Bildungsromans; Germany -- Social conditions -- 1918-1933 -- Fiction; Young men -- Germany -- Fiction
The musician looked distrustfully around, as if someone might be
eavesdropping. Then he bent towards me and said in a whisper: “I
thought so. Who are you?”
“I’m a student from the school.”
“How do you know about Abraxas?”
“By chance.”
He thumped on the table, so that his wine spilled over.
“Chance! Don’t talk nonsense, young man! One doesn’t know of Abraxas
by chance, mark you. I will tell you something more of him. I know a
little about him!”
He ceased talking and pushed back his chair. I looked at him
expectantly, and he made a grimace.
“Not here! another time. There, take these!”
He dug his hand into the pocket of his overcoat, which he had not taken
off, and pulled out a couple of roasted chestnuts, which he threw to me.
I said nothing. I took and ate them, and was very contented.
“Well,” he whispered after a while. “How do you know about--him?”
I did not hesitate to tell him.
“I was lonely and perplexed,” I related. “I called to mind a friend of
former years who, I think, knows a great deal. I had painted something,
a bird coming out of a terrestrial globe. I sent this to him. After a
time, when I had begun to lose hope of a reply, a piece of paper fell
into my hands. On it was written: ‘The bird fights its way out of the
egg. The egg is the world. Whoever will be born must destroy a world.
The bird flies to God. The name of the god is Abraxas.’”
He answered nothing. We peeled our chestnuts and ate them, and drank
our wine.
“Shall we have another drink?” he asked.
“Thanks, no. I don’t care much for drinking.”
He laughed, somewhat disappointedly.
“As you wish! I am different. I am staying here. You can go now!”
The next time I saw him after the organ recital, he was not very
communicative. He conducted me through an old street to an old, stately
house and upstairs into a large, somewhat gloomy and untidy room where,
besides a piano, there was nothing to indicate that its occupant was a
musician. Instead, a huge bookcase and writing table gave the room a
somewhat scholarly air.
“What a lot of books you have!” I said appreciatively.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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