Beneath the Wheel Read Free Page A

weariness, sleep and headaches, brooding many hours over Caesar, Xenophon, grammars, dictionaries and mathematics. But he had also experienced those few hours more valuable than all lost boyhood joys, those few rare, dreamlike hours filled with the pride, intoxication and certainty of victory; hours during which he had dreamed himself beyond school and examinations into the elect circle of higher beings. He had been seized by a bold and marvelous premonition that he was really something special, superior to his fat-cheeked, good-natured companions on whom he would one day look down from distant heights. At this very moment, he breathed a sigh of relief, as though simply being in this room meant breathing a freer and cooler air, and he sat down on his bed and passed a few twilight hours with dreams, wishes and anticipation. Slowly his eyelids slipped over his big overworked eyes, opened once more, blinked and fell shut again. The boy’s pale head dropped between his thin shoulders and his thin arms stretched out, exhausted. He had fallen asleep with his clothes on. The gentle, motherly hand of sleep soothed the tempest in his heart and smoothed the light wrinkles on his brow.
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    It was unheard of. The principal had taken the trouble of coming to the station at such an early hour. Herr Giebenrath in his black dress suit could hardly stand still with excitement, happiness and pride; he tiptoed nervously around the principal and Hans, accepted the stationmaster’s and railroad men’s best wishes for the trip and his son’s examination, and kept switching a small suitcase from right hand to left. His umbrella was held under his right arm, but he clamped it between his knees when switching the suitcase and it dropped a few times; whenever this happened, he set his suitcase down so he could pick up the umbrella. You would have thought he was an emigrant about to leave for America rather than the holder of round-trip tickets to Stuttgart for him and his son. Hans looked relaxed, though his throat was tight with apprehension.
    The train pulled into the station, the two passengers mounted, the principal waved his hand to them, Hans’ father lighted a cigar, and the little town and river gradually disappeared. The trip was sheer agony for both of them.
    When they arrived at Stuttgart, his father suddenly came alive and seemed cheerful, affable and very much the man of the world. He was inspired by the excitement the man from a small town feels when he comes to the capital for a few days. Hans, however, became more afraid and quiet. He felt deeply intimidated by the sight of the city, the unfamiliar faces, the high, pompously ornate buildings, the long, tiring streets. The horse trams and the street noises frightened him. They were staying with an aunt, and the unfamiliarity of the rooms, her friendliness and loquacity, the endless sitting around and the never-ending remarks of encouragement directed at him by his father crushed the boy completely. Feeling lost and out of place, he sat in the room. When he looked at the unfamiliar surroundings, the aunt in her fashionable getup, the large-patterned wallpaper, the clock on the mantelpiece, the pictures on the walls, or when he gazed through the window onto the noisy bustling street, he felt completely betrayed. It seemed to him as though he had left home ages ago, and had forgotten everything he had learned with so much effort.
    He had wanted to take a last look at his Greek particles in the afternoon, but his aunt suggested going for a walk. For a brief moment Hans envisioned something like green meadows and a forest in the wind and he cheerfully said yes. However, in no time at all he realized what a very different pleasure it is to take a walk in the city.
    He and his aunt went walking without his father, who had gone to visit some acquaintances in town. Hans’ misery began on the way downstairs. On the first floor they encountered a