Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair's Youth by Hermann Hesse (Eng. version)

1-Two Realms

  I shall begin my story with an experience I had when I was ten and attended our small town's Latin school. The sweetness of many things from that time still stirs and touches me with melancholy: dark andwell-lighted alleys, houses and towers, chimes and faces, rooms rich and comfortable, warm and relaxed,rooms pregnant with secrets. Everything bears the scent of warm intimacy, servant girls, household remedies,and dried fruits. The realms of day and night, two different worlds coming from two opposite poles, mingledduring this time. My parents' house made up one realm, yet its boundaries were even narrower, actuallyembracing only my parents themselves. This realm was familiar to me in almost every way--mother andfather, love and strictness, model behavior, and school. It was a realm of brilliance, clarity, and cleanliness,gentle conversations, washed hands, clean clothes, and good manners.

This was the world in which morninghymns were sung and Christmas celebrated. Straight lines and paths led into the future: there were duty andguilt, bad conscience and confession, forgiveness and good resolutions, love, reverence, wisdom and thewords of the Bible. If one wanted an unsullied and orderly life, one made sure one was in league with thisworld. The other realm, however, overlapping half our house, was completely different; it smelled different,spoke a different language, promised and demanded different things. This second world contained servantgirls and workmen, ghost stories, rumors of scandal. It was dominated by a loud mixture of horrendous,intriguing, frightful, mysterious things, including slaughterhouses and prisons, drunkards and screechingfishwives, calving cows, horses sinking to their death, tales of robberies, murders, and suicides.

All these wildand cruel, attractive and hideous things surrounded us, could be found in the next alley, the next house.Policemen and tramps, drunkards who beat their wives, droves of young girls pouring out of factories at night,old women who put the hex on you so that you fell ill, thieves hiding in the forest, arsonists nabbed by countrypolice--everywhere this second vigorous world erupted and gave off its scent, everywhere, that is, except inour parents' rooms. And that was good. It was wonderful that peace and orderliness, quiet and a goodconscience, forgiveness and love, ruled in this one realm, and it was wonderful that the rest existed, too, themultitude of harsh noises, of sullenness and violence, from which one could still escape with a leap into one'smother's lap. It was strange how both realms bordered on each other, how close together they were!

Forexample, when Lina, our servant girl, sat with us by the living-room door at evening prayers and added herclear voice to the hymn, her washed hands folded on her smoothed-down apron, she belonged with father andmother, to us, to those that dwelled in light and righteousness. But afterwards, in the kitchen or woodshed,when she told me the story of "the tiny man with no head, " or when she argued with neighborhood women inthe butchershop, she was someone else, belonged to another world which veiled her with mystery. And that'show it was with everything, most of all with myself. Unquestionably I belonged to the realm of light andrighteousness; I was my parents' child.

But in whichever direction I turned I perceived the other world, and Ilived within that other world as well, though often a stranger to it, and suffering from panic and a badconscience. There were times when I actually preferred living in the forbidden realm, and frequently, returningto the realm of light--necessary and good as it may have been -- seemed almost like returning to somethingless beautiful, something rather drab and tedious. Sometimes I was absolutely certain that my destiny was tobecome like mother and father, as clear-sighted and unspoiled, as orderly and superior as they. But this goalseemed far away and to reach it meant attending endless schools, studying, passing tests and examinations,and this way led past and through the other, darker realm.

It was not at all impossible that one might remain apart of it and sink into it. There were stories of sons who had gone astray, stories I read with passion. Thesestories always pictured the homecoming as such a relief and as something so extraordinary that I feltconvinced that this alone was the right, the best, the sought-for thing. Still, the part of the story set among theevil and the lost was more appealing by far, and--if I could have admitted it--at times I didn't want the ProdigalSon to repent and be found again. But one didn't dare think this, much less say it out loud. It was only presentsomehow as a premonition, a possibility at the root of one's consciousness.

When I pictured the devil to myselfI could easily imagine him on the street below, disguised or undisguised, or at the country fair or in a bar, butnever at home with us. My sisters, too, belonged to the realm of light. It often seemed to me that they had agreater natural affinity to my father and mother; they were better, better mannered, had fewer faults than I. They had their faults, of course; they had their bad moments, but these did not appear to go very deep as theydid with me, whose contact with evil often grew so oppressive and painful, and to whom the dark worldseemed so much closer. Sisters, like parents, were to be comforted and respected; if I had quarreled with themI always reproached myself afterwards, felt like the instigator, the one who had to ask for forgiveness.

For byoffending my sisters I offended my parents, all that was good and superior. There were secrets I would farrather have shared with the lowest hoodlum than with my sisters. On good days, when my conscience did nottrouble me, it was often delightful to play with them, to be good and decent as they were and to see myself in anoble light. That's what it must have been like to be an angel! It was the highest state one could think of. Buthow infrequent such days were! Often at play, at some harmless activity, I became so fervent and headstrongthat I was too much for my sisters; the quarrels and unhappiness this led to threw me into such a rage that Ibecame horrible, did and said things so awful they seared my heart even as I said them.

Then followed harshhours of gloomy regret and contrition, the painful moment when I begged forgiveness, to be followed again bybeams of light, a quiet, thankful, undivided gladness. I attended the Latin school. The mayor's son and thehead forester's son were in my class; both visited me at home at times, and though they were quite unruly, theywere both members of the good, the legal world. Yet this did not mean that I had no dealings with some of theneighborhood boys who attended public school and on whom we usually looked down. It is with one of themthat I must begin my story.

One half-holiday--I was little more than ten years old--two neighborhood kids andI were roaming about when a much bigger boy, a strong and burly kid from public school, the tailor's son,joined us. His father drank and the whole family had a bad name. I had heard much about Franz Kromer, wasafraid of him, didn't at all like that he came up to us. His manners were already those of a man and he imitatedthe walk and speech of young factory workers. Under his leadership we clambered down the riverbank by thebridge and hid below the first arch. The narrow strip between the vaulted wall of the bridge and the lazilyflowing river was covered with nothing but refuse, shards, tangled bundles of rusty wire and other rubbish.

Occasionally one could pick up something useful here. Franz Kromer instructed us to comb the area and showhim what we found. He would either pocket it or fling it into the river. He put us on the lookout for objectsmade of lead, brass, and tin, all of which he tucked away--also an old comb made of horn. I felt very uneasy inhis presence, not only because I knew that my father would not have approved of my being seen in hiscompany, but because I was simply afraid of Franz himself, though I was glad that he seemed to accept meand treat me like the others. He gave instructions and we obeyed--it seemed like an old habit, even though thiswas the first time I was with him.

After a while we sat down. Franz spit into the water, and he looked like aman; he spit through a gap between his teeth and hit whatever he aimed at. A conversation started up, and theboys began boasting and heaping praise on themselves for all sorts of schoolboy heroics and tricks they hadplayed. I kept quiet and yet was afraid I'd be noticed, that my silence might particularly incur Kromer's wrath.My two friends had begun to shun me the very moment Franz Kromer had joined us. I was a stranger amongthem and felt that my manners and clothes presented a kind of challenge. As a Latin school boy, the spoiledson of a well-to-do father, it would be impossible for Franz to like me, and the other two, I felt acutely, wouldsoon disown and desert me. Finally, out of sheer nervousness, I began telling a story too. I invented a longtale about a robbery in which I filled the role of hero.

In a garden near the mill, I said, together with a friend, Ihad stolen a whole sackful of apples one night, and by no means ordinary apples, but apples of the very bestsort. It was the fear of the moment that made me seek refuge in this story--inventing and telling stories camenaturally to me. In order not to fall immediately silent again, and perhaps become involved in somethingworse, I gave a complete display of my narrative powers. One of us, I continued, had had to stand guard whilethe other climbed the tree and shook out the apples. Moreover, the sack had grown so heavy that we had toopen it again, leaving half the apples behind. But half an hour later we had returned and fetched the rest.

WhenI had finished I waited for approval of some sort. I had warmed to my subject toward the end and been carriedaway by my own eloquence. The two younger ones kept silent, waiting, but Franz Kromer looked sharply atme out of narrowed eyes and asked threateningly: "Is that true?" "Yes, " I said. "Really and truly?" "Yes,really and truly, " I insisted stubbornly while choking inwardly with fear. "Would you swear to it?" I becamevery afraid but at once said yes. "Then say: By God and the grace of my soul.

"By God and the grace of mysoul, " I said. "Well, all right, " he said and turned away. I thought everything was all right now, and was gladwhen he got up and turned to go home. After we had climbed back up to the bridge, I said hesitantly that Iwould have to head for home myself. "You can't be in that much of a hurry. " Franz laughed. "We're going inthe same direction, aren't we?" Slowly he ambled on and I didn't dare run off; he was in fact walking in thedirection of my house. When we stood in front of it and I saw the front door and the big brass knocker, the sunin the windows and the curtain in my mother's room, I breathed a sigh of relief. When I quickly opened thedoor and slipped in, reaching to slam it shut, Franz Kromer edged in behind me. In the cool tiled passageway,lit only by one window facing the courtyard, he stood beside me, held on to me and said softly: "Don't be insuch a rush, you. " I looked at him, terrified. His grip on my arm was like a vise.

I wondered what he mighthave in mind and whether he wanted to hurt me. I tried to decide whether if I screamed now, screamed loudand piercingly, someone could come down from above quickly enough to save me. But I gave up the idea. "What is it?" I asked. "What do you want?" "Nothing much. I only wanted to ask you something. The othersdon't have to hear it. " "Oh, really? I can't think of anything to say to you. I have to go up, you know. " SoftlyFranz Kromer asked: "You know who owns the orchard by the mill, don't you?" "I'm not sure. The miller, Ithink. " Franz had put his arm around me and now he drew me so close I was forced to look into his faceinches away.

His eyes were evil, he smiled maliciously; his face was filled with cruelty and a sense of power. "Well, I can tell you for certain whose orchard that is. I've known for some time that someone had stolenapples there and that the man who owns it said he'd give two marks to anyone who'd tell him who swipedthem. " "Oh, my God!" I exclaimed. "You wouldn't do that, would you?" I felt it would be useless to appealto his sense of honor. He came from the other world: betrayal was no crime to him. I sensed this acutely. Thepeople from the other world were not like us in these matters. "Not say anything?" laughed Kromer. "Kid,what do you take me for? Do you think I own a mint? I'm poor, I don't have a wealthy father like you and if Ican earn two marks I earn them any way I can. Maybe he'll even give me more. " Suddenly he let go of me.The passageway no longer smelled of peace and safety, the world around me began to crumble. He would giveme away to the police! I was a criminal; my father would be informed--perhaps even the police would come.

All the dread of chaos threatened me, everything ugly and dangerous was united against me. It meant nothingthat I'd filched nothing. I'd sworn I had! Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt I had to strike a bargain anddesperately I groped through all my pockets. Not a single apple, no pocket knife, I had nothing at all. I thoughtof my watch, an old silver watch that didn't work, that I wore just for the fun of it. It had been mygrandmother's. Quickly I took it off. I said: "Kromer, listen! Don't give me away. It wouldn't be fair if youdid. I'll give you my watch as a present, here, take a look. Otherwise I've nothing at all. You can have it, it'smade of silver, and the works, well, there's something slightly wrong with them; you have to have it fixed.

" He smiled and weighed the watch in his palm. I looked at his hand and felt how brutal and deeply hostile itwas to me, how it reached for my life and peace. "It's made of silver, " I said hesitantly. "I don't give a damnfor your silver and your old watch, " he said scornfully. "Get it fixed yourself. " "But, Franz!" I exclaimed,trembling with fear that he might run away. "Wait, wait a moment. Why don't you take it? It's really made ofsilver, honest. And I don't have anything else. " He threw me a cold scornful look. "Well, you know who I'llgo to. Or I could go to the police too... I'm on good terms with the sergeant.

" He turned as if to go. I held onto his sleeve. I couldn't allow him to go. I would rather have died than suffer what might happen if he went offlike that. "Franz, " I implored, hoarse with excitement, "don't do anything foolish. You're only joking, aren'tyou?" "Yes, I'm joking, but it could turn into an expensive joke. " "Just tell me what I'm supposed to do,Franz. I'll do anything you ask. " He looked me up and down with narrowed eyes and laughed again. "Don'tbe so stupid, " he said with false good humor. "You know as well as I that I'm in a position to earn two marks.I'm not a rich man who can afford to throw them away, but you're rich--you even have a watch. All you haveto do is give me two marks; then everything will be all right. " I understood his logic. But two marks! Thatwas as much and as unattainable as ten, as a hundred, as a thousand. I didn't have a pfennig.

There was a piggybank that my mother kept for me. When relatives came to visit they would drop in five- or ten-pfennig pieces.That was all I had. I had no allowance at that time. "I just don't have any, " I said sadly. "I don't have anymoney at all. But I'll give you everything else I have. I have a Western, tin soldiers, and a compass. Wait, I'llget them for you. " Kromer's mouth merely twisted into a brief sneer. Then he spit on the floor. Harshly hesaid: "You can keep your crap. A compass! Don't make me mad! You hear, I'm after money. " "But I don'thave any, I never get any, I can't help it. " "All right, then you'll bring me the two marks tomorrow. I'll waitfor you after school down near the market place. That's all. You'll see what'll happen if you don't bring it. " "But where am I going to get it if I don't have any?" "There's plenty of money in your house. That's yourbusiness.

Tomorrow after school. And I'm telling you: if you don't have it with you... " He threw me awithering look, spit once more, and vanished like a shadow. I couldn't even get upstairs. My life was wrecked.I thought of running away and never coming back, or of drowning myself. However, I couldn't picture any ofthis very clearly. In the dark, I sat down on the bottom step of our staircase, huddled up within myself,abandoning myself to misery. That's where Lina found me weeping as she came downstairs with the basket tofetch wood. I begged her not to say a word, then I went upstairs.

To the right of the glass door hung myfather's hat and my mother's parasol; they gave me a feeling of home and comfort, and my heart greeted themthankfully, as the Prodigal Son might greet the sight and smell of old familiar rooms. But all of it was lost tome now, all of it belonged to the clear, well-lighted world of my father and mother, and I, guilty and deeplyengulfed in an alien world, was entangled in adventures and sin, threatened by an enemy, --by dangers, fear,and shame. The hat and parasol, the old sandstone floor I was so fond of, the broad picture above the hallcupboard, the voice of my elder sister coming to me from the living room were all more moving, moreprecious, more delicious than ever before, but they had ceased to be a refuge and something I could rely on;they had become an unmistakable reproach. None of this was mine any more, I could no longer take part in itsquiet cheerfulness.

My feet had become muddied, I could not even wipe them clean on the mat; everywhere Iwent I was followed by a darkness of which this world of home knew nothing. How many secrets I had had,how often I had been afraid--but all of it had been child's play compared with what I brought home with metoday. I was haunted by misfortune, it was reaching out toward me so that not even my mother could protectme, since she was not even allowed to know. Whether my crime was stealing or lyingg--(hadn't I sworn a falseoath by God and everything that was sacred?)--was immaterial. My sin was not specifically this or that butconsisted of having shaken hands with the devil. Why had I gone along? Why had I obeyed Kromer--bettereven than I had ever obeyed my father?

Why had I invented the story, building myself up with a crime asthough it were a heroic act? The devil held me in his clutches, the enemy was behind me. For the time being Iwas not so much afraid of what would happen tomorrow as of the horrible certainty that my way, from nowon, would lead farther and farther downhill into darkness. I felt acutely that new offenses were bound to growout of this one offense, that my presence among my sisters, greeting and kissing my parents, were a lie, that Iwas living a lie concealed deep inside myself. For a moment, hope and confidence flickered up inside me as Igazed at my father's hat. I would tell him everything, would accept his verdict and his punishment, and wouldmake him into my confessor and savior.

It would only be a penance, the kind I had often done, a bitterlydifficult hour, a ruefully difficult request for forgiveness. How sweet and tempting that sounded! But it wasno use. I knew I wouldn't do it. I knew I now had a secret, a sin which I would have to expiate alone. Perhaps Istood at the parting of the ways, perhaps I would now belong among the wicked forever, share their secrets,depend on them, obey them, have to become one of their kind. I had acted the man and hero, now I had to bearthe consequences. I was glad when my father took me to task for my muddy boots. It diverted his attention bysidestepping the real issue and placed me in a position to endure reproaches that I could secretly transfer to theother, the more serious offense.

A strange new feeling overcame me at this point, a feeling that stungpleasurably: I felt superior to my father! Momentarily I felt a certain loathing for his ignorance. His upbraidingme for muddy boots seemed pitiful. "If you only knew" crossed my mind as I stood there like a criminal beingcross-examined for a stolen loaf of bread when the actual crime was murder. It was an odious, hostile feeling,but it was strong and deeply attractive, and shackled me more than anything else to my secret and my guilt. Ithought Kromer might have gone to the police by now and denounced me, that thunderstorms were formingabove my head, while all this time they continued to treat me like a little child.

This moment was the mostsignificant and lasting of the whole experience. It was the first rent in the holy image of my father, it was thefirst fissure in the columns that had upheld my childhood, which every individual must destroy before he canbecome himself. The inner, the essential line of our fate consists of such invisible experiences. Such fissuresand rents grow together again, heal and are forgotten, but in the most secret recesses they continue to live andbleed. I immediately felt such dread of this new feeling that I could have fallen down before my father andkissed his feet to ask forgiveness.

But one cannot apologize for something fundamental, and a child feels andknows this as well and as deeply as any sage. I felt the need to give some thought to my new situation, toreflect about what I would do tomorrow. But I did not find the time. All evening I was busy getting used to thechanged atmosphere in our living room. Wall clock and table, Bible and mirror, bookcase and pictures on thewall were leaving me behind; I was forced to observe with a chill in my heart how my world, my good, happy,carefree life, was becoming a part of the past, was breaking away from me, and I was forced to feel how I wasbeing shackled and held fast with new roots to the outside, to the dark and alien world.

For the first time in mylife I tasted death, and death tasted bitter, for death is birth, is fear and dread of some terrible renewal. I wasglad when I finally lay in my bed. Just before, as my last torment, I had had to endure evening prayers. Wehad sung a hymn which was one of my favorites. I felt unable to join in and every note galled me. When myfather intoned the blessing--when he finished with "God be with us!" --something broke inside me and I wasrejected forever from this intimate circle. God's grace was with all of them, but it was no longer with me. Coldand deeply exhausted, I had left them.

When I had lain in bed awhile, enveloped by its warmth and safety, myfearful heart turned back once more in confusion and hovered anxiously above what was now past. My motherhad said good night to me as always. I could still hear her steps resound in the other room; the candle glowstill illuminated the chink in the door. Now, I thought, now she'll come back once more, she has sensedsomething, she will give me a kiss and ask, ask kindly with a promise in her voice, and then I'll weep, then thelump in my throat will melt, then I will throw my arms around her, and then all will be well; I will be saved!And even after the chink in the door had gone dark I continued to listen and was certain that it simply wouldhave to happen.

Then I returned to my difficulties and looked my enemy in the eye. I could see him clearly,one eye screwed up, his mouth twisted into a brutal smile, and while I eyed him, becoming more and moreconvinced of the inevitable, he grew bigger and uglier and his evil eye lit up with a fiendish glint. He was rightnext to me until I fell asleep, yet I didn't dream of him nor of what had happened that day. I dreamed insteadthat my parents, my sisters, and I were drifting in a boat, surrounded by absolute peace and the glow of aholiday.

In the middle of the night I woke with the aftertaste of this happiness. I could still see my sisters'white summer dresses shimmer in the sun as I fell out of paradise back into reality, again face to face with theenemy, with his evil eye. Next morning, when my mother came rushing up shouting that it was late and whywas I still in bed, I looked sick. When she asked me whether anything was wrong, I vomited. This seemed tobe something gained. I loved being slightly sick, being allowed to lie in bed all morning, drinking camomiletea, listening to my mother tidy up the other rooms or Lina deal with the butcher in the hallway.

Mornings offfrom school seemed enchanted, like a fairy tale; the sun playing in the room was not the same sun shut out ofschool when the green shades were lowered. Yet even this gave me no pleasure today; there was somethingfalse about it. If only I could die! But, as often before, I was only slightly unwell and it was of no help, myillness protected me from school but not from Franz Kromer who would be waiting for me at eleven in themarket place. And my mother's friendliness, instead of comforting me, was a distressing nuisance.

I made ashow of having fallen asleep again in order to be left alone to think. But I could see no way out. At eleven Ihad to be at the market. At ten I quietly got dressed and said that I felt better. The answer, as usual under thesecircumstances, was: either I went straight back to bed or in the afternoon I would have to be in school. I said Iwould gladly go to school. I had come up with a plan. I couldn't meet Kromer penniless. I had to get hold ofmy piggy bank. I knew it didn't contain enough, by no means enough, yet it was something, and I sensed thatsomething was better than nothing, and that Kromer could at least be appeased.

In stocking feet I creptguiltily into my mother's room and took the piggy bank out of her desk; yet that was not half as bad as whathad happened the day before with Kromer. My heart beat so rapidly I felt I would choke. It did not ease upwhen I discovered downstairs that the bank was locked. Forcing it was easy, it was merely a matter of tearingthe thin tin-plate grid; yet breaking it hurt--only now had I really committed a theft. Until then I had filchedlumps of sugar or some fruit; this was more serious stealing, even though it was my own money I stole.

Isensed how I was one step nearer Kromer and his world, how bit by bit everything was going downhill withme. I began to feel stubborn; let the devil take the hindmost! There was no turning back now. Nervously Icounted the money. In the piggy bank it had sounded like so much more, but there was painfully little lying inmy hand: sixty-five pfennigs. I hid the box on the ground floor, held the money clasped in my fist, and steppedout of the house, feeling more different than I had ever felt before when I walked through the gate. I thought Iheard someone calling after me from upstairs but I walked away quickly.

There was still a lot of time left. Bya very devious route, I sneaked through the little alleys of a changed town, under a cloudy sky such as I hadnever seen before, past staring houses and people who eyed me with suspicion. Then it occurred to me that afriend from school had once found a thaler in the cattle market. I would gladly have gone down on my kneesand prayed that God perform a miracle and let me make a similar find. But I had forfeited the right to pray.And in any case, mending the box would have required a second miracle. Franz Kromer spotted me from adistance, yet he approached me without haste and seemed to ignore me. When he was close, he motionedauthoritatively for me to follow him, and without once turning back he walked calmly down the Strohgasseand across the little footbridge until he stopped in front of a new building at the outskirts.

There were noworkmen about, the walls were bare, doors and windows were blanks. Kromer took a look around, thenwalked through the entrance into the house and I followed him. He stepped behind a wall, gave me a signal,and stretched out his hand. "Have you got it?" he asked coolly. I drew my clenched fist out of my pocket andemptied my money into his flat outstretched palm. He had counted it even before the last pfennig piece hadclinked down. "That's sixty-five pfennigs, " he said and looked at me. "Yes, " I said nervously. "That's all Ihave. I know it's not enough, but it's all I have. " "I thought you were cleverer than that, " he scolded almostmildly. "Among men of honor you've got to do things right. I don't want to take anything away from you thatisn't the right sum. You know that.

Take your pennies back, there! The other one--you know who--won't try toscale down the price. He pays up. " "But I simply don't have another pfennig. It's all I had in my bank. " "That's your business. But I don't want to make you unhappy. You owe me one mark, thirty-five pfennigs.When can I have them?" "Oh, you'll get them for sure, Kromer. I just don't know when right now--perhaps I'llhave more tomorrow or the day later. You understand, don't you, that I can't breathe a word about this to myfather. " "That's not my concern. I'm not out to do you any harm. I could have my money before lunch if Iwanted, you know, and I'm poor. You wear expensive clothes and you're better fed than I. But I won't sayanything. I can wait a bit. The day after tomorrow I'll whistle for you. You know what my whistle sounds like,don't you?" He let me hear it. I had heard it before. "Yes, " I said, "I know it. " He left me as though he'dnever seen me before. It had been a business transaction between the two of us, nothing more.

I thinkKromer's whistle would frighten me even today if I suddenly heard it again. From now on I was to hear itrepeatedly; it seemed to me I heard it all the time. There was not a single place, not a single game, no activity,no thought which this whistle did not penetrate, the whistle that made me his slave, that had become my fate.Frequently I would go into our small flower garden, of which I was so fond on those mild, colorful autumnafternoons, and an odd urge prompted me to play once more the childish games of my earlier years; I wasplaying, so to speak, the part of someone younger than myself, someone still good and free, innocent and safe.Yet into the midst of this haven--always expected, yet horribly surprising each time--from somewhereKromer's whistle would erupt, destroying the game, crushing my illusions.

Then I would have to leave thegarden to follow my tormentor to wicked, ugly places where I would have to give him an account of my pitifulfinances and let myself be pressed for payment. The entire episode lasted perhaps several weeks, yet to methey seemed like years, an eternity. Rarely did I have any money, at most a five- or ten-pfennig piece stolenfrom the kitchen table when Lina had left the shopping basket lying around. Kromer upbraided me each time,becoming more and more contemptuous: I was cheating him, depriving him of what was rightfully his, I wasstealing from him, makinghim miserable! Never in my life had I felt so distressed, never had I felt morehopeless, more enslaved.

I had filled the piggy bank with play money and replaced it in my mother's desk. Noone asked for it but the possibility that they might never left my thoughts. What frightened me even more thanKromer's brutal whistling was my mother's stepping up to me--wasn't she coming to inquire about the piggybank? Because I had met my tormentor many times empty-handed, he began finding other means of torturingand using me. I had to work for him. He had to run various errands for his father; I had to do them for him.

Orhe would ask me to perform some difficult feat: hop for ten minutes on one leg, pin a scrap of paper on apasser-by's coat. Many nights in my dreams I elaborated on these tortures and lay drenched in a nightmare'ssweat. For a while I actually became sick. I vomited frequently and came down with frequent chills, yet atnight I would burn and sweat. My mother sensed that something was wrong and was very considerate, but thisonly tortured me the more since I could not respond by confiding in her. One night, after I had gone to bed,she brought me a piece of chocolate. It reminded me of former years when, if I had been a good boy, I wouldreceive such rewards before I fell asleep.

Now she stood there and offered me the piece of chocolate. The sightwas so painful that I could only shake my head. She asked me what was wrong and stroked my hair. All Icould answer was: "No, no! I don't want anything. " She placed the chocolate on my night table and left. Thenext morning, when she wanted to ask me about my behavior of the night before, I pretended to have forgottenthe episode completely. Once she brought the doctor, who examined me and prescribed cold baths in themorning.

My condition at that time was a kind of madness. Amid the ordered peace of our house I livedshyly, in agony, like a ghost; I took no part in the life of the others, rarely forgot myself for an hour at a time.To my father, who was often irritated and asked me what was the matter, I was completely cold.