It looked angrily at him and rode slowly past him, whereupon Piepsam also began to walk on. But when it was ahead of him, he said slowly and with a weighty emphasis: “Number nine thousand seven hundred and seven.”
He then pursed up his lips and stared incontinently at the ground, at the same time feeling that Life’s eyes were bent upon him in perplexity.
It had turned round, had seized the saddle from behind with one hand, and rode very slowly.
“What?” it asked.
“Number nine thousand seven hundred and seven,” repeated Piepsam. “Oh, nothing. I’ll report you.”
“You will report me?” Life asked, turned still further round, and rode still more slowly, so that it was obliged to wobble to and fro with the handlebars.
“Certainly!” replied Piepsam at a distance of five or six steps.
“Why?” asked Life, and dismounted. It stood still and seemed full of expectancy.
“You know why well enough.”
“No, I don’t know why.”
“You must know.”
“But I do not know why,” said Life, “and moreover I am not at all interested why.” With this it was about to mount its wheel again. It was not at all at a loss for words.
“I will report you,” said Piepsam, “because you ride here, on this path to the cemetery, and not out there on the high road.”
“But, my dear sir!” Life said, with an impatient and angry laugh, turned round once more, and stood still. “You see tracks of bicycles along the entire path. Everybody rides here.”
“That’s all one to me,” retorted Piepsam; “I’ll report you just the same.”
“Well, do whatever you like!” Life cried, and mounted its wheel. It really mounted, it did not disgrace itself by making a mess of this; it gave a single thrust with its foot, sat securely on the saddle, and put forth all efforts to reacquire a speed in accordance with its temperament.
“If you keep on riding here, here on the path to the cemetery, I shall most surely report you!” cried Piepsam in a high and trembling voice. But Life really troubled itself very little about this; it rode off with increasing speed.
Had you seen Lobgott Piepsam’s face at this moment, you would have been greatly frightened. He pressed his lips so firmly together that his cheeks and even the rubicund nose were twisted quite out of place, and his eyes, from beneath his unnaturally raised eyebrows, stared with an insane expression after the vehicle as it rolled away. Suddenly he dashed forwards. At a run he traversed the short distance which separated him from the machine, and seized the tool-case beneath the saddle. He held on to it with both hands, literally attached himself to it, and with lips still pressed together in an unnatural manner, dumb, and with wild eyes, he tugged with all his strength at the balancing bicycle as it speeded forwards. Anyone seeing him might well have doubted whether he intended, out of malice, to hinder the young man from riding on, or whether he had been seized by the desire to let himself be taken in tow, to jump on behind and ride along with the young man—to go himself riding a bit through the country, riding with flashing pedals into God’s green world—hurray!—The wheel was not able to withstand this desperate drag for any length of time; it stood still, it wobbled, it fell over.
And then Life grew wild. It had lighted upon one foot; then it drew back its right arm and gave Herr Piepsam such a blow on the chest that he staggered back several paces. Then, with a voice which swelled into a threatening tone, it said: “You must be drunk, you fool! You must be off your head! If you dare to hold me up again, I’ll give you a smash in the jaw—do you hear? I’ll break your neck! And don’t you forget it!”
With this it turned its back upon Herr Piepsam, gave an indignant tug to its cap, drawing it tighter upon its head, and once more mounted its wheel. No, it was certainly not at a loss for words. And the business of mounting succeeded as well as before. Again it merely thrust down one foot, sat securely in the saddle, and had the machine once more under full control. Piepsam saw its back diminish more and more rapidly.
He stood there panting and stared after Life. It did not take a header, no accident overtook it, no tire burst, and no stone lay in its path; lightly it sailed on. And then Piepsam began to shout and to scold—one might have called it a bellowing, for it was no longer a human voice.
“You shall not ride there!” he cried. “You shall not! You shall ride out there and not on the path to the cemetery, do you hear? You get off—get off at once! Oh, oh! I’ll report you! I’ll sue you! God! if you would only take a tumble, if you would only fall off, you windy brute, I would kick you, kick you in the face with my boots, you damned rogue! …”
Never had the like been seen before! A man calling bad names on the way to the cemetery, a man with a swollen face,
