The Boxer by Jurek Becker Read Free Book Online Page B

story particularly interested her. When he was finished, she said, “I’m sorry but you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
    “Why can’t I see him now?”
    “First of all, I am not authorized to let just anybody in and, second, the children are already asleep.”
    “Couldn’t you wake Mark?” Aron asked. “This is something that doesn’t happen every day.”
    “I don’t know who Mark is,” said the night nurse.
    “We have two hundred children here. Besides, he doesn’t sleep alone. There are at least twenty children in each room, do you want to disturb them all?”
    Disappointed, Aron left, accompanied by the man and the dachshund, which in the meantime had calmed down. On the way, the man laid his hand on Aron’s shoulder and said, “Don’t be angry, that’s just the way it is here. You’ll see him tomorrow.”
    When they reached the gate, he clapped his hands angrily; he had forgotten the key and wanted to fetch it.
    “Never mind,” Aron said, “I know the way.”
    He climbed back over the gate. The man made himself useful by giving directions, at least for the first half of the way.
    “Thanks and good-bye.”
    “See you tomorrow,” the man said.
    Aron went along the asphalt road without knowing where it led. It was half past ten and dark; after a bend he saw the lights of a village set hard against a small mountainside. He walked toward it. Yet the closer he got to the lights, the more he questioned the sense of going to the village. He did have some money with him, even in the form of the alternative currency — which presumably was valid here too — cigarettes. It would certainly be enough for a bed, dinner, and breakfast. But his scruples were of a different kind, he told himself, a village that lies so close to a former concentration camp must be swarming with
unbearable
people. He came to the conclusion that the annoyance they could cause him would have been greater than the comforts of civilization that, in the best case, such a village could offer. He left the road and stepped into the woods.
    At least it wasn’t raining. Aron looked for a soft place, not too far from the road, and lay down. He was so tired that dampness and cold could not prevent him from falling asleep. With his last thoughts he damned the circumstances. He woke up very early and felt unexpectedly well. It was, he says, as if someone had cleaned out his lungs; only his clothes were moist. The clock read four, the sun was shining, he saw several rabbits and a deer. A lake would be ideal, to wash and drink, but he didn’t find one. Birds, he says, so many birds, and yet he didn’t know the name of a single one. Aron considered how soon he could go back to the home without having to stand in front of a closed gate again. He passed his hand over his face and felt the stubble of his two-day beard. He didn’t want to appear like this to Mark and the doctors, not to mention his crumpled clothes. He ambled around the woods till seven thirty. Then he did go to the village after all. It turned out to be small, so small that he soon stood in the marketplace. He found a barber.
    Aron was the only client; he sat in front of the mirror that confirmed the necessity of his detour and said, “Haircut and a shave.”
    The barber, while he was preparing Aron, mentioned that he had never seen him before, did he have something to do with the home? Nowadays one couldn’t buy anything reasonable with money, except for a shave. Aron answered only with a yes or a no. When it was over, Aron paid and inquired where he could get something to eat.
    “You must be joking,” said the barber.
    Aron wanted to leave, but when his hand was on the door handle, he was asked if he had anything besides money to pay with.
    “Only cigarettes.”
    For five cigarettes he was given bread and a piece of cheese; he ate while he walked. By the time he had left the village behind, his hunger was stilled, at least for the moment. The road was longer than he