When I saw him on his death bed, last breath exhaled, fists clenched across his chest, I remembered all his circus stories and, feeling a little surprised at the anger still visible on his face — it wasn’t fear or puzzlement, simply a petrified irritation or even bitterness — I had the brief but potent thought that he had been lying all along. Mother was right: he’d seen nothing yet spoken with such passion, especially when it was a question of the trainer’s huge elephant with yellowish tusks, his baldachin decorated with gold and precious stones, his weary smile, and that whole collection of wild animals as splendid as they were frightening. Stretched out there rigid with anger, Grandpa would have liked to keep on lying, even though we no longer had the time to listen to him. Yes, of course, he would have liked to keep on lying. .
On the Streetcar
I’d been waiting more than a quarter of an hour for the streetcar. Here it was at last! Striking out with elbows and fists, both left and right, I managed to get a foothold on its step and a firm grip on the handrail. A woman in front, the size of a cupboard, was resting on me with all her weight. I followed her through the car, inching my way forward with shoves from shoulders and knee. The tram had started up. The conductor had a suspicious look as she asked for everyone’s fare. I smiled sardonically and handed her my carnet of tickets. I must admit it was my lucky day: the fat woman cleared a way for me to the middle of the car, and at the first opportunity I was able to sit down as comfortably as the circumstances allowed. Insensible of the other passengers, I looked out the window at the bustle of the city. Then I grew bored and, shaken by the rattling motion of the streetcar, closed my eyes and began to doze. Or, to be more precise, I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again, I was surprised that there were no longer any houses or streets to be seen. We had left the city behind. The fields glowed a prodigious blue in the twilight, while the sun created distant shades of red and violet. I could make out some birds flying lower and lower against the gray backdrop of the sky. From somewhere over the horizon appeared a white horse with a flaming mane. The birds pounced on it and struck out with their strong curved beaks. I looked around me. The compartment was empty; not even the conductor was sitting in her place. Through the opposite window I glimpsed the same gleaming plain, like a motionless lake. More frightened horses with fiery manes rushed up to the streetcar, then fell back and away. The huge birds were on the lookout up in the sky. I tugged open the connecting door to speak to the driver, but I couldn’t find him either. What a farce: to travel through the countryside without a driver! Soon night would fall and I’d be left alone in this runaway streetcar. I began to miss the fat woman; I’d have felt safer with her there too. I sat on another seat and watched the birds peck at the half-burnt remains of the horses, which in ever greater number were racing toward me desperately, their manes alight, from somewhere over the horizon. A thin cheerful grunting made me turn my head, and at first I felt a stupid fear. A plump pinkish piglet had emerged from under a seat. Why be afraid? Now there are two of us. I took it in my arms and sat again by the window. It was getting dark. The horses with blazing manes galloped beside the tracks, followed relentlessly by the strange birds with beaks of steel. I stroked the piglet, heart in mouth. What fine soft ears it had, and what a velvety mouth! It grunted gently, nestling in my arms. In the end there was still hope. Sooner or later the tracks might come to an end, and then. . the streetcar would head in the other direction, back toward the city.
The Umbrella Shop
I left home beneath a sad, grayish-blue sky. The clouds had stopped passing overhead. There was an oppressive stillness, a heavy sense of foreboding. I felt like running, falling, and banging myself on the ground — crawling on all fours and screaming like a maniac. But I kept myself under control. I walked automatically, with nowhere special in mind, scraping along walls, dragging my shoes on the asphalted pavement. And I gritted my teeth. Then it began to drizzle, with fine silken drops that comforted me as they fell softly onto my cheeks. The rain calmed me down. In shirtsleeves, hands in my trouser pockets, I walked briskly in the rain, without a thought in my head. The sky remained the same: grayish-blue, deathly pale, petrified. The rain became heavier and made me feel cold. I thought of taking shelter somewhere. I went into a passageway, wiped my face, and dried my hair as best I could. I would even have taken off my shirt, but the cold had burrowed inside me.
From a corner of the passage, a dwarf was bleating as he shuffled forward. I took two steps back, but didn’t feel scared. It was a strange creature: woman’s body plus goat’s head, with long blonde hair. Baa! It came even closer, fawning on me and bleating all the time. Unsure how to react, I kept moving back until I found myself outside again in the rain. I took to my heels. I stumbled over a dog, which had darted in front of me from under a gate. I picked myself up and ran on.
Night was closing in. The sky was now an unbearably dark gray. My eyes fell on a sign I had just drawn level with: an umbrella shop. I stopped and went inside, without a moment’s hesitation. A strange room, with a dim red light coming from somewhere on one side. There was no one behind the counter. I coughed, to make my presence known, but no one appeared. I looked at the umbrellas lying on racks like birds with folded wings. I sat on one of the padded chairs by the wall and stamped the heels of my shoes in the hope that someone would hear. Finally a velvet curtain parted at the back of the shop. A fat, almost obese woman stepped out, her flesh wrapped in a yellow dressing gown with a pattern of large bright-red flowers. I stood up and made a deep, respectful bow.
“What can I do for you?” A thin, childlike voice.
“You see, er, it started raining and I’m only in my shirtsleeves.”
She gave an understanding nod.
“I’d like an umbrella.”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to help.”
She rubbed her fat, ring-studded hands together and smiled at me. She had a large round face, wavy black hair, and a shiny complexion — unnaturally shiny. Red varnished cheekbones, the rest of her face a gleaming yellowish-white, as if made of porcelain. Round, bulbous eyes, like those of a fish.
“I’d like an umbrella. .”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to help.”
And she went on smiling at me. Some time passed. She rubbed her fleshy palms together as she smiled, while I, hunching my shoulders, took little steps forward and back and bowed to her ceremoniously. Then she turned slowly, swiveling her large well-padded hips, took an umbrella from the racks, and extended it to me over her shoulder. I opened it and held it above my head. What a beautiful umbrella! Yes, it really was beautiful, with yellow silk tassels attached to an ivory handle in the form of a dragon’s head. So why did that sudden sadness come over me? I felt exhausted and wanted to cry — to cry in the lap of that obese, yellow, gleaming woman. .
“It’s too small.”
It was as though she had been expecting my reply, because she immediately offered another, larger umbrella. I stood with it in my hand, unopened, and I could tell my eyes were moist. Opposite me, the fat woman had the same smile on her gleaming face.