Selected Stories by Robert Walser Read Free Book Online

me? As it seems, it cannot; yet again,
     as it seems, it can. I am a bit afraid and a bit not afraid, too. Perhaps I am too
     unintelligent to be afraid; yes, it almost seems that the childish defiance with which
     I justify myself before my fellow men is a sign of weak-mindedness. But, but: it suits
     marvelously my character, which always instructs me to act a little out of the ordinary,
     even if it is to my disadvantage. Thus, for instance, I bring, though it is not allowed,
     small books into the office, where I slit open the pages and read, without really
     enjoying the reading. But it makes it look like the elegant obstinacy of a man who
     is cultivated and wants to be more than the others. I do indeed always want to be
     more, and I have the zeal of a hunting dog when it comes to seeking distinction. If
     I read the book and a colleague comes up and asks the question, which is perhaps quite
     in order, “What are you reading, Helbling?”—that annoys me, because in this case it
     is proper to show an annoyance which drives the importunate questioner away. I act
     uncommonly important when I read, look all around to see if people are noticing how
     cleverly someone there is improving his mind and wits; I slit open page after page
     at splendid leisure, do not even read any more but satisfy myself with having assumed
     the posture of a person immersed in a book. That is how I am: harebrained, and all
     for effect. I am vain, but my satisfaction with my vanity costs remarkably little.
     My clothes are of coarse appearance, but I vary them zealously, for it pleases me
     to show my colleagues that I own several suits and have some taste in my choice of
     colors. I like to wear green, because it reminds me of the forests, and I wear yellow
     on windy, airy days because yellow is right for wind and dancing. I could be in error
     here, perhaps, for people point out how often every day I am in error. One ends up
     believing that one is a simpleton. But what difference does it make whether one is
     a ninny or a person worthy of esteem, since the rain falls equally on donkeys and
     respectable men. And then the sun! I am happy in the sun, when twelve has struck,
     to be walking home, and when it rains I spread the luxuriant bellying umbrella over
     myself, so that my hat, which I greatly treasure, shall not get wet. I treat my hat
     very carefully, and it always seems to me that if I can still touch my hat in my usual
     gentle manner, then I am still an altogether lucky person. It gives me particular
     pleasure to put it, when a working day is over, cautiously on my head. That is, for
     me, always, my favorite end to every day. My life does indeed consist of mere trivialities.
     I am always telling myself that, and that seems so strange to me. I have never found
     it right to get enthusiastic about big ideals concerning humanity, for my disposition
     is more critical than enthusiastic, on which I congratulate myself. I am a person
     who feels degraded when he meets an ideal man, with long hair, sandals on his naked
     legs, apron of skin around his loins, and flowers in his hair. I smile, with embarrassment,
     in such cases. To laugh aloud, the thing one would certainly most like to do, is impossible,
     also it is in fact more a cause for annoyance than for laughter, living among people
     who regard a smooth head of hair like mine with distaste. I like to be annoyed, so
     I always get annoyed at the least provocation. I often make sarcastic remarks and
     yet certainly have little need to be malicious toward others, since I know quite well
     what it means to be grieved by the scorn of others. But that is just it: I observe
     nothing, learn nothing, and behave just as on the day I left school. There’s a good
     deal of the schoolboy in me, and it will probably remain my constant companion through
     life. There are said to be people who have no capacity for betterment and no talent
     for learning from the behavior of others. No,