However, many more days passed and that too came to an end. An overseer happened to notice the cage one day and asked the help why this perfectly useful cage with rotten straw in it was left unoccupied; no one knew the answer until someone, with the help of the signboard, recalled the hunger artist. They prodded the straw with sticks and found the hunger artist buried inside. “Are you still fasting?” asked the overseer. “When on earth do you plan on stopping?” “Forgive me, everyone,” rasped the hunger artist; only the overseer with his ear pressed against the bars could understand him. “By all means,” said the overseer, tapping his finger at the side of his forehead to indicate the hunger artist’s condition to the others, “we forgive you.” “I always wanted you to admire my fasting,” said the hunger artist. “And so we do admire it,” said the overseer accommodatingly. “But you shouldn’t admire it,” said the hunger artist. “So then we don’t admire it,” said the overseer, “but why should we not admire it?” “Because I must fast, I cannot do otherwise,” answered the hunger artist. “What a character you are,” said the overseer, “and why can’t you do otherwise?” “Because,” said the hunger artist, lifting his head a little and puckering his lips as if for a kiss, and he spoke directly into the overseer’s ear so that nothing would be missed, “because I could never find food I liked. Had I found it, believe me, I would never have created such a ruckus and would have stuffed myself like you and everyone else.” These were his last words, but in his glazing eyes there remained the firm if no longer proud conviction that he was still fasting.
“Now clear this out!” barked the overseer, and they buried the hunger artist together with his straw. Then they put a young panther into the cage. It was refreshing, even to the least sensitive, to see this wild creature leaping around the cage that had been dreary for so long. He wanted for nothing. The guards brought him the food he liked without hesitation; he did not appear to miss his freedom; his noble body, full to almost bursting with all he needed, also seemed to carry freedom with it; this freedom seemed to reside somewhere in his jaws, and the joy of life burned so fiercely in his throat that it was not easy for the onlookers to bear it. But they steeled themselves, surged around the cage, and wanted never to leave it.
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An Old Leaf
IT WOULD SEEM THAT THERE IS much about the defense of our fatherland that has been neglected. We have not been overly concerned about this until recently and have gone about our daily work, but lately certain events have caused us concern.
I have a shoemaker’s workshop in the square in front of the imperial palace. Scarcely have I opened up shop at daybreak when I see armed men posted at the end of every street leading into the square. These, however, are not our soldiers but clearly nomads from the north. They have somehow, just how is inconceivable to me, penetrated the capital, although it is really quite a long distance from the border. In any event they are there, and every morning it seems that there are more of them.
As befits their nature, they camp out in the open because they loathe housing. They occupy themselves by sharpening swords, whittling arrows, practicing their horsemanship. This peaceful square, which has always been kept scrupulously dean, has been transformed by them into a veritable sty. We do, every now and then, dash out of our shops and clear away at least the worst of the trash, but this happens less and less frequently, as the effort is futile; besides, in doing this we risk being trampled by horses or lashed by whips.
Conversation with the nomads is impossible. They don’t speak our language and in fact barely have one of their own. Among themselves they communicate much as jackdaws do; this jackdaw squawking constantly fills our ears. They neither understand nor have any desire to understand our way of life, our institutions, and so as a result even our sign language is willfully incomprehensible to them. You can dislocate your jaw and wrench your wrists out of joint and they still have not understood you, nor will they ever understand. They often grimace, then flash the whites of their eyes and foam at the mouth, but they don’t actually mean anything by it; it’s not even a threat, they just do it because that’s their nature. They take whatever it is they need. You can’t say that they employ force; when they grab at something, you simply stand aside and leave them to it.