I could never determine the colour of his eyes. They didn’t change — no, they remained ever the same — but they were without colour, rather, a collection of different residues, colours from an old palette that had commingled. Brown, grey, green and amber-yellow at the edges. By day, by night and in the twilight, ever were these eyes so, of an indistinct colour — round, small, open and naked. They were truly the eyes of a difficult-to-comprehend, ever-astonished and good-natured man. They stood very far apart, so that his nose had space to spread, and yet he had been given a narrow, well-shaped girlish nose, slightly flattened at the tip, that glowed like ivory between his round, rose-tinted cheeks. His mouth was also small and his lips red. All the more notable was the space in the middle of his sinuate chin, in which the entire majesty of Perlefter rested and out of which it radiated.
Yes, majesty, for in spite of everything Perlefter possessed a kind of majesty, like most people who are doing well. It was not the majesty of greatness but simply that of well-being. He looked wholly innocent when he was happy, like a chubby child. And yet bitterness slumbered within his joy. And just as he did not like resolute action, he had no resolute sensations. When he was happy, he made himself worried at the same time. As soon as he became depressed he was already hopeful. He could neither love nor hate. He either liked someone or he didn’t like someone. Nevertheless he felt apprehensive for his children despite not wanting to. For he feared loss. What he possessed he wanted to keep. He wanted to keep his wife, although she bored him, and he felt for her only what one might for a housekeeper. Men of his type usually loved animals. Perlefter, however, feared animals, large and small; he even tried to get out of the way of birds so they didn’t flutter around in front of him. He offered the dutiful cab horses that he encountered in the streets only a shy glance, for he didn’t trust a creature he didn’t understand. And he treasured the police, not only because they caught thieves, robbers and murderers but also because they were in charge of locking up stray dogs. In the Perlefters’ house there were cats, and he would have liked to have shot them had he owned a gun and not been afraid to use it.
No, Perlefter did not like animals, and he was indifferent to people. Nevertheless, he was regarded as the most caring family man, the most love-seeking person, the most emotional citizen, for tears came easily for him. He could weep like an actor when the situation demanded it. He could feign joy at the happiness of others. He could play love, hatred, friendship, enmity, excitement, passion, sickness, even intoxication after he had only a sip of alcohol. He did not drink much; he drank very seldom, for he took no pleasure in alcohol. Yet he set out good wine before his guests and claimed to know about it. He tasted it with his tongue when he praised this or that variety, and it was quite easy to believe that he had drunk a lot in his lifetime. Perhaps alcohol would have brought him pleasure if he did not continue to fear that he would lose in drunkenness his composure, his secrets and probably also money. Because of that he had lately begun to excuse himself on account of illness, but he was not sick. But neither was he well. He could become sick if he wanted or when he feared illness.
For even more dear to him than the lives of his children was his own life. In the still of the night hours he could hear Death’s approaching gallop. Conjuring fearful imagery, he was threatened by his own imagination. When Herr Perlefter had rheumatic pain in his bones he could already experience an amputation, see a crutch, a wheelchair, an operating table and sharp instruments. And he often had rheumatic pain in his bones and various other pains elsewhere. ‘Take care of yourself!’ shouted his friends. ‘Take care!’ cried his wife with fright in her voice, while the voices of his friends quivered with friendly and cheerful sympathy. Perlefter took care of himself, but his anxiety was greater than his care. In the midst of his self-ministrations he was overtaken by fear, and it bore him pain. Because of that his family nagged, ‘He’s not taking care of himself!’
I should not, at the risk of someone accusing me of injustice, question the possibility that owing to his poor childhood and his earnest efforts he had become somewhat frail. It is quite possible. To tell the truth, Herr Perlefter did have a difficult childhood. He was the son of a poor father of many children who had failed at various careers and whose strict principles could not be loosened by his poverty. Alexander saw himself as the only one among his siblings who could adapt to these strict principles and become the favourite son. By submitting to the cruelty and obeying he deprived it of nourishment. However, the others only increased the fatherly tyranny through their disobedience, poor manners and rebellion against the rules of the house. There was nothing, though, from which Alexander Perlefter was further removed, and hated more, than poor manners. He would not run or climb, he was anxious in front of young ladies — just as he was before the wild boys and teenagers who threatened him — and he told the teacher, the principal and even the caretaker that the others had stolen the bell and put shreds of paper in the headmaster’s cap. Alexander brought home the best report card, received some pocket money as a reward and made his way to the circus to see for himself the things of which everyone was so excitedly speaking. He went in a blue suit made of durable rep, with a crisp collar around the neck, and behind him followed his gang of brothers making fun of him. Alexander did not concern himself with them. He knew that they had no money and that they would be turned away at the entrance to the circus. But how did he feel when he saw that some of his brothers infiltrated the line of those who were waiting for tickets to get inside and that they succeeded? Some begged adults to take them in because every adult was allowed to bring one child in for free, and others begged so long that they were able to gather enough money for the entrance fee. Why? Should Alexander give up his precious money for a few horses that were wild anyway and which could gallop out of the arena and into the audience, while the others paid no money for this diversion and thus could truly enjoy the amusement? Alexander was so annoyed that he turned back and informed his father of his brothers’ behaviour. For snitching he received permission to wear his new suit of sturdy rep for the rest of the afternoon. His brothers got a thrashing in the evening. He heard them wailing, and each of their cries delighted his heart.
When he was big enough he left school, although a career as a teacher had been predicted for him while he was still resolute in his studies. In reality, nothing interested him less than books and science. Certainly, he would have become a professor if he had been forced (I know, we’ve all met this kind of professor), and at wistful times, when Perlefter was feeling nostalgic, he would say, ‘If only I had made a sacrifice for my father! What kind of professor would I be now?’ Yes, he would have been a professor. What a sacrifice!
But his father was not in favour of him becoming a professor. He sent Alexander to a flour factory. There one had to carry sacks. Alexander did not like hard work. Alexander was so diligent, so mannered, so obedient that he was made overseer of the other sack carriers. Soon he was paying them their weekly wages. Although Alexander was no longer content he enjoyed more honour than his counterparts and was, with little money, a big shot. Other flour handlers took notice of him. But he also had the luck to appeal to grain dealers. He joined a large grain concern. He became the director. He now had a salary and not simply wages. He decided to get married. For a wife is the first step to professional independence — when God provides a dowry the need to earn money is no longer a concern. It was therefore necessary to seek a wealthy wife. He succeeded in finding one. His bride was an awkward girl, no longer young and not pretty. But she was still a girl. She thus belonged to that category of person of whom Alexander was always respectful. He did not need respect in this case. The girl sneaked out to meet him. Out of this relationship emerged a kind of love. It led to a marriage that might be called happy. And as Alexander Perlefter was not very experienced he fathered children against his will. There were four children, and he was now with his brother-in-law’s company. It was then that the brother-in-law suffered a fatal heart attack. He left behind a widow. She had always been a little frivolous and to the family was an ill-mannered abomination. Alexander inherited his brother-in-law’s business. The widow lost in court. Perlefter paid her every month a small sum of his own volition, as anyone would, he insisted over and over. He said, ‘I ask no gratitude!’ quite insistently. The widow visited him, she was a white-seamstress, and Perlefter gave her work and recommended customers for her, rich merchants of his acquaintance. For him she took 10 per cent off the price. Perlefter permitted her to demand triple the price from everyone else. ‘Herr Hahn can afford it!’ he said. But Herr Hahn could also refuse the price. Indeed, he complained to Perlefter about the widow’s outrageous requirements, and Perlefter said indignantly, ‘Outrageous! I will tell this person!’ But the person said to him, ‘He’s a dirty miser, this Hahn!’