mind, with its one determination to be helped only
by yourself in every way possible, perhaps I’d have done more to offend than
to
genuinely convince you. What are you now doing with your days? Do tell me about
them. Given all the worries I’ve endured on your behalf, I might now perhaps
deserve your being somewhat more loquacious and communicative. As for me, what
sort of a person am I? Someone to be wary of approaching unreservedly and with
trust? Do you consider me a person to be feared? What is it about me which makes
you wish to avoid me? Perhaps our circumstance? That I am the “big brother” and
possibly know a bit more than you? Well then, know that I would be glad to be
young again, and impractical, and naïve. And yet I am not quite so glad, dear
brother, as a person should be. I am unhappy. Perhaps it’s too late for me to
become happy. I’ve now reached an age when a man who still has no home of his
own cannot think of those happy individuals who enjoy the bliss of seeing a
young woman occupied with running their households without the most painful
longing. To love a girl, what a lovely thing this is, brother. And it’s beyond
my reach. —No, you really have no need to fear me, it is I who am seeking you
out once more, who am writing to you, hoping to receive a warm friendly
response. Perhaps you are now in fact richer than I—perhaps you have more hopes
and far more reason to have them, have plans and prospects I myself cannot even
dream of—the thing is: I don’t fully know you anymore. How could I after all
these years of separation? Let me make your acquaintance once more, force
yourself to write to me. Perhaps one day I shall enjoy the good fortune of
seeing all my brothers happy; you, in any case, I should like to see content.
What is Kaspar up to? Do you write to one another? What about his art? I’d love
to have news of him as well. Farewell, brother. Perhaps we shall speak together
again soon.
Yours, Klaus.
When a week had passed, Simon entered his employer’s office just as
evening was arriving and made the following speech: “You have disappointed me.
Don’t look so astonished, there’s nothing to be done about it, I shall quit your
place of business this very day and ask that you pay me my wages. Please, let
me
finish. I know perfectly well what I want. During the past week I’ve come to
realize that the entire book trade is nothing less than ghastly if it must
entail standing at one’s desk from early morning till late at night while out
of
doors the gentlest winter sun is gleaming, and forces one to scrunch one’s back,
since the desk is far too small given my stature, writing like some accursed
happenstance copyist and performing work unsuitable for a mind such as my own.
I
am capable of performing quite different tasks, esteemed sir, than the ones
entrusted to me here. I’d expected to be able to sell books in your shop, wait
on elegant individuals, bow and bid adieu to the customers when they’re ready
to
depart. What’s more, I’d imagined I might be allowed to peer into the mysterious
universe of the book trade and glimpse the world’s features in the visage and
operation of your enterprise. But I experienced nothing of the sort. Do you
imagine my young years in such a sorry state that I need to crumple up and
suffocate in a lousy bookshop? You are equally mistaken if you suppose, for
example, that a young man’s back exists in order to be hunched. Why didn’t you
allocate for my use a good proper desk so I could comfortably sit or stand? Are
not splendid American-sized desks available for purchase? If one
wishes to have an employee, I believe, one should know how to accommodate him.
This is a knack which, apparently, you don’t have. Lord knows, all sorts of
things are demanded of a young beginner: industry, loyalty, punctuality, tact,
sobriety, modesty,