318
MAX FRISCH
her brothers, but now I couldn't hold the small ax anymore although
Natasha was sitting in front of me and looking at me. I think I
couldn't even pronounce" her name, the name I loved so much, all
I heard was:
(Qu J est-ce que tu jais?J
Then the small ax stuck' in the
block, she was standing at the side, I still held the log that I had
wanted to split - that was all, Fyodor Ivanovitch: Luck!" he says
and keeps staring out the window where the yellow lights of a sta–
tion are racing past: "That was Altstetten already," he says' indif–
ferently, and it's almost time to take his coat down and whatever
the traveler has, not much, a small package, perfume for his wife.
His coat never or hardly ever has a loop on it, so that he usually
throws it onto the baggage rack, and when he looks arounds to where
his coat is, he seems amazed that Fyodor Ivanovitch is sitting op–
posite him, right under his coat, with a vague smile: .((
Batiushka
(old
chap), is that your whole story?" People are already crowding into
the corridor. "No," says the traveler, without getting his coat down,
and similarly sarcastic: "Fyodor Ivanovitch." The latter is a small
gentleman, not old, but with curly hair that's obviously prematurely
gray, and with conspicuously flashing eyes; his coat is shabby but it
was obviously made by a very fine tailor and it has fur on the collar,
Persian lamb, and he has a fur cap on his head; when his coat is
unbuttoned you can see a
poddiova
underneath and a Russian blouse
with gaudy embroidered trimming: "My name is Podsynshev," he
says as though people ought to know the name, and then: "May
I offer you some of my tea? It's very strong however." The tea,
which he brewed two stations ago, is really like beer. "Podsynshev,"
he repeats bitterly; he talks with a slight cough: ((
Batiushka J
why
don't you tell me your entire story, your real story, you can see that
someone is listening to you." They can feel in their feet that the train
is starting to grind to a halt. "Fine," says the traveler, "I'll tell it
to you," as though he hasn't heard the conductor who announces in
every compartment: "Zurich terminal, last stop!" - He pauses for
an instant, rubs his face and begins:
"If
I am to tell my story, I have
to s"art from the very beginning: I have to tell where I was born
and who brought me up, who were my friends,
w~at
I have learned,
and everything that led to my miserable story. ..."
(Translated from the German
by ]
oachim.N eugroschel)
