Literary Masterpieces - At Night the Rats Do Sleep by Wolfgang Borchert

More about Literary Masterpieces - At Night the Rats Do Sleep by Wolfgang Borchert

Nachts schlafen die Ratten doch von Wolfgang Borchert
According to Wolfgang Borchert: At night the rats sleep.
The hollow window in the lonely wall yawned, a deep blue-red with the early evening sun. Clouds of dust shimmered between the steeply jutting chimney remnants. The wasteland of rubble dozed. His eyes were closed. Suddenly, it grew even darker. He realized that someone had come and was now standing before him, dark, silent. Now they've got me! he thought. But when he blinked a little, he saw only two rather shabbily clad legs. They were bent so far that he could see between them. He risked a small peek up at the trouser legs and recognized an older man. He was carrying a knife and a basket. And some dirt clinging to his fingertips. "You're sleeping here, aren't you?" the man asked, looking down at the tangled hair. Jürgen blinked between the man's legs into the sun and said, "No, I'm not sleeping. I have to keep watch here." The man nodded: "So, that's what you have that big stick for?" "Yes," Jürgen answered bravely, gripping the stick tightly. "What are you looking after?" "I can't say." He kept his hands firmly around the stick. "Money, I suppose?" The man put the basket down and wiped the knife back and forth on the seat of his trousers. "No, not money at all," Jürgen said contemptuously. "Something else entirely." "Well, what is it?" "I can't say. Something else, that's all." "Well, then. Then I'm certainly not going to tell you what I have in this basket." The man nudged the basket with his foot and snapped the knife shut. "Pah, I can guess what's in that basket," Jürgen said dismissively, "rabbit food." "Good heavens!" the man exclaimed in surprise, "you're quite the sharpshooter. How old are you?" "Nine." "Oh, just think about it, nine." So you know how much three times nine is, right? Sure, said Jürgen, and to buy himself some time, he added: That's easy enough. And he looked right through the man's legs. Three times nine, isn't it? he asked again, twenty-seven. I knew that right away. That's right, said the man, and that's how many rabbits I have. Jürgen's mouth rounded: Twenty-seven? You can see them. Many are still quite young. Do you want to? I can't. I have to keep an eye on them, said Jürgen uncertainly.All the time? asked the man, even at night? Even at night. All the time. Always. Jürgen looked up at the crooked legs. Since Saturday, he whispered. But don't you ever go home? You must eat. Jürgen picked up a stone. There lay half a loaf of bread. And a tin box. You smoke? asked the man, do you have a pipe? Jürgen gripped his stick tightly and said timidly, "I'll turn it. I don't like a whistle." "What a shame," the man bent down to his basket. "You could have at least looked at the rabbits. Especially the young ones