Beneath the Wheel Read Online Free PDF

congratulations. Well, what do you say now?”
    The boy seemed totally paralyzed with surprise and joy.
    â€˜Well, haven’t you anything to say?”
    â€œIf I’d known that,” he blurted out, “I could have come in first.”
    â€œWell, you can go home now,” said the principal, “and tell your father the good news. No need to come back to school. Vacation starts in eight days anyway.”
    In a daze, the boy emerged into the street. He saw the linden trees and the marketplace lying in the sunlight. Everything was as usual and yet more beautiful. By God, he had passed! And he’d come in second. When the first wave of joy had waned, a deep gratitude filled him. Now he could look the pastor in the eye. Now he could study, now he need not fear the drudgery of a grocery store or an office.
    And he could go fishing again. His father stood in the doorway as he came home.
    â€œWhat’s up?” he asked lightly.
    â€œNothing much. They’ve dismissed me from school.”
    â€œWhat? But why?”
    â€œBecause I’m an academician now.”
    â€œWell, I’ll be damned, did you pass?”
    Hans nodded.
    â€œHow well?”
    â€œI came in second.”
    That was more than the old man had expected. He did not know what to say, kept patting his son on the shoulder, laughed and shook his head back and forth. Then he opened his mouth as if to say something, but just kept shaking his head.
    â€œI’ll be damned,” he exclaimed once more, and again, “I’ll be damned.”
    Hans rushed into the house, up the stairs to the loft, tore open the wall closet, rummaged around in it, pulled out a variety of boxes and rolled-up tackle-line and pieces of cork. It was his fishing gear. All he had to do now was cut himself a good rod. He went downstairs to his father.
    â€œFather, can I borrow your hunting knife?”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œTo cut myself a rod.”
    His father reached into his pocket. “There you are,” he said with a beaming smile, “there are two marks. Go buy yourself a knife of your own. But go to the cutler’s, not to Hanfried.”
    Now everything was done at top speed. The cutler inquired how he had done in the examination, listened to the good news and found a particularly good knife for Hans. Down river, below the bridge to Brühel, stood beautiful, slim alder and hazel bushes. There, after making a careful choice, he cut himself a perfect, tough and springy rod and hurried home with it.
    His face flushed and with glowing eyes, he sat down to the cheerful task of preparing his rod; he liked this almost as much as the fishing itself. He spent an entire afternoon and evening at the job. The white and brown lines were sorted, painstakingly inspected, repaired and freed of many old knots and tangles. Cork floats and quills of all shapes and sizes were tested and freshly cut, little pieces of lead were hammered into pellets and provided with notches for weighting the lines. Then he busied himself with the hooks—he had a small supply left over. He fastened them, some on four-ply black thread, others on a gut-string, the rest on horsehair that had been twisted together. Toward midnight everything was ready. Hans was certain he would not be bored during the long seven weeks of vacation, for he could spend entire days alone with his fishing rod by the river.

Chapter Two
    T HAT’S HOW SUMMER vacations should be! A gentian-blue sky above the hills, one brilliant hot day after the other for weeks on end, punctuated only by brief and violent thundershowers. The river, though it flowed over sandstone cliffs, through gorges and forests, was so warm you could take a dip in it even late in the afternoon. All around town you smelled the fragrance of hay and flowers, and the few narrow strips of land on which wheat was grown turned yellow and russet; white, hemlock-like weeds shot up high and bloomed luxuriant along