Rudolf (Writings from an Unbound Europe)
Spider who retains watch on the gates of sweet sixteen. He doesn’t see the clinging denims anymore simply because he’s wiping his forehead along with his thick arms, wiping his huge nostril and on both sides of it these issues so approximately like a herbarium’s for get-me-nots. His eyes have glazed over. His lens has excited by infinity. And at the back of the outdated blighter’s eyes . . . A haze, reduce in asymmetric strips via the apprentice shears of a few younger Jewish tailor, drifts above a street the place morning dirt waits for the 1st.
Happiness, to that doglike shamelessness, to—please forgive me— that doglike cocky boorishness. whilst i used to be younger, i used to be taught. . . and that i try out to not fail to remember it, that not just Sir Prick inhabits my physique yet primarily Sir cause. I deliver this epistle to an finish, introduced out into the sunshine half ly because of you, and switch towards you a freshly shaved face rubbed with eau de cologne and besides it a pleasant look from its eyes. Yours. . . To get solid tea, first you need to hot the pot with boil.
Applause from the assembled corporation as though to emphasize the justice and unanimity of the cost. I’m throwing banknotes to the gang. Hurling them selves at the cash, they bring up the sort of cloud of sand that in simple terms Rudolf’s head, large as a hot-air balloon, escapes the storm. And is convulsed with laughter, licking a very good senile finger withdrawn from a dished-up chook. Even a few soiled outdated guy I don’t be aware of blinks his eyes, licking a bit vanilla boy impaled on his claw. And particularly this floats.
Dream simply along with his head . . . ” And he desires to carry his blouse up once again to teach me the tattoo. So i am getting in first and say: “With his head . . . together with his head . . . battered and bruised . . . yet along with his head. pay attention . . . ” (and I experience that my voice is popping Slav) “ . . . Day had simply dawned, freez ing, while the Germans evacuated us from Gross-Rosen . . . squeezed into railway vehicles like livestock. We’re on our manner . . . yet you could pay attention anything reverberating already . . . the gunfire.
Statistically . . . good, and literature’s jam-packed with examination ples . . . ” (the German is nodding his head). “But aren’t you exaggerating . . . if you outline all of your existence . . . through this thing? you recognize . . . as man’s whole future? There are val ues finally” (I’m being all yet ironic) “that mankind passes down . . . Even you, even though you’ve retired, you can actually. . . ” The pensioner increases a hand, desirous to interrupt. And he does interrupt: “I can, i will . . . are you aware what i will do as a.