into his pocket, without shuffling through them or peeking at the others.
When he had made sure that they were all safely tucked away, he raised his eyes and met those of Dr. Davin, who was staring at him intently. He didn’t yet know this was Dr. Davin. The doctor led a secluded existence and seldom ventured out of his yellow castle into Taunus. It was clearly the first time Gummi had seen this person, but strangely enough there was something vaguely familiar about him. Gummi was surprised that all the new people had not gone away on the train, that one still remained. This person looked at him attentively, intelligently, and kindly. Gummi easily distinguished this gaze from the others, because everyone else, with the exception, perhaps, of Carmen, looked at him in the same way, which was very different. He was struck by the way this person looked at him, and it turned something inside him upside down. He felt like drawing close to him and nuzzling his chest. This person was not laughing at him, nor had he any inclination to laugh. Gummi understood this instinctively. This man looked at him with an attentiveness that was dearer to him than caresses. Never before in Taunus had Gummi seen such a handsome and noble gentleman. As is often the case with idiots, Gummi had a very refined aesthetic sensibility, and the appearance of this gentleman, especially the corner of his handkerchief peeping neatly out of his breast pocket, made a deep impression on him. He was filled with absolute trust.
“Good day,” Gummi said politely. When he said this, his face did not crumple up into the usual accordion. Neither did he wince or wink.
Davin looked at the placid face, in which only an expression of unparalleled trust betrayed simplemindedness. The doctor did not consider himself to be a sentimental man (that was perhaps the reason he was) but caught himself watching this face with pleasure. His own face seemed to grow more mellow upon seeing Gummi; it shook off the solid, stern beauty it wore like a mask, and found itself again, after a long absence. Gummi appeared to him to be an elderly boy.
Gummi greeted him, and regarded him steadily.
“Good day,” said the doctor. “Allow me to introduce myself. Dr. Robert Davin.” And he extended his hand.
“Gummi,” said Gummi, and touched the doctor’s hand in confusion, unable to take his eyes off the snow-white cuffs and the cufflinks in the shape of little golden birds.
“Please excuse me for taking the liberty to approach you like this,” the doctor said. “But you were just examining something extremely interesting.”
“You like them, too?” Gummi said happily. “Want me to show them to you? I haven’t looked at them yet myself,” he said in a mumble, rummaging around in his pocket. The postcards, as though to spite him, kept getting stuck. He was unable to remove them, but he was no longer afraid of crushing them, for the doctor said, “I’d very much like that.” He moved closer, bending over Gummi’s shoulder from his own greater height. Gummi finally managed to extricate the packet.
The doctor, a man who moved in the best circles, had probably never had the opportunity to see such brazen vulgarity before. The tawdry chromolithographs showed faces that were coarse and depraved, tired, and equine. Lifted legs, in black stockings, cascades, flounces; smiles as seductive as dried sweat … The doctor looked politely at Gummi. Such a heated, holy ecstasy lit up his face that the doctor felt somewhat unwell, a slight dizziness. Again he turned his gaze to the pictures, and saw something completely different. In each of the faces Davin read an unfulfilled dream, a primordial purity. Not a drop of smut clung to them; only weariness, the fatigue of hope. The doctor saw them through Gummi’s eyes and was taken by surprise by a notion that seemed absurd to his lofty and irreproachable mind—that he himself was the one who saw the vulgarity, that the capacity to
When he had made sure that they were all safely tucked away, he raised his eyes and met those of Dr. Davin, who was staring at him intently. He didn’t yet know this was Dr. Davin. The doctor led a secluded existence and seldom ventured out of his yellow castle into Taunus. It was clearly the first time Gummi had seen this person, but strangely enough there was something vaguely familiar about him. Gummi was surprised that all the new people had not gone away on the train, that one still remained. This person looked at him attentively, intelligently, and kindly. Gummi easily distinguished this gaze from the others, because everyone else, with the exception, perhaps, of Carmen, looked at him in the same way, which was very different. He was struck by the way this person looked at him, and it turned something inside him upside down. He felt like drawing close to him and nuzzling his chest. This person was not laughing at him, nor had he any inclination to laugh. Gummi understood this instinctively. This man looked at him with an attentiveness that was dearer to him than caresses. Never before in Taunus had Gummi seen such a handsome and noble gentleman. As is often the case with idiots, Gummi had a very refined aesthetic sensibility, and the appearance of this gentleman, especially the corner of his handkerchief peeping neatly out of his breast pocket, made a deep impression on him. He was filled with absolute trust.
“Good day,” Gummi said politely. When he said this, his face did not crumple up into the usual accordion. Neither did he wince or wink.
Davin looked at the placid face, in which only an expression of unparalleled trust betrayed simplemindedness. The doctor did not consider himself to be a sentimental man (that was perhaps the reason he was) but caught himself watching this face with pleasure. His own face seemed to grow more mellow upon seeing Gummi; it shook off the solid, stern beauty it wore like a mask, and found itself again, after a long absence. Gummi appeared to him to be an elderly boy.
Gummi greeted him, and regarded him steadily.
“Good day,” said the doctor. “Allow me to introduce myself. Dr. Robert Davin.” And he extended his hand.
“Gummi,” said Gummi, and touched the doctor’s hand in confusion, unable to take his eyes off the snow-white cuffs and the cufflinks in the shape of little golden birds.
“Please excuse me for taking the liberty to approach you like this,” the doctor said. “But you were just examining something extremely interesting.”
“You like them, too?” Gummi said happily. “Want me to show them to you? I haven’t looked at them yet myself,” he said in a mumble, rummaging around in his pocket. The postcards, as though to spite him, kept getting stuck. He was unable to remove them, but he was no longer afraid of crushing them, for the doctor said, “I’d very much like that.” He moved closer, bending over Gummi’s shoulder from his own greater height. Gummi finally managed to extricate the packet.
The doctor, a man who moved in the best circles, had probably never had the opportunity to see such brazen vulgarity before. The tawdry chromolithographs showed faces that were coarse and depraved, tired, and equine. Lifted legs, in black stockings, cascades, flounces; smiles as seductive as dried sweat … The doctor looked politely at Gummi. Such a heated, holy ecstasy lit up his face that the doctor felt somewhat unwell, a slight dizziness. Again he turned his gaze to the pictures, and saw something completely different. In each of the faces Davin read an unfulfilled dream, a primordial purity. Not a drop of smut clung to them; only weariness, the fatigue of hope. The doctor saw them through Gummi’s eyes and was taken by surprise by a notion that seemed absurd to his lofty and irreproachable mind—that he himself was the one who saw the vulgarity, that the capacity to
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