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And it certainly is true that this is a bleak story, but an edifying one too, a real morality play, I assure you.You might find it a bit long—a lot of things happened, after all—but perhaps you’re not in too much of a hurry; with a little luck you’ll have some time to spare.No, if I have finally decided to write, it really is probably just to pass the time, and also, possibly, to clear up one or two obscure points, for you perhaps and for myself. It’s true that I have been in a rather glum mood of late. A distressing and painful problem, and a somewhat new one for me; it used to be just the opposite.For a long time I had to go to the toilet three or four times a day; now, once a week would be a blessing.
Ask yourselves: You, yourselves, what do you think of, through the course of a day? Drawing up a systematic classification of your everyday thoughts would be easy: practical or mechanical thoughts, planning your actions and your time (example: setting the coffee to drip before brushing your teeth, but toasting the bread afterward, since it doesn’t take as long); work preoccupations; financial anxieties; domestic problems; sexual fantasies. At dinner, you contemplate the aging face of your wife, so much less exciting than your mistress, but a fine woman otherwise, what can you do, that’s life, so you talk about the latest government scandal.
I’m not the sort of man who loses his nerve at the drop of a hat, I know how to behave. The worst thing is not necessarily those images I’ve just described; fantasies like these have lived in me for a long time, ever since my childhood probably, or in any case long before I actually ended up in the heart of the slaughterhouse.
The war, in that sense, was only a confirmation, and I have gotten used to these little scenarios, I take them as a pertinent commentary on the vanity of things.
But with this leave of absence I suddenly had a lot of free time, and I began thinking.
What’s more, it was fall, a bitter gray rain was stripping the leaves off the trees, and I was slowly overcome with dread.
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Some old friends had recommended me to him; so, without having to ask any questions, we both knew where we stood with each other. Actually I had run into Hans Frank once, briefly, maybe I’ll tell you about it later on, if I have the courage or the patience.