An Offering for the Dead by Hans Erich Nossack Read Free Book Online

looked at me, then they too went on. I had to ponder their gazes for a long time. But some remained, sat down with me, and we talked all night long. They did not want to instruct me; on the contrary, they wanted to find out something from me. Incidentally, we did not just discuss serious matters; there were times when we made fun of everybody. I brewed coffee on an alcohol burner, and we sometimes drank one bottle of wine too many. But whenever we had a very important conversation, then it might happen that other visitors joined in, as if they had been in the staircase, merely waiting for the right word to be spoken. There must have been quite a number of visitors. It was like a cornfield that stretches all the way to the horizon and even beyond the borders; the individual stalks could be seen only in front, and the whole field swayed gently to and fro. I believe they came not for my sake, but to listen to the first visitor. They stood around him, as I have said, not always quite distinctly visible. One only knew that they were there. They themselves never spoke, they merely listened. But with what childlike attention they listened, virtually as if for them everything hung on that. And some of the sentences made them blush for joy; the entire room was then bathed in a rosy shimmer. They nodded at one another as if to say: Look, that is the way it is, and a rustling passed through the field. There were some who had as yet left no trace in any heart, because they had not yet managed to commit themselves to existence. For the time being, they were still waiting and listening and hoping.
    Most of my visitors, incidentally, were men; but naturally, women came too. I was afraid of some of them; for nothing was to their liking, and I felt utterly worthless. They derisively nitpicked everything, and I was a wayward child. They behaved very violently; belligerently pushing out their chests, they looked down their noses at me. Why, they seemed to be one head taller than I was. I do not wish to denigrate them; they were probably right in some way — otherwise, they would not have come to visit; but they expected something of me that they felt I ought to do, and I was glad when they were gone. Another type was at least equally unpleasant. They softly shuffled in; I believe they wore slippers instead of shoes. Their faces were somewhat bloated; they had bags under their eyes and slack chins; their flesh was pale and spongy; their movements were weary and their voices soporific. Actually, they only sighed. It was hard to get rid of them once they settled down in the room. But the one I hated most was a little old woman; sometimes, she drove me out of the room, and I preferred walking the streets at night. Upon returning home at dawn, I first peered through the door crack to see if she was still there. She always spoke to me from below; there was a kink in her neck like in a snake's, and her head tilted slightly to one side. This was meant to look friendly, and indeed, according to their external meaning, her words were very friendly and concerned. But there was nothing more venomous.
    All the other women, nicer and younger ones, were likewise very earnest. I do not mean that frivolous and coquettish creatures should have come. But why not some who were quite simply cheerful? They also spoke a lot less than the men; hence, it is not fair to call women chatterboxes. One should not listen too closely to the superficial sounds; the blabbering conceals taciturnity. They stood at the table, feeling an object, smoothing out the tablecloth. Then they said: "Well?" And when I asked them to have a seat, they sat down and waited. When I looked up, some were sitting quite unexpectedly at the desk near me. Ah, how long and patiently! And they did not bother me, although their eyes were glued to me. Now and then, a few smiled at me; but there were also times when I had to put down the pen and go over to such a woman, because the one sitting there gazed