The young man had never seen so many beautiful things in one place. Here he was now in a whole corridor lined with nothing but cameras, hundreds of cameras, all achingly polished and bright; the winking reflections from their round eyes of metal and glass followed him as he walked. He actually saw a man buy one: a huge thing, big as the man’s head, with pale leather sides and a complexity of lens tubes, dials, meters. The man held-it reverently in his hands, staring at it as if at a loved one’s face. As the glass door closed, a mechanism slowly revolved and another camera, just like the first, descended to fill the empty case. As the customer walked away, the young man looked at the price on the chrome rim of the showcase: it was 700 marks. He looked again at the beautiful camera behind the glass door, then at the one which hung around his neck. It was smaller and the metal was not so bright; the black sides were worn in places, and it did not look so beautiful as it had before. The young man walked on, looking down at himself, and was aware that his dark surcoat was worn thin at the cuffs, his shoes needed polishing, there was lint and dust on his trousers.
So, then, it was not enough to be a human being! One must also have money. The young man vaguely supposed that if he had 700 marks, his head would not ache so, he would not have the uncomfortable feeling in his insides that was bothering him more and more, he would not be tired and irritable.
But he had not the least idea how people got money.
TO make himself feel better, he stopped in the next section and bought a wristwatch with an expanding platinum band. He put a ten-mark bill into the slot. The mechanism hummed and gripped the ten marks, pulling it gradually inside until it was all gone; then there was a clatter in the receptacle underneath, and the glass door swung open. The young man took out his watch and admired it. The marvelous thing was already running, the second hand sweeping silently around the black dial. He put it on his wrist, first the wrong way around, then the right way. In the receptacle were twenty-seven pfennigs in silver and copper. He scooped them up. Above, the mechanism was revolving and another wristwatch came into view. The young man found that he could not resist it. He put another ten marks into the machine, receiving another wristwatch and another twenty-seven pfennigs in change. He put the second watch on his other wrist. Now he felt rich and handsome. He held out his arms stiffly, to make the cuffs of his sleeves slide back so that he could admire his watches. Both showed the identical time: 20 hours 13 minutes. Now he would always be sure what time it was, because if the two watches showed different times he would know one was wrong, but if the same time, then they must be right.
Feeling pleased to have worked this out for himself, and to have made so sound a purchase, he went on. In an open space at the end of the aisle, he saw curved escalators rising in spirals past the ceiling, and beyond them, banks of elevators with doors that constantly opened and shut: click, a door was open, someone stepped in, click, the door closed, and in an instant it had whisked its passenger off and was open again.
Diagonally across the open space, he caught sight of another group of illuminated trails on the ceiling, and it seemed to him that one of them was labeled Foods. He went that way eagerly, and nearly knocked down a hatless man in blue uniform, who frowned at him and said, “I beg your pardon, sir.”
“No, I beg your pardon.”
“Not at all, sir.”
“It’s very kind of you.”
“An honor, sir.”
They both bowed and went on their way. The young man found that the sign did say Foods. He followed its pink trail until he came to a sunken area full of people with metal carts, and the carts loaded with packages. He went down the five or six steps, sniffing the air, and found a new set of lighted trails that pointed to “Canned Goods, Perishables, Meats” and so on. Passing through “Canned Goods,” he came upon a stout man in a plaid surcoat who was lifting a can out of an open case and putting it on top of three others just like it in a cart.
The young man paused to watch.
The mechanism inside the case slowly revolved; another large, odd-shaped can came down into view, and now the young man could see that it was labeled COPENHAGEN SMOKED HAM, with a picture of a slab of pink meat. The cover of the display case was still open. As soon as the mechanism stopped, the stout man reached in, took out the canned ham, and put it in his cart along with the other four. The mechanism began to revolve again. The stout buyer glanced over his shoulder at the young man, hesitated, then took out a sixth ham and put it with the other five. The mechanism revolved again. As far as the young man could make out, the stout man had not put in any money. Each time he removed a ham, the door swung down but did not latch. Then the stout man lifted it up again and reached for the next ham.
THE buyer looked around again, glanced from side to side, and muttered, “Go on, get away, can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I’m sorry,” said the young man politely, “but I only wanted to be next for the hams.”
The stout customer growled something, trying to look at the next ham and at the young man simultaneously.
“Pardon?” “I said devil’s dirt,” the stout man growled more distinctly. The mechanism stopped; he reached in and took the seventh ham.
At that moment one of the blue-uniformed men appeared at the end of the aisle. The stout customer was holding the ham close to his chest. The blue-uniformed man turned toward them.
The stout customer wheeled abruptly, thrust the ham into the young man’s arms, said petulantly, “Here, then,” and walked rapidly away.
“One moment, please!” called the approaching blue-uniformed map.
Still moving rapidly away, and without turning his head, the stout man said something that sounded like, “Run, you fool!”
The man in the blue uniform took something out of his pocket. It was an electric bell, which began to ring insistently and loudly. Inside the display case, the mechanism was revolving, presenting another canned ham. The young man looked at it, then at the one he held, and felt a vague alarm. The stout man was moving faster; the one in blue uniform was waving and shouting. The young man turned and began to run, although he did not know why.
At the front of the food section, another blue-uniformed man was coming toward him from the left. The young man scrambled up the five steps, holding the canned ham awkwardly to his chest. The stout man was nowhere in sight.
“Stop!” called one of the blue-uniformed men. But the young man’s heart was beating in unreasonable panic. He ran across the open space, dodging back and forth between shoppers’ carts, pursued by shouts and the ringing of the bell. Another bell began to ring, somewhere off to his right, then a third. Utterly terrified, unaware of what he was doing, the young man dropped the ham on the floor and ran at a woman with a full cart, who shrieked and pushed it into another cart, oversetting both and spilling oranges like quicksilver on the floor. The young man ran past her, nearly falling, and found himself between two advancing men in blue, while before him was only a decorative grille of arabesques in gold-plated metal, which reached all the way to ‘a balcony on the second level. With a gasp of fright, the young man flung himself at this grille and began to limb it. In spite of the clumsiness of his feet, which would not grip and could not even feel the metal, he was above the men’s heads in a moment, and they shook their fists at him, shouting, “Despicable ruffian, come down here!”