Telegrams of the Soul

Afternoon Break

Chitchat between two stunning young domestics, on their afternoon break, on the fifth floor in the darkened corridor outside my dear little lighted room:

“Jesus, what a fine and fancy broom you’ve got up here! Ours down in the café kitchen is a sight! Like a plucked chicken!”

“I’ll give you mine! Peter’ll buy me another!”

“What Peter?!”

“Ya know, Peter. Peter Altenberg. He’s a slob, I mean, poor guy, he ain’t got nothin’, but for practical hardware he’s got a heart. Can you believe it, that guy bought a duster for the photographs on his wall, 100 % young gray ostrich feathers, it cost him five whole Crowns!”

“Oh, I’d like to get my hands on that one. It must be lovely to wipe with!”

“Yeah, well, that one he don’t give to nobody. A hundred times already I must’ve pleaded with him! He says: ‘In my will!’ But he’s got a good ten years to go. People like that that never lift a finger in their life, except for a little scribbling, they last!”