Chapter 6 chapter Five

Dreyer's new project does have an air of mystery.The project began on a Wednesday in mid-November when he received an indescribable stranger who had a metropolitan name but could not identify its origin.He might be Czech, Jewish, Bagrian, Irish—it's all up to personal interpretation. Dreyer was sitting in his office (a large and quiet office, but with large, unsettling windows, a large desk, and a few large leather armchairs).The indescribable gentleman was ushered into the office through an olive-green corridor, past large glass rooms from which typewriters crackled like a whirlwind.He was hatless, but in a light overcoat and heavy gloves.

A few minutes earlier, his business card had been handed in, with the title "Inventor" emblazoned beneath his name.Dreyer enjoyed this period very much, perhaps too much, the Inventor.With undeniable gestures, he seated his guest in a plush padded leather armchair (with an ashtray mounted on one arm), and while he played with a red and blue pencil, he faced the with visitors.The man's eyebrows were bushy and curved like two black caterpillars, and the freshly shaved parts of his mournful face were dark blue. Inventors start from afar, and Dreyer agrees with him.Dealing with business affairs should be targeted and cautious.The inventor spoke in a low voice, from polite remarks to substantive issues.Dreyer put down his pencil.The Magyar—or French, or Polish—could describe his invention in great detail.

"So, you're saying it has nothing to do with wax?" Dreyer asked.The inventor holds up a finger. "Absolutely nothing to do with it, although I call it voskin, a trade name that will be included in all dictionaries tomorrow. Its main ingredient is an elastic, colorless product, resembling meat. I especially emphasize it The elasticity of it, the flexibility of it, the volatility of it, IMHO." "Just to be blunt," said Dreyer, "well, what about that 'electric drive'?—I don't quite get it; what do you mean, say, with 'retraction drive'?"

The inventor smiled deceptively. "Ah, that's the point. Obviously, if I show you the blueprints, you'll understand a lot; but, obviously, I can't do that yet. I've explained how you can patent my invention. Now, the main See if you can provide me with the funds to build the first prototype." "How much money do you need?" Dreyer asked curiously. The inventor gave a detailed answer. "Do you think," said Dreyer, with a mischievous gleam of understanding in his eyes, "that your imagination is worth that much? I have great respect and respect for other people's imaginations. Like , if a man came to me and said: 'My dear Herr Direktor, I would like to dream. How much would you pay for my dream?' Then, perhaps, I would start negotiating with him. And you, my dear inventor, you can immediately offer something practical, a factory product or something. Who cares about reality? I am obliged to believe in a dream, and to believe that that dream can become a reality - phew!" (This is the German one of Rael's catchphrases).

At first the inventor did not understand, then he understood, and he was greatly humiliated. "In other words, you simply refused?" the inventor asked dejectedly. Dreyer sighed.The inventor clucked his tongue, leaned back in his seat, and clenched and loosened his hands. "This is my life's work," he said finally, staring blankly ahead, "I've struggled like Hercules for ten years with the tentacles of my dreams, stylized animation, if I could express words." "Of course you can say that," Dreyer said. "I'd even say it's better than—how should I put it—'volatility'? Tell me," he said, picking up his pencil again—it's a Good sign (although the inventor is unlikely to have noticed this detail), "Did you sell this to anyone else?"

"Well," said the inventor with an air of great sincerity, "it's the first time, frankly. In fact, I've just arrived in Germany. This is Germany, isn't it?" he added, looking around. "I heard it is." Dreyer said. There was a fruitful pause. "Your dream sounds attractive," Dreyer said apprehensively, "very attractive." The inventor made a grimace, and suddenly got angry: "Don't keep talking about dreams, sir. They have come true, they have become reality! And not just a success in a sense, although I am a poor man and cannot Build my Garden of Eden and fulfill my ideals. Have you ever read Epicritus?"

Dreyer shook his head. "I haven't read it either. I did, however, have a chance to prove that I'm not a charlatan. They told me you'd be interested in these kinds of inventions. Come to think of it, what a delight! A piece of What an adornment! What an astounding, if I may say, even artistic achievement!" "What are you vouching for me?" Dreyer asked, relishing the guy's performance. "Guaranteed by the human spirit," said the inventor sharply. Dreyer laughed. "That's plausible! You're back to my old point." He thought for a moment, then added: "I think I'm going to go over your proposal in my head. Who knows, maybe in my next dream, I'll see your invention. My imagination has to soak in it." .Now I can't say yes or no. Then go back! Where do you live?"

"The Hotel Montevideo," said the inventor, "is a very stupid and misleading name." "It's a familiar name, though I can't remember it. Vidia, Vidia..." "I see, you have my friend's 'Pugowitz tap water filter'," said the inventor, pointing to a tap in the hallway, with a Rembrandt-like air of pointing out a painting by Claude Rolland. "Vitya, Vidya," Dreyer repeated, "no, I don't know. Well, consider our conversation and decide if you really want to sell this idea to a factory and destroy a capable Dreams that bring happiness. I'll call you in a week or ten days. Excuse me, allow me to make a slight mention—I wish you were more sociable and trusting."

After the inventor left, Dreyer sat motionless, with his hands deep in his trouser pockets. "No, he's not a charlatan," he thought, "at least he doesn't realize he's a liar. Why not have some fun? If everything he says is true, it might turn out to be really weird." There was a soft buzzing sound, and for a moment, he forgot about the inventor. That night, however, he hinted to Martha: he was going to start a whole new project.When Martha asked if the project would be profitable, he narrowed his eyes and nodded, "Oh, very, very profitable, dear." The next morning, as he snorted in the shower, he decided not to take on that invention. Home.At lunchtime, in a restaurant, he thought happily of the inventor, thinking that his invention was something very unique and irresistible.When he came home for dinner, he casually told Martha that the new project had fallen through.Although the room was fairly warm, Martha was wearing a beige tweed dress with a pink square over her shoulders.Dreyer thought Franz was an amusing fool, as frightened and depressed as usual.He soon went home, complaining that he had smoked too much and had a headache.As soon as Franz was gone, Masha went upstairs to bed.In her bedroom, there was a triangular table next to the sofa with an open silver box on it.Dreyer pulled a Libidette from the box and burst out laughing: "Contraction transmission! Animation-like flexibility! No, he can't be deceiving! I find his idea very fascinating."

When he too went to bed, Martha seemed to be asleep.After a long time, the lamp on the bedside table went out.Martha opened her eyes at once and listened.The husband was already snoring like thunder.She lay on her back, her eyes staring into the night.Everything bothered her—the snoring, the glimmer of light in the night, maybe the mirror's light, maybe her own light. "Today's tactics are wrong," she thought. "Tomorrow night I will use drastic tactics. Tomorrow night." The next evening, however, Franz did not show up, nor did Saturday.On Friday he went to the movies, and on Saturday he went to a coffee shop with his colleague Schwimmer.In the theater, an actress with lips like spades and eyelashes like the spokes of an umbrella is playing a rich heiress posing as a poor office worker.The cafe was disappointingly dark and dull, with Schwimmer going on and on about the illicit things that happened among the boys at the summer camp; a whore with lipstick on her lips and a nasty gold tooth in her Looking at them both, shaking her thighs, she smiled at Franz every time she brushed off the cigarette ashes.

It was so simple, thought Franz, that all I had to do was hug her when she touched my knee.Painful...maybe I should wait a while and not see her for a few days?But then life wouldn't be worth living.Next time, I swear, yes, I swear.I swear by my mother and sister. On Sundays, the landlord routinely brought him coffee at half past nine.Instead of dressing and shaving right away, as he did on weekdays, Franz just put on a dressing gown over his pajamas, sat down at the table, and wrote his weekly letter home: "Dear Mother," he said crookedly. Write, "How are you? How is Amy? Maybe..." He stopped the pen, crossed out the last two words, and fell into deep thought.While picking his nose, he looked out the window at the rainy day.Perhaps at this very moment they were on their way to church.Enjoy coffee and whipped cream in the afternoon.He thought of his mother's plump, rosy cheeks and dyed hair.What did she care about him?She always preferred Amy.When he was seventeen, eighteen, even nineteen—in fact, last year, his mother slapped him.Once at Easter, when he was still very young but had already put on glasses, his mother ordered him to eat a piece of chocolate bunny that his sister had licked up a lot.Amy licked the chocolate, and her mother gave her a little pat on the back, but for refusing to touch the hideously slimy brown chocolate, her mother slapped him so hard that he fell off his chair , hit his head on the sideboard and lost consciousness.His love for his mother was never very great, but, nevertheless, it was his first unfortunate love, or he saw her as a crude exercise in the first love; although he longed for her love, Because the school storybook ("My Soldier Boy, Hannah Comes Home") told him that from time immemorial, mothers always doted on their children; , her mannerisms, and the mental strength she displays, the very, very depressingly familiar smell of her skin and clothes, the fat bug-like brown birthmark on her neck, the unappetizing use of her scratching her with a knitting needle The way her chestnut hair was parted, her large swollen ankles, and the expressions she made in the kitchen, he could tell exactly what meal his mother was preparing—beer soup, or beef testicles, or something like that. A nasty local delicacy called Budenzucker. Perhaps—at least in retrospect—the mother's indifference, meanness, and outbursts of temper were not a pain for him. What made it even more unbearable was that her mother pretended to love him in front of the guests and pinched his cheek with her hands. , usually in the presence of the butcher next door, or in the presence of the butcher, forcing him to kiss his sister's classmate, Christina, whom he secretly liked and whose mother foolishly enjoyed it.Franz offered to apologize to Christina for the bad moments, if Christina had ever noticed him.Perhaps, despite all this, the mother still missed him at this moment?She rarely wrote a letter, and never mentioned her inner thoughts in the letter. Still, it's fun to feel sorry for yourself, and it can bring tears to your eyes.Amy - she's a nice girl.She will marry the butcher's helper.He is the best butcher in town.It's a damn rainy day.dear mother.what else?Maybe describe the room? He put the right slipper back on. The right slipper wore out faster than the left slipper, and it kept falling off when he dangled his foot.He looks around. "I have written to you before that I have a very nice room, but I have never described it to you. It has a mirror and a washstand. Above the bed is a beautiful painting of Oriental Lady. The wallpaper is painted with beige flowers. There is a chest of drawers in the corner directly in front of me." At this moment, there was a soft knock on the door.Franz turned his head and saw that the door was ajar.Old Enricht poked his head in, blinked, then retracted his head and said to the person outside the door: "Yes, he is at home. Come in." She was wearing her prettiest mole-fur coat, open at the front, over a gauzy dress; the rain from the taxi to the entrance of the house had taken advantage of the rain to wet her bead-gray helmet-like hat, leaving There are little black wet spots.She stands with her legs tightly tucked together in apricot-colored silk stockings, as if in a parade.Still standing, she put her hand behind her back and closed the door.She took off her gloves and looked at Franz with a serious face, as if she had seen him by accident.Franz covered his Adam's apple with his hand and said a long sentence, but was surprised to find that not a word seemed to come out, as if he had typed the sentence on a typewriter and forgot to put the ribbon on. "I'm sorry I broke in like this," said Martha, "but I was worried that you were ill." With his heart pounding, his eyes blinking, and his lower lip drooping, Franz began to help her take off her coat.The lining of the coat was bright red, as red as lips and skinned animals, and the scent was wonderful.He put her coat and hat on the bed, and after all other thoughts had dissipated, he was the last determined little observer in the storm of his consciousness, noticing that it was like a passenger on a train Make a mark on the seat he is about to occupy. The room was damp.Martha, who was wearing little under her dress but garters, was trembling. "What's the matter?" she said. "I thought you'd be glad to see me, but you didn't say a word." "Oh, I'm talking," replied Franz, speaking as loudly as he could to drown out the low humming in his ears. Now they stood facing each other in the middle of the room, between the unfinished letters home and the unmade bed. "I don't like your dressing gown very much," she said, "but I like your pajamas. It's beautiful," she continued, rubbing her thumb and finger near his open collar, " See, he sleeps with pens in his watch-pocket, real little businessman." He started with her hands, buried his mouth in her warm palms, fondled her cold knuckles, kissed her bracelets.She gently took off his glasses, as if she were blind too, and fumbled for his dressing gown pocket, driving him crazy.At this moment, her face was very close to his, so vivid and lifelike, it was enough for him to take the next step.Franz put his hands around her ass and stuck his tongue into her slightly parted perky mouth; she let go, fearing that he was young and impatient and perhaps giving himself off too soon, and he kissed the depths of her soft neck . "Is it okay," he whispered, "Is it okay, I beg you!" "Fool," she said, "why not, of course. But first you have to lock the door." He ran towards the door, put his glasses back on as a habit, and put down his right slipper on the floor in front of her, to show that he would return to the original place immediately.Then, with his desire exposed, his horny eyes peeking out from behind thick lenses, he tried to push her into bed. "Wait a minute, my darling," she said, wrapping one cold hand around him while fumbling with the other in her handbag, "here, you You gotta wear this, and I'll help you, you rough-and-tumble darling!" "Now it's done," she yelled after helping him put the condom on neatly; her thighs were bare, and she didn't even bother to lie down, reveling in his clumsiness, and she guided him upwards until he reached the depths; , her face was expressive, her head was thrown back, and ten nails dug deeply into his buttocks. When it was done, Martha wobbled and sat down on the edge of the bed (she was standing by it).It was all so nice, she didn't immediately realize that sitting under her bum was her second favorite faux alligator handbag. Franz wanted to go on at once, but Martha said that first she had to take off her skirt and stockings and lie comfortably on the bed.Her coat and hat were transferred to a chair.What Martha called "your pimp" was rinsed and put back on.Franz and Martha admire each other.Her breasts were a little disappointing, small but lovely and well proportioned. "I never thought you'd be so skinny and hairy," she said, stroking him.Franz became even more reticent. Soon, the bed was shaking.It rolls out of a dream station like a fast train, the sleeper car sliding all the way, creaking and cautious. "You, you, you," Martha gently squeezed him between her knees every time she gasped, her moist eyes followed the shadow of the angel dancing the handkerchief on the ceiling, the ceiling was leaving fast, faster and faster go. At this moment, the room seemed empty.Things are scattered here and there, standing, sitting, hanging, unencumbered, in various poses; that's what man-made things look like in the absence of humans.A faux crocodile handbag lay on the floor.Because the fountain pen needed to be filled with ink again, the light blue cork stopper that had just been removed from the small ink bottle hesitated for a moment, rolled half a circle, rolled to the edge of the table covered with oilcloth, hesitated again, and then jumped off. table to go.The wind followed the rain and tried to blow the windows open, but failed.In a rickety closet, a black-dotted blue tie slithers off a branch like a snake.The pages of an open paperback novel on the chest of drawers flicked through. Suddenly, the mirror gave a signal—an alarming gleam.The mirror reflected a blue armpit, a lovely naked arm.The arm spread out—and fell back limply.Slowly, bedridden returned to Berlin from Eden.Suddenly the music on the radio upstairs, welcoming the bedridden return to reality, the music immediately turned into a rousing speech, and then the speech changed back to the original music, but at this time the music faded away.Martha lay with her eyes closed, her smile forming two crescent-shaped dimples on either side of her tightly shut lips.Strands of black hair that had been thick and neat were now scattered back from her temples.Lying beside her, leaning on his elbows, Franz gazed at Martha's soft, bare ears, at her delicate forehead, and in this face he found at last what he had discovered three months before. Some of the beauty of the Virgin Mary, and he was content with the resemblance. "Franz," said Martha, closing her eyes, "Franz, this is just wonderful! I never, never..." An hour later, she leaves, promising her poor pet: Next time she'll be less of a cruel contraceptive.Before leaving, she examined every corner of the room thoroughly and carefully, picked up Franz's pajamas, took the fountain pen from its fob pocket, put it on the bedside table, moved the chair; she noticed When Franz's stockings were torn and the buttons were off, she said that the room needed some work--some embroidered cushions, perhaps, and two or three pretty cushions on the sofa.She reminded the old landlady (whom she found pacing up and down the corridor, apparently waiting for his moment to come in and clean up and put away the coffee cups and saucers) to put the sofa back where it belonged.The old man smiled now at her, now at Franz, rubbing his hands together and rustling.He said that when his wife came back, the sofa was returned to its original place.In fact, he didn't fix any of the sofas at all (an upright piano had been replaced by a previous tenant in the empty space where the sofa had been), and he answered Martha's detailed questions with great pleasure.The gray-haired Enricht, who wore felt loafers with buckles, was generally quite content with his life, especially since the day he discovered that he had the remarkable talent of transforming himself into all kinds of creatures. —a horse, a pig, or a six-year-old girl in a sailor hat.For in fact (though, of course, this is a secret) he was a famous visionary and magician. Martha liked the politeness of the old man, but, Franz warned her, he was a little strange. "Why, my dear," she said, as she descended the stairs, "this is the best, the quiet queer man is much safer than the nagging old crone. Au revoir, my darling. You You can kiss me—kiss me quickly." His street was absolutely filthy.Perhaps, after the completion of the "film city", the appearance will be changed.At an important crossing, a special poster is pasted in a wooden frame facing the sidewalk, depicting a dreamy future - a towering building with shining glass curtain walls, standing aloof in the vast blue sky, Despite the fact that many ugly rental houses crouch down to the roots of its slowly rising walls.Scaffolding is built around half the floors above the planned studio, which is said to include an exhibition hall for rent, a beauty salon, a photography studio, and many other facilities to attract guests. One end of the street is a cul-de-sac, and the other end leads to a small square where there is a modest open-air market, open on Tuesdays and Fridays.There are also two forks in the open-air market that extend outward: there is a winding alley on the left, and red flags are often displayed in the alley on political celebration days; there is a long street on the right, full of pedestrians, people will pay attention There was a big store there, and everything in it, from a bust of Schiele to a kitchen pan, was only a quarter.She was cold, but in a good mood.The street adjoins a stone colonnade with a white U in blue glass, which is a subway station.Then one turns left and comes to a rather nice boulevard.So far, ordinary houses have come to an end, some villas are being built sporadically, and a piece of wasteland has been turned into vegetable gardens.Then the houses appeared again, big new houses, pink and light grass green.Turning and passing through this last area, Masha came to her street.On the other side of her villa is a wide road with two tram lines, No. 113 and No. 108, and a bus line. She walked briskly along the gravel path leading to the porch.At this moment, the sun swept across the thin part of the white clouds, found a gap, and let out the bright sunlight all at once.The small trees on both sides of the path responded immediately, and the wet raindrops on the trees were shining brightly.The lawn is also shiny.A sparrow flew overhead, its crystal wings shining brightly. When Martha entered the room, in the relative darkness of the vestibule, a pink spot of light floated before her eyes.In the restaurant, the table has not been set yet.In the bedroom, the sudden sunlight had already shone on the carpet and the blue sofa.She began to change clothes, looked at herself in the mirror, smiled, was very grateful, and sighed beautifully. After a while, she was standing in the middle of the bedroom in a crimson dress, her temples were smooth and only a little makeup was applied.Downstairs she heard Tom barking foolishly, and then a high-pitched voice from a stranger.At the corner of the stairs, she met the stranger who was going upstairs.The stranger passed her quickly, whistling and tapping his croup on the banister. "Hi, my dear," he said without stopping, "I'll be downstairs in ten minutes." He strode heavily over the last two or three steps.He grunted cheerfully and glanced down at her receding headband. "Come on!" she said without looking back, "clean up those horses, please." At lunchtime, with the gossiping and the clinking of knives and forks—a strange clang, half glass, half metal, alien to the human way of eating—Martha still did not recognize the owner of the house, with his wriggling short mustache, The way he throws food into his mouth quickly, a radish, a burrito, kneading the burrito on a napkin as he talks.It's not that she's under any special constraints.She is not Emma, ​​and she is not Anna.In her married life she had become so accustomed to flattering her wealthy patron with so much skill, forethought, practice, and effectiveness that she thought she was ripe for adultery and had grown ready to commit adultery . On her right sat a somewhat vulgar-looking old man with a catchy title; on her left was a plump Willie Wald, with broad rosy cheeks and three evenly folded nape of the neck.Fat Willie was flanked by his bluffing mother, who was also fat, and her protruding black eyes were equally moist and very noticeable.Her raspy voice was constantly and suddenly mingled with a thick giggle, her laughter was so different from her speech that a blind man would take her for two completely different people.Beside the old earl sat the lively young Mrs. Walder, overpainted, deathly pale, with unnaturally arched eyebrows, and who, it was estimated, could support three faces.Between them, opposite Martha, sat the utterly superfluous Mr. Dreyer, now hidden by fleshy dahlias, now by the crystal tabletop, but laughing as he talked.Everything was good except him: the dishes, especially the goose, the profile of a kindly bald Fat Willie, the gossip about cars, the earl's good humor, and he told an anecdote about plastic surgery of old stars, after which the female star's chin There was an extra dimple, and this dimple turned out to be her belly button!About the navel, the count whispered to Martha in private.Martha said little.But her silence was so lively, so responsive, her smile so vivid, and her wet, shiny lips parted and half-closed, she seemed especially eloquent.Dreyer couldn't help admiring her behind the pink corner of the succulent dahlia.He felt that with him she was happy after all, a feeling that almost made him forgive her rare solace. "His touch is disgusting, and it is impossible to love him," Martha said to Franz during their later tryst.Franz insists that Martha tell him if she loves her husband. "Then I'm the first?" he asked eagerly. "The first?" She bared her gleaming teeth, and gave him a slow pinch on the cheek in reply.Franz hugged her legs tightly and looked up at her, shaking his head and trying to get her fingers in his mouth.Masha was sitting in an armchair, dressed and ready to go, but she could not get up, because Franz was kneeling and nestling in front of her, his hair disheveled, his lenses twinkling on the frames of his new white glasses.He had just helped her put on her going shoes, for she would wear crimson pom-pom house slippers on her tryst with him.Our lovers hid the slippers (his unpretentious but thoughtful gift) in the drawer at the bottom of the triangular cupboard, for life so often imitates the plots of French novels.Also, the drawer contained some contraceptives, which Martha had gradually amassed.Martha suffered a miscarriage in the first year of their marriage, after which she developed a morbid fear of pregnancy.As he put away his pretty slippers for another time, he thought what a wonderful femininity all this added to the room!From other perspectives, the room also becomes more attractive.On the table are three dahlias in the final stages of flowering in a dark blue vase that casts a rectangular shadow.Lace cushions here and there; and before long the long-awaited sofa was painstakingly brought into the room, and Martha had purchased two peacock sofa cushions.In the celluloid soap dish was a round bar of violet beige soap for Martha, which also adorned the washstand.Franz's old make-up had been replaced by a bottle of perfume and lotion with a pockmarked face.All his belongings had been inspected and counted, and his underpants were embroidered with lovely monograms; and one memorable morning, Martha slipped into the mall and asked the clerk to show her the finest in stock ties, picked three of them, picked them up, and disappeared; she walked through his department, took turns admiring them in front of many mirrors, and was intoxicated, but she didn't even look at him, which for that kind of crystal The usual tryst adds a strange spark.Those three ties still hung like trophies in his closet; slowly, Martha had a full-fledged and intoxicating project: a men's tuxedo! The romance helped Franz mature.This first relationship is like a diploma that people can be proud of.All day long he was tormented by the desire to show off to his sales colleagues, but he was careful not to even hint at it.Around five-thirty (Pickoff made him leave work a little earlier than everyone else, thinking it would please his boss), he would run back to his room, out of breath.Before long, Martha will arrive, carrying with her two sandwiches from a nearby deli.The rather ludicrous but endearing contrast between his lean body and his short but extraordinarily large cock would make his lover whine and compliment his manliness: "Fat man sucks! Ouch, I'm hungry!..." Or she'd say, "I bet (she likes to bet) I'll bet you a cardigan and you'll die one more time." Time isn't a lover's friend, though.It was just after seven and she had to leave.Her punctuality is as strong as her passion.Around nine o'clock Franz usually went to his uncle's for dinner. Warmth, warm happiness filled Franz's whole body, his wrists and temples were throbbing, his chest was throbbing violently; in the shop, he accidentally pricked a finger, and a drop of ruby-like blood flowed out. Blood: he often plays with brooches in his shop (although not as much as the calibration tailor Cottenman, who is like a catfish found in that lonely river in his deserted childhood, with a bearded mouth and a circle made of chalk. Customers who have passed the mark go round and round).On the whole, though, his hands had grown more dexterous now, and he was no longer as clumsy as he had been in the first few weeks when he was fiddling with lightweight lids and flat cardboard boxes.Those private crash trainings, in a way, laid the foundation for him to do other movements and touches with his hands, and his hands became very agile and dexterous, which made Martha howl with pleasure, and she especially liked it. His hands, he loved them most, caressed her milky body in frenzied succession.Thus, the counter of the shop became a silent keyboard, on which Franz practiced his happiness. But as soon as Martha left, dinner time came and he had to face Dreyer, and everything changed.As in a dream, a completely harmless object frightens us, so that every time we dream of it we feel frightened (although real life has its disturbing undertones); thus, Dre For Franz, Er's existence was an unforgettable torture, an intolerable threat.After the first tryst with Martha, when he walked the short distance from the garden gate to the villa porch (he yawned nervously, taking off his glasses as he walked), he sneaked into the house for the first time as the mistress of the villa.的情人时，他不以为然地看了看毫无察觉的弗丽达，跨过门槛时搓了搓被雨淋湿的手，一股怪异的感觉涌上心头；汤姆在客厅里突然摇头摆尾格外热情地迎接他，在害怕和困惑之中，他对准汤姆踢了一脚。弗朗兹迷信得很，在等候男女主人的时候，他在靠垫亮光闪闪的孔眼里寻找灾难的征兆。在感情方面，他是个十分敏感卑怯的懦夫（这样的懦夫是双倍的可怜，因为他们十分明了自己的怯懦，并且恐惧这种怯懦）。当随着一股骤起的气流，两扇门砰地关上，玛莎和德雷尔同时从两个不同的房间进入客厅时，弗朗兹禁不住奉承起来，仿佛登上了一个照明灯光过于刺眼的舞台。他立刻摆出立正的姿势，有了这种姿势，他感到自己在渐渐上升，穿过天花板，穿过房顶，进入黑棕色的天空；而实际上，他十分空虚，他与玛莎、与德雷尔一一握手。他退出了那个昏暗的虚拟世界，从那些未知的、相当愚蠢的高处退缩回来，在房间的中央坚实地着陆（安全，安全了！），德雷尔用食指划了个圈，在弗朗兹的肚脐上戳了一下，弗朗兹假装倒抽一口气并咯咯地傻笑起来；玛莎像往常一样冷冷地旁观但却洋溢着幸福的表情。弗朗兹的恐惧并没有消失，而只是暂时退潮：一次不慎的一瞥，一个富于表情的微笑，一切都会露馅，无法想象的灾难就会毁了他的前程。此后，每当他踏入这栋别墅，他就会想象那种灾难已经发生——玛莎已经被发觉，或者一阵精神错乱或者由于宗教上的自我牺牲，已经向丈夫承认了一切。客厅里的枝形吊灯一直用一种不祥的光耀迎接他。 他会掂量德雷尔的每一个笑话，嗅闻它的含义，忐忑不安，寻找其中的含沙射影，但却没有发觉任何蛛丝马迹。幸运的是，对于弗朗兹来说，他那个具有明锐洞察力的舅舅对任何事物都感兴趣，活的或死的都感兴趣，他能立刻把握或者自以为能够把握它们不同的特点，得意洋洋，老奸巨猾；然而，这类事物如若日后再次出现，他对它们的兴趣就会逐渐减弱。明锐的洞察力成了司空见惯的抽象之物。天性如此的人会花费足够的精力，运用所有的思想武器和战舰，去对付各种被迫接受的存在印象，感激在新奇和它的消费者之间很快形成的那层亲昵的中立薄膜。认为事物也许会自然而然改变并且形成意想不到的特点是十分乏味的。那就意味着你不得不再次欣赏它，而他已经不再年轻。他欣赏那个穷光蛋的单纯和粗俗，火车上的第一次萍水相逢，几乎就有这种感觉。因此，从第一次正式相互认识开始，他把弗朗兹视作一种意外巧遇、颇有意思的一类人：腼腆的乡巴佬外甥就是这类人，他们思想平庸，胸无大志。同样，玛莎与他结婚迄今已有七年多，但还是那样冷漠、节俭、拘谨；她的美貌偶尔也会光芒四射，她会用天堂般的微笑迎接他，就像初恋时那样。这些形象基本上没有一点改变，它们只是变得更加坚实，充满着各种各样适应环境的特点。因此，一个经验丰富的艺术家只看这一点，看与他原来的观念相一致的那一点。 另一方面，如果一下子得不到他梦寐以求的东西，如果那东西不能俯首帖耳，让他有机会夺得它，那么德雷尔就会有一种耻辱和心痒痒的感觉。车祸发生后已经过去了两个月。他有时间起草遗嘱，因为他一直打算在五十岁生日（上帝啊，她多么冷酷，作为他财产的唯一继承人，她竟然让他的五十寿辰悄然过去，没有一点欢庆的迹象）时完成；而且他仍然傻乎乎的，没有下决心去处置他的司机，如果情况果真如此，迟早一定还会发生另一起事故。他抽动一下鼻孔，就会闻出那人的烟味是否更香；当他迈开弓形腿绕汽车转圈的时候，他就仔细看那人。在最危险的时刻——星期六夜晚——他会突然地召见他，就一些琐事勉强交谈，在谈话的过程中，他会观察那人的举止是否过于放纵。他希望，有一天，他会被告知，哎呀，那个人一塌糊涂，来不了啦，但是，天哪，那一天永远不会到来。有时，在他看来，好像伊卡洛斯父子正在依次飞翔，比平时飞得快了些、欢乐了些。也许，正是在这一天，在突然偏离方向自由飞行的时候，事情才特别有趣：年内第一场真正的雪在傍晚降落了，现在已经融化成一片滑溜溜的烂泥浆；透过窗户，他注意到一个没戴帽子的男人，看上去完全像关节装了铰链似的，扭扭捏捏迈着小步穿越街道。这使他想起与那个亲切的发明家的谈话。到达办公室后，他立刻给蒙得维的亚饭店的发明家打电话，当秘书萨拉·赖希告知发明家马上就到时，他感到格外高兴。然而，德雷尔、赖希小姐以及世界上任何其他人都没有料到，那个孤独思乡的发明家碰巧也入住弗朗兹到达柏林那晚投宿的同一个房间。从房间里可以看见窗外有一棵参天白蜡树，此时已经掉光了树叶；房间里，如果十分仔细看，你就能看见一些极小的玻璃碎片，嵌进了脸盆架旁的油地毡的缝里。很有意思的是，世界上房间那么多，命运却安排他住进那个房间。这就是弗朗兹走的路——命运突然发威，追逐起这位无名小卒，这家伙对自己的重要使命当然还一无所知，而且永远不会发现有关这事的任何细节，至于踩碎眼镜的事情，没有其他任何人知道，甚至连恩里希特老头都不知道。 “欢迎！”德雷尔说，“请坐！” 发明家坐下。 “考虑得怎么样啦？”德雷尔边说边玩弄他那支心爱的铅笔。 发明家擤了擤鼻子，小心翼翼地拿手帕包好，花了很长时间将那块手帕——早就应该换一块新的——塞进他的口袋。 “我来找你，还是为了上次那个发明。”他终于开口说话。 “有没有新的补充细节？”德雷尔一边提醒他，一边用铅笔在记事本上画同心圆。 发明家点点头，准备开始叙述。这时，办公桌上的电话响了。德雷尔朝着发明家微微一笑，精神抖擞地将话筒搁在耳朵上。“是我。我忘了——你说过今晚不回来吃晚饭？” “是的，我亲爱的。” “回家很晚吗？” “半夜以后。董事会会议，还有一些庆祝活动。你与弗朗兹一起去餐馆吃吧。” “我没主意。也许吧。” “那太好了，”德雷尔说，“再见。噢，等一等——如果你需要汽车——喂？”她已经把电话挂了。 发明家假装没在偷听。德雷尔注意到这一个细节，于是含糊其词地傻笑着说：“我的小女朋友。” 对此，发明家呵呵虚伪一笑，随后继续对他的发明进行解释。德雷尔开始新一轮同心圆的绘制，赖希小姐拿来一叠信件，随后悄悄走了。发明家继续解释。德雷尔将铅笔一扔，慢慢后仰靠进扶手椅里，他着迷了。 “那是什么意思？”他打断了发明家的话说，“梦游者行进的优雅慢动作？” “对，如果有需要，”发明家说，“或者从另一个极端来说，康复病人有节制的敏捷动作。” “继续说，继续说，”德雷尔闭上眼睛说，“这是纯粹的巫术！”