Free An Offering for the Dead by Hans Erich Nossack Page A

he was so unthinkably ragged and seedy that you simply could not pass him by. Yet his eyes were as soft as a roe's. I happened to have some money in my pocket, so I gave him a little. I also bought him some bread and asked him what his name was and where he lived, so that I could bring him clothing the next day. He named an old-age home in a poor section of town. When I went there, no one had ever heard of him. The administrator said I had probably come upon a tramp and had been hoodwinked. Now that is not so bad. But what I got to see in that home practically knocked me for a loop. Lots of old men who could have been my great-grandfathers were sitting around, waiting for their food. They clutched sticky bowls in their hands in order to receive it, and their conversation went: 'Is there going to be cabbage today or fish soup?' And what a stench and filth, they are not to be described. I was close to vomiting. When they received their soup, greedily making sure that the senile neighbor did not get more, they quickly toddled off into a dark corner to spoon it up. The spittle flowed from their mouths and the snot from their noses. Can one not get disgusted at nature for being constituted in this way? Since then I have been quite simply fearful that some day all people might become like those old men, that they will only lurk for their bad lunch and otherwise stink and be gobbled up by vermin. And perhaps I am to be part of that."
    However, I believe that he was just talking, and that this was not the real reason. He had already tried several professions, never enduring any for more than three months. He also kept moving from town to town. At first, when he arrived somewhere, he would say: I have finally found the right thing. And he promptly attempted to convert others to his new position. But all at once, he disappeared; for a long time, no one knew where he was living or if he was even alive, until they finally heard from him. He was an orphan, his parents had died when he was still in the cradle. Some relatives or other must have raised him. I presume that these relatives were to blame. Naturally, it ill befits me to rebuke them; for as a boy, he must have been difficult to understand. But something must have happened at some point. Perhaps at a meal, when they asked him, while chewing: How much longer? And why? And when finally? For I noticed that he was particularly disgusted by people who were having lunch and sating themselves. But I never dared to touch on this issue.
    He claimed that I was exactly like him. This was not quite true. However, he was my younger brother, there can be no doubt. Sometimes, at the crack of dawn, it would happen that he would go over to the window and gaze out into the uncertain. Then he abruptly spun around, his eyes glowing with faith and pleasure: "Come, let us die together." I admit that he nearly talked me into it. He was like a lover. As I have already mentioned: he had no mother, and that explains a great deal.
    However, the bandage he now wore on his head looked good on him; it gave his face a manly touch; why, he looked like a warrior.
    He yanked open the door for the other visitor, whom he was accompanying, and, with an angular bow, he ushered him in. He winked at me roguishly, like a grandson behind his grandfather's back.
    If I still knew the names of those men, my description of them would not have to be so long-winded. But in this way, I can talk about them with the terms "father," "brother," "teacher," and "old boy," and that may suffice. I also have to mention that it was not I who had chosen them as relatives and models; it was they who selected me to carry out a mission on which they had set their hearts. Almost against my will; for I often yearned to live like other people — that is: without a mission or a mandator. I would then sigh: Why me? Just as they had chosen me, they could easily reject me at any time, if I did not work out to their satisfaction. And then I would