That my swelling is extraordinary? You must think my swelling is extraordinary?”—“It’ll be gone in two days, as suddenly as it appeared,” I said. “You lie like my brother, the doctor,” said the painter. He said it with revulsion in his eyes. They flashed like cheap stones. “I don’t know why you would lie to me. There’s a lot of deceit in your face. More than I had thought up till now.”
He scrutinized me; he reminded me of a former teacher of mine, a man I’d dreaded, suddenly returned to life: “It looks like a plague boil,” he said. He felt the swelling, and called upon me to do the same, to feel the swelling. I pressed it, as I had hundreds of others before it, not all of them so harmless.He has never seen a plague boil, I thought. His swelling has nothing, but nothing, to do with a plague boil. But I didn’t say anything. I let him pull up his sock again. Feminine softness of skin, I thought. On foot, face, and neck. It struck me as morbid, I’m not sure why. Pallor, shading into gray. The cells translucent. Disintegrating in places. Splotches of yellow, rimmed with blue. The surface structure reminded me of overripe pumpkins left lying on forgotten fields. That’s corruption.
“As far as the intensity of the pain is concerned,” he said, “these pains in my foot stand in no relation to the pain in my head. Even so, they share a common origin. There is no help against such an illness. These two pains, in my head and foot, between them form a common front against me.”
I can’t say that my decision to study medicine came out of any profound insight, no, it really didn’t, it came about because I was unable to think of anything I would really enjoy studying, and it came about really because I happened to run into Dr. Marwetz, who still imagines I will one day take over his practice. Even today I am unable to claim that the study of medicine is enjoyable, or that medicine itself is enjoyable. The reason I didn’t change my mind—what else would I have done?—was because I was always able to get through my exams satisfactorily. Not that I even had to try particularly hard, no, I seemed to do it all in my sleep. I always approached exams in a state of unpreparedness, and the deeper my ignorance, the better my results, and some I even passed with distinction. Now I am facing some tougherexams, but I’m sure they’ll be just as easy for me. I’m unable to say why. I have never been afraid of any exam. And I enjoy the internship in Schwarzach. Not least because I was able to make a couple of friends among my colleagues. Because I have the sense I am needed. I get on well with Dr. Strauch too. He gives me to understand he would like to keep me. He hopes to be able to take over the registrarship, once the current registrar goes into retirement. In two years’ time. And promote me in his wake. I never thought about whether people study medicine because they want to help others. It’s nice when an operation turns out well, when something you try to do for someone works out. That’s really something. That puts everyone in a good mood, when something works out. And then you might run into the intern in a café or bar. My brother says it’s lack of imagination that makes me want to study medicine. Perhaps he’s right. But what is it really? A thing like being given the painter Strauch to observe and have its effect on me, how is that for me? Or vice versa? And isn’t it more than remarkable, to go to a man, a stranger, to introduce yourself to him, and then go around with him, to listen to what he says, and look at what he does, and write down what he thinks and proposes? The assistant characterized him pretty well, only a little superficially. But if I had to say something about the painter now, I don’t know what it would be. It would be nonsense. And where am I to begin, when I am asked? There’s no point in writing to the assistant. I was never any good at writing letters, least of
He scrutinized me; he reminded me of a former teacher of mine, a man I’d dreaded, suddenly returned to life: “It looks like a plague boil,” he said. He felt the swelling, and called upon me to do the same, to feel the swelling. I pressed it, as I had hundreds of others before it, not all of them so harmless.He has never seen a plague boil, I thought. His swelling has nothing, but nothing, to do with a plague boil. But I didn’t say anything. I let him pull up his sock again. Feminine softness of skin, I thought. On foot, face, and neck. It struck me as morbid, I’m not sure why. Pallor, shading into gray. The cells translucent. Disintegrating in places. Splotches of yellow, rimmed with blue. The surface structure reminded me of overripe pumpkins left lying on forgotten fields. That’s corruption.
“As far as the intensity of the pain is concerned,” he said, “these pains in my foot stand in no relation to the pain in my head. Even so, they share a common origin. There is no help against such an illness. These two pains, in my head and foot, between them form a common front against me.”
I can’t say that my decision to study medicine came out of any profound insight, no, it really didn’t, it came about because I was unable to think of anything I would really enjoy studying, and it came about really because I happened to run into Dr. Marwetz, who still imagines I will one day take over his practice. Even today I am unable to claim that the study of medicine is enjoyable, or that medicine itself is enjoyable. The reason I didn’t change my mind—what else would I have done?—was because I was always able to get through my exams satisfactorily. Not that I even had to try particularly hard, no, I seemed to do it all in my sleep. I always approached exams in a state of unpreparedness, and the deeper my ignorance, the better my results, and some I even passed with distinction. Now I am facing some tougherexams, but I’m sure they’ll be just as easy for me. I’m unable to say why. I have never been afraid of any exam. And I enjoy the internship in Schwarzach. Not least because I was able to make a couple of friends among my colleagues. Because I have the sense I am needed. I get on well with Dr. Strauch too. He gives me to understand he would like to keep me. He hopes to be able to take over the registrarship, once the current registrar goes into retirement. In two years’ time. And promote me in his wake. I never thought about whether people study medicine because they want to help others. It’s nice when an operation turns out well, when something you try to do for someone works out. That’s really something. That puts everyone in a good mood, when something works out. And then you might run into the intern in a café or bar. My brother says it’s lack of imagination that makes me want to study medicine. Perhaps he’s right. But what is it really? A thing like being given the painter Strauch to observe and have its effect on me, how is that for me? Or vice versa? And isn’t it more than remarkable, to go to a man, a stranger, to introduce yourself to him, and then go around with him, to listen to what he says, and look at what he does, and write down what he thinks and proposes? The assistant characterized him pretty well, only a little superficially. But if I had to say something about the painter now, I don’t know what it would be. It would be nonsense. And where am I to begin, when I am asked? There’s no point in writing to the assistant. I was never any good at writing letters, least of
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