Hobohemians

16Willy paid excess in the post office. Clerk handed him thinness. A picture postcard from Viktor, Mannheim. “Meet you in the café opposite at eleven.” That morning in Mannheim when he lost Viktor. Viktor must have left it at the poste restante [mail held for collection]. Forwarded.

17Willy felt rich tramping through the bathing glades of the delta. Whatever debatable principle there was in the universe had honoured him sufficiently to show him the innards of a good joke. Willy sang.

* * *

18While the storm passed over Willy stayed in the porch of the post office. Then with secure sunshine invested on the drying walks he fell into customary parade past the big hotels. Coming through the tables under the piazza he noticed solitary guests there, a man, a little boy, in the street a touring car. He walked past twice hurriedly. They did not look at him. They seemed rich English.

19Viktor and Willy had agreed and disagreed to separate. “I am an old man. I spoil the youthfulness in you. I am tired of the blödsinn [nonsense] of travel. I know what Italy is like zum Kotzen [enough to make one vomit]. A postcard sun all day, eternal blue sky, macaroni, Mussolini and lice. It’s all right for you, you are young. You will go on to Paris. Paris is no good for me, too many Germans there. All Venus de Milo and thin beer. I shall return to Berlin, sell my pictures, and go to London, Park Lane.”

20Willy: “How can I travel with someone who curses everywhere he is and most of the places he isn’t. Yes, I will go on alone. I will walk round the lake into Italy.”

21Willy hung about the other end of the piazza. The car would be going on into Italy, had probably come right over Switzerland.—In a minute I will go up and ask for a lift to Milan. They will certainly be passing there. I will ask them to stop at Ascona to get my rücksack and perhaps they will pay my bill there, release Viktor. I will explain to Viktor, ask him if he wants to come. He can sneak out, we both can, the old man and wife are asleep. Viktor can stay and have my money, if it comes. The little boy will say: ‘Yes, papa, uncle, bring the gentlemen.’ Go back to school in England, say: ‘My father, uncle is very kind, gives free rides Switzerland to Rome, pays everything. Gave him a job as secretary.’ I must walk on the other side, see better from there.

22Halfway across the road he turned. A chauffeur from nowhere in the car, man and boy opening the door. Quickly, like fireflies, hadn’t they paid their bill? waiter profusely salaaming, perspiring benedictions. Off. Round the corner. To Italy.

23Willy ran along the hot road, turning bend after bend, praying, gaspingly faintingly begging: God let it stop, only a minute at the next corner, I will speak, only a puncture. It can’t go. It can’t go. I’m here, left behind. Just a minute.