann stood there greatly stirred in the face of such a true rare stroke of luck, thanked the kind, eye-catching, dainty darlings on behalf of his enviable friend and said that the “golden Viennese heart” was, after all, not yet altogether on the verge of extinction, as he had previously conjectured—.
    We drove off. At Mariahilferberg, one of the sweet young things said: “Say Peter, how much’re you gonna pay the cabby?!”—To which I replied: “Nothing. I was invited.”—“Well for Chrissake, you cheapskate, it’s just a measly Crown or two.” For the payee it’s always “costly Crowns,” for the recipient it’s only “a measly Crown or two.” I replied: “I’m your