The Tanners

As the old man spoke this word, the clean yet nonetheless musty and squalid dining room was suddenly graced by the appearance of beautiful Frau Klara. Every hand holding a fork, a spoon or a knife, or the handle of a cup hesitated for a moment before going on with its work. Every mouth popped open, and all eyes were riveted at the sight of a figure so unlikely to have any business in such a place. She was the consummate lady, never more so than at this moment. It was exactly — even for Simon’s eyes and senses — as though from an open fluttering sky an angel had emerged and was now floating down to earth and visiting some dark hole in order to bring happiness to those who lived there simply with her heavenly appearance. This is just how Simon had always imagined a benefactress visiting the poor and wretched, people who possessed nothing more than the questionable privilege of being constantly flogged with worries as if with birch canes. In this charitable establishment it appeared to come quite naturally to Klara to comport herself like a regal remote creature that had just flown here from distant borderlands, from a different world and walk of life. Precisely this splendor and radiance compelled all these timid persons to gape, struggle for breath and use their free hands to steady the hands holding their knives for fear they might drop them, they were trembling so. Klara’s beauty suddenly, painfully, gave them something to consider. All at once it occurred to every one what other things existed in this world besides harsh labor and the fear of not making ends meet. Health like this — this luxuriant, voluptuous, smiling charm — had nearly vanished from their imaginations; life in all its bleak unsavory ordinariness was slipping through their fingers, ground down in worry and squalid graspings. All these things now occurred to them — though perhaps not in each case with such great clarity — occurred tormentingly, for a torment it is to behold beauty whose very scent intoxicates but which can kill a person whose thoughts take the liberty of smiling along with beauty’s smile. All of them therefore frowned involuntarily, showing grimacing faces to the woman towering over them, for they were seated on low chairs, squeezed into narrow spaces, while she in her loftiness stood erect above them. She seemed to be looking for someone. Simon kept quiet in his corner, steadily smiling at the woman as she peered about. And it was a long time before she noticed him, although the room was relatively small; it must have been strenuous to accustom her eyes to this jumbled dark hodge-podge and pick out individual figures such as she wasn’t in the habit of noticing at all. She was about to withdraw again, having grown somewhat impatient, when her eyes swept over Simon and recognized him. “So here’s where you’re sitting, all tucked away in a corner?” she said, and with the greatest joy sat down beside him, on the chair between her young friend and the old man, whose nose still bore the large glistening drop. The old man was asleep. It was not permitted to sleep in such establishments, but it was a quite common occurrence for old people to fall asleep here after eating, out of sheer exhaustion they could no longer control. Perhaps this old man had a long fruitless peregrination through all the city’s streets behind him. Quite possibly he’d asked for work everywhere his thoughts could even faintly suggest he try. Growing ever more weary, he had perhaps nonetheless tried to achieve something this day, might have expended his last resources scaling a mountain, for the city extended up the mountainside, and at the mountain’s summit he was rejected just as swiftly as down below; and so he went back down again, his heart filled with death, his strength shattered, until he came to this place. The very thought that this old man might, as one could suppose, have gone out looking for work, that he still had the will to work, old as he was — there was something piteous and horrifying about the very idea. But this was a thought that lay quite near at hand. This old man had no other home than this dining establishment, but even here only during certain hours, for afterward the restaurant was closed. Perhaps this was why he prayed: to give the awful seriousness of his situation a soft soothing melody. This was why he said: “I need to pray.” So it wasn’t at all sanctimoniousness but just the utterly plaintive need to sense the presence of a hand that wished to caress him, the hand of a child or daughter softly, consolingly stroking his old creased forehead. Perhaps the old man had begotten daughters — and what about him now? It was easy to give in to such thoughts, sitting there beside the old man watching him sleep like this, his head strangely immobile, hands propping his chin. Klara said: “Your brother has come, Simon, in his officer’s uniform, and your sister too, and one other gentleman named Sebastian.” Hearing these words, Simon paid what he owed, and the two of them left together. When they were gone, one of the serving girls noticed the sleeping man, gave him a shake and declared with mock severity: “No sleeping! You there! Can’t you hear? You mustn’t sleep!” At this, the old man woke up.