When he had the money, he would eat in a little restaurant not far from the office. He now entered this restaurant, which was not very full, sat down in his usual place, and was immediately served. As he was eating his soup, which gave off a bad smell of stale fat, a spark of his previous wrath against Dr Kreindel suddenly flashed through his mind, and his appetite vanished. He laid down his spoon and pushed the bowl away from him abruptly, making such a noise that the woman in widow’s weeds opposite him, who had not taken off her black gloves to eat, recoiled and raised her head in astonishment. At that moment it seemed to him quite impossible to go back to the office and see that swine’s stupid face once more that day. He would call the office as soon as he finished eating and say that he had a headache — and to hell with them! This unexpected decision calmed him down immediately and even gave him a pleasant feeling of revenge. Now he would be free as a bird the whole afternoon! He hurried to finish his meal and pay the bill. But in some hidden corner of his conscientious soul, remorse had already begun to gnaw. Yettie Koppler the cashier and her invitation to the concert popped into his head, where they suddenly assumed an exaggerated importance. ‘You can’t possibly insult that poor girl,’ he said to himself, ‘she’s expecting you … No!’ — he pulled himself together — ‘I won’t go back! Not today!’ And he rose resolutely to his feet and marched out of the restaurant.

15

15

For a while Gurdweill strolled aimlessly along Franz-Josefs-Kai, stopping now and then to look idly into the shop windows. Then he crossed the street to the bank of the canal. Resting his chest on the railing, his coat collar raised, he looked down at the dark, wind-swept surface of the water, which seemed to him to exude all the piercing cold of the city. Two policemen, apparently in training, were standing in a swaying boat, one of them rowing vigorously with a single oar, bending the upper half of his body, while the other stirred the water with a long pole, as if searching for something on the riverbed. ‘They’re looking for someone who’s going to drown himself tomorrow or next month,’ it occurred to Gurdweill as he watched them from the bank, ‘although it hasn’t even entered that person’s head yet to put an end to his life …’

As he passed the tram stop next to Stephanie Bridge, he recognised Franzi Mitteldorfer’s mother. He had never gone back to visit the young woman who had fainted in Karlsplatz about six months before, although he had resolved to do so several times.

He went up to the old woman, who recognised him immediately, and asked her how her daughter and the baby were.