The Undiscovered Chekhov

THE

GRATEFUL

GERMAN

IONCE KNEW A GRATEFUL GERMAN. The first time I met him was in Frankfurt-am-Main. He was walking along Dummstrasse with a monkey on a leash. One could read on the Germans face hunger, love of the father- land, and resignation. He sang a plaintive song, and the monkey danced. I took pity on them and gave them a coin.

“Thank you!” the German said to me, pressing it to his heart. “I shall remember your kindness to my dying day!”

The second time I met the German was in Frankfurt-an- der-Oder. He was walking along the Eselstrasse selling fried sausages. The moment he saw me tears ran down his cheeks, and he lifted his eyes to heaven.

“I thank you, mein Herr!” he said. “I will never forget the coin with which you saved both me and my late monkey from starving! Your coin gave us comfort!”

The third time I met him was here in Russia. He was teaching Russian children ancient languages, trigonometry, and musical theory. In his free time, after classes, he was trying to get a job as a railroad inspector.

“Ah, I remember you!” he said to me, shaking my hand. “All Russians are bad people, except for you. I can’t stand the Russians, but I shall remember that coin you gave me to my dying day!”

We never met again.