J. S. MACHAR
I was polite and pleasant to all people in the whole jail, but this Frank somehow got on my nerves. For me he was a direct representative of the thing which had flung me into the cesspool of human society, he was the agent of the power which had acted so ruthlessly towards my whole nation, he was a German who had taken over my case without knowing a word more about me, my work, my position, than he was informed by the police reports, on the day of my arrest he had promised that I should have a second inquiry into the merits of my case "on Friday or Saturday" (the assuaging, hopeful tone of his voice was still ringing in my ears, and I, fool that I was, had actually believed him for several hours), as soon as he uttered the word "application", I burst forth: "Throw it into the waste-paper basket."
"The application does not come from you, but from your wife" he remarked with a superior smile.
"And I want you to throw this application into the waste-paper basket, I wish for nothing from you."
"The application will take its official course" he said dryly.
A knock at the door. The visitor entered,—Professor Ehrlich of the faculty of law in the University of Czernowitz, Dr. Preminger's former teacher. We were acquainted before the beginning of the war, he had been recommended to me by my friend Kotera, he used to come to see me, and we would discuss literature, politics, things of the present and future—now he was giving me a look up in jail.
"Professor, behold the better and juster Austria which you have so often predicted to me,—it is already here and I am in it" was my greeting to him.
The worthy official sat down with us to complete the triangle.
"Patience, poet, all will be well. You know, Dante: Hell,—Purgatory,—Paradise."
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