night. Sleep well.” Simon lay back down. Nonetheless he couldn’t
fall asleep. The man’s voice had sounded so peculiar to him, so calm, that’s
precisely what was so odd. So icy—actually the voice had an ordinary
friendliness about it, and that’s just what was so icy. Surely something lay
behind it. But perhaps it was just that he didn’t yet know this man’s habits.
“Lord knows,” he thought to himself, “there are plenty of odd fish swimming
about. Life is so tedious, and this encourages the development of oddities. You
can turn odd before you know it. And so Agappaia too might not see anything
queer about this queer habit of his. He can just call it sporting and so lay
to
rest any other thoughts that might suggest themselves. All the same, I’m going
to try to get some sleep now. ” —But other thoughts now came to him,
all having to do with nighttime: He thought of small children afraid to enter
dark rooms and who cannot fall asleep in the dark. Parents instill in their
children the most dreadful fear of the dark and then, as punishment, lock
recalcitrant ones up in silent dark rooms. Then the child clutches at the
darkness in this deep dense dark and finds only darkness and nothing more. The
child’s fear and this darkness are soon the best of friends, but the child is
not managing to befriend its fear. The child has such talents for feeling fear
that the fear just grows and grows. It soon overpowers the little child, being
such a large, dense, heavily-breathing entity; the child might wish
for example to cry out, but doesn’t dare. This not daring increases the fear
even further; for there must be something utterly terrifying there if the child
is too frightened even to utter cries of fear. The child believes someone is
listening in the dark. How melancholy it is, thinking of such an unfortunate
child. How the poor little ears strain to hear something: even the thousandth
part of some faint little sound. Not to hear anything at all is more frightening
by far than hearing something, when a person stands in the dark listening. Even
this alone: The child cannot help listening and almost hearing its own
listening—sometimes it merely listens and sometimes it hearkens, for the child
is capable of such distinctions in its nameless fear. When we speak of
listening, this presupposes something to be heard, but hearkening is often done
in vain, it is a waiting to hear, a hoping. Hearkening is the activity performed
by a child locked away in a dark room as punishment for disobedience. And now
let us imagine someone approaching—approaching softly, so dreadfully softly.
No,
it’s better not to imagine this. Better not imagine it at all. A person who
imagines such a thing will die of terror along with the child. Children have
such sensitive souls, how could one be thinking up terrors for such souls!
Parents, parents, never shut your recalcitrant children in dark rooms if you
have first taught them to fear the dark, which is otherwise so dear, so
sweet—
Now Simon was no longer afraid of anything else occurring that night.
He fell asleep, and when he woke up the next morning he saw his brother sleeping
peacefully beside him in his bed. He could have kissed him. He got dressed as
carefully as possible so as not to wake the sleeper, quietly opened the door
and
went downstairs. On the stairs he met Klara, who seemed to have been waiting
there for some time. But Simon had scarcely said good morning before the woman,
who appeared to be filled with violent emotion, threw her arms about his neck,
drew him to her and kissed him lovingly. “I want to kiss you too, you’re his
brother,” she said in a soft, urgent, rapturous voice.
“He’s still asleep,” Simon said. He was in the habit of gently
brushing aside acts of tenderness not meant for him, but his equanimity only
redoubled her agitation. She
fall asleep. The man’s voice had sounded so peculiar to him, so calm, that’s
precisely what was so odd. So icy—actually the voice had an ordinary
friendliness about it, and that’s just what was so icy. Surely something lay
behind it. But perhaps it was just that he didn’t yet know this man’s habits.
“Lord knows,” he thought to himself, “there are plenty of odd fish swimming
about. Life is so tedious, and this encourages the development of oddities. You
can turn odd before you know it. And so Agappaia too might not see anything
queer about this queer habit of his. He can just call it sporting and so lay
to
rest any other thoughts that might suggest themselves. All the same, I’m going
to try to get some sleep now. ” —But other thoughts now came to him,
all having to do with nighttime: He thought of small children afraid to enter
dark rooms and who cannot fall asleep in the dark. Parents instill in their
children the most dreadful fear of the dark and then, as punishment, lock
recalcitrant ones up in silent dark rooms. Then the child clutches at the
darkness in this deep dense dark and finds only darkness and nothing more. The
child’s fear and this darkness are soon the best of friends, but the child is
not managing to befriend its fear. The child has such talents for feeling fear
that the fear just grows and grows. It soon overpowers the little child, being
such a large, dense, heavily-breathing entity; the child might wish
for example to cry out, but doesn’t dare. This not daring increases the fear
even further; for there must be something utterly terrifying there if the child
is too frightened even to utter cries of fear. The child believes someone is
listening in the dark. How melancholy it is, thinking of such an unfortunate
child. How the poor little ears strain to hear something: even the thousandth
part of some faint little sound. Not to hear anything at all is more frightening
by far than hearing something, when a person stands in the dark listening. Even
this alone: The child cannot help listening and almost hearing its own
listening—sometimes it merely listens and sometimes it hearkens, for the child
is capable of such distinctions in its nameless fear. When we speak of
listening, this presupposes something to be heard, but hearkening is often done
in vain, it is a waiting to hear, a hoping. Hearkening is the activity performed
by a child locked away in a dark room as punishment for disobedience. And now
let us imagine someone approaching—approaching softly, so dreadfully softly.
No,
it’s better not to imagine this. Better not imagine it at all. A person who
imagines such a thing will die of terror along with the child. Children have
such sensitive souls, how could one be thinking up terrors for such souls!
Parents, parents, never shut your recalcitrant children in dark rooms if you
have first taught them to fear the dark, which is otherwise so dear, so
sweet—
Now Simon was no longer afraid of anything else occurring that night.
He fell asleep, and when he woke up the next morning he saw his brother sleeping
peacefully beside him in his bed. He could have kissed him. He got dressed as
carefully as possible so as not to wake the sleeper, quietly opened the door
and
went downstairs. On the stairs he met Klara, who seemed to have been waiting
there for some time. But Simon had scarcely said good morning before the woman,
who appeared to be filled with violent emotion, threw her arms about his neck,
drew him to her and kissed him lovingly. “I want to kiss you too, you’re his
brother,” she said in a soft, urgent, rapturous voice.
“He’s still asleep,” Simon said. He was in the habit of gently
brushing aside acts of tenderness not meant for him, but his equanimity only
redoubled her agitation. She
Similar Books
