The Sons Read Online Free PDF Page A

is still a giant of a man, Georg said to himself.
    “It’s unbearably dark in here,” he said aloud.
    “Yes, it is dark,” answered his father.
    “And you’ve shut the window, too?”
    “I prefer it like that.”
    “Well, it’s quite warm outside,” said Georg, as if continuing his previous remark, and sat down.
    His father cleared away the breakfast dishes and set them on a chest.
    “I really only wanted to tell you,” Georg went on, following the old man’s movements as if transfixed, “that I have just announced the news of my engagement to St. Petersburg.” He drew the letter a little way from his pocket and let it drop back again.
    “To St. Petersburg?” asked his father.
    “To my friend, of course,” said Georg, trying to meet his father’s eye.—In business hours he’s quite different, he was thinking, how solidly he sits here and folds his arms over his chest.
    “Ah, yes. To your friend,” said his father emphatically.
    “Well, you know, Father, that I didn’t want to tell him about my engagement at first. Out of consideration for him—that was the only reason. You yourself know how difficult a man he is. I said to myself that someone else might tell him about my engagement, although he’s such a solitarycreature that that was hardly likely, but I wasn’t ever going to tell him myself.”
    “And now you’ve changed your mind, have you?” asked his father, laying his enormous newspaper on the window sill and on top of it his eyeglasses, which he covered with one hand.
    “Yes, now I’ve changed my mind. If he’s a good friend of mine, I said to myself, then my being happily engaged should make him happy too. And that’s why I haven’t put off telling him any longer. But before I mailed the letter I wanted to let you know.”
    “Georg,” said his father, stretching his toothless mouth wide, “listen to me! You’ve come to me about this business, to talk it over and get my advice. No doubt that does you honor. But it’s nothing, it’s worse than nothing, if you don’t tell me the whole truth. I don’t want to stir up matters that shouldn’t be mentioned here. Since the death of our dear mother certain things have happened that aren’t very pretty. Maybe the time will come for mentioning them, and maybe sooner than we think. There are a number of things at the shop that escape my notice, maybe they’re not done behind my back—I’m not going to say that they’re done behind my back—I’m not strong enough any more, my memory’s slipping, I haven’t an eye for all those details any longer. In the first place that’s in the nature of things, and in the second place the death of our dear little mother hit me harder than it did you.—But since we’re talking about it, about this letter, I beg you, Georg, don’t deceive me. It’s a trivial thing, it’s hardly worth mentioning, so don’t deceive me. Do you really have this friend in St. Petersburg?”
    Georg rose in embarrassment. “Never mind my friends. A thousand friends could never replace my father for me. Do you know what I think? You’re not taking enough care of yourself. But old age has its own rightful demands. I can’t do without you in the business, you knowthat very well, but if the business is going to undermine your health, I’m ready to close it down tomorrow for good. This won’t do. We’ll have to make a change in the way you live; a radical change. You sit here in the dark, and in the sitting room you would have plenty of light. You just take a bite of breakfast instead of keeping up your strength properly. You sit by a closed window, and the air would be so good for you. No, Father! I’ll get the doctor to come, and we’ll follow his orders. We’ll change rooms, you can move into the front room and I’ll move in here. You won’t notice the change, all your things will be moved across the hall with you. But there’s time for all that later, go to bed now for a little, you must have some