BLUMFELD, AN ELDERLY BACHELOR
61
In the morning the knocking of the charwoman wakens
him.
Though he has always before complained of its faintness, he greets the
soft knocking with a sigh of relief, and is already about to call "Come
in," when he hears still another knocking, weak, but lively and posit–
ively militant. It is the balls under the bed. Are they awake, then?
Have they-in contrast to himself-gathered new strength over night?
"Just a moment," Blumfeld cries out to the servant, and leaps out
of bed, but cautionsly, so as to keep the balls behind
him,
and throw–
ing
himself on the floor, always with
his
back to the balls, twists his
head about, looks at them, and--could almost have cursed. Like
children who push off their heavy covers during the night, the balls
have shoved the rugs far forward under the bed, probably by tugging
at them with little jerks all night long, so that now they have the bare
-floor under them again and can go on making noise. "Back on the
rugs with you," says Blumfeld angrily, and then, when thanks to the
rugs the balls are again quiet, calls to the charwoman to come in. She
is
a fat, stupid woman who always goes about stiffiy erect. While she
is
setting out breakfast on the table and making a few necessary pre–
parations, Blurnfeld stands motionless beside the bed so as to confine
the balls beneath it. He follows the charwoman with his eyes to make
certain whether she notices anything. With her hardness of hearing
it is very unlikely, and Blumfeld ascribes it to
his
nervousness from
the wretched night just past when he thinks he sees her stopping here
and there, coming to a halt by some piece of furniture and listening
with raised brows. He would be glad
if
he could get the woman to
hurry her work a little, but she is almost slower thap usual. Ceremo–
niously she loads herself down with Blumfeld's clothes and shoes, and
withdrawing with them into the corridor, stays away for some time.
The sound of her brushing comes through the door, monotonous and
sporadic. All his time Blumfeld has to hold out by the bed, not daring
to
move lest he draw the balls after
him;
must watch
his
coffee, which
he likes to drink as hot as possible, cool off; and can do nothing but
stare at the lowered curtains, behind which the day is beginning to
glimmer. At last the charwoman is finished, wishes
him
a good morn–
ing,
and is already about to depart. But before finally leaving, she
lltops by the door, moving her lips a little and giving Blumfeld a long
look. He is just on the point of calling her to account, when at last she
actually goes out. Blumfeld would like nothing better than to fling
open the door and shout after her what a dull, stupid, old, woman she
ia.
But when he stops to think what he really has against her, he dis–
covers only the absurdity that she doubtless noticed nothing and sim–
ply
wanted to appear as though she had. His thoughts are so confused!
And only because of a bad night! He manages to find some explana-
