Telegrams of the Soul

My Aunt

I have an aunt. My first memory of her is as follows: My uncle offered a toast at the wedding dinner. At that very moment I had in my mouth two candied strawberries, a chocolate praline with coffee filling, a hazelnut pâte and a pineapple fondant complete with paper wrapping. Then my father said: “You see. .!?” He was referring to the quote from Goethe with which the toast concluded. You see how nice it is when you know something, you’re heaped with honors and on top of it all you even get a bride.

In truth, I saw that such knowledge could get you a rather skinny and not very good looking bride. At the end of the dinner I saw my uncle standing with her beside a yellow silk damask curtain, probably saying to her: “Let me conclude with the wise words of Goethe. .,” whereupon my aunt could not help but get an eyeful of the bizarre pattern of the damask curtain.

Very soon after these events my aunt became fat and my uncle wrote a book about the national prosperity. I only knew that my aunt could laugh like a fool, for instance, if someone said: “You know how Mr. Z. walks, don’t you?! He walks like this. .” Then she shook herself out laughing and her arms became very short and fat and vibrated with merriment. My uncle considered everything “from the standpoint of a national economist—.” He felt: “The thinking of a man of genius revolves around a set point, taking all sides into consideration; these, for instance, are the counter-arguments—.”

“How Clotilde can laugh. .!” the ladies remarked at high tea.

“Indeed,” said one, “her husband considers it a savings for the GNP, you get more out of nutritious matter, digest it all; laughter is healthy. Grief — a waste of vital strengths, joy — a savings! It’s all a chain reaction.”

A young girl said: “I think her laughter is a kind of crying; it’s pretty much the same. . only in reverse. .”

“Don’t talk such nonsense,” they said to the young girl. “You’re already ditzy enough.”

One night I met my aunt with her daughter at a ball. She had on a red silk gown, was very fat and looked just like a mortadella sausage. The daughter hobnobbed with millionaires’ sons with noble “vons” tacked onto their names and decked out in snow-white tails with gold buttons.

My aunt said to me: “Say, I want to tell you something, come with me. .!”

She led me down the halls.

She stopped in one room.

“That’s it. .,” she said, “will you take a look at her. .!”

Seated there was a strawberry blonde American girl who looked like an angel and like the heavens and all the flowers in the field!

My fat aunt and I just stood there. .

My aunt, the mortadella sausage, folded her hands and whispered quietly: “God protect her!”

I led her back. .

She was altogether flustered. “I beg you,” she said, “don’t breathe a word of this to my husband or my daughter, I just showed her to you because you’re so crazy. .”

I looked her in the eyes and said: “Of course. .”

Then she said: “Will you get a load of the high-class boys my daughter’s hobnobbing with. .?!”

“Pst,” I said, “from the standpoint of the national GNP. .”

“Indeed,” she said, “but I also want Elsie to marry well, rich and happy. .”

“Of course. .,” I said, “are you happy, Auntie?”

“I’m too fat and too crazy for happiness. .,” she said, “but that’s between me and you.”

“To the last point at least I can attest. .,” I said, whereupon my aunt exploded in laughter.