Composers -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English; Germany -- Fiction
The next time Daniel came, he resumed his seat by the stove, and
remained silent for a while. Then, without the slightest warning or
apparent motivation, he began to discuss religion. And how? With the old
spirit of defiance, as if from an ambuscade from which he could send
out his poisoned arrows, with calculating maliciousness and cold
rebellion, with the air of a man who has been defeated, who is now being
pursued, and who is willing to concede more to the earthly order of
things than to the divine. Thus he sat, the incarnation of blasphemy,
and once more shuffled the features of his face until he looked like the
sedulous ape.
Eleanore felt that he was denying both himself and God, and that with
violence. She went over to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder.
Gertrude, a death-like pallor playing over her face, got up, passed by
her and Daniel, and did not appear again that evening. Nor did she
appear the following evening. From that time on she avoided his
presence.
For one remarkable second and no longer, Daniel fixed his eyes on the
shape of Gertrude’s legs. He became suddenly conscious of the fact that
she was a woman and he was a man. During this second, one of the rarest
of his life, he perceived the outer surface of her body, but without the
enveloping clothes. He thought of her as a nude figure. It lasted only a
second, but he pictured her to himself as a nude. Everything she had
said and done fell from her like so much clothing.
He had a feeling that his eyes had been opened; that he had really seen
for the first time in his life; and that what he now saw was the body of
the world.
The nude picture followed him. He fought against his disquietude.
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He conjured up the
picture in order to destroy it with coolness and composure; but it would
not be destroyed, nor would it vanish. One day he chanced to meet
Gertrude by the beautiful fountain. He stopped, stood as if petrified,
and forgot to speak to her.
XV
It was a cold, clear day in the middle of December. Eleanore wanted to
go skating after dinner. She was known in the entire city for her skill
on the ice. An irrepressible vivacity and sense of freedom pulsed
through her body. It seemed to her lamentable that she should have to
sit down in the overheated, sticky air of the office among all those
clerks, and write.
She went, nevertheless, to the office, took her place among the clerks,
and wrote as usual. Herr Zittel’s eyes shone through the lenses of his
spectacles like two poison flasks. But she did not make much progress;
time dragged; it dragged even more heavily and slowly than Herr Diruf’s
feet, as he made his rounds through the room. Eleanore looked up. She
felt as if his gloomy eyes were resting on her. Conscious of having
failed to perform her duty as she might have done, she blushed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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