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FreeThe Short-Sighted One and the Comet
Max Dauthendey
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It was in a winter when the astronomers of Europe had discovered a previously unknown small comet that was to be visible to the naked eye in the evening sky shortly after sunset, but which disappeared behind the horizon later in the night.
That winter, every day around five o’clock in the evening, people could be seen flocking to various open spaces in Berlin, opera glasses in hand. One tried to find out from another the position of the new comet. While the stream of traffic rolled across the road embankment as usual, loud and noisy, the traffic on the sidewalks came to a standstill. People pushed and jostled, getting in the way of those in a hurry, and never before had so many eyes searched the stars at the same time at night as on those winter evenings in the hour after sunset in Berlin and throughout Europe.
I had tried several times at Potsdamer Platz to spot the comet for myself, but the neon signs that flashed on and off against the sky above the cafés and roofs of Potsdamer Straße and Königsgrätzer Straße made it difficult to observe the night sky calmly.
Therefore, one evening I took the electric tram to the southern part of the city, to Kreuzberg, so that I could search more peacefully for the comet from the park grounds on the hill.
When I got off the tram near Kreuzberg, I noticed that many people were taking the same path as me. Entire families walked ahead of me in rows. Loud schoolboys who had huddled together, as well as quiet couples in love, climbed uphill along the park paths, and hundreds came down from Kreuzberg. It was a general exodus, as if there were a fair up there.
The paths were quite dark; only rarely was a lantern lit. A thin layer of snow lay in front of the shadowy groups of pine trees, and despite the late hour, the clear, icy winter sky was still faintly bright and shimmered between the dark trees.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 1 / 19
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
It was in a winter when the astronomers of Europe had discovered a previously unknown small comet that was to be visible to the naked eye in the evening sky shortly after sunset, but which disappeared behind the horizon later in the night.
That winter, every day around five o’clock in the evening, people could be seen flocking to various open spaces in Berlin, opera glasses in hand. One tried to find out from another the position of the new comet. While the stream of traffic rolled across the road embankment as usual, loud and noisy, the traffic on the sidewalks came to a standstill. People pushed and jostled, getting in the way of those in a hurry, and never before had so many eyes searched the stars at the same time at night as on those winter evenings in the hour after sunset in Berlin and throughout Europe.
I had tried several times at Potsdamer Platz to spot the comet for myself, but the neon signs that flashed on and off against the sky above the cafés and roofs of Potsdamer Straße and Königsgrätzer Straße made it difficult to observe the night sky calmly.
Therefore, one evening I took the electric tram to the southern part of the city, to Kreuzberg, so that I could search more peacefully for the comet from the park grounds on the hill.
When I got off the tram near Kreuzberg, I noticed that many people were taking the same path as me. Entire families walked ahead of me in rows. Loud schoolboys who had huddled together, as well as quiet couples in love, climbed uphill along the park paths, and hundreds came down from Kreuzberg. It was a general exodus, as if there were a fair up there.
The paths were quite dark; only rarely was a lantern lit. A thin layer of snow lay in front of the shadowy groups of pine trees, and despite the late hour, the clear, icy winter sky was still faintly bright and shimmered between the dark trees.Where it was completely dark in the park and stairs climbed up between artificially stacked stone steps, people helped each other by laughing loudly. Those coming down laughed, and those climbing up laughed. They groped their way past each other, and the young girls, disguised in fur coats, giggled, while the young men startled them with sudden shouts; some lit a match to illuminate a railing or a stair step.
I had groped my way uphill with my walking stick and, soon after reaching the top, at the crest of the hill beneath the trees of a snowy meadow, I came upon perhaps a hundred people who were looking out over the city of Berlin and, facing west, scanning the sky where the sun had set and a sliver of the rising moon was twinkling.
But it seemed to me as if no one could actually find the comet; yet everyone saw it in their minds. And because they so eagerly wanted to see it, they all pointed in a direction where a star or two shone here and there, and each one believed he could see the comet in this or that star. I think everyone found their own personal comet. Those who couldn’t discover one in the sky certainly found it on the ground. For in the darkness, many shining eyes roamed about. All the people here had a single purpose: to stand around, and some were allowed to chat and give vent to their desire to talk, to their thirst for knowledge, and to their urge to feel, as they gazed up at the clear night sky—on this hill that stood amidst the vast stone edifice of Berlin like an island between crests of waves.
People lent each other glasses, binoculars, and telescopes. They helped one another take a stroll through the nocturnal garden of the heavens, using their eyes as feet, and they supportively assisted each other in this leisurely walk across the night sky.
Some couples separated from the group and sat down on lonely benches at the crest of the hill, despite the cold and the snow.
Some boys formed groups; a few smoked forbidden cigarettes, and the others joined them enviously.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 2 / 19
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Where it was completely dark in the park and stairs climbed up between artificially stacked stone steps, people helped each other by laughing loudly. Those coming down laughed, and those climbing up laughed. They groped their way past each other, and the young girls, disguised in fur coats, giggled, while the young men startled them with sudden shouts; some lit a match to illuminate a railing or a stair step.
I had groped my way uphill with my walking stick and, soon after reaching the top, at the crest of the hill beneath the trees of a snowy meadow, I came upon perhaps a hundred people who were looking out over the city of Berlin and, facing west, scanning the sky where the sun had set and a sliver of the rising moon was twinkling.
But it seemed to me as if no one could actually find the comet; yet everyone saw it in their minds. And because they so eagerly wanted to see it, they all pointed in a direction where a star or two shone here and there, and each one believed he could see the comet in this or that star. I think everyone found their own personal comet. Those who couldn’t discover one in the sky certainly found it on the ground. For in the darkness, many shining eyes roamed about. All the people here had a single purpose: to stand around, and some were allowed to chat and give vent to their desire to talk, to their thirst for knowledge, and to their urge to feel, as they gazed up at the clear night sky—on this hill that stood amidst the vast stone edifice of Berlin like an island between crests of waves.
People lent each other glasses, binoculars, and telescopes. They helped one another take a stroll through the nocturnal garden of the heavens, using their eyes as feet, and they supportively assisted each other in this leisurely walk across the night sky.
Some couples separated from the group and sat down on lonely benches at the crest of the hill, despite the cold and the snow.
Some boys formed groups; a few smoked forbidden cigarettes, and the others joined them enviously.Older gentlemen, surrounded by acquaintances, talked about previous years when comets had appeared, and even strangers gathered around them, contributing their wisdom to the conversation.
From the city, one could see only a few streets dimly lit in yellow, with countless glittering windows. But in truth, one no longer felt the presence of the great city up here. Berlin was now just a ghostly body surrounding the hill, a body that stretched out into infinity and seemed to breathe out fire dust from its pores here and there.
For a while, I leaned against my walking stick, which I had propped horizontally against the trunk of a pine tree, gazing at the city, the people, and the sky.
Before me, the crowd of people grew thinner and denser. Only the sky above me remained consistently clear and motionless.
I was just imagining: stripped of all professions, made equal, and freed from the single thought of eternity and infinity, the shadows of the deceased would have to roam on some island, if such an island existed, having ascended to heights where no worldly unrest is to be found anymore, and given over solely to contemplating the eternity within us and around us...
Shadows passed by, and new shadows came over the white, lightly snow-covered grass fields.
The snow, shimmering with a delicate bluish hue like a mass of phosphorus, seemed to me to consist of white, icy blossoms—the flowers of forgetfulness that gave this island in space a dim light, and above which the shadows of the people met silently.
As soon as we can forget, we ourselves are no more and become infinite feeling without knowledge...
As I was still musing on this thought, I saw a lady, slightly stooped, coming across the snow with uncertain, small steps, and I recognized her immediately, although I saw nothing but the black silhouette of her figure. She had emerged from a dark mass of trees, and like a part of the darkness, she reminded me of events, of experiences of the heart that lay in my past—that ghostly past that, in retrospect, we call youth.
But who can say that he ever grows old!
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 3 / 19
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Older gentlemen, surrounded by acquaintances, talked about previous years when comets had appeared, and even strangers gathered around them, contributing their wisdom to the conversation.
From the city, one could see only a few streets dimly lit in yellow, with countless glittering windows. But in truth, one no longer felt the presence of the great city up here. Berlin was now just a ghostly body surrounding the hill, a body that stretched out into infinity and seemed to breathe out fire dust from its pores here and there.
For a while, I leaned against my walking stick, which I had propped horizontally against the trunk of a pine tree, gazing at the city, the people, and the sky.
Before me, the crowd of people grew thinner and denser. Only the sky above me remained consistently clear and motionless.
I was just imagining: stripped of all professions, made equal, and freed from the single thought of eternity and infinity, the shadows of the deceased would have to roam on some island, if such an island existed, having ascended to heights where no worldly unrest is to be found anymore, and given over solely to contemplating the eternity within us and around us...
Shadows passed by, and new shadows came over the white, lightly snow-covered grass fields.
The snow, shimmering with a delicate bluish hue like a mass of phosphorus, seemed to me to consist of white, icy blossoms—the flowers of forgetfulness that gave this island in space a dim light, and above which the shadows of the people met silently.
As soon as we can forget, we ourselves are no more and become infinite feeling without knowledge...
As I was still musing on this thought, I saw a lady, slightly stooped, coming across the snow with uncertain, small steps, and I recognized her immediately, although I saw nothing but the black silhouette of her figure. She had emerged from a dark mass of trees, and like a part of the darkness, she reminded me of events, of experiences of the heart that lay in my past—that ghostly past that, in retrospect, we call youth.
But who can say that he ever grows old!The delicate little lady came closer, and I saw how she bent down. On either side of her feet stood a small dog, and she tied these two little animals to a leash. The dogs then walked side by side in front of her, while she held the leash in her hand.
She was just approaching the tree against whose trunk I was leaning with my cane. It seemed to me as if she wanted to tie the dogs to the tree trunk.
From her gait and manner, I noticed that she was still very nearsighted, and I remembered now that she had had to endure many adventures as a result of this severe myopia.
I wanted to wait until the lady had tied her dogs to the tree, and then I would approach her and greet her.
We had not seen each other for many years, having lost sight of each other for long years, and perhaps it would not be good if I were to greet the one who had almost been forgotten. Perhaps the memories we would stir up would become torment.
One never fully comes to know one’s own being, and one never knows how deeply wounds heal. We also do not know whether we carry within us something incurable, or whether we are invulnerable. As long as we breathe in this warm body that we have built for ourselves, we study this body, which we know to be only artificial and transient. Yet we often shudder in secret at its existence, because our body remains as foreign to us as our eternal part. Because the body can suddenly open up yearnings like abysses in the blood.
Thank God that body and soul cannot be understood or fathomed through numbers, laws, standards, or experience. In its incomprehensibility, the mortal part complements the eternal part.
I did not know whether I should greet that lady or avoid her. I was just about to withdraw my walking stick, which I had placed horizontally against the tree trunk at waist height, and take a few steps forward.
Then, to my astonishment, I saw and felt that the lady was tying her fox terriers to my walking stick, which she probably took to be a tree branch.
I now held the stick still, amused, while one of the dogs sniffed me and the other jumped up at his mistress.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 4 / 19
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
The delicate little lady came closer, and I saw how she bent down. On either side of her feet stood a small dog, and she tied these two little animals to a leash. The dogs then walked side by side in front of her, while she held the leash in her hand.
She was just approaching the tree against whose trunk I was leaning with my cane. It seemed to me as if she wanted to tie the dogs to the tree trunk.
From her gait and manner, I noticed that she was still very nearsighted, and I remembered now that she had had to endure many adventures as a result of this severe myopia.
I wanted to wait until the lady had tied her dogs to the tree, and then I would approach her and greet her.
We had not seen each other for many years, having lost sight of each other for long years, and perhaps it would not be good if I were to greet the one who had almost been forgotten. Perhaps the memories we would stir up would become torment.
One never fully comes to know one’s own being, and one never knows how deeply wounds heal. We also do not know whether we carry within us something incurable, or whether we are invulnerable. As long as we breathe in this warm body that we have built for ourselves, we study this body, which we know to be only artificial and transient. Yet we often shudder in secret at its existence, because our body remains as foreign to us as our eternal part. Because the body can suddenly open up yearnings like abysses in the blood.
Thank God that body and soul cannot be understood or fathomed through numbers, laws, standards, or experience. In its incomprehensibility, the mortal part complements the eternal part.
I did not know whether I should greet that lady or avoid her. I was just about to withdraw my walking stick, which I had placed horizontally against the tree trunk at waist height, and take a few steps forward.
Then, to my astonishment, I saw and felt that the lady was tying her fox terriers to my walking stick, which she probably took to be a tree branch.
I now held the stick still, amused, while one of the dogs sniffed me and the other jumped up at his mistress.She was completely absorbed in her laborious work and tied the leash around my stick, making a firm knot. Before that, she had very briefly run her gloved hand over my stick—which was not smooth but rather somewhat knobbly—and made sure it was sturdy enough to hold the two dogs.
Many people came and went. The lady no longer noticed me; she simply took me for one of the many bystanders looking for the comet.
How strange this reunion was! Tragically comical, like all of that lady’s short-sighted adventures.
I saw that she had a pair of opera glasses slung around her neck, and dangling from a long chain over her coat was a lorgnette that I knew well from earlier years.
The lady now moved a few steps away after ordering her dogs to lie down.
But the animals did not obey immediately. They tugged at the leash, and I had to brace myself with all my strength against the tree, struggling to hold my walking stick firmly.
But she saw nothing but her dogs. She called out to them again, and since she believed they were tied to a tree branch, she went on, taking her opera glasses out of the leather case.
I knew the dogs by name, and when the lady had walked far enough across the snow, I whispered their names to the animals. They looked at me in surprise and stopped barking together; they sniffed me again, wagged their little tails a little amusedly, and sat quietly down beside me at my feet.
I resolved to keep the terriers tied up and to pretend my cane was a tree branch, until the dogs were picked up again by the short-sighted woman.
I watched the delicate figure of the lady stand out against the night sky on the edge of the hill, and saw her alternately taking out her lorgnette and then her opera glasses to search among the people and among the stars in the sky.
There was a restlessness about her that seemed to stem from her short-sightedness. And while everyone else wanted to find the comet in the west, she had turned alone toward the eastern sky, where she could certainly never see the comet. —
We had met many years ago in a strange way.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 5 / 19
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
She was completely absorbed in her laborious work and tied the leash around my stick, making a firm knot. Before that, she had very briefly run her gloved hand over my stick—which was not smooth but rather somewhat knobbly—and made sure it was sturdy enough to hold the two dogs.
Many people came and went. The lady no longer noticed me; she simply took me for one of the many bystanders looking for the comet.
How strange this reunion was! Tragically comical, like all of that lady’s short-sighted adventures.
I saw that she had a pair of opera glasses slung around her neck, and dangling from a long chain over her coat was a lorgnette that I knew well from earlier years.
The lady now moved a few steps away after ordering her dogs to lie down.
But the animals did not obey immediately. They tugged at the leash, and I had to brace myself with all my strength against the tree, struggling to hold my walking stick firmly.
But she saw nothing but her dogs. She called out to them again, and since she believed they were tied to a tree branch, she went on, taking her opera glasses out of the leather case.
I knew the dogs by name, and when the lady had walked far enough across the snow, I whispered their names to the animals. They looked at me in surprise and stopped barking together; they sniffed me again, wagged their little tails a little amusedly, and sat quietly down beside me at my feet.
I resolved to keep the terriers tied up and to pretend my cane was a tree branch, until the dogs were picked up again by the short-sighted woman.
I watched the delicate figure of the lady stand out against the night sky on the edge of the hill, and saw her alternately taking out her lorgnette and then her opera glasses to search among the people and among the stars in the sky.
There was a restlessness about her that seemed to stem from her short-sightedness. And while everyone else wanted to find the comet in the west, she had turned alone toward the eastern sky, where she could certainly never see the comet. --
We had met many years ago in a strange way.At that time, one day I was sitting on the terrace of Café Josti at Potsdamer Platz. It was an afternoon during the Pentecost season. There was a spring-like liveliness among all the people. Flower sellers with lilacs, snowballs, and peonies stood outside beside the terrace railing, next to the newspaper vendors. Ladies with new summer hats and gentlemen with new straw hats strolled, hurried, and sauntered past.
The long rows of trams, cars, and carts sometimes came to a standstill when one of the many police officers at the wide street junctions raised his white-gloved hand.
I happened to look across the square and noticed that a policeman was guiding a young lady who wanted to cross the roadway with two fox terriers; and when she reached the curb, she pulled out her purse to give the policeman a tip.
Those around laughed. But the busy policeman only nodded briefly and left her standing there. She realized the embarrassment she had caused the policeman and those around, and somewhat at a loss, she gave the coin she now held in her hand to a flower seller.
She naturally assumed that the lady wanted to buy one of her little bouquets of moss roses, and hurried to give her a bouquet from her basket. Meanwhile, however, the short-sighted woman was already walking toward the entrance of the café’s terrace. The flower seller now didn’t know whom to give the bouquet to, so she handed it to a gentleman who had been watching the sale, and asked him to run after the lady.
The gentleman laughed and caught up with the lady just at the entrance of the café. There he politely put on his new straw hat, bowed, and handed the small bouquet of roses to the short-sighted woman. She looked at him from the side, surprised. Without acknowledging his response, she left him standing with the flowers, for she apparently considered him a nuisance and probably believed that the purpose of handing her the bouquet was to make advances. Then the lady climbed the few steps up to the café terrace, and the fox terriers, panting in the heat with their mouths open, strangely followed her toward my table.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 6 / 19
# chapter_page: 6
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
At that time, one day I was sitting on the terrace of Café Josti at Potsdamer Platz. It was an afternoon during the Pentecost season. There was a spring-like liveliness among all the people. Flower sellers with lilacs, snowballs, and peonies stood outside beside the terrace railing, next to the newspaper vendors. Ladies with new summer hats and gentlemen with new straw hats strolled, hurried, and sauntered past.
The long rows of trams, cars, and carts sometimes came to a standstill when one of the many police officers at the wide street junctions raised his white-gloved hand.
I happened to look across the square and noticed that a policeman was guiding a young lady who wanted to cross the roadway with two fox terriers; and when she reached the curb, she pulled out her purse to give the policeman a tip.
Those around laughed. But the busy policeman only nodded briefly and left her standing there. She realized the embarrassment she had caused the policeman and those around, and somewhat at a loss, she gave the coin she now held in her hand to a flower seller.
She naturally assumed that the lady wanted to buy one of her little bouquets of moss roses, and hurried to give her a bouquet from her basket. Meanwhile, however, the short-sighted woman was already walking toward the entrance of the café’s terrace. The flower seller now didn’t know whom to give the bouquet to, so she handed it to a gentleman who had been watching the sale, and asked him to run after the lady.
The gentleman laughed and caught up with the lady just at the entrance of the café. There he politely put on his new straw hat, bowed, and handed the small bouquet of roses to the short-sighted woman. She looked at him from the side, surprised. Without acknowledging his response, she left him standing with the flowers, for she apparently considered him a nuisance and probably believed that the purpose of handing her the bouquet was to make advances. Then the lady climbed the few steps up to the café terrace, and the fox terriers, panting in the heat with their mouths open, strangely followed her toward my table.Perhaps the terriers had sensed, from a distance, my interest in their mistress. For I had been watching the woman who was arriving carefully with my eyes, between, above, and beside the heads of those sitting around me.
And now, after a while, she sat down next to me. The dogs lay under the table. She took a small handkerchief from a handbag and diligently cleaned the lenses of her lorgnette.
She was dressed inconspicuously and tastefully. I remember that a large, brown straw hat with a very wide brim obscured her face, which I had seen only a moment before. It was gentle and pale, and two dark brown eyes looked out into the world without seeing it clearly.
At that time, the lady seemed to me as if she were walking in darkness and had to rely more on her instincts than on her eyes in her movements and actions.
She had ordered a lemonade from the waiter who was running past. The waiter had just brought me my lemonade as well. But then I continued reading my newspaper and was captivated for a few moments by an article. When I looked up again, the short-sighted woman next to me was drinking my lemonade from my glass.
I didn't move and let the lady believe that the lemonade was hers. By the time the waiter arrived, she had finished drinking the glass. And when he placed the ordered lemonade in front of her, she looked at him in surprise, put her lorgnette to her eyes, and noticed me as well. From her movements, I could see how annoyed she was with herself. I thought she would now offer me her lemonade and make some excuse. Instead, she dropped her lorgnette, shrugged her shoulder, quickly placed money from her purse on the table, and muttered, "That's outrageous." Then she stood up abruptly, pulled her dogs, who had just stretched out to sleep, behind her, and, obviously annoyed, left the terrace.
In her haste, she hadn't noticed that her handkerchief had fallen from her lap under the table. But I was so surprised by the remark "That's outrageous" that I didn't immediately bend down to pick it up. Then, however, the whole thing amused me. I took the handkerchief, and when the waiter came, I asked him if he knew the lady who had been sitting there.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 7 / 19
# chapter_page: 7
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Perhaps the terriers had sensed, from a distance, my interest in their mistress. For I had been watching the woman who was arriving carefully with my eyes, between, above, and beside the heads of those sitting around me.
And now, after a while, she sat down next to me. The dogs lay under the table. She took a small handkerchief from a handbag and diligently cleaned the lenses of her lorgnette.
She was dressed inconspicuously and tastefully. I remember that a large, brown straw hat with a very wide brim obscured her face, which I had seen only a moment before. It was gentle and pale, and two dark brown eyes looked out into the world without seeing it clearly.
At that time, the lady seemed to me as if she were walking in darkness and had to rely more on her instincts than on her eyes in her movements and actions.
She had ordered a lemonade from the waiter who was running past. The waiter had just brought me my lemonade as well. But then I continued reading my newspaper and was captivated for a few moments by an article. When I looked up again, the short-sighted woman next to me was drinking my lemonade from my glass.
I didn't move and let the lady believe that the lemonade was hers. By the time the waiter arrived, she had finished drinking the glass. And when he placed the ordered lemonade in front of her, she looked at him in surprise, put her lorgnette to her eyes, and noticed me as well. From her movements, I could see how annoyed she was with herself. I thought she would now offer me her lemonade and make some excuse. Instead, she dropped her lorgnette, shrugged her shoulder, quickly placed money from her purse on the table, and muttered, "That's outrageous." Then she stood up abruptly, pulled her dogs, who had just stretched out to sleep, behind her, and, obviously annoyed, left the terrace.
In her haste, she hadn't noticed that her handkerchief had fallen from her lap under the table. But I was so surprised by the remark "That's outrageous" that I didn't immediately bend down to pick it up. Then, however, the whole thing amused me. I took the handkerchief, and when the waiter came, I asked him if he knew the lady who had been sitting there."Yes," he said, "she has had her coffee here a few times in the morning. She seems to be very absent-minded. The other day, while standing up, she took our drinks menu with her, thinking it was her music notebook. She is a music student, and I have also seen her pass by with a violin case on several occasions. She must live somewhere nearby."
I had put the handkerchief in my pocket and resolved to hand it to the young lady herself if I ever saw her again.
Just the next afternoon, at about the same time, I saw the short-sighted woman again. This time she was without her dogs.
She was standing at a photographer's window, looking at the pictures through her lorgnette. The booth was located close to a street corner.
I was on the other side of the street and had to let several cars pass before I could cross the road. When I finally made it across through the crowd of carriages, I saw the woman, still with her lorgnette on, turn the corner. There must have been a second photographer's booth there, because she was looking intently at the house.
I hesitated for a moment before following her immediately, and positioned myself in front of the pictures on the box she had been standing in front of earlier. My heart beat a little as I considered what words I should use to hand her the handkerchief here at the street corner. She probably wouldn’t even listen to me if I bowed and took off my hat. Perhaps she would just leave me standing there, tied up, as she had left the gentleman the other day with the bouquet of roses she had paid for herself.
I thought about all this for only a few moments, imagining that if I were to step around the corner of the house now, I would first stand next to her and observe the reflection of her face in the display case for a little while before addressing her. I could see that she was still standing there, for I saw the tip of her green silk parasol.
At the same time, however, I now noticed that most of the people who had passed by the lady and turned around that street corner were looking back at her, astonished, bewildered, or laughing in amusement—though she was still hidden from my view.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 8 / 19
# chapter_page: 8
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Yes," he said, "she has had her coffee here a few times in the morning. She seems to be very absent-minded. The other day, while standing up, she took our drinks menu with her, thinking it was her music notebook. She is a music student, and I have also seen her pass by with a violin case on several occasions. She must live somewhere nearby."
I had put the handkerchief in my pocket and resolved to hand it to the young lady herself if I ever saw her again.
Just the next afternoon, at about the same time, I saw the short-sighted woman again. This time she was without her dogs.
She was standing at a photographer's window, looking at the pictures through her lorgnette. The booth was located close to a street corner.
I was on the other side of the street and had to let several cars pass before I could cross the road. When I finally made it across through the crowd of carriages, I saw the woman, still with her lorgnette on, turn the corner. There must have been a second photographer's booth there, because she was looking intently at the house.
I hesitated for a moment before following her immediately, and positioned myself in front of the pictures on the box she had been standing in front of earlier. My heart beat a little as I considered what words I should use to hand her the handkerchief here at the street corner. She probably wouldn’t even listen to me if I bowed and took off my hat. Perhaps she would just leave me standing there, tied up, as she had left the gentleman the other day with the bouquet of roses she had paid for herself.
I thought about all this for only a few moments, imagining that if I were to step around the corner of the house now, I would first stand next to her and observe the reflection of her face in the display case for a little while before addressing her. I could see that she was still standing there, for I saw the tip of her green silk parasol.
At the same time, however, I now noticed that most of the people who had passed by the lady and turned around that street corner were looking back at her, astonished, bewildered, or laughing in amusement—though she was still hidden from my view.There was no way she knew all these people! Nor did I see a single one of them greeting her or having been greeted. Some even turned back, and I could see from the shadows falling across the white asphalt of the street that people were gathering where she stood.
What was so hilariously funny about the photographer’s display case, I wondered.
I now stepped around the corner of the house. There was no photographer’s box on the wall. There was also no poster, no inscription.
There was only an empty wall, a simply whitewashed surface, on whose mortar I could see nothing.
But in front of the wall stood the lady I was looking for, her lorgnette to her eyes, looking back and forth along the wall, a little up, a little to the side, just as she had done earlier in front of the shop window.
At some distance behind her, people had stopped—gentlemen and ladies passing by, servants and workers—making silent gestures and glances.
I now understood: the short-sighted woman must be deep in thought, and because she had looked at pictures on one side of the corner earlier, she seemed to be expecting pictures here as well, and seemed to be seeing them in her mind.
The whole scene lasted only a few seconds. Then the lady seemed to realize that the wall was empty.
Everyone standing around must have been waiting for this moment. With the same sudden movement with which the short-sighted woman had gotten up from the table yesterday, she suddenly detached herself from the empty wall, illuminated by a terrified realization of her own absent-mindedness. Then she folded the lorgnette together and strode energetically past the people, fleeing the cruel smile of the others. She crossed the causeway and, with the same suddenness and haste, entered a stationery shop on the other side.
Now I knew that I would see her often, and I did not hurry to run after her with the handkerchief. I had noticed from her gait that she was a resident of that street. She seemed to always make errands or go for a walk at that hour.
But I had not thought that I would soon learn her name without having asked her for it.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 9 / 19
# chapter_page: 9
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
There was no way she knew all these people! Nor did I see a single one of them greeting her or having been greeted. Some even turned back, and I could see from the shadows falling across the white asphalt of the street that people were gathering where she stood.
What was so hilariously funny about the photographer’s display case, I wondered.
I now stepped around the corner of the house. There was no photographer’s box on the wall. There was also no poster, no inscription.
There was only an empty wall, a simply whitewashed surface, on whose mortar I could see nothing.
But in front of the wall stood the lady I was looking for, her lorgnette to her eyes, looking back and forth along the wall, a little up, a little to the side, just as she had done earlier in front of the shop window.
At some distance behind her, people had stopped—gentlemen and ladies passing by, servants and workers—making silent gestures and glances.
I now understood: the short-sighted woman must be deep in thought, and because she had looked at pictures on one side of the corner earlier, she seemed to be expecting pictures here as well, and seemed to be seeing them in her mind.
The whole scene lasted only a few seconds. Then the lady seemed to realize that the wall was empty.
Everyone standing around must have been waiting for this moment. With the same sudden movement with which the short-sighted woman had gotten up from the table yesterday, she suddenly detached herself from the empty wall, illuminated by a terrified realization of her own absent-mindedness. Then she folded the lorgnette together and strode energetically past the people, fleeing the cruel smile of the others. She crossed the causeway and, with the same suddenness and haste, entered a stationery shop on the other side.
Now I knew that I would see her often, and I did not hurry to run after her with the handkerchief. I had noticed from her gait that she was a resident of that street. She seemed to always make errands or go for a walk at that hour.
But I had not thought that I would soon learn her name without having asked her for it.A day later, to my astonishment, I noticed that from the stationery shop where that lady had entered the other day to a house near the one where my apartment was located, business cards lay scattered in rows. It was raining, and some of the cards had been shoved into the gutter by the feet of passersby. There they floated along the street in the rain, like white, little gondolas.
Just as I was about to pass by the front door where the last pile of business cards lay, it opened and a woman stepped out who must have been the housekeeper of that house. She clasped her hands together and looked, smiling and laughing, at the lost cards. And when she saw me looking on in astonishment as well, she explained to me that a short-sighted and very absent-minded violin player lived in her house. The woman had carried a packet of business cards home so clumsily that she had lost all the cards on the way between the shop and the front door. The box, which had a side opening, she had brought home empty, since the rubber string that had held the packet together had torn while she was on the way. The lady was now terribly ashamed upstairs in her room, and so she had asked the housekeeper to go out and pick up the business cards.
I took advantage of the opportunity and, after she had shown me a business card, gave the housekeeper the handkerchief that the lady had left behind in the café the other day.
"Oh," said the woman, "she never knows where her handkerchiefs disappear to. But her handkerchiefs are scattered all over the city."
Then the housekeeper asked me if I was the gentleman who had rented the studio apartment next door.
When I said yes, she said that the short-sighted young lady had the same apartment in this building: studio, bedroom, and kitchen. The buildings were twins and had the same layout.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 10 / 19
# chapter_page: 10
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
A day later, to my astonishment, I noticed that from the stationery shop where that lady had entered the other day to a house near the one where my apartment was located, business cards lay scattered in rows. It was raining, and some of the cards had been shoved into the gutter by the feet of passersby. There they floated along the street in the rain, like white, little gondolas.
Just as I was about to pass by the front door where the last pile of business cards lay, it opened and a woman stepped out who must have been the housekeeper of that house. She clasped her hands together and looked, smiling and laughing, at the lost cards. And when she saw me looking on in astonishment as well, she explained to me that a short-sighted and very absent-minded violin player lived in her house. The woman had carried a packet of business cards home so clumsily that she had lost all the cards on the way between the shop and the front door. The box, which had a side opening, she had brought home empty, since the rubber string that had held the packet together had torn while she was on the way. The lady was now terribly ashamed upstairs in her room, and so she had asked the housekeeper to go out and pick up the business cards.
I took advantage of the opportunity and, after she had shown me a business card, gave the housekeeper the handkerchief that the lady had left behind in the café the other day.
"Oh," said the woman, "she never knows where her handkerchiefs disappear to. But her handkerchiefs are scattered all over the city."
Then the housekeeper asked me if I was the gentleman who had rented the studio apartment next door.
When I said yes, she said that the short-sighted young lady had the same apartment in this building: studio, bedroom, and kitchen. The buildings were twins and had the same layout.It then occurred to me that a few weeks ago, at twelve o'clock at night, when I had undressed to go to bed, someone had been fiddling with the lock of my front door with a key. At first I thought it was a burglar, but then the noise seemed too commonplace to me, and I thought someone on the floor must have made a mistake. Now that the housekeeper went on to explain that one night the short-sighted lady had mistaken the front doors, I knew that it was the short-sighted woman who had frightened me at my door.
The next afternoon the weather was fine, and I stood by the window to watch the lady when she went out. She did indeed come, as I had thought. She held a letter in one hand, and then I saw her slip the letter into her side pocket and walk slowly along the sidewalk to the nearest mailbox. But there she did not put the letter in the box, but rather a small case that could only be a glasses case.
I had to laugh to myself. I continued to watch the lady. She crossed the street and went into a pastry shop, where she wanted to drink her afternoon coffee undisturbed in a quiet back room.
The woman had thrown her glasses into the mailbox and would miss them very soon! I had to get her glasses back and bring them to her in the pastry shop.
She was like a pretty little Japanese woman, harmless and thoughtful, seemingly always lost in thought.
I took my hat and cane and went down to the mailbox and waited until the cyclist on his postal bike arrived to empty the mailbox into his large brown canvas bag. I told him that I had accidentally put my glasses case into the mailbox along with a letter.
He didn’t understand me at first, and I had to repeat myself. Then he laughed, and looking at me from head to toe with a slight disdain, as one looks at a pitiful fool, he handed me, after unlocking the box, a much-used and worn-out glasses case in which a pair of glasses rattled.
In the pastry shop over there, I found the lady sitting with a newspaper.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 11 / 19
# chapter_page: 11
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
It then occurred to me that a few weeks ago, at twelve o'clock at night, when I had undressed to go to bed, someone had been fiddling with the lock of my front door with a key. At first I thought it was a burglar, but then the noise seemed too commonplace to me, and I thought someone on the floor must have made a mistake. Now that the housekeeper went on to explain that one night the short-sighted lady had mistaken the front doors, I knew that it was the short-sighted woman who had frightened me at my door.
The next afternoon the weather was fine, and I stood by the window to watch the lady when she went out. She did indeed come, as I had thought. She held a letter in one hand, and then I saw her slip the letter into her side pocket and walk slowly along the sidewalk to the nearest mailbox. But there she did not put the letter in the box, but rather a small case that could only be a glasses case.
I had to laugh to myself. I continued to watch the lady. She crossed the street and went into a pastry shop, where she wanted to drink her afternoon coffee undisturbed in a quiet back room.
The woman had thrown her glasses into the mailbox and would miss them very soon! I had to get her glasses back and bring them to her in the pastry shop.
She was like a pretty little Japanese woman, harmless and thoughtful, seemingly always lost in thought.
I took my hat and cane and went down to the mailbox and waited until the cyclist on his postal bike arrived to empty the mailbox into his large brown canvas bag. I told him that I had accidentally put my glasses case into the mailbox along with a letter.
He didn’t understand me at first, and I had to repeat myself. Then he laughed, and looking at me from head to toe with a slight disdain, as one looks at a pitiful fool, he handed me, after unlocking the box, a much-used and worn-out glasses case in which a pair of glasses rattled.
In the pastry shop over there, I found the lady sitting with a newspaper.I approached her. She quickly had her lorgnette in her hand, and it seemed to me that, surprisingly, she had recognized me; and yet she was a little speechless, for we did not know each other at all. But the housekeeper must have told her that I had picked up her handkerchief.
"Could it be that you already have my letter?" she asked. "Have I been sitting here for hours and not even known it?" her restless eyes added.
"No, I haven't received your letter. But I have your glasses case, which I'm bringing to you here."
"For God's sake, where did I leave that again?" she blurted out in distress and sank into a chair.
"It was in the mailbox," I said, forcing myself to make a face as innocent as possible.
She understood immediately, and with that sudden movement she always made when a flash of realization came over her, she reached into her coat pocket and felt for the letter, which I could hear rustling.
But without taking the letter out of the pocket, she asked me to take a seat, and told me that she had written to me, thanking me for the handkerchief and at the same time apologizing for having used a harsh expression against me. The word "shameless," however, had slipped out of her mouth because she had taken me for that gentleman who had shamelessly offered her a bouquet of roses at the entrance of the café. She had added in the letter that she wanted to apologize in person if we ever met.
Then, sighing, she told me that her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness had caused her a great deal of trouble.
I already knew that. We then talked about something else, about music, about current events, and after a while we became like old acquaintances.
The pastry shop had a small adjoining room, in which a fountain bubbled at a column, surrounded by the water glasses that were served with the coffee.
The fountain bothered me a little with its babbling sound, which was as monotonous as a rainstorm. It occurred to me that during our conversation the short-sighted lady had often listened off to the side, looking slightly troubled, and then she spoke of the bad weather of the last few days.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 12 / 19
# chapter_page: 12
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
I approached her. She quickly had her lorgnette in her hand, and it seemed to me that, surprisingly, she had recognized me; and yet she was a little speechless, for we did not know each other at all. But the housekeeper must have told her that I had picked up her handkerchief.
"Could it be that you already have my letter?" she asked. "Have I been sitting here for hours and not even known it?" her restless eyes added.
"No, I haven't received your letter. But I have your glasses case, which I'm bringing to you here."
"For God's sake, where did I leave that again?" she blurted out in distress and sank into a chair.
"It was in the mailbox," I said, forcing myself to make a face as innocent as possible.
She understood immediately, and with that sudden movement she always made when a flash of realization came over her, she reached into her coat pocket and felt for the letter, which I could hear rustling.
But without taking the letter out of the pocket, she asked me to take a seat, and told me that she had written to me, thanking me for the handkerchief and at the same time apologizing for having used a harsh expression against me. The word "shameless," however, had slipped out of her mouth because she had taken me for that gentleman who had shamelessly offered her a bouquet of roses at the entrance of the café. She had added in the letter that she wanted to apologize in person if we ever met.
Then, sighing, she told me that her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness had caused her a great deal of trouble.
I already knew that. We then talked about something else, about music, about current events, and after a while we became like old acquaintances.
The pastry shop had a small adjoining room, in which a fountain bubbled at a column, surrounded by the water glasses that were served with the coffee.
The fountain bothered me a little with its babbling sound, which was as monotonous as a rainstorm. It occurred to me that during our conversation the short-sighted lady had often listened off to the side, looking slightly troubled, and then she spoke of the bad weather of the last few days.I thought this was a quirk of hers and assumed that perhaps she suffered from aches and pains or something similar when the weather was bad.
After a while, I stood up and said goodbye to her. She said that she wanted to wait until the weather cleared up first.
I thought she felt a storm coming on and was afraid to be home alone.
I left, and when I passed by the shop again a few hours later — it had not been a storm after all, just beautiful, clear skies and a summer evening full of stars and clarity — the confectioner was standing by the door, winking at me, and said:
"Your lady has just left!"
"Which lady?" I asked, completely lost in thought and astonished.
"Well, the short-sighted woman who lives in the house next to yours. She thought the sound of my fountain meant it was raining, so she drank coffee, chocolate, and lemonade and read all the newspapers, because, as she said, she didn’t want to sit at home on that dreary rainy evening, and because she was wearing a dress that she claimed could get stained by the raindrops. Then she ate, drank, and read. Finally, she called over to her one of my assistants and sent him over to her housekeeper to get her umbrella. The woman couldn’t understand why the gracious young lady needed an umbrella on such a beautiful, clear evening. We were also very surprised, until the lady came to the shop door on her way out and discovered, to her astonishment, that not a drop of rain was falling.
Then she ran off, quite angry with herself, probably annoyed that she had spent the lovely evening in the shop and had mistaken the sound of the splashing fountain for rain."
She lived life in her own way. And when I once asked her if she wasn’t afraid of being run over while lost in thought like that, she said: "No, I have my own God, whose protection I always seek."
"Which God is that?" I asked.
"The God of idiots," she said, smiling, and giggled a delicate laugh that suited her very well.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 13 / 19
# chapter_page: 13
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
I thought this was a quirk of hers and assumed that perhaps she suffered from aches and pains or something similar when the weather was bad.
After a while, I stood up and said goodbye to her. She said that she wanted to wait until the weather cleared up first.
I thought she felt a storm coming on and was afraid to be home alone.
I left, and when I passed by the shop again a few hours later -- it had not been a storm after all, just beautiful, clear skies and a summer evening full of stars and clarity -- the confectioner was standing by the door, winking at me, and said:
"Your lady has just left!"
"Which lady?" I asked, completely lost in thought and astonished.
"Well, the short-sighted woman who lives in the house next to yours. She thought the sound of my fountain meant it was raining, so she drank coffee, chocolate, and lemonade and read all the newspapers, because, as she said, she didn’t want to sit at home on that dreary rainy evening, and because she was wearing a dress that she claimed could get stained by the raindrops. Then she ate, drank, and read. Finally, she called over to her one of my assistants and sent him over to her housekeeper to get her umbrella. The woman couldn’t understand why the gracious young lady needed an umbrella on such a beautiful, clear evening. We were also very surprised, until the lady came to the shop door on her way out and discovered, to her astonishment, that not a drop of rain was falling.
Then she ran off, quite angry with herself, probably annoyed that she had spent the lovely evening in the shop and had mistaken the sound of the splashing fountain for rain."
She lived life in her own way. And when I once asked her if she wasn’t afraid of being run over while lost in thought like that, she said: "No, I have my own God, whose protection I always seek."
"Which God is that?" I asked.
"The God of idiots," she said, smiling, and giggled a delicate laugh that suited her very well.Among other things, it had also happened to her once that, after a lunch in a restaurant, she carried a large silver spoon upright in front of her as she left. And when the waiter pointed out to her that she was carrying a silver spoon, she was terrified, because she had thought she was holding the silver handle of her parasol.
When I saw her for the last time, it was on a high summer evening as I was cycling home from an outing; she met me in our street. She seemed to be in great haste, as if something had happened again that had made her lose her head.
I rang my bicycle bell, perhaps a little more loudly than usual, because I wanted to force the lady to look up so that I could greet her. But my horror was great. Hardly had my bell rung when the young lady lay flat on the ground as if she had been knocked over, as if an invisible bicycle had ridden over her.
I jumped off my bike and helped her up, apologizing for having frightened her.
She had been deep in thought, she said, and the loud ringing had seemed so close to her that she had ducked down, slipped, and fallen, with the feeling that she had been run over.
After she had straightened up and recovered a little, she explained to me that she was so frightened because upstairs there was a drunk person lying on the stairs. She was going to travel to the countryside tomorrow and had packed her suitcase, and she would not return to the city until autumn.
She feared that the drunk person might have been a burglar who had robbed her. She had wanted to call the housekeeper, but she was not at home, and so she had run off to fetch a policeman from the next street corner, because the drunk was lying sprawled across the stairwell, and she did not dare to climb over him.
I offered to go upstairs with her to wake up the drunk and send him away.
She thanked me, and we went into her house; panting and listening breathlessly, we climbed upstairs together.
On the floor below her apartment, I told her to wait. Stamping loudly with my cane to disturb the shameless intruder, I went on alone.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 14 / 19
# chapter_page: 14
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Among other things, it had also happened to her once that, after a lunch in a restaurant, she carried a large silver spoon upright in front of her as she left. And when the waiter pointed out to her that she was carrying a silver spoon, she was terrified, because she had thought she was holding the silver handle of her parasol.
When I saw her for the last time, it was on a high summer evening as I was cycling home from an outing; she met me in our street. She seemed to be in great haste, as if something had happened again that had made her lose her head.
I rang my bicycle bell, perhaps a little more loudly than usual, because I wanted to force the lady to look up so that I could greet her. But my horror was great. Hardly had my bell rung when the young lady lay flat on the ground as if she had been knocked over, as if an invisible bicycle had ridden over her.
I jumped off my bike and helped her up, apologizing for having frightened her.
She had been deep in thought, she said, and the loud ringing had seemed so close to her that she had ducked down, slipped, and fallen, with the feeling that she had been run over.
After she had straightened up and recovered a little, she explained to me that she was so frightened because upstairs there was a drunk person lying on the stairs. She was going to travel to the countryside tomorrow and had packed her suitcase, and she would not return to the city until autumn.
She feared that the drunk person might have been a burglar who had robbed her. She had wanted to call the housekeeper, but she was not at home, and so she had run off to fetch a policeman from the next street corner, because the drunk was lying sprawled across the stairwell, and she did not dare to climb over him.
I offered to go upstairs with her to wake up the drunk and send him away.
She thanked me, and we went into her house; panting and listening breathlessly, we climbed upstairs together.
On the floor below her apartment, I told her to wait. Stamping loudly with my cane to disturb the shameless intruder, I went on alone.Nothing stirred in the twilight of the stairwell. In the corner of the landing stood a packed suitcase, and across from the stairs, strapped into a plaid belt, lay a long, rolled-up travel scarf. The short-sighted woman must have taken this for a person.
I called down into the stairwell, and the lady came shyly and cautiously upstairs, refusing to believe me that there was no one there and that only her rolled-up travel scarf had frightened her. She insisted that the person had run away.
I could see it in her face how ashamed she was to admit to herself that she had been deceived again. I asked her if she had seen the person through her lorgnette. No, she had forgotten her lorgnette, but she still didn’t want to admit that she had mistaken the travel scarf for a person. Then she asked me, since I was already upstairs, to come in and join her for a moment.
Inside the rooms, everything was in utter disarray. The things were scattered like a colorful medley of vegetables, and she apologized that she hadn’t finished packing yet. I had to take a seat between various objects in a corner of the sofa.
Then she went into the kitchen, where the terriers were locked up; they seemed very fond of her. But she couldn’t untie the knot in the string tied to the doorknob, so I went over and helped her.
While untying the knot, my gaze happened to fall on a coal box that was standing there, and I was drawn to some strangely blue papers that were lying inside. They appeared to be crumpled banknotes. I then actually picked up a few hundred-mark notes, which, as it turned out, were the lady’s entire travel money. She had only just withdrawn the money from the bank earlier. Thinking they were old blue envelopes, she had thrown away the banknotes in her haste to pack, while carefully putting the empty envelope into her handbag.
Now she began to weep with terror, and as if to excuse herself, she said:
"Someone has stolen not only my heart, but also my head."
Later, after she had played beautifully for me on her violin, I told her that she needed to show me the image of the person who had delivered her to the god of fools.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 15 / 19
# chapter_page: 15
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Nothing stirred in the twilight of the stairwell. In the corner of the landing stood a packed suitcase, and across from the stairs, strapped into a plaid belt, lay a long, rolled-up travel scarf. The short-sighted woman must have taken this for a person.
I called down into the stairwell, and the lady came shyly and cautiously upstairs, refusing to believe me that there was no one there and that only her rolled-up travel scarf had frightened her. She insisted that the person had run away.
I could see it in her face how ashamed she was to admit to herself that she had been deceived again. I asked her if she had seen the person through her lorgnette. No, she had forgotten her lorgnette, but she still didn’t want to admit that she had mistaken the travel scarf for a person. Then she asked me, since I was already upstairs, to come in and join her for a moment.
Inside the rooms, everything was in utter disarray. The things were scattered like a colorful medley of vegetables, and she apologized that she hadn’t finished packing yet. I had to take a seat between various objects in a corner of the sofa.
Then she went into the kitchen, where the terriers were locked up; they seemed very fond of her. But she couldn’t untie the knot in the string tied to the doorknob, so I went over and helped her.
While untying the knot, my gaze happened to fall on a coal box that was standing there, and I was drawn to some strangely blue papers that were lying inside. They appeared to be crumpled banknotes. I then actually picked up a few hundred-mark notes, which, as it turned out, were the lady’s entire travel money. She had only just withdrawn the money from the bank earlier. Thinking they were old blue envelopes, she had thrown away the banknotes in her haste to pack, while carefully putting the empty envelope into her handbag.
Now she began to weep with terror, and as if to excuse herself, she said:
"Someone has stolen not only my heart, but also my head."
Later, after she had played beautifully for me on her violin, I told her that she needed to show me the image of the person who had delivered her to the god of fools.She showed me the picture of a young choirmaster who seemed to offer nothing special except for a large tuft of hair that hung down over his forehead. And I was certain that here too, her short-sightedness was playing a trick on her in her love for the musician. She surely loved the vague idea she had formed of the man more than the clear image of the man himself, which she could never see.
I was jealous of that hair-man, I felt it, and I also felt how easy it would be to push aside this rival, who, as it seemed to me, had already played out his role in the young lady's heart. I did what my heart urged me to do, and from that moment on I courted that girl. I followed her to the countryside, where she spent the summer, and the following winter I attended concerts and other entertainments with her in Berlin.
After we had spent happy months together, during which I had at first enjoyed her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness as a charming quirk of her personality, I gradually became nervous about the double life she led, for in the long run it was uncanny how much time and energy she had to spend to get through the adventures that her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness caused her. And often days were not enough to make good what she had innocently done to herself and others in moments of absent-mindedness.
Later she went on concert tours, and we wrote to each other less and less frequently. Without blaming each other, we both felt that the time of our intimacy was over. The young lady found many admirers, for she was charming and of a cheerful disposition, and she did not even become upset when reminded of her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness.
Now she stood there, not far from me, in the snow, searching for the comet in the west with her opera glasses in the east. And I held her two terriers, which sat trembling at my feet, fast to my walking stick, which she had mistaken for a tree branch.
Soon, however, I noticed that my friend was no longer pointing her opera glasses at the sky, but was looking down the hill, where people were still climbing uphill.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 16 / 19
# chapter_page: 16
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
She showed me the picture of a young choirmaster who seemed to offer nothing special except for a large tuft of hair that hung down over his forehead. And I was certain that here too, her short-sightedness was playing a trick on her in her love for the musician. She surely loved the vague idea she had formed of the man more than the clear image of the man himself, which she could never see.
I was jealous of that hair-man, I felt it, and I also felt how easy it would be to push aside this rival, who, as it seemed to me, had already played out his role in the young lady's heart. I did what my heart urged me to do, and from that moment on I courted that girl. I followed her to the countryside, where she spent the summer, and the following winter I attended concerts and other entertainments with her in Berlin.
After we had spent happy months together, during which I had at first enjoyed her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness as a charming quirk of her personality, I gradually became nervous about the double life she led, for in the long run it was uncanny how much time and energy she had to spend to get through the adventures that her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness caused her. And often days were not enough to make good what she had innocently done to herself and others in moments of absent-mindedness.
Later she went on concert tours, and we wrote to each other less and less frequently. Without blaming each other, we both felt that the time of our intimacy was over. The young lady found many admirers, for she was charming and of a cheerful disposition, and she did not even become upset when reminded of her short-sightedness and absent-mindedness.
Now she stood there, not far from me, in the snow, searching for the comet in the west with her opera glasses in the east. And I held her two terriers, which sat trembling at my feet, fast to my walking stick, which she had mistaken for a tree branch.
Soon, however, I noticed that my friend was no longer pointing her opera glasses at the sky, but was looking down the hill, where people were still climbing uphill.While her eyes were still searching, the dark figure of a young man stepped up beside her. He held a snowball in his hand. He seemed to be greeting her and appeared to be the one she had been searching for with her opera glasses in heaven and on earth.
He extended the snowball to her, which she, in her short-sightedness, took to be his hand, at which he burst out laughing. Whereupon she took the snowball and threw it intimately at his chest.
At that, I pulled my stick back from the tree, stripped the strap to which the dogs were tied from the walking stick, and said to the two animals: "Run!"
The lively animals understood me immediately and jumped towards their mistress, barking. Meanwhile, I slowly walked towards a bench, where I sat down.
I heard the short-sighted woman utter an exclamation of surprise. She believed the dogs had broken off the tree branch.
The young man laughed and shouted, "I don't believe it for a moment. You must have tied the dogs to the air."
I wanted to slap him for speaking so disrespectfully to her. But I told myself he had probably experienced a hundred similar cases with her and had the right to laugh.
Now I heard the young lady say she wanted to look at the tree branch. He could see for himself. The branch must have broken off.
I watched her go to the tree and feel in the air where my cane had been. But at her height, there was no branch on the trunk, neither above nor below. Only at twice human height did the fir tree's branches begin.
She looked up at the tree in silence and only now realized that she must have been mistaken.
"But there was a branch as thick as a thumb there," I heard her insist.
"What you saw and felt didn't necessarily have to be a branch," the young man scoffed.
"It was a branch. I felt the wood. Where I am, the world is always enchanted," she finally explained. "Just imagine what happened to me again yesterday!"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 17 / 19
# chapter_page: 17
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
While her eyes were still searching, the dark figure of a young man stepped up beside her. He held a snowball in his hand. He seemed to be greeting her and appeared to be the one she had been searching for with her opera glasses in heaven and on earth.
He extended the snowball to her, which she, in her short-sightedness, took to be his hand, at which he burst out laughing. Whereupon she took the snowball and threw it intimately at his chest.
At that, I pulled my stick back from the tree, stripped the strap to which the dogs were tied from the walking stick, and said to the two animals: "Run!"
The lively animals understood me immediately and jumped towards their mistress, barking. Meanwhile, I slowly walked towards a bench, where I sat down.
I heard the short-sighted woman utter an exclamation of surprise. She believed the dogs had broken off the tree branch.
The young man laughed and shouted, "I don't believe it for a moment. You must have tied the dogs to the air."
I wanted to slap him for speaking so disrespectfully to her. But I told myself he had probably experienced a hundred similar cases with her and had the right to laugh.
Now I heard the young lady say she wanted to look at the tree branch. He could see for himself. The branch must have broken off.
I watched her go to the tree and feel in the air where my cane had been. But at her height, there was no branch on the trunk, neither above nor below. Only at twice human height did the fir tree's branches begin.
She looked up at the tree in silence and only now realized that she must have been mistaken.
"But there was a branch as thick as a thumb there," I heard her insist.
"What you saw and felt didn't necessarily have to be a branch," the young man scoffed.
"It was a branch. I felt the wood. Where I am, the world is always enchanted," she finally explained. "Just imagine what happened to me again yesterday!"They both came closer to the bench, talking. I sat there with my coat collar turned up and my fur hat pulled down over my forehead, staring into the sky. Because of her short-sightedness, I didn't need to fear she would recognize me. She sat down in the middle of the bench, barely a hand's width away from me, while her companion sat next to her.
"Last night, when you didn't come, I wanted to pass the time, and since I had a craving for a pancake—and I hadn't eaten a homemade pancake in ages—I went out to buy everything I needed for baking. I bought the ingredients right in the neighborhood: milk, flour, and eggs. On the way, I passed by a postcard stand where picture postcards were stacked in small open boxes. I bent down with the milk bottle, the bag of flour, and the carton of eggs, walked slowly past the box, and looked at the postcards. Suddenly, I heard a gurgling sound and saw the last drops of my milk bottle running out. As I walked past the box, I had poured my entire supply of milk over the various series of postcard displays, because the cork had come loose from the bottle. I was beside myself with horror and ran away.
In my agitation, I pressed the bag of flour and the carton of eggs tightly against me on the way, so as not to lose them. When I reached my front door, the bag of flour seemed to have become disproportionately thin. I sensed something was wrong and noticed a white trail of flour behind me, leading from the postcard shop to my front door. The bag had burst, and the flour had spilled out. I threw the empty bag into the gutter. When I opened the carton of eggs upstairs in my room, there was only a yellow liquid and broken eggshells in the paper. In despair, I sat down on the sofa, starved and wept, and finally started making music."
These last words the short-sighted woman spoke to me, for she had probably forgotten which side of the bench her companion sat on. Then she took her lorgnette, and I thought she was going to realize that she was speaking to the wrong person. But no. She looked at my cane, reached out her hand for it, still thinking that I was her companion, and called out jubilantly:
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 18 / 19
# chapter_page: 18
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
They both came closer to the bench, talking. I sat there with my coat collar turned up and my fur hat pulled down over my forehead, staring into the sky. Because of her short-sightedness, I didn't need to fear she would recognize me. She sat down in the middle of the bench, barely a hand's width away from me, while her companion sat next to her.
"Last night, when you didn't come, I wanted to pass the time, and since I had a craving for a pancake—and I hadn't eaten a homemade pancake in ages—I went out to buy everything I needed for baking. I bought the ingredients right in the neighborhood: milk, flour, and eggs. On the way, I passed by a postcard stand where picture postcards were stacked in small open boxes. I bent down with the milk bottle, the bag of flour, and the carton of eggs, walked slowly past the box, and looked at the postcards. Suddenly, I heard a gurgling sound and saw the last drops of my milk bottle running out. As I walked past the box, I had poured my entire supply of milk over the various series of postcard displays, because the cork had come loose from the bottle. I was beside myself with horror and ran away.
In my agitation, I pressed the bag of flour and the carton of eggs tightly against me on the way, so as not to lose them. When I reached my front door, the bag of flour seemed to have become disproportionately thin. I sensed something was wrong and noticed a white trail of flour behind me, leading from the postcard shop to my front door. The bag had burst, and the flour had spilled out. I threw the empty bag into the gutter. When I opened the carton of eggs upstairs in my room, there was only a yellow liquid and broken eggshells in the paper. In despair, I sat down on the sofa, starved and wept, and finally started making music."
These last words the short-sighted woman spoke to me, for she had probably forgotten which side of the bench her companion sat on. Then she took her lorgnette, and I thought she was going to realize that she was speaking to the wrong person. But no. She looked at my cane, reached out her hand for it, still thinking that I was her companion, and called out jubilantly:"So you have the tree branch in your hand! Oh, you impostor, you secretly broke it off so that I would believe I had made a mistake."
"Excuse me, that's my cane," I replied calmly and stood up.
I knew she had recognized my voice, for it became deathly quiet beside me. Then the young man, who had been searching the sky with the opera glasses the whole time, called out loudly:
"I've found the comet!"
I could still hear her take a deep breath and say ambiguously: "I spotted one too, despite my short-sightedness, but he left just as quickly as he had arrived."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-translation-c29c804ec97c4bdb927862f3b59d9e3c
# book_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# chapter_id: 1-the-short-sighted-one-and-the-comet
# chapter_title: The Short-Sighted One and the Comet
# book_page: 19 / 19
# chapter_page: 19
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"So you have the tree branch in your hand! Oh, you impostor, you secretly broke it off so that I would believe I had made a mistake."
"Excuse me, that's my cane," I replied calmly and stood up.
I knew she had recognized my voice, for it became deathly quiet beside me. Then the young man, who had been searching the sky with the opera glasses the whole time, called out loudly:
"I've found the comet!"
I could still hear her take a deep breath and say ambiguously: "I spotted one too, despite my short-sightedness, but he left just as quickly as he had arrived."
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