herself into the most surprising positions. She grimaced comically.
Mechenmal was able make up fictitious names by the hour, with which
he could make reference to certain parts of her body in the presence
of other people, without their being able to tell what he meant. So
the evenings and the nights that Ilka Leipke had set aside for her
friend went by. Often Mechenmal did not have the time to go home.
Then she got up, if he was still asleep. Made coffee. In her
slippers, dressed only in an old evening wrap, she went out and got
pastry from a baker. She placed a white cloth on the table. She
arranged everything in an appetizing manner. She prepared some
sandwiches for him to take with him. She disappeared again into her
bed, where she slept well into the afternoon. Mechenmal, however,
somewhat sleepy and weary, but in a good mood, hurried off to his
kiosk.



III


Late evening crept like a spider over the city. In the light of
Kohn's little lamp the upper torso of Kuno Kohn was a bit bent over
the table. On the sofa, breaking the circle of lamplight and
stretching beyond it, lay Max Mechenmal, half in the dark. Windows
glittered in lush, flowing black. Swollen and blurred objects rose
up out of the darkness. The open bed shone with a whiteness. Kohn's
hands held papers with writing on them. His voice sounded gentle,
dreamy, singing with feeling. He often became hoarse, and coughed
like someone who had read much. One could hear: "The old, splendid
stories about God have been slaughtered. We must no longer believe