The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

I’ll tell you, it was simply like I was listening not to words, but to living water flowing past my hearing, and I thought: “There’s a drunkard for you! Look how well he can talk about things divine!” And my little gentleman meanwhile stops fidgeting and comes out with these words:

“Well, now it’s enough for you; wake up now,” he says, “and fortify yourself!”

And with that he bent a little and spent a long time searching for something in his trouser pocket, and finally took something out of it. I looked: it was a teeny-weeny little piece of sugar, and dirty all over, obviously because it had been wallowing there for a long time. He picked the dirt off with his fingernail, blew on it, and said:

“Open your mouth.”

I say:

“What for?”—and gape my mouth open. And he pushes the bit of sugar between my lips and says:

“Suck fearlessly; it’s magnetic sugar-mentor: it will fortify you.”

I realized, though he had said it in French, that it was about magnetism, and didn’t question him anymore, but got busy sucking the sugar, but the one who had given it to me I no longer saw. Whether he had stepped away somewhere in the dark just then or had simply vanished somewhere, deuce knew, but I was left alone and completely in my right mind, and I think: Why should I wait for him? What I have to do now is go home. But again a problem: I don’t know what street I’m on, and what house I’m standing by. And I think: Is this really a house? Maybe it all only seems so to me, and it’s all a bedevilment … It’s night now—everyone’s asleep, so why is there light here? … Well, better test it out … go in and see what’s up: if there are real people, then I’ll ask them the way home, and if it’s only a delusion of the eye and not living people … then what’s the danger? I’ll say: “Our place is holy: get thee gone”—and it will all dissolve.

XIII

With that bold resolution, I went up to the porch, crossed myself, and did a get-thee-gone—nothing happened: the house stood, didn’t waver, and I see: the door is open, and before me is a big, long front hall, and on the far wall a lamp with a lighted candle. I look around and see two more doors to the left, both covered with matting, and above them again these candleholders with mirrors shaped like stars. I think: What kind of house is this? A tavern? No, not a tavern, but clearly some kind of guest house, but what kind—I can’t tell. Only suddenly I begin to listen, and I hear a song pouring out from behind that matted door … as languorous as could be, heartfelt, and the voice singing it is like a mellow bell, plucking the soul’s strings, taking you prisoner. I listen and don’t go any further, and just then the far door suddenly opens, and I see a tall Gypsy come out of it, in silk trousers and a velvet jacket, and he is quickly seeing someone out through a special door, which I hadn’t noticed at first, under the far lamp. I must say, though I didn’t make out very well who he was seeing out, it seemed to me that it was my magnetizer, and the Gypsy said after him:

“All right, all right, my dear fellow, don’t begrudge us these fifty kopecks, but come by tomorrow: if we get any benefit from him, we’ll add more for your having brought him to us.”

And with that he slid the bolt shut and ran to me as if inadvertently, opened a door under one of those mirrors, and said:

“Please come in, mister merchant, kindly listen to our songs! There are some fine voices.”