the nonsense irritating, it all had a touch of the madhouse. At the beginning it had been new, we had sat at our window just waiting for the grotesque scenes we would see below. For the last few months, however, laughter had vanished from our home. My wife’s health was slowly but steadily going downhill. At the same time the weird incidents increased. There were now things I had to keep from my wife if I did not want to put her life at risk. So I bottled up my worries inside me and felt moody and disgruntled all the time. Where was it all leading? I was going to rack and ruin myself.
V
A few days later I went out. New Year was just around the corner, but that did not mean much in this winterless land. I stole past the well-known facades. Here in Pearl everyone adopted a particular gait: quiet, hesitant, uncertain, prepared for misfortune to strike at any moment. A few lonely streetlamps guided my path. Real Dream-Realm lighting! Out of the general gloom, which blurred everything and enlarged it to gigantic proportions, there emerged unnatural physical details: a post, a shop sign, a gate.
I was coming out of the old, Gothic convent, one wing of which contained a children’s hospital, where I had collected two bottles of medicinal wine as a tonic for my wife. As I passed the church which was attached to it I noticed a black bundle in the shadow of the doorway. I heard a few indistinct words and the bare stump of an arm was raised in pleading. Unthinking, I threw a few coins into the dark corner, but the next moment I stopped as if rooted to the spot. What a strange old woman’s face it was in those filthy rags! I had to look at it more closely, there was some mysterious force compelling me. Reluctantly and with a feeling of disgust, I bent down to the old beggar-woman. It was not her stinking breath or toothless mouth that held me, but her two horrible, bright eyes; like the fangs of a viper they lodged in my brain. I arrived home half-dead with the shock. Was it real or the fearful product of an overstimulated imagination? I felt as if I had looked into a bottomless pit.
Such fits were too much for my nerves. I decided I would go to see Patera the very next day. If necessary, I was determined to scream, to force my way into his presence. He was my friend, he had invited me, it was up to him whether we went to rack and ruin or not. The mindless inhabitants of the Dream city certainly had a wrong impression of him. Why were they so timorous, so shrinking and evasive whenever I mentioned the man? My friend did not deserve that.
That day was particularly ill-starred. My wife had a migraine and was groaning; I made a few cold compresses for her and then collapsed on my bed, exhausted. Then, it must have been about one o’clock in the morning, there was a ringing and knocking at the door of our apartment. ‘It’s that drunkard from next door’, I thought angrily. Soon I heard him bawling my name as well, time after time. I was furious at his lack of consideration, leapt out of bed, slipped on my dressing-gown and took my walking stick from the corner of the room. I was going to teach the fellow a lesson he wouldn’t forget! I opened the door onto the landing and there he stood, breathing beer fumes right into my face. Did I have a few cigars? -just as a loan–why didn’t I pop across to his flat–my wife was invited too–he was going to make a hot toddy.
I could hardly control my fury. ‘This is outrageous! I think you might spare other people your scandalous behaviour! You’d better be off quickly before I throw you down the stairs, you bounder!’ I yelled at him as loud as I could. I was boiling over with rage. With a vacant, drunken laugh, he stammered, ‘Come on, just pop over.’ As he spoke, he grabbed me by the arm and tried to drag me. I lost my self-control. As quick as lightning I kicked him in the stomach so that he tumbled to the ground. The insolence of the fellow! An avalanche of thoughts
V
A few days later I went out. New Year was just around the corner, but that did not mean much in this winterless land. I stole past the well-known facades. Here in Pearl everyone adopted a particular gait: quiet, hesitant, uncertain, prepared for misfortune to strike at any moment. A few lonely streetlamps guided my path. Real Dream-Realm lighting! Out of the general gloom, which blurred everything and enlarged it to gigantic proportions, there emerged unnatural physical details: a post, a shop sign, a gate.
I was coming out of the old, Gothic convent, one wing of which contained a children’s hospital, where I had collected two bottles of medicinal wine as a tonic for my wife. As I passed the church which was attached to it I noticed a black bundle in the shadow of the doorway. I heard a few indistinct words and the bare stump of an arm was raised in pleading. Unthinking, I threw a few coins into the dark corner, but the next moment I stopped as if rooted to the spot. What a strange old woman’s face it was in those filthy rags! I had to look at it more closely, there was some mysterious force compelling me. Reluctantly and with a feeling of disgust, I bent down to the old beggar-woman. It was not her stinking breath or toothless mouth that held me, but her two horrible, bright eyes; like the fangs of a viper they lodged in my brain. I arrived home half-dead with the shock. Was it real or the fearful product of an overstimulated imagination? I felt as if I had looked into a bottomless pit.
Such fits were too much for my nerves. I decided I would go to see Patera the very next day. If necessary, I was determined to scream, to force my way into his presence. He was my friend, he had invited me, it was up to him whether we went to rack and ruin or not. The mindless inhabitants of the Dream city certainly had a wrong impression of him. Why were they so timorous, so shrinking and evasive whenever I mentioned the man? My friend did not deserve that.
That day was particularly ill-starred. My wife had a migraine and was groaning; I made a few cold compresses for her and then collapsed on my bed, exhausted. Then, it must have been about one o’clock in the morning, there was a ringing and knocking at the door of our apartment. ‘It’s that drunkard from next door’, I thought angrily. Soon I heard him bawling my name as well, time after time. I was furious at his lack of consideration, leapt out of bed, slipped on my dressing-gown and took my walking stick from the corner of the room. I was going to teach the fellow a lesson he wouldn’t forget! I opened the door onto the landing and there he stood, breathing beer fumes right into my face. Did I have a few cigars? -just as a loan–why didn’t I pop across to his flat–my wife was invited too–he was going to make a hot toddy.
I could hardly control my fury. ‘This is outrageous! I think you might spare other people your scandalous behaviour! You’d better be off quickly before I throw you down the stairs, you bounder!’ I yelled at him as loud as I could. I was boiling over with rage. With a vacant, drunken laugh, he stammered, ‘Come on, just pop over.’ As he spoke, he grabbed me by the arm and tried to drag me. I lost my self-control. As quick as lightning I kicked him in the stomach so that he tumbled to the ground. The insolence of the fellow! An avalanche of thoughts
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