eye. It can immediately be seen that they do not belong to this story. Foreignness, isolated within itself, is incapable of explaining itself, despite having introduced into the landscape a stain so disturbing it borders on deliberate provocation. Foreignness is foreign, and that is what constitutes its essence.
In the meantime, behind the lace curtains indignation is growing. If I am one of the respectable housewives followingthe doings of the newcomers from their windows, in my opinion the children ought to realize that they are not at home here. Because whether they feel at home determines what they are allowed to get away with. And if they do not understand this, the fault most certainly lies with their parents. The latter, however, are quite clearly occupied only with themselves and with what has happened to them somewhere else, and is of no concern to anyone here. Do people here not already have their own local worries? We have no need of new complications. And after all, itâs quite possible that the newcomers, wrapped in their overcoats, scarves, and caps with earflaps, will bring with them a harsh climate foreign to this place: snowstorms or bitter frosts. One can only hope that if the threads of stories they have brought with them are immediately cut short, the newcomers will sit for a while on their suitcases and then, having nothing to latch on to, will disappear along with their luggage. Theyâll simply vanish into thin air, ending this unexpected breakdown of order, and the prior state of affairs will be happily restored. Itâs obvious, then, that they should not be given even the most cramped quarters to rent. Besides, for a paltry few pennies that may decrease in value anyway by tomorrow, no one will want to run the risk of problems such as icy drafts whistling through their apartment, especially since their entire supply of coal from the cellar would go up in smoke in the course of a few days. Why would they allow such a thing to happen when itâs more than likely that the bad luck which has already driven thesewarmly dressed figures from their homes will continue to hold them in its grip?
Whatever one might think of the story taking place around the square, it was conceived as a light and smooth thing, and this fact bothered no one. It could have been told in a restrained tone of voice, without any trembling of the hands, without the need to touch on any weighty issues. Even if it contained a small amount of pain, this pain was shot through with comicality. And if a policeman appeared in it, it was only because of his amusing qualities â in other words, so he could strut about in his ill-fitting uniform. The handsome student was needed for balance, so the maid should also have someone to be sweet on. Everything was fashioned to a middling size, so there was no danger of choking on oneâs laughter, nor of shedding a single tear. The suffering in the story did not assume the kinds of dimensions that would exhaust oneâs reserves of sympathy, giving a lie to the belief that these are unlimited. Did it bother anyone that the notary pinches the maid, that the maid has a crush on the student, or that the policeman has eyes for the maid? What of it that the notaryâs tired, overweight body refuses to obey him, or that the student is shown in a less than complimentary light by the professorsâ comments in his grade book and by the excesses of behavior in which he has distinguished himself? What of it that the policeman, worn down by constantly being passed over for promotion, no longer has a heart for his duties and contents himself with an outward show of conscientiousness? No oneminded about the cream cakes in the glass display case, even if one or another of them turned out to be inedible. There were no complaints.
It would be best for the newcomers to go away again, allowing the continuation of a story to which they did not belong. But it seems instead that because of them,
In the meantime, behind the lace curtains indignation is growing. If I am one of the respectable housewives followingthe doings of the newcomers from their windows, in my opinion the children ought to realize that they are not at home here. Because whether they feel at home determines what they are allowed to get away with. And if they do not understand this, the fault most certainly lies with their parents. The latter, however, are quite clearly occupied only with themselves and with what has happened to them somewhere else, and is of no concern to anyone here. Do people here not already have their own local worries? We have no need of new complications. And after all, itâs quite possible that the newcomers, wrapped in their overcoats, scarves, and caps with earflaps, will bring with them a harsh climate foreign to this place: snowstorms or bitter frosts. One can only hope that if the threads of stories they have brought with them are immediately cut short, the newcomers will sit for a while on their suitcases and then, having nothing to latch on to, will disappear along with their luggage. Theyâll simply vanish into thin air, ending this unexpected breakdown of order, and the prior state of affairs will be happily restored. Itâs obvious, then, that they should not be given even the most cramped quarters to rent. Besides, for a paltry few pennies that may decrease in value anyway by tomorrow, no one will want to run the risk of problems such as icy drafts whistling through their apartment, especially since their entire supply of coal from the cellar would go up in smoke in the course of a few days. Why would they allow such a thing to happen when itâs more than likely that the bad luck which has already driven thesewarmly dressed figures from their homes will continue to hold them in its grip?
Whatever one might think of the story taking place around the square, it was conceived as a light and smooth thing, and this fact bothered no one. It could have been told in a restrained tone of voice, without any trembling of the hands, without the need to touch on any weighty issues. Even if it contained a small amount of pain, this pain was shot through with comicality. And if a policeman appeared in it, it was only because of his amusing qualities â in other words, so he could strut about in his ill-fitting uniform. The handsome student was needed for balance, so the maid should also have someone to be sweet on. Everything was fashioned to a middling size, so there was no danger of choking on oneâs laughter, nor of shedding a single tear. The suffering in the story did not assume the kinds of dimensions that would exhaust oneâs reserves of sympathy, giving a lie to the belief that these are unlimited. Did it bother anyone that the notary pinches the maid, that the maid has a crush on the student, or that the policeman has eyes for the maid? What of it that the notaryâs tired, overweight body refuses to obey him, or that the student is shown in a less than complimentary light by the professorsâ comments in his grade book and by the excesses of behavior in which he has distinguished himself? What of it that the policeman, worn down by constantly being passed over for promotion, no longer has a heart for his duties and contents himself with an outward show of conscientiousness? No oneminded about the cream cakes in the glass display case, even if one or another of them turned out to be inedible. There were no complaints.
It would be best for the newcomers to go away again, allowing the continuation of a story to which they did not belong. But it seems instead that because of them,
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