“You look so pensive, Simon,” the nurse said.
“Shall we go?” Simon asked.
The nurse had made himself ready, and the two of them walked the steep paths together that led up the mountainside. The sun was glowing hot. They went into a small, opulently overgrown beer garden and ordered a morning pint. When they were about to leave again, the innkeeper’s pretty wife encouraged them to stay, and indeed they remained until evening. “And this is how you can drink away a bright summer’s day without even noticing,” Simon thought with a feeling comprised of dizzy pleasure and a gentle, lovely, melodious ache. The colors of the evening amid the foliage were making him drunk. His friend gazed deeply and with desire into his eyes and wrapped one arm around his neck. “Actually this is ugly,” Simon thought. On the path, the two of them addressed flamboyant words to all the women and girls they met. The workers were just coming home from work, people who still walked in a hale, spry way, their shoulders rocking strangely from side to side as though breathing sighs of relief. Simon discovered the most splendid figures among them. When they reached the forest atop the mountain, still warm though it was already tinged with darkness, the sun was just setting down below in the distant world. They lay down among the green leaves and bushes and were silent, just breathing as they lay there. And then came what Simon had been expecting, his comrade’s approach, which, however, left him cold.
“There’s no point,” he said, “please stop,” and then, “listen, cut it out!”
The nurse allowed himself to be mollified, but he was aggrieved; people came by and they had to get up and leave the place. Simon thought: “Why am I spending the day with such a person?” But immediately thereafter he confessed to himself that he took a certain pleasure in this man, despite his strange, unlovely inclinations. “Another person might despise the nurse,” he thought further as they set out for home, “but I am the sort who considers each and every person, his virtues and vices notwithstanding, worthy of my interest and love. I shall never arrive at the point of despising other people, or rather, I despise only cowardice and vacuousness, but it’s not hard for me to find something interesting about depravity. Indeed, it sheds light on a great many things, allows us to look more deeply into the world, it makes a person more experienced and helps him judge more leniently and rightly. One must get to know all things, and one makes a thing’s acquaintance only by touching it courageously. To avoid some person out of fear — I’d consider that unworthy. Besides, having a friend is priceless! What does it matter if the friend is somewhat unusual—”
Simon asked:
“Are you angry with me, Heinrich?”
But Heinrich wasn’t saying anything. His face had assumed a dour expression. Once more they arrived at the beer garden whose delicate outlines now lay in darkness. Colorful, shimmering lanterns lit up the dark foliage at several points, sounds and laughter were emanating from within, and both of them, drawn by the lusty fiery life there, went back in, where the innkeeper’s wife gave them a friendly welcome.
The red dark wine was sparkling in the light glasses, the shimmering lights conjoined with the heated faces, the leaves of the bushes touched the dresses of the women, it seemed so natural to be spending the warm summer night in a susurrating garden, drinking, singing and laughing. From the railway station at the bottom of the hill, the noise of the trains rose up to the revelers’ ears. A wealthy, tall, red-cheeked wine merchant’s son applied himself to a bold philosophical conversation with Simon. The male nurse was constantly contradicting everyone because he was vexed and disgruntled. The waitress, a slim brunette, sat down beside Simon and allowed him to pull her close to him to kiss her. She suffered the kiss willingly, with proud curved lips that looked as if made to sip wine, laugh and kiss. The nurse’s mood was becoming ever blacker, and he wanted to leave, but the others prevented him. Then someone, a young, swarthy, dark-haired lad with a green hunter’s hat, sang a song while his girl, nestled close against his chest, leaned in close to sing along with him in soft happy notes. “This sounds so intoxicating, dark and Mediterranean,” Simon thought: “Songs are always melancholy, at least the beautiful ones are. They remind us that it’s time to go!” But he remained a long time still in the nocturnal garden.