"Franz_Kafka_-_Conversation_With_The_Supplicant" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kafka Franz)

in which I have been convinced from within myself that I am alive. You see, I have only such a fugitive awareness of things around me that I always feel
they were once real and are not fleeting away. I have a constant longing, my dear sir, to catch a glimpse of things as they may have been before they
show themselves to me. I feel that then they were clam and beautiful. It must be so, for I often near people talking about them as though they were."

Since I made no answer and only though involuntary twitchings in my face betrayed my uneasiness, he asked, "Don't you believe that people talk like
that?"

I knew I ought to nod assent but couldn't do it.

"You don't really believe it? Why, listen; once when I was a child and just waking up from a short afternoon nap, still half asleep, I heard my mother
calling own from the balcony in the most natural voice, 'What are you doing, my dear? It's so hot.' And a woman answered from the garden, 'I'm
reveling in the grass.' She said it quite simply and without insistence, as if it were to be taken for granted."

I thought an answer was expected from me, so I felt in my hip trouser pocket as if I was looking for something. But I wasn't looking for anything, I only
wanted to shift my position to show that I was paying attention. And then I said that the incident was remarkable enough and quite beyond my
comprehension. I added also that I didn't believe it was true and that it must have been invented for some special purpose which I could not fathom.
Then I shut my eyes for they were hurting me.

"Oh, how glad I am that you agree with me, and it was most unselfish of you to stop me in order to let me know it. Why indeed should I feel ashamed-
or why should we feel ashamed- because I don't walk upright and ponderously, striking my walking stick on the pavement and brushing the clothes of
the people who pass by so loudly. Shouldn't I rather venture to complain with justified resentment at having to flit along the house walls like a shadow
with hunched shoulders, many a time disappearing from sight in the plate glass of the shop windows.

"What dreadful days I have to live through. Why are all out buildings so badly put together that tall houses sometimes collapse without any discernable
external cause? I go clambering over the ruins asking everyone I meet, 'Now how could such a thing happen? In our town- a brand new house- that';
the fifth one today- just think of it!' And nobody can give me an answer.

"And people often fall down in the street and lie there dead. Then all the tradesmen open their doors that are hung with a little of goods, come trotting
out, carry the dead man into a house, and then appear again, with smiling eyes and lips, saying, 'Good morning- the sky is overcast- I'm selling a lot of
kerchiefs- yes, the war.' I go slinking into the house and after timidly raising my hand several times with the fingers ready crooked knock at last on the
porter's little glass window. 'My dear fellow,' I say to him in a friendly way, 'a dead man was just brought in here. Do let me see him, please.' And when
he shakes his head as if undecided, I say positively, 'My dear chap. I'm from the secret police. Show me that dead man at once.' 'A dead man,' he
asks, almost in an injured voice. 'No, there's no dead man here. This is a respectable house.' And I take my leave and go.

"And then if I have to cross a large open space I forget everything. The difficulty of this enterprise confuses me, and I can't help thinking, 'If people must
build such large squares out of pure wantonness why don't they ass a stone balustrade to help one across? There's a gale from the southwest today.
The air in the square is swirling about. The tip of the Town Hall is teetering in small circles. All this agitation should be controlled. Every window pane
is rattling and the lamp posts are bending like bamboo. Th every robe of the Virgin Mark on her column is fluttering and the stormy wind is snatching at
it. Is no one aware of this? The ladies and gentlemen who should be walking on the paving stones are driven along. When the wind slackens they
come to a stop, exchange a few words and bow to each other, but when the wind blows again they can't help themselves, all their feet leave the
ground at the same moment. They have to hold on to their hats, or course, but their eyes twinkle merrily as if there were only a gentle breeze. No
one's afraid but me.'"

Smarting as I was, I said, "The story you told me about your mother and the woman in the garden seems to me not in the least remarkable. Not only
have I heard many like it and experienced them, but I've even played a part in some of them. It was quite a natural incident. Do you think that if I had
been on the balcony I couldn't have said the same thing and got the same answer from the garden? Such a simple affair."

When I said that, he seemed very delighted. He remarked that I was well dressed and he particularly liked my tie. And what a fine skin I had. And
admissions became most clear and unequivocal when one withdrew them.