Translated by Joe E. Bandel 2008
Copyright 2008 by Joe E. Bandel
Protected under United States Copyright Law as a derivative work of a foreign Author originally published prior to 1923
Frank Braun scarcely heard. He thought, it’s a bright day -one o’clock in the afternoon and a bright, hot summer day. We are in the middle of the United States, in a Union-Pacific Pullman car somewhere between Salt Lake City and Denver. It is a very bright day.
He saw the man in the next car standing there, almost as if he had been waiting for him. The man looked over at him, grinned and went further back. Frank Braun followed him. Through seven, through eight cars, until they got to the last one. It was empty, not a single passenger sat there. The man went through the car to the very last seat , turned around and sat there. Then he spit into the middle of a large finger bowl in front of him.
Frank Braun took a different seat a little distance away, stared across at the man and counted -one hundred nineteen, one hundred twenty, one hundred twenty one,. The basin didn’t appear to be filled with water. It didn’t patter when he spit. It gave a soft, light metallic tone almost like a chirp, like a whistle or squeak.
It flew entirely black through the air landing in the polished, scrubbed basin, pang-ping. Frank Braun stared at the basin, listening closely. It scraped, scratched and rubbed on the metal. It was as if something was running around inside it, something swift, quick, circling around in the basin.
One hundred eighteen- nineteen- twenty-The man pushed his thick lips together and it sprang through the air, black, entirely black and sprang into the middle of the round metal basin glistening in the sunlight, glowing like polished gold.
Pang-ping, it scraped lightly, ran quickly. Oh, it was alive, whatever the man was spitting. Frank Braun leaned forward, staring across to see more clearly. He saw a black head rise up out of the round basin, pointed little ears sticking straight up, little green eyes leering back at him. It got up on the rim, fell back, then sprang up again. It sat for a moment on the shiny gold in the sun, sprang down, scurried under the seat.
He breathed out in relief. That’s what it was, a small mouse had been hiding in the basin. It was in deathly fear of the dreadful hail coming from the strange man. That’s all it was. It saved itself, the little thing. Thank God! He thought.
But it chirped again, scratched and scrabbled in the basin. There are still more of them in there, he thought, perhaps an entire nest of them. They came out, big ones and little ones, one after the other, sat on the golden rim, leering into the world before springing down.
Then another and another, always more-many-many-
Once more the repulsive fellow pursed his lips, no, he didn’t point them, he plumped them, formed them into a ball like a deformed bashful judge. He spit black, and this black moved in the air, just before it landed in the basin it squeaked. Frank Braun heard it clearly, then again after two minutes and again two minutes later. The man was spitting black mice!
It was strange but didn’t seem unnatural to him. He remembered a man he had seen once at a circus in Berlin and later again in Madrid. He had taken a large glass fishbowl of water with fish, salamanders and frogs swimming in it. The man had picked it up and drank all of it, even the contents, bent backwards, puffed up his cheeks and blew. A beautiful fountain sprang out of his mouth and the little golden, silver and green fishes, the salamanders and frogs, even a few tadpoles and fat leeches sprayed through the air. They landed wriggling on the floor and an assistant collected them all up and put them back into a fresh aquarium where they swam around once more in comfort.
In any case, it really looked as if they had been in the dark belly of the magician. Maybe that’s how it was with this fellow in front of him. Perhaps he had mice trapped in his pocket, or an entire cigar box full of them, quickly putting an animal in his mouth when no one was looking, then spitting it out. Or else he had somehow ahead of time put a couple dozen deep in his belly and was now letting them back out one at a time. It was a trick, just a cheeky trick!
How he grinned, how he mockingly grinned! Now he stood up slowly and comfortably, formed his phlegmy lips into a funnel, inflated his cheeks and belly. They sprang out of his mouth like rockets, pushing out of his mouth, mice, mice, hundreds of black mice. They sprang onto the seat squeaking, squealing, running around over everything. Then somehow they all disappeared.
How the fellow grinned! He looked so much like the Medical Councillor!
Frank Braun opened his lips.
“Uncle Jakob!” He whispered.
He was thrown forward, something tore at his knees. He held onto the seat with his left hand, leaned forward putting his right hand on the floor for support. He heard a hollow crash, then the shrill howling of the steam whistle.
The train was stopped. Something had happened. He sprang up, ran into the next car. He saw people mildly excited, a few tearing open the windows and looking out. More were pressing back from the front of the train.
“What happened?” He cried.
No one knew. He pushed his way through a car full of people, nothing in the next car or the next. Then he saw what had happened, oh, nothing special. The watchman had been asleep at the crossing and not let the barrier down. Then, stupid coincidence! A team of horses pulling a wagon had been hit by the train. The two horses lay there in pieces, dying miserably. One was already dead. A passenger with a revolver mercifully shot the other one.
At the crash the teamster had been thrown in a high arc over the train landing on the other side. He rubbed his arms and legs, felt himself all over. Everything was fine. He scarcely had a scratch. The train was all right as well, a few scratches on the varnish of a car. Only one window pane was broken, the one the barrier had gone through. Only one window pane was broken, and something else, the thing behind the window, the blonde skull of a passenger, now red with blood.
It was the little assistant that had been sitting in Frank Braun’s place. He was dead. They brought the corpse out, placed it in the baggage car. The delay scarcely lasted ten minutes, then the whistle blew. But the train waited a little longer, long enough to let another train go past that had caught up with them. Frank Braun looked over at it. There, sitting right by the window, sat the repulsive man, the one that looked like his uncle Jakob. He spit out and a little black mouse ran over the rails.
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