In the café they found Ulrich and Perczik exuding an air of ancient boredom. They sat without talking, as if they had already said everything there was to be said to each other. Gurdweill was reminded of the attic in his parents’ house, which they went up to once a year, their hands shrinking from contact with the dusty old junk collected there. ‘They’re worn out,’ thought Gurdweill, ‘obsolete.’ Everything that they were capable of doing or saying to the end of their days was known to him in advance, and for a moment he tasted the quintessential boredom of it all. No, there was no room for surprises here! He would have liked to leave immediately, or, at least, to sit at a different table. But Thea made straight for their table. Both their faces lit up, as if an unexpected salvation was at hand. With much ado they raised themselves from their seats to greet the newcomers. For a while they chatted of this and that, without Gurdweill’s participation. Then Perczik told them something he had read in an American newspaper, about a beautiful young woman (he added the two adjectives himself, to create more of an impression) who had lost her right ear in a motorcar accident, and who had advertised in the newspaper that she was willing to pay five thousand dollars to anyone who would sell her a right ear. The ear had to be five-and-a-half centimetres long, exactly. And in another edition of the paper he had read of the offer of a woman from Willington, who had an ear of the correct measurements for sale, but who was not prepared to part with it for under ten thousand dollars.

Ulrich fingered his ear with admiring affection, as if he had just discovered that a little stone that had been lying around in his house for years was actually a precious gem. ‘I wouldn’t sell it for anything!’ he announced.

‘And you, Perczik?’ intervened Gurdweill. ‘You would, I bet. Just think: ten thousand dollars! And afterwards you could always find another, cheaper ear. Here in Europe you could probably pick up a good ear for two thousand … Add another thousand for the operation — and you’re left with a clear profit of seven thousand dollars!’

‘If you’ll sell me your ear for two thousand, I’ll sell mine for ten.’

‘I wouldn’t sell mine for a million! I have nothing for sale; I need everything for myself! And, anyway, I don’t need money.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Thea, laughing, ‘if anyone wants to buy them I would suggest you sell them both, rabbit. Ten thousand dollars aren’t to be sneezed at! But who would want to buy them?’