good salary, the fact that it doesn’t demand all my strength—after all, so long as I am a bachelor all these things mean nothing to me and are transformed into torments.
Then what do you want to do?
I could answer all such questions at once by saying: I have nothing to lose; every day, each tiniest success, is a gift; whatever I do is all to the good. But I can also give
a more precise answer: as an Austrian lawyer, which, speaking seriously, I of course am not, I have no prospects; the best thing I might achieve for myself in this
direction I already possess in my present post, and it is of no use to me. Moreover, in the quite impossible event I should want to make some money out of my legal
training, there are only two cities that could be considered: Prague, which I must leave, and Vienna, which I hate and where I should inevitably grow unhappy because I
should go there with the deepest conviction of that inevitability. I therefore have to leave Austria and—since I have no talent for languages and would do poorly at
physical labor or at a business job—go to Germany, at least at first, and in Germany to Berlin, where the chances of earning a living are best. Also, there, in journalism, I
can make best and directest use of my ability to write, and so find a means of livelihood at least partially suited to me. Whether in addition I shall be capable of inspired
work, that I cannot say at present with any degree of certainty. But I think I know definitely that from the independence and freedom I should have in Berlin (however
miserable I otherwise would be) I should derive the only feeling of happiness I am still able to experience.
But you are spoiled.
No, I need a room and a vegetarian diet, almost nothing more.
Aren’t you going there because of F.?
No, I choose Berlin only for the above reasons, although I love it and perhaps I love it because of F. and because of the aura of thoughts that surrounds F.; but that I
can’t help. It is also probable that I shall meet F. in Berlin. If our being together will help me to get F. out of my blood, so much the better, it is an additional advantage
Berlin has.
Are you healthy?
No—heart, sleep, digestion.
[A small furnished room. Dawn. Disorder. The student is in bed asleep, his face to the wall. There is a knock at the door. Silence. A louder knock. The
student sits up in fright, looks at the door.]
STUDENT: Come in.
MAID [a frail girl]: Good morning.
STUDENT: What do you want? It’s still night.
MAID: Excuse me, but a gentleman is asking for you.
STUDENT: For me? [Hesitates] Nonsense! Where is he?
MAID: He is waiting in the kitchen.
STUDENT: What does he look like?
MAID [smiling]: Well, he’s still a boy, he’s not very handsome; I think he’s a Yid.
STUDENT: And that wants to see me in the middle of the night? But I don’t need your opinion of my guests, do you hear? Send him in. Be quick about it.
[The student fills the small pipe lying on the chair beside his bed and smokes it.
KLEIPE stands at the door and looks at the student, who calmly smokes on with his eyes turned towards the ceiling. Short, erect, a large, long, somewhat
crooked, pointed nose, dark complexion, deep-set eyes, long arms.]
STUDENT: How much longer? Come over here to the bed and say what you want. Who are you? What do you want? Quick! Quick!
KLEIPE [walks very slowly towards the bed and at the same time attempts to gesture something in explanation. He stretches his neck and raises and lowers
his eyebrows to assist his speech]: What I mean to say is, I am from Wulfenshausen too.
STUDENT: Really? That’s nice, that’s very nice. Then why didn’t you stay there?
KLEIPE: Only think! It is the home town of both of us, a beautiful place, but still a miserable hole.
It was Sunday afternoon, they lay in bed in one another’s arms. It was winter, the room was unheated, they lay beneath a heavy feather quilt.