Demian

for which I often felt a maddening homesickness, as for a lost paradise. I was treated, particularly by mother, more like a sick person than like a miserable wretch. But the actual state of affairs I was able to observe best in the conduct of my two sisters. It was quite evident from their behavior, which was very considerate and which yet caused me endless pain, that I was a sort of person possessed, who was more to be pitied than blamed for his condition, but yet in whom evil had taken up residence. I felt that I was being prayed for in a different way from formerly, and realized the fruitlessness of these prayers. I often felt burning within me an intense longing for relief, an ardent desire for a full confession, and yet I realized in advance that I should not be able to tell everything to father and mother properly, in explanation of my conduct. I knew that I should be received in a friendly way, that much consideration and compassion would be shown me, but that I should not be completely understood. The whole affair would have been looked upon as a sort of backsliding, whereas it was really the work of destiny.

I know that many people will not believe that a child scarcely eleven years old could feel thus. But I am not relating my affairs for their benefit. My narration is for those who know mankind better. The grown-up person who has learned to convert part of his feelings into thoughts, feels the absence of these ideas in a child, and comes to believe that the experiences are likewise lacking. But they have seldom been so vivid and not often in my life have I suffered as keenly as then.

One rainy day I was ordered by my tormentor to Castle Place, and there I stood, waiting and digging my feet in the wet chestnut leaves, which were still falling regularly from the black, dripping branches. Money I had none, but I had brought with me two pieces of cake that I had stolen in order at least to be able to give Kromer something. I had long since been accustomed to stand about in any odd corner waiting for him often for a very long time, and I put up with the unalterable.

Kromer came at last. That day he did not stay long. He poked me several times in the ribs, laughed, took the cake, and even offered me a mouldy cigarette, which however I did not accept. He was more friendly than usual.

“Oh,” he said, as he went away, “before I forget⁠—next time you can bring your sister along, the elder one. What’s her name? Now tell the truth.”

I did not understand, and gave no answer. I only looked at him wonderingly.

“Don’t you get me? You must bring your sister along.”

“But Kromer, that won’t do. I mustn’t do that, and besides she wouldn’t come.”

I thought this was only another pretext for vexing me. He often did that, requiring me to do something impossible, and so terrifying me. And often, after humiliating me, he would by degrees become more tractable. I then had to buy myself off with money or with some other gift.

This time he was quite different. He was really not at all angry at my refusal.

“Well,” he said airily, “you’ll think about it, won’t you? I should like to make your sister’s acquaintance. It will not be so difficult. You simply take her out for a walk, and then I come along. Tomorrow I’ll whistle for you, and then we can talk more about it.”

When he had gone, a glimpse of the meaning of his request dawned on me. I was still quite a child, but I knew by hearsay that boys and girls, when they were somewhat older, did things which were forbidden, things of a secret and scandalous nature. And now I should also have to⁠—it was suddenly quite clear to me how monstrous it was! I immediately resolved never to do that. But I scarcely dared think of what would happen in that case and how Kromer would revenge himself on me. A new torment began, I had not yet been tortured enough.

I walked disconsolately across the empty square, my hands in my pockets. Fresh torments, a new servitude!

Suddenly a fresh, deep voice called to me. I was terrified and began to run on. Someone ran after me, a hand gripped me from behind. It was Max Demian.

I let myself be taken prisoner. I surrendered.

“It’s you?” I said uncertainly. “You frightened me so!”

He looked at me, and never had his glance been more like that of an adult, of a superior and penetrating person. For a long time past we had not spoken with one another.

“I am sorry,” he said in his courteous and at the same time very determined manner. “But listen, you mustn’t let yourself be frightened like that.”

“Oh, that can happen sometimes.”

“So it appears. But look here: If you shrink like that from someone who hasn’t hurt you, then this someone begins to think. It makes him curious, he wonders what can be the matter. This somebody thinks to himself, how awfully frightened you are, and he thinks further: one is only like that when one is terrified. Cowards are always frightened; but I believe you aren’t really a coward. Ain’t I right? Of course, you aren’t a hero either. There are things of which you are afraid. There are also people of whom you are afraid. And that should never be. No one should ever be afraid of other people. You aren’t afraid of me? Or are you, perhaps?”

“Oh no, of course not.”

“There, you see. But there are people you are afraid of?”

“I don’t know⁠ ⁠… let me go, what do you want of me?”

He kept pace with me⁠—I was going quicker with the idea of escaping⁠—I felt his look directed on me from the side.

“Just assume,” he began again, “that I mean well with