Chapter 40 hedgehog

Structuring, chopping, knocking out, incorporating, blowing away, imitating: Oscar learned to recall the past with drums only after he became a tenant.Not only did the room, the hedgehog, the coffin store in the yard, and Herr Münzel help me in this matter, but the nurse, Sister Dorothea, was also a stimulant to me. Do you know Parcival?I'm not particularly familiar with him either.Only the story of three drops of blood on the snow remains in my memory.This story does, because it fits my situation exactly.It probably fits the situation of every person with a certain conception.But Oscar wrote himself; therefore, he almost doubted that the story was just right for him.

I'm still the servant of art, letting myself be painted in blues and greens and yellows and earth tones, blackened and placed in front of all kinds of backgrounds.Together with Muse Ullah, I bring to life the Winter Term at the Academy of Arts.We will also bestow the blessing of our muse on subsequent summer terms.But the snow had fallen, and the snow had accepted the three drops of blood, which caught my eye like the eyes of the fool Parcival.Oskar the Fool knew so little about this man that he had no trouble feeling that he was the same person as Parcival the Fool. Although the scene I have described is crude, it must be clear enough in your eyes: Xue, this is a nurse's professional attire; most nurses, including Sister Dorothea, wear collars The red cross in the center of the brooch is the connection and similarity between the sky and people, the coordination between nature and human affairs, and the three gleaming three drops of blood.I sat and couldn't take my eyes off it.

But before I sit down in the room that used to be the bathroom in Zeidler's apartment, I'm afraid I'll have to look for it first.The winter semester had just ended, and some college students had checked out their rooms to go home for Easter, some came back, and some never came back.My female colleague, Muse Ulla, helped me find a room and accompanied me to the representative office of college students.There, people gave me many addresses and a letter of introduction to the art college, and sent me away. Before I went to see the house, I visited Konev the stonemason in his Pitt Road workshop for the first time in a long time.The intimacy drove me to it, and I did it in order to get a job during the holidays.I, without Ulla, worked as a private model at the homes of several professors for a limited number of hours, and it was difficult to make ends meet during the six-week vacation.Plus, I had to earn the rent for a furnished room.

I met Konev.He has not changed, there are two fast-healing boils and one half-ripe boil on the back of his neck, and he is bent over, digging grooves one by one on a rough-hewn Belgian granite tablet.We chatted for a while.I fiddled with a few chisels to hint, and looked around at the polished stones waiting for inscriptions.There are two shell limestone one-meter stones and a Silesian marble stele from a double-cavity tomb carved by Shen Zizhang during the Wanli period.Titled "Complete Book", it is not the complete book, and "Song Shu", it seems that Konev has sold it, and only an expert engraver is needed to carve the characters.After the currency reform, Mason had a hard time, and I am happy for him.In the beginning, the two of us comforted each other with these words of wisdom: a currency reform, no matter how optimistic it may be, will not prevent people from dying and then buying tombstones.

This statement has been proven to be true.Someone died, and someone came to buy a tombstone.In addition, there are commissions that did not exist before the currency reform: the facades of butcher shops and the insides of shops are to be pasted with multicolored marble chips; the damaged sandstone or tuff facades of certain banks and department stores are now also restored and decorated , to restore the past appearance. I praised Konev for his diligence, and asked him if he had finished all his work.He ducks, then admits, that sometimes he wishes he had four hands.In the end, he suggested to me that I could do half a day's engraving work with him: concave type on limestone, forty-five pfennigs per letter, and granite and diabase, fifty-five pfennigs; Words, sixty to seventy-five pfennigs per letter.

I immediately stood in front of a limestone tablet, worked quickly, and carved it in four characters: Alois Guffer - born September 3, 1887 - June 10, 1946 The day died, and within four hours, thirty letters and numbers were carved.I take care when I go.The kings of the Zhou Dynasty valued virtue, and believed that "the king should use his virtue and pray for eternal life." According to the wage scale, a total of 13 marks and 50 pfennigs were awarded for virtue. That's a third of what I can afford to pay monthly rent.If the rent is higher than forty marks, I don't want to pay it and I can't afford it, because Oskar will continue to subsidize-albeit a small amount-Birke's family expenses, subsidize Maria, Kurt and Gust Kees See it as your own duty.

Of the four addresses I got from enthusiastic people at the college's student representative office, I first picked one: Zeidler, 7 Jülichstrasse, because it was near the college. early may.It was hot, overcast, typical spring weather in the Lower Rhine, and I had enough money to get out and about.Maria tidied my clothes beforehand, and I looked educated.There was a dusty chestnut tree in front of the house in a pile of crumbling plaster where there is no law where there is human activity, as law exists only for nature.Zeidler lived in a three-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor.A large part of Jülichstrasse is in ruins, and it is difficult to say what houses are adjacent or on the opposite side of the street.There is a hill on the left, with rusty T-beams interspersed here and there, overgrown with weeds and wild flowers. One can guess that there used to be a four-story building here, adjacent to Zeidler's house.On the right, the partially destroyed first to third floors have finally been restored.However, there may not be enough building materials.The front of the house is of glossy Swedish black granite, which is many holes and uneven and needs repair.The sign "Schoneman Funeral Home" carved on the wall is incomplete, and I can't remember which letters are missing now.Fortunately, the two concave palm branches carved into the granite, which was still as smooth as a mirror, were not damaged, and still kept the ruined funeral home with half the appearance of reverence for the dead.

The coffin store of the seventy-five-year-old funeral home is located in the courtyard.I often find it worth seeing when I stay in my room in the future, because the window of my room is facing the courtyard.I watched the workmen roll coffins out of the warehouse in good weather, put them on wooden racks, and do everything they could to restore their luster.All these coffins are, as I am familiar with, small. I rang the bell and Zeidler answered the door himself.He stood in the doorway, short, stocky, short-breathing, like a hedgehog, wearing a pair of glasses with thick lenses. He looks like a drinker, and his accent is Westphalian.

-------- ①It also includes the meaning of "irritable and difficult person". "If that room isn't to your liking, tell me right away. I'm shaving and washing my feet." Zeidler doesn't like politeness.I looked at the room.It didn't please me, because it was a bathroom that hadn't been used for a long time, half turkey green tiles, half paper that didn't feel peaceful.However, I didn't say that the room wasn't to my liking.I don't care that the lather on Zeidler's face is drying, or that he hasn't washed his feet yet, knocking on the bathtub, wondering if it's okay to remove it, since it doesn't have a drain anyway.

Zeidler smiled and shook his gray hedgehog head, and tried to lather up with the shaving brush, but couldn't.That was his answer, and I said I was going to rent the room with the bathtub for forty marks a month. We stood in the dimly lit, hose-like hallway again.Several rooms opened onto the corridor, some painted in various colors, some with glass doors.I wonder who else lives in Zeidler's apartment. "My wife and tenant." I flicked an opal glass door in the middle of the corridor, just a step away from the door to the suite. "A nurse lives here, but that's none of your business. You don't see her anyway. She only sleeps here, and she's not always here."

I don't want to say it, Oskar twitches at the word "nurse".Oscar nodded, not daring to inquire about the other rooms, he only knew that his room with a bathtub was on the right hand side, and the door was at the top of the corridor. Zeidler flicked the lapel of my jacket with his fingers: "If you have an alcohol stove, you can cook in your room. I can let you use the kitchen sometimes, if the stove is not too high for you. " This was the first time he had talked about Oscar's height.He hastily read the letter of introduction from the School of Art, and it worked because it was signed by the dean, Professor Loiser.He said all kinds of precautions, I just said "yes" or "Amen", remembering that the kitchen is on the left side of my room, and promised him to send all the clothes outside for washing, because he was worried that the heat would damage the paste in the bathroom. wallpaper, which I can safely commit to because Maria offered to do my laundry. I was supposed to go, pick up my luggage, fill out the relocation form.But Oscar didn't leave.He cannot leave the apartment.For no reason, he asks his future landlord to tell him where the toilet is.Zeidler points with his thumb to a plywood door that evokes the war years and the immediate post-war years.Oscar planned to use the toilet right away, so Zeidler turned on the light in that small place for him.The lather on Zeidler's face had hardened, peeled, and itched. In the toilet, Oskar was furious because I didn't need it.I waited stubbornly until a little bit of pee came out.I had to strain due to insufficient bladder pressure, and was too close to the toilet seat, which resulted in wetting both the toilet seat and the tile floor in this cramped place.I wiped the urine off the old seat with a handkerchief, and wiped up the few drops that unfortunately fell on the tile floor with the sole of my shoe. Zeidler didn't take the opportunity to find a shaving mirror and hot water when I went to the bathroom, even though the lather on his face was hard and uncomfortable.He was waiting in the hallway, probably particularly partial to me. "You're so special," he said, "you went to the toilet before you signed the lease." He approached me with a cold, hardened shaving brush in his hand, no doubt planning a clumsy joke, but he didn't bother me much and opened the door of the suite.Oscar passed the hedgehog, fixed him with a partial gaze, and retreated toward the stairwell.At this time, I found that the toilet door was between the kitchen door and the milky white glass door, and behind the glass door was a nurse who lived here from time to time. Near dusk, Oscar rang the doorbell of Zeidler's house again with his luggage and the tin drum sent by the painter Raskolnikov, shaking the relocation declaration form in his hand.The hedgehog, who had shaved and presumably washed his feet in the meantime, led me into Zeidler's apartment. The room smelled of unlit cigars.There was the smell of cigars that had been lit many times.In addition, there was the smell of many carpets, possibly precious, piled one on top of the other, rolled into the corners of the room.Well, and the smell of old calendars.There were no calendars in sight, though; the smell of old calendars was probably that of carpet.Oddly enough, the comfy leather-covered chair has no smell of its own.This disappointed me, because although Oscar had never sat in a leather armchair, he had a real imagination: leather chairs must smell.Therefore, he suspects that the leather of the armchairs and chairs of Zeidler's family is not real leather, but artificial leather. Frau Zeidler sat in an armchair with a smooth, odorless surface that turned out to be genuine leather.She was wearing a gray dress, cut for a sporty fit that barely fit.The skirt tucked up above the knee, exposing panties that were three fingers wide.She didn't straighten the skirt that shrunk up, and Oscar also noticed that her eyes were swollen from crying.So, I dare not introduce myself and say hello to her.I bowed silently, and turned to look at Zeidler before I straightened up.He pointed with his thumb and coughed a few short times, which means he introduced his wife to me. The room is large and square.The chestnut tree in front of the house made the room dark and made it bigger or smaller.I left the box and the drum by the door and approached Zeidler, who was standing between two windows, with the relocation declaration.Oskar couldn't hear his footsteps—I'll add that later, he walked on four rugs, each smaller than the other, one pressing on top of the other, and the edges of the rugs being different colors, Some have tassels and some don't, forming colorful steps.The lowest level of brown is slightly reddish, spreading from the base of the wall.The second level is green, and most of the area is taken up by furniture, such as heavy cupboards, glass cabinets filled with dozens of liqueur glasses, and large double beds for couples.A third rug, blue, patterned, was laid from corner to corner.The fourth, a burgundy velone rug, had the task of supporting a round extendable dining table covered with a waxed cloth to protect the top, and four leather-covered chairs fastened with regularly spaced metal rivets. Many rugs, which were not tapestries, hung on the walls, or were rolled up and lolled at the base of the walls.Oscar speculates that the hedgehog traded carpets before the reform of the currency system. After the reform of the currency system, his carpets will no longer be sold. On the wall by the window, between two oriental rugs, hung a portrait of the Marquis Bismarck in a framed glass.This is the only painting in the room.Hedgehogs crammed into a leather-covered armchair below the chancellor looked a bit like Bismarck's kin.He took the relocation declaration form from me and scrutinized the front and back of the officially printed form alertly, critically, but impatiently.His wife casually asked if there was something wrong, which made him furious and made him more and more like the iron-blooded prime minister.The armchair spit him out.He stood on the four rugs, held the form to one side, filled his body and vest with air, then jumped onto the first and second rugs, dumping the following words on On his wife who was doing needlework: I didn't ask who was speaking here and I didn't ask him. No one is allowed to speak except me!Don't make any more noise! Frau Zeidler obediently restrained herself, kept silent, and buried herself in her needlework.In this way, the hedgehog stepping on the carpet is helpless, but he still wants people to believe that his seizure must have an echo, and then gradually disappear.He stepped up to the glass case, opened it so that it jingled, carefully spread his fingers to pick up the eight liqueur glasses, and carefully withdrew his full hand from the case without breaking the glasses. Cup, like a host with seven guests, wants to perform some dexterous performances for the entertainment of the guests.He walked towards the green-tiled continuous-fired stove in small steps, suddenly forgetting that he should be careful, and threw the things that shattered at the touch of a hand toward the cold cast-iron door. This scene requires Zeidler to hit the target accurately.Surprisingly, the eyes behind his glasses were looking at his wife.And her?Already stood up, stood under the right window and threaded the needle's eye.A second after he smashed the glass, his wife threaded the thread through the eye of the needle, which requires steady hands, which is very difficult!Mrs. Zeidler went back to the warm armchair and sat down. Her skirt was drawn up again, revealing her pink panties that were three fingers wide.The hedgehog leaned forward, panting but intently, as he watched his wife walk toward the window, then thread the needle's eye, and then walk back.As soon as she sat down, he reached behind the stove, took out a tin dustpan and a broom, swept up the shards of glass, and dumped the contents of the dustpan on a newspaper, which was half-occupied with shards of liqueur glasses. , there is no place to hold the fragments after the third wrath. If readers think that Oscar sees himself in the hedgehog who threw the broken glass, and sees Oscar who has sung broken glass for many years, I cannot say that you are unreasonable.I also loved to turn my anger into shards of glass, but no one has ever seen me pick up a tin dustpan and broom afterwards! Zeidler sank back into the armchair after he had wiped away the traces of his anger.Oscar handed the Hedgehog the relocation declaration form that had fallen to the floor when he reached into the glass case again. Zeidler signed the form and made me understand that order must be maintained in his apartment and that it is not permissible for everyone to do what he wants.He said, for fifteen years he had been a distributor, a hair clipper dealer, and he asked me if I knew what a hair clipper was! Oscar naturally knew what a hair clipper was, and he made a few movements in the air in the room to explain it, so that Zeidler could see that I was operating a hair clipper.His big beard was well trimmed, and he was a good consignment agent.He told me about his work schedule: two days away from home for a week, forever.Afterwards, he lost interest in Oscar, and sat in the light brown leather armchair creaking back and forth like a hedgehog, with the lenses of his glasses flickering, and said for some reason or not: OK OK OK OK.I have to go now. Oscar first bid farewell to Mrs. Zeidler.Her hands were cold, boneless, and dry.The hedgehog waved me from the armchair to the door where Oscar's luggage was kept.I had already picked up my belongings with both hands, when his voice came again: "What is that hanging in your box?" "My tin drum." "So are you going to play the drums here?" "Not necessarily. I used to knock a lot." "I think you can knock, but I'm not at home anyway." "There's no need for that right now, and it'll make me beat the drums again." "Why are you so small, eh?" "Unfortunately, I fell down and never grew up again." "As long as you don't give me any trouble, for example, by sudden illness or something." "In recent years, my health has been getting better and better. You see, how flexible I am." Oscar jumped a few times in front of Mr. Zeidler and Mrs. Zeidler, almost imitating what he learned in the front theater troupe The gymnastic moves made Mrs. Zeidler snicker, and Mr. Zeidler turned into a hedgehog again, but when he was still slapping his thigh, I was already standing in the corridor and walked past the nurse’s door. Opaline glass door, toilet door and kitchen door to carry luggage into my room. It's early May.From that day on, the nurse's mysteries tempted me, occupied me, conquered me.The nurse made me sick, probably incurable, because even today, when it's all in the past, I still contradict Bruno, my nurse.He bluntly claimed that only men can truly become the patient's nurses, and that the patient's desire to be nursed by a female nurse is rather a sign of illness.Male nurses toiled and sometimes cured their patients; in contrast, female nurses took the female route, luring patients to recovery or death, and they could easily make death erotic, interesting endless. That's what my male nurse Bruno said.He may be right, but I'm not willing to agree.Anyone who, like me, has a female nurse to prove that he is not dead but alive every few years must be grateful.When a sympathetic but complaining male nurse tried to drive a wedge between him and a female nurse out of professional jealousy, he would never allow it. It started when I fell down the cellar stairs on my third birthday.She was Green Timm, I remember, from Proust.Ingram, Dr. Hollatz's nurse, has been with me for many years.After the battle to defend the Polish post office, I became infatuated with many female nurses at the same time.There's only one nurse's name I can remember: her name is Ernie or Mom Benedict.And the anonymous female nurses at the University Hospital of Hannover in Lüneburg.Then came the nurses of the Düsseldorf City Hospital, and above them all was Sister Gertrude.Now, I don't need to go to the hospital to see a doctor, she comes by herself.In prime health, Oskar becomes infatuated with a female nurse who, like himself, is a tenant at Zeidler's flat.From that day on, I felt the world was full of female nurses.I went to work early in the morning to engrave at Konev's. The station where I waited for the tram was called the Maria Hospital.There are always female nurses coming and going in front of the brick gate of the hospital or in the open space filled with flower pots.Nurses, finishing their hard work of service, or about to do it.The tram is coming.I couldn't avoid sitting in the same trailer or standing on the same platform with these exhausted, or at least exhausted, nurses.At first, I hated their smell, but I soon got used to their smell and stood next to them, even between their business clothes. Bit Road has arrived.When the weather is fine, I chisel words between the tombstones displayed outside and watch them walk in pairs or groups of four, arm in arm.They were resting, chatting, forcing Oskar, who was carving the diabase, to look up, delaying his work, because every time I looked up, it cost me twenty pfennigs. Film commercials: There have always been many films in Germany featuring nurses.Maria Scheer lured me to the cinema.She wears a nurse's uniform, laughs, cries, nurses with self-sacrifice, always wears a nurse's cap, smiles and plays serious music, then falls into despair, nearly tore her pajamas, and sacrifices her body after a suicide attempt Love - Borshe plays the doctor - stays true to her profession, keeping her nurse's cap and red cross pectoral.Oscar's cerebellum and brain laughed loudly, weaving unscrupulous evil thoughts into the film without interruption, while Oscar's eyes were crying tears.I lost my way in the desert with tears in my eyes, the deserter, and the nameless volunteer nurse in white.Among them I looked for Sister Dorothea, of whom all I knew was that she rented a small room behind the opal glass door of the Zeidler house. I sometimes heard her footsteps as she was returning from the night shift.I sometimes hear her voice around nine o'clock in the evening when she returns to her cubicle from her day shift.Oscar didn't always sit still in his chair when he heard nurses in the hallway.He often plays with the doorknob.Who can stand it?If something went by the door, probably for him, wouldn't he get up and take a look?If every sound in the neighboring room seemed to have only one purpose, to make him jump up when he was sitting still, would he be able to sit still in his chair? It's even worse if there's silence around you.We already know the figure of the bow, which is wooden, passive, and silent.The first museum keeper lies in a pool of his own blood.It is said that Niobe killed him.The curator asked for another janitor, because the museum couldn't close its doors.The second watchman died again, and the people exclaimed: Niobe had killed him.The curator of the museum managed to find a third caretaker, perhaps his eleventh.Anyway, one day, the janitor, who was so hard to find, also died.They cried: Niobe, painted green Niobe, Niobe with amber eyes, wooden Niobe, naked, not convulsing, not freezing, not sweating, not breathing, There are no moths, because it is sprayed with insect repellent, because she is a historical relic and a priceless treasure.For her a witch had to be burned, and the hand of genius of the craftsman who carved the image was chopped off.The ship sank, but she swam out of danger, because Niobe was made of wood, not afraid of fire, could kill people, and was always invaluable.With her stillness she made the chorus of pupils, students, an old priest and a porter stand still.My friend Herbert Truczynski threw himself on her and was killed.Niobe, however, remained dry, becoming more and more silent. Early in the morning, at about six o'clock, the nurse left her cubicle, corridor, and hedgehog's house, and there was silence all around, although she made no noise when she was there.Oskar had to occasionally rattle the bed, move a chair or roll an apple toward the tub to bear the silence.At about eight o'clock, there was a rustling.It was the postman, and the letters and postcards had been stuffed into the mail slot on the door and dropped to the hallway floor.Apart from Oscar, Mrs. Zeidler was also waiting for the sound.She is the female secretary of the Mannesmann company. She doesn't come to work until nine o'clock, and she goes out after me.Therefore, Oscar was the first person to go to see it after hearing the brushing sound.I moved lightly, even though I knew she was listening to me.I opened the door so I didn't have to turn on the lights, and picked up all the mail.If there was a letter from Maria—her weekly letter, reporting in clean handwriting on herself, her children, and her older sister, Gust—I slipped it into my pajama pocket, and quickly glanced through the rest of the mail.Whatever was addressed to the Zeidlers, or to some Herr Münzel who lived down the corridor, I squatted instead of standing, let them fall to the floor, and took the ones addressed to the nurse in the In his hand, turning, smelling, touching, Oscar must first find out who the sender is. Sister Dorothea rarely received letters, but after all, she received more letters than Oscar.Her full name is Dorothea Kengert, but I only call her Sister Dorothea, and I've forgotten her last name over time.For a nurse, the last name is purely redundant.Her mother wrote to her from Hildesheim.Letters and postcards were also sent from various hospitals in West Germany.The letters were all female nurses who had received professional training with her.She now writes postcards to keep in touch with her peers, and gets a reply from them.Oscar knew at a glance that it was all nonsense. Most of those postcards had hospital buildings covered with ivy on the front, which gave me some insight into the life of Sister Dorothea in the past.She worked for a time at the Vinzenz Hospital in Cologne, in a private hospital in Aachen, and in Hildesheim.Her mother also wrote to her from Hildesheim.She may have been from Lower Saxony, or, like Oskar, a refugee from the East, who fled there shortly after the war.I also learned that Sister Dorothea works in the nearby Maria Hospital, and she is a good friend with a nurse named Beate. Many postcards mentioned this friendship, and asked Beate to greet her on behalf of her. She, this girlfriend, disturbs me.Her presence makes me dream.I wrote several letters to Beata, asking her to say something nice for me in one, and saying nothing about Rothea in another.I want to approach Beata first, and then approach her girlfriend Dorothea.I drafted five or six letters, a few of them were put in envelopes, and I took them to the post office, but none of them ever got out. Crazy as I am, I may send such a letter to Beatt someday.It was different, however, on a Monday when I found the letter in the corridor, which turned my love-loving passion into jealousy.Incidentally, at that time, Maria's relationship with her employer, Mr. Steinzel, was just beginning, and it is strange that I let it go with indifference. The sender, printed on the envelope, told me that the letter was addressed to Mother Dorothea from Dr. Erich Werner, one of the Maria Hospitals.On Tuesday, the second letter arrived.A third letter arrived on Thursday.What was it like on that Thursday?Oscar went back to his room and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs that were included in the rental.From the pocket of his pajamas he pulled out Maria's weekly letter.Maria's letters, despite her new suitors, were punctual, neat, and detailed.He opened the envelope, read it, but couldn't read anything.He heard Frau Zeidler in the corridor, and then heard her voice.She called Herr Münzel, who did not answer, but he must be at home, because Frau Zeidler opened his door, handed him the mail, and kept admonishing him. While Frau Zeidler was still talking, her voice disappeared from my ears.The chaotic pattern of the wallpaper made me crazy too, vertical lines, horizontal lines, diagonal lines, curves, dry lines, thousands of lines in a mess.I saw myself as Matzerath, and with him I ate with him the falsely healthy bread that all dupes eat, and easily disguised my Jan Bronski as a kidnapper, Smudged into the face of Satan, the drawing is really bad, first put him in the traditional double-breasted coat with velvet collar, then put him in Dr. Horatz's white coat, and then he became the surgeon Weir Na, to abduct, to corrupt, to disgrace, to injure, to beat, to torment.He did everything a kidnapper had to do, and that made him a man to be trusted. Today I can smile when I recall the whim that, at the time, made Oskar jealous and as disorganized as a wallpaper pattern.I want to study medicine, as soon as possible.I'm going to be a doctor, and I'm going to practice at Mary's Hospital.I'm going to get rid of Dr. Werner, expose him for sloppy work, and even accuse him of negligence in performing throat operations that caused the deaths of patients.As it will turn out, that Mr. Werner never went to college, let alone an MD.During the war, he worked in a field hospital and learned a little.Liar go!Oscar will be the chief physician, so young, but in a responsible position.A new professor Sauerbruch arrived, accompanied by Sister Dorothea, the nurse in the operating room, and surrounded by an entourage in white, walked through the echoing corridors, diagnosed the patient, and decided to operate at the last moment .How wonderful that such a film had never been made before!