Authors: Elias Canetti
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Literary, #Literary Criticism, #German, #Novel, #European, #German fiction
He waited for a round figure — the next was sixty — and broke off his counting. He rose to his feet and took out a hundred schilling note. He would rather have selected several at once but he was not going to hurt the dwarf's feelings with either too large or too small a sum. For a moment he stood there, tall and in silence, to heighten the solemnity of his proposal. Then he spoke; they were the most courteous words of his life:
'Honoured Mr. Fischerle! It is impossible for me to repress any longer a request which I have to address to you. Pray do me the honour of accepting towards your Stipendium, as you are pleased to call it, this token of my esteem!'
Instead of 'thank you', the little fellow whispered 'Pst ! Have it your own way,' and went on screaming at his wife; he was evidently bewildered. His furious words and looks almost knocked her under the table. He cared so little for the money offered that he did not even look at it. Not to hurt Kien's feelings he simply stretched out his arm and clutched at the note. Instead of the single note he grasped the entire bundle, but in his excitement didn't even notice it. Kien nearly smiled. From sheer modesty the man acts like the greediest thief. As soon as he notices it he will be painfully embarrassed. To spare him embarrassment, Kien exchanged the bundle for the single note. The dwarf's fingers were hard and sensitive, they clawed themselves, doubtless against the will of their owner, round the bundle; they still did not feel anything even when Kien detached them one after another from the packet, but closed themselves automatically again over the single hundred schilling note which remained. Playing chess has hardened his hands, thought Kien; Mr. Fischerle is used to grasping the pieces firmly, they alone keep him alive. In the meantime he had sat down again. His beneficence made him happy. Thérèse too, smothered in injuries, her face aflame, had got up ana left the table in earnest. She might as well go, he had no further use for her. She could expect nothing from him. It was his duty to help her husband to his victory over her, and in that he had succeeded.
In the tumult of his happy sensations, Kien did not hear what was going on about him. Suddenly he felt a heavy blow on his shoulder.
It made him jump and he looked round. A vast hand lay there, and a voice zoomed: "What about me?' At least a dozen fellows were seated round about, since when? He had not noticed them before. Fists were piled up on the table, more fellows were coming along, those standing at the back leant over those in front who were sitting. A girl's voice called out plaintively: 'Let me out, I can't see a thing.' Another one, shrilly: 'Ferdy, your motorbike's in the bag!' Someone held the open brief-case in the air, shook it, found nothing, and wailed, disillusioned: 'Go to hell with your paper.' You couldn't see the room any more for the people in it. Fischerle was croaking. No one listened to him. His wife was there again. She was screaming. Another woman, fatter still, struck out right and left and forced her way through the men shouting: 'I'll have something too!' She was covered with all those sreaps of rags that Kien had seen behind the bar. The stars shook. Chairs collapsed. An angel's voice was crying with joy. Just as Kien understood what it was all about, he was crowned with his own brief-case. He saw and heard no more, he only felt that he was lying on the floor while his pockets, and the very seams and holes in his suit were being searched by hands of every shape and weight. He trembled all over, not for himself, only for his head; they might throw his books about. They are going to kill him but he won't betray his books. We want the books! they will order him, where are your books; But he won't give them up, never, never, never, he is a martyr, he is dying for his books. His lips move, they want to say how strong he is in his resolution, but they dare not speak aloud, they move only as though they had spoken.
But it occurs to no one to ask him. They prefer to find out for themselves. Several times he is pushed around over the floor. They all but undress him to the skin. Whichever way they twist and turn him, they find nothing. Suddenly he realizes that he is alone. All the hands have vanished. Stealthily he feels for his head. As a protection against the next attack he leaves his hand up there. The second hand follows it. He tries to stand up without taking his hands away from his head. His enemies are watching for this moment to snatch at the defenceless books; careful, careful! He succeeds. He is lucky. Now he is standing. Where are these creatures? Better not look round; he may be noticed. His glance, cautiously directed to the furthest corner of the room, falls on a heap of people at work on each other with knives and fists. Now, too, he hears their wild screams. He will not understand them. If he did they might understand him. On tiptoe, on his long legs he creeps out. Someone clutches at his back. Running even, he is too cautious to look round. He squints backwards, holding his breath, pressing his hands with all his strength to his head. But it is only the door curtains. In the street he draws a deep breath. What a pity he can't close those doors. The library is saved!
A few doors off the dwarf was waiting for him. He handed his briefcase back to him. "The paper's there too,' he said, 'I'll show you the kind of man I am.' In his distress Kien had forgotten that a person called Fischerle existed in the world. He was all the more overcome by this incredible proof of his devotion. 'The paper too,' he faltered, 'how can I thank you ... ' He had not mistaken his man. 'That's nothing,' declared the little fellow. 'Now will you kindly step in here with me.' Kien obeyed, he was deeply moved and would gladly have embraced the little man. 'Do you know what a reward is?' asked the dwarf as soon as they were inside a porch hidden from passers-by. 'You must know what that is. Ten per cent. In there they are killing each other, men and women, and I've got it.' He drew out Kien's wallet and handed it over to him like a ceremonial presentation. 'I'm not a fool! I'm not going to be locked up to save their throats.' Since his most precious possessions had been in danger, Kien had forgotten all about the money too. He laughed aloud at so much conscientiousness, took the wallet back mainly because he was so pleased with Fischerle and repeated: 'How can I thank you! How can I thank you!' 'Ten per cent,' said the dwarf. Kien plunged into the packet of notes and offered a large portion to Fischerle. 'You count first of all,' he yelled. 'Business is business. All of a sudden you'll be saying I robbed you.' It was all very well for Kien to count. Had he an idea how much there had been before? FiScherle on the other hand knew exactly how many notes he had already set aside. His demand that Kien should count referred to the reward alone. But to please him Kien counted it all carefully through. When for the second time to-day, he reached the figure sixty, Fischerle saw himself locked up. He decided to make off at once — for this contingency he had already extracted his own reward — but quickly he tried one last attempt. 'There you are, it's all safe!' 'Of course,' said Kien, pleased not to have to do any more counting. 'Count out the reward now and we're quits.' Kien began again and got as far as nine, he would have gone on counting forever. 'Stop! Ten per cent!' cried Fischerle. He knew exactly how much there had been in all. While he was waiting for Kien he had swiftly and thoroughly been through the wallet.
When the deal was finished, he gave Kien his hand, looked sadly up at him and said: 'You ought to know what I've done for you! It s all over with the Stars of Heaven for me. You don't think I can ever go in there again, do you? They'd find all this money on me and kill mo dead. Because where does Fischerle get the money from? And how am I to tell them where I got it from? If I say I got it from the gentleman in the book racket they'll smash me to smithereens and steal the money out of my pockets while I lie there. If I say nothing they'll take it from me while I'm still alive. You see how it is, if Fischerle lives, then he's nothing left to live for, and if he dies, well he's dead. That's what you get for being a friend.' He was still hoping for a tip.
Kien felt obliged to help this person, the first worthy object he had found in his life, to a better and more dignified existence. 'I am not a tradesman, I am a man of learning and a librarian,' he said and bowed condescendingly to die dwarf. 'You may enter my service and I will look after you.
'Like a father,' completed the little fellow. 'Just as I thought. Very well, off we go!' He marched boldly out. Kien ambled after him. He cast about for work to give to his new
famulus
. A friend must never suspect that he is being given presents. He could help him in the evenings to unload and pile up the books.
CHAPTER II
THE HUMP
A few hours after he had started on his new job Fischerle was fully enlightened as to the desires and peculiarities of his master. On taking up their quarters for the night he was presented to the hotel porter as 'my friend and colleague'. Fortunately the porter recognized the open-handed Owner of a Library who had already spent a night in that hotel; otherwise both the gendeman and his colleague would have been thrown out. Fischerle took pains to follow what Kien was writing on the registration form. He was too small, he couldn't contrive to poke his nose into these matters. His fears were on account of the second registration form which the porter had ready for him. But Kien, who was making up in one night for the lack of delicacy of a lifetime, considered how difficult the little fellow would find it to write and included him on his own form under the heading 'accompanied by . . . '. He handed the second form back to the porter with the words, 'This is unnecessary'. Thus he spared Fischerle not only the difficulty of writing, but, more important still in his eyes, the humiliating admission of his status as a servant.
As soon as they reached their rooms upstairs, Kien took out the brown paper and began to smooth it out. 'True it's all crumpled,' he said, 'but we have no other.' Fischerle seized the occasion to make himself indispensable, and worked carefully over each sheet which his master regarded as "already perfected. 'I was to blame, with that slapping,' he declared. His success was the measure of the enviable nimbleness of his fingers. Next the paper was spread out over the floor in both rooms. Fischerle gambolled from side to side, lay flat down and crawled — a peculiar, squat, hump-backed reptile — from corner to corner. 'We'll soon have it all shipshape, that's nothing!' he panted again and again. Kien smiled, he was not accustomed to this cringing nor to the hump and rejoiced at the personal honour which the dwarf was showing him. The impending explanation however filled him with a certain anxiety. Possibly he overestimated the intelligence of the manikin, almost as old as he, who had lived countless years in exile without books. He might well misunderstand the task which was intended for him. Perhaps he would ask: 'Where are the books?' even before he had grasped where they were safely kept during the day. It would be best to leave him crawling about on the floor a little longer. Meanwhile some popular simile might occur to Kien with which he could enlighten this uneducated brain. Even the little fellow's fingers disquieted him. They were in constant motion; they kept on smoothing out the paper far too long. They were hungry, hungry fingers want food. They might demand the books, which Kien was determined no one should touch, no one at all. Also he feared to come into collision with the little fellow's thirst for education. He might reproach him, with some appearance of justice, for letting his books He fallow. How was he to defend himself? Fools rush in where wise men fear to tread. There was the fool already standing in front of him saying: 'All done!'
'Then please will you help me unpack the books!' said Kien blindly, and was astonished at his own boldness. To cut short any unwelcome questions he immediately lifted a packet out of his head and held it out to the little fellow. The latter managed to take it up cleverly in his long arms and said: 'So many! Where shall I put them down?' 'Many?' shouted Kien, indignantly. 'That isn't the thousandth part.'
'I get you. A tenth per cent. Do you want me to stand about here another year? I can't manage it much longer with all this to carry. Where shall I put them down?' 'On the paper. Begin in the corner over there, then we won't fall over them later on.'
Fischerle slid carefully over to the corner. He avoided any violent movement which would have endangered his burden. In the corner he knelt down, laid the packet carefully on the floor, and straightened its sides so that no irregularity should shock the eye. Kien had followed him. He was already holding out the next packet towards him: he distrusted the litde fellow, it seemed to him somehow as if he was being mocked. In Fischerle's hands the work went forward swimmingly. He took packet after packet, his nimbleness grew with practice. Between the piles he left always a few inches where he could conveniently insert his hands. He thought of everything, even of the repacking in the morning. He allowed only a moderate height to each pile and tested them when he had got so far by gendy passing the tip or his nose over them. Although he was quite absorbed in his measuring, he said every time: 'Beg pardon, sir!' Higher than his nose he would not let them be. Kien was doubtful: it seemed to him that if the piles were to be built thus low the available space would be used up too soon. He had no desire to sleep with half the library still in his head. But for the present he said nothing and let his famulus do as he wished. He had half taken him to his heart already. He forgave him the disdain contained jn his exclamation: 'So many!' He rejoiced to think of the moment when, the floor space available in both rooms being completely used up? he would look down at the little fellow with mild irony and ask: 'And now where?'
After an hour Fischerle was in the greatest difficulty on account of his hump. Twist and turn as he would he collided with books everywhere. Except for a narrow path from the bed in one room to the bed in the other, everything was evenly covered with books. Fischerle was in a sweat and no longer dared to pass the tip of his nose over the topmost layer of the piles of books. He tried to draw in his hump but couldn't manage it. This physical exertion was almost too much for him. He was so tired he felt like spitting on the books and going to sleep. But he carried on until, however much he tried, he couldn't discover the tiniest empty space and then crumpled up half dead. 'In all my born days I never see such a library,' he growled. Kien's smile spread over his entire face. 'You haven't seen half of it,' he said. Fischerle had not reckoned with this. "We'll finish the rest in the morning,' he asserted, threateningly. Kien felt caught out. He had boasted. In fact a good two-thirds of the books were already unloaded. What would the little man think of him if he found out. Accurate people do not like to be accused of exaggeration. He must take care to sleep to-morrow in a hotel where the rooms were smaller. He would give him smaller packets at a time, two packets made up one pile precisely, and if Fischerle, with the help of his nose, were to notice anything, he would say to him simply: 'People's noses are not always on the same level. There are many things you will have to learn from me.' He could not allow any more unpacking to-night, the little man was tired enough already. He must be permitted a well-earned rest. 'I respect your fatigue,' he said; "what we do for books, is well done. You can go to bed now. We will continue in the morning'. He treated him considerately, but as a servant. The work which he had just performed reduced him to that rank.
When Fischerle was in bed and had rested himself a little, he called out to Kien: 'Bad beds!' He felt so comfortable — in all his born days he had never lain on such a soft mattress — he had to say something about it.
Kien was in China; he was there every night before he fell asleep. The extraordinary happenings of the day gave his imaginings a different form. He conceived without an immediate revulsion the idea of a popularization of his learning. He felt that the dwarf understood him. He conceded that like-minded human beings might exist. If it were possible to infuse these with a little education, a little humanity, this would certainly be an achievement. The first step is always the hardest. Moreover no encouragement should be given to arbitrary action. Through daily contact with so vast a quantity of learning the little man's hunger for it would grow greater and greater; suddenly he would be caught secreting a book and trying to read it. This must not be allowed, it would be harmful to him, it would destroy what little intelligence he had. How much could the poor fellow possibly absorb? He would have to be prepared for it orally. There was no hurry for him to begin reading on his own. Years would pass before he would be fluent in Chinese. But he would become familiar with the ideas and the interpreters of the Chinese cultural world long ere this. To avtaken his interest in these things they must be associated with the experiences of every day. Under the title 'Mencius and Us* a very pretty essay might be put together. What would he be able to make of it? Kien recollected that the dwarf had just said something; what it was he did not know, but in any case he must still be awake.