own class-language. Of some small use: everybody can do something. I felt myself blushing deeply.
“I’d like to help you if I could,” I said.
“You speak German?”
“He speaks excellent German,” put in Arthur, like a mother recommending her son to the notice of the headmaster. SmiU ingly, Bayer considered me once more.
“So?”
He turned over the papers on his desk.
“Here is some translation which you could be so kind as to do for us. Will you please translate this in English? As you will see, it is a report of our work during the past year. From it you will learn a little about our aims. It should interest you, I think.”
He handed me a thick wad of manuscript, and rose to his feet. He was even smaller and broader than he had seemed on the platform. He laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.
“This is most interesting, what you have told me.” He shook hands with both of us, gave a brilliant parting smile: “And you will please,” he added comically to Arthur, “avoid to entangle this young Mr. Bradshaw in your distress.”
“Indeed, I assure you I shouldn’t dream of such a thing. His safety is almost, if not quite, as dear to me as my own… Well, ha ha, I won’t waste any more of your valuable time. Goodbye.”
The interview with Bayer had quite restored Arthur’s spirits.
“You made a good impression on him, William. Oh yes, you did. I could see that at once. And he’s a very shrewd judge of character. I think he was pleased with what I said to them at the Alexanderplatz, wasn’t he?”
“I’m sure he was.”
“I think so, yes.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“I know very little about him, myself, William. I’ve heard that he began life as a research chemist. I don’t think his parents were working people. He doesn’t give one that impression, does he? In any case, Bayer isn’t his real name.”
After this meeting, I felt anxious to see Bayer again. I did the translation as quickly as I could, in the intervals of giving lessons. It took me two days. The manuscript was a report on the aims and progress of various strikes, and the measures taken to supply food and clothing to the families of the strikers. My chief difficulty was with the numerous and ever-recurring groups of initial letters which represented the names of the different organisations involved. As I did not know what most of these organisations were called in English, I didn’t know what letters to substitute for those in the manuscript.
“It is not so important,” replied Bayer, when I asked him about this. “We will attend to this matter ourselves.”
Something in his tone made me feel humiliated. The manuscript he had given me to translate was simply not important. It would probably never be sent to England at all. Bayer had given it me, like a toy, to play with, hoping, no doubt, to be rid of my tiresome, useless enthusiasm for a week at least.
“You find this work interesting?” he continued. “I am glad. It is necessary for every man and woman in our days to have knowledge of this problem. You have read something from Marx?”
I said that I had once tried to read Das Kapital.
“Ah, that is too difficult, for a beginning. You should try the Communist Manifesto. And some of Lenin’s pamphlets. Wait, I will give you…”
He was amiability itself. He seemed in no hurry to get rid of me. Could it really be that he had no more important way of spending the afternoon? He asked about the living conditions in the East End of London and I tried to eke out the little knowledge I had collected in the course of a few days’ slumming, three years before. His mere attention was flattery of the most stimulating kind. I found myself doing nearly all the talking. Half an hour later, with books and more papers to translate under my arm, I was about to say goodbye when Bayer asked: “You have known Norris a long time?”
“More than a year, now,” I replied, automatically, my mind registering no reaction to
“I’d like to help you if I could,” I said.
“You speak German?”
“He speaks excellent German,” put in Arthur, like a mother recommending her son to the notice of the headmaster. SmiU ingly, Bayer considered me once more.
“So?”
He turned over the papers on his desk.
“Here is some translation which you could be so kind as to do for us. Will you please translate this in English? As you will see, it is a report of our work during the past year. From it you will learn a little about our aims. It should interest you, I think.”
He handed me a thick wad of manuscript, and rose to his feet. He was even smaller and broader than he had seemed on the platform. He laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.
“This is most interesting, what you have told me.” He shook hands with both of us, gave a brilliant parting smile: “And you will please,” he added comically to Arthur, “avoid to entangle this young Mr. Bradshaw in your distress.”
“Indeed, I assure you I shouldn’t dream of such a thing. His safety is almost, if not quite, as dear to me as my own… Well, ha ha, I won’t waste any more of your valuable time. Goodbye.”
The interview with Bayer had quite restored Arthur’s spirits.
“You made a good impression on him, William. Oh yes, you did. I could see that at once. And he’s a very shrewd judge of character. I think he was pleased with what I said to them at the Alexanderplatz, wasn’t he?”
“I’m sure he was.”
“I think so, yes.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“I know very little about him, myself, William. I’ve heard that he began life as a research chemist. I don’t think his parents were working people. He doesn’t give one that impression, does he? In any case, Bayer isn’t his real name.”
After this meeting, I felt anxious to see Bayer again. I did the translation as quickly as I could, in the intervals of giving lessons. It took me two days. The manuscript was a report on the aims and progress of various strikes, and the measures taken to supply food and clothing to the families of the strikers. My chief difficulty was with the numerous and ever-recurring groups of initial letters which represented the names of the different organisations involved. As I did not know what most of these organisations were called in English, I didn’t know what letters to substitute for those in the manuscript.
“It is not so important,” replied Bayer, when I asked him about this. “We will attend to this matter ourselves.”
Something in his tone made me feel humiliated. The manuscript he had given me to translate was simply not important. It would probably never be sent to England at all. Bayer had given it me, like a toy, to play with, hoping, no doubt, to be rid of my tiresome, useless enthusiasm for a week at least.
“You find this work interesting?” he continued. “I am glad. It is necessary for every man and woman in our days to have knowledge of this problem. You have read something from Marx?”
I said that I had once tried to read Das Kapital.
“Ah, that is too difficult, for a beginning. You should try the Communist Manifesto. And some of Lenin’s pamphlets. Wait, I will give you…”
He was amiability itself. He seemed in no hurry to get rid of me. Could it really be that he had no more important way of spending the afternoon? He asked about the living conditions in the East End of London and I tried to eke out the little knowledge I had collected in the course of a few days’ slumming, three years before. His mere attention was flattery of the most stimulating kind. I found myself doing nearly all the talking. Half an hour later, with books and more papers to translate under my arm, I was about to say goodbye when Bayer asked: “You have known Norris a long time?”
“More than a year, now,” I replied, automatically, my mind registering no reaction to
Similar Books
