Bildungsromans; Germany -- Social conditions -- 1918-1933 -- Fiction; Young men -- Germany -- Fiction
“I told you mind-reading looked rather strange, but the process is
quite natural. I could for example tell you more or less exactly what
you thought about me when I once told you the story of Cain and Abel.
But that has nothing to do with the matter in hand. I also think it
possible that you have dreamed of me. But let’s leave that out! You’re
a clever kid, most of ’em are so stupid. I like talking now and then
with a clever fellow whom I can trust. You have no objections, have
you?”
“Oh, no! Only I don’t understand.”
“Let’s keep to our old experiment! We have found that: the boy S. is
easily frightened--he is afraid of somebody--he apparently shares a
secret with this other person, which causes him much disquietude. Is
that about right?”
As in a dream I lay under the influence of his voice, of his
personality. I only nodded. Was not a voice talking there, which could
only come from myself? Which knew all? Which knew all in a better,
clearer way than I myself?
Demian gave me a powerful slap on the shoulder.
“That’s right then. I thought so. Now just one question more: Do you
know the name of the boy who has just gone away?”
I sank back, he had the key to my secret, this secret which twisted
back inside me as if it did not want to see the light.
“What sort of a fellow? There was no one there, except myself.”
He laughed.
“Don’t be afraid to tell me,” said he laughingly. “What’s his name?”
I whispered: “Do you mean Frank Kromer?”
He nodded contentedly.
“Bravo! You’re a smart chap, we shall be good friends yet. But now I
must tell you something else: this Kromer, or whatever his name is, is
a nasty fellow. His face tells me he’s a rascal! What do you think?”
“Oh yes,” I sobbed out, “he is nasty, he’s a devil! But he mustn’t know
anything! For God’s sake, he mustn’t know anything. D’you know him?
Does he know you?”
“Don’t worry! He’s gone, and he doesn’t know me--not yet. But I should
like to make his acquaintance. He goes to the public school?”
“Yes.”
“In which standard?”
“In the fifth. But don’t say anything to him! Please, don’t say
anything to him!”
“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. I suppose you wouldn’t like
to tell me a little more about this fellow Kromer?”
“I can’t! No, let me go!”
He was silent for a while.
“It’s a pity,” he said, “we might have been able to carry the
experiment still further. But I don’t want to bother you. You know,
don’t you, that it is not right of you to be afraid of him? Such fear
quite undermines us, you must get rid of it. You must get rid of it, if
you want to become a real man. D’you understand?”
“Certainly, you are quite right ... but it won’t do. You don’t know....”
“You have seen that I know a lot, more than you thought. Do you owe him
any money?”
“Yes, I do, but that isn’t the essential point. I can’t tell, I can’t!”
“It won’t help matters, then, if I give you the amount you owe him? I
could very well let you have it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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