Chronological Anthology of Foreign Short Stories in the 20th Century: German Volume (Volume 1 and 2)

Author: Gao Zhongfu Compiler / Country:
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2002-03-01
Features: Mrs. Deering began to comfort the worried mother, and the topic naturally extended to her daughter. She had not thought about her daughter this far, but she was sure. All the unmarried ladies in the city would be willing to marry Andres. These words made Mrs. Ungert feel as sweet as drinking honey water. At this moment, Margaret and a group of young people had already gone far, and Ungert also joined the small group of lively young people. Although he had short legs, he had to exert all his strength to keep up with them. Today, everyone was especially friendly to him because this dwarf with a pair of affectionate eyes and a very timid nature was a perfect target for the mischievous youths. Even the beautiful Margaret joined in, pretending to be serious and repeatedly pulling the lovesick young man closer for a talk, making him dizzy and stammering incoherently. This teasing did not last long. The poor young man gradually realized that everyone was deliberately making fun of him. He wanted to retaliate but ultimately gave up the idea in frustration, pretending as if he had noticed nothing. Every quarter of an hour, the young people's enthusiasm grew even higher. The more Andres noticed the ridicule, mockery, and teasing directed at him, the more deliberately he laughed. Finally, one of the young men, a tall and reckless assistant pharmacist, made an extremely rude joke, ending the farce. They happened to pass under an ancient and beautiful oak tree, and the pharmacist said he wanted to see if he could grasp one of the low-hanging branches of the tall oak with his hands. He jumped many times but still failed to catch the branch. The audience who had formed a semicircle to watch him began to laugh. He suddenly had an idea: why not find a substitute target so he could save face. He quickly turned around and grabbed the dwarf Ungert's body, lifting him high into the air, while ordering him to grab the branch and hold it tightly. Ungert was furious at this sudden attack. But swaying unsteadily in the air, he was afraid and had no choice but to grasp the branch and hold it tightly. As soon as the lifter saw him grab the branch, he immediately let go, leaving Ungert dangling alone in the tree. Amidst the laughter of the group, he kicked his legs and screamed in anger.
This story is over. Sebastian, you must now understand what repentance is. It's also a pity that a young intellectual meets a tragic end. People will surely shout "What a pity." Sins come in all forms, but we must move quickly.
It is now near noon, and we have written this story. If necessary, we would like to end it before dinner. A newly married couple has an indescribably sorrowful bond, and they have already separated. They are returning home. Their homes are some distance away. On the way, the woman felt her heart pounding violently. She looked at her companion with a suspicious gaze, his eyes fixed on the ground, his head bowed, silent and speechless. At this moment, Michalik seized the opportunity to briefly explain the terrible start to the girl's mother. He had arranged two strong men on either side of the open steps leading to the villa's entrance, hiding them well. He himself, as a detective, hid behind the curtain, closely monitoring the scene. From the time the preparations were completed until the couple appeared near the house, it was less than two minutes. Sebastian was completely desperate and could not prevent his arrest. This did not take five seconds. Emma screamed and fainted to the ground. Michalik, arriving in time, skillfully supported her. Because he had anticipated this possibility, she was not injured. At the captain's signal, Sebastian was taken away by two police officers. He was carried away without resistance; he had collapsed. Michalik carried the beautiful girl into the house. She soon regained consciousness. She looked at the strong man standing in front of her, holding himself in a vigilant posture, his eyes fixed on her with both surprise and respect. Her parents extended their hands to him, thanking him for saving their daughter from great harm. He was cordially invited to visit their home many times. Due to Emma's beauty (which we had seen), the two elderly people also made him feel at home, as he himself admitted, and he accepted their friendly invitation without hesitation. His gaze lifted from the thin layer of flowing sand under his feet. She had already passed him twice; her rust-red hair was visible under the wide-brimmed white hat. Her intelligent but not young face withdrew the gray gaze directed at him. She was probably around thirty-five. Yet he could still hear her cheerful voice behind him. Kopeta turned around as she spoke. At that moment, the sea wind also ceased its sharp howling. She was speaking to the old woman she was supporting. The Brazilian pushed his hat back over his head; he had just seen her narrow shoulders through her black shawl, draped over deep blue silk, and she was no longer visible, her white wide-brimmed hat swaying among the crowd, then disappearing around the corner. Kopeta strolled into a coffee shop, eating chocolate pastries spoonful by spoonful. The waves continuously crashed against the stone wall; the sand made a faint rustling sound; the sea wind continued to play with its tiny daggers. In the afternoon, during the time of the concert at the sanatorium, the dark Brazilian, wearing a gray overcoat, walked along the embankment. The music played lightly and cheerfully. He tapped the ground in front of the sanatorium with a rough yellow cane, and at that moment, that gray gaze again withdrew from before him. The old woman was talking to him. Her face was long and thin, with prominent cheekbones, small eyes shining with confidence and clarity under two fine red brows, freckles on her cheeks, and fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her steps were light and ethereal. The Brazilian wiped his eyes and did not stop, continuing to walk forward. In the evening, he sat on the terrace of a restaurant. When he picked up the wine menu, he suddenly remembered that he had seen this woman three times today, her rust-red hair falling under the swinging wide-brimmed hat; it was always this woman, her black shawl draped over deep blue silk; and that gray gaze. He quietly pushed his chair back, sighed, and paused for a moment at the wallet he had taken out, then walked to the villa where he had seen her disappear, handing his visiting card to a girl. When he again felt the sea breeze caressing his neck, he asked himself, "What was the point of doing this?" He slammed the door behind him, the room plunged into darkness, and he collapsed into the round chair in front of the desk, tearing to pieces the photos of his two children, then picked up a nail clipper, took off his diamond wedding ring, and hung it on the clipper, placing it in the flame of a lit candle to burn. The gems blackened, the clipper heated up; he let it fall. He dug through the two buckets of sea sand he had had delivered to his room with his arms. He stood up panting and scattered the sand randomly over the floor and carpet, muttering curses at the dog and at the servants for bringing him too little sand. Thus, he fell asleep in the armchair.
At noon, still on the terrace, he lay in the chair, deeply breathing the violently flowing air, his eyes half-closed. Before him appeared the woman walking, her face extremely long and emaciated, her clear and confident gaze fixed on him. She asked someone to tell him not to visit her at noon. He threw off the thin blanket covering his feet, pressed his hat onto his messy hair, and walked heavily down the steps, his arms crossed over his chest, heading toward her villa, a one-story house with narrow, closed windows. He moved awkwardly in the dim hallway, lightly knocking on the door with her visiting card inserted. There was no response. He pushed the door open. She was half in bed, throwing the blue blanket to the wall to get out. Her full, feminine legs landed immediately with delicate toes, and a very frail, thin body stood upright in a plain, loose nightgown, her hair disheveled, her face stern and long. The dark Brazilian stood at the doorway in shock. She smiled, dressed, and asked him to come back in fifteen minutes. His face was pale, and he said nothing as he picked up his cane from the ground. The old woman extended her hand to him: he stared blankly at her pair of clear, composed eyes. That evening, a messenger from the hotel where he was staying came to her place; he invited her to take a sailboat trip the next morning; on the note, he did not even write his name. She turned the note over and over, half-heartedly picking up a pencil and writing on the same sheet, "If you come, please come as early as possible"; she drew a beautiful decoration above the letter L of her name, even taking a full minute to do so. On a gloomy morning, she wore a thin silk shirt and walked toward him. They hurried down the stone steps and arrived at the roaring seaside; she threw shells back at him as she turned to look at him, only to find his face twitching with passion. He wore a plain white linen shirt, his head bare, walking; his left wrist was bandaged. He said, "I cut my vein on glass last night." With a push, he quickly shoved a small rowboat into the water, then carefully placed the frightened lady in the seat, jumped in himself, and calmly rowed toward a sailboat floating in front of the wooden bridge near the men's bathroom. They jumped onto the boat together; Kopeta had already hoisted the sail. She tightly embraced the wheel with her bare arms, the wooden mast sleeve rattling as it was pulled up, the sails billowing, and the boat heading out to sea.
The events in the thatched cottage were like a desperate struggle. The woman had long since pushed the blankets and rags to the ground with her enormous body's terrifying impact. The yellow, cheap cloth shirt had been torn to shreds in front of her entire stomach. She lay there naked. The hills and mountains of her body trembled. Her calves were drawn back and then extended again. Her two clenched fists hammered the bedside. Her pale, large face twisted upward, she had lively eyes. She breathed heavily. Pop and Weigel stood on either side of the bed, hiding their indifferent expressions behind their shirt sleeves, while the nurse knelt on the ground, confusedly rummaging through his medical kit. The old woman was muttering nonsense in the corner, her voice sounding like curses and insults. The nurse said he was taking it seriously, the child's father had once been a German dragoon. Therefore, the old woman would rather see her daughter die than see her give birth to a little German brat. She was not in a hurry; she even failed to go once to fetch water. She curled up in the corner, her face like a rotting lizard, endlessly grumbling in anger. There was no doctor here, and no command post could be found in the darkness. Therefore, three artillerymen and a helpless nurse (a Protestant theologian by profession) had to act as midwives. For a quarter of an hour, it seemed as if a merciful angel would pass by again. But a moment later, another volcano began to erupt: an earthquake, roaring and rumbling, continuous roaring and fiery lava, that is, blood! The nurse's fingers trembled uncontrollably. Weigel first dipped the nurse's fingers in a bucket of warm water Thomas had brought, then dipped his own steady, experienced miner's hands into it. But the woman screamed like a horse shot with a gun. She kicked her legs, trampling Weigel's chest, causing him to stumble backward. Now Pop and the nurse each grabbed one leg, holding them tightly and pulling outward. Because the time had come, there was nothing to do except risk the possibility of both mother and child dying at the hands of the clumsy attendants. The woman trembled and struggled due to the intense contractions. Weigel held a flashlight in his left hand, trying to help the little life emerging from the narrow slit with his right hand. "Head first," he said, "That's right. But I think it's too big. God knows where all this blood came from." Thus, Pop had no choice but to press the woman's leg with all his strength, the woman trembling, tugging, and crying. It was like shoeing a horse. Suddenly, the woman arched her upper body, groaning hoarsely, and struck Weigel on the head with both fists. "You hold her arms and shoulders down," Weigel said to Thomas. But the resistance was fierce, forcing the young man to brace his shoulders with his knees and press her arms tightly with both hands. Now her head twisted upward, pressing close to his face. Her breaths rushed over his face. And he stared at her eyes, wide open and showing a supernatural expression, as if possessed, dazed, and obsessed. Meanwhile, the lower part of the child's body emerging was also extremely captivating. Then came the convulsive movements, the inhuman continuous screams, the final resistance and struggle—followed by a great, suffocating silence. All this, he saw as if through glass, heard as if from another layer of air: cold, clear, and emotionless. He barely felt her bite his fingers and tear off a small piece of skin in the struggle. For the next few minutes, there was almost no sound. Then came the old woman's annoying asthma and breathing sounds. The woman giving birth's chest began to calm down. Weigel stood motionless with the flashlight. The others, out of caution, still held her body, feeling how weak and exhausted she was. Suddenly, Thomas was terrified beyond control. The woman's two hands reached up to his arms. He tried to grasp her hands tightly, but in the next instant, he felt something unprecedented, unexpected, almost impossible: the woman's hands