On the whole, this arrangement proved to be quite practical. It could be seen at first glance who had God at any moment, for the child in question walked in a somewhat more stiff and formal fashion and had the kind of expression on his or her face hitherto reserved for Sundays. The first three days the children spoke of nothing else. At every moment one of them was asking to see God, and though the thimble had not changed at all under the influence of its great prestige, the thimbleness of it now seemed to be only a humble covering over its true form.

Everything proceeded according to plan. On Wednesday, Paul had it, on Thursday, little Anna. Saturday came. The children were playing catch and tumbling about breathlessly when Hans suddenly cried, “Who has God?” Everybody stood up. Everyone looked at everyone else. Nobody remembered seeing Him for two days. Hans counted out whose turn it was, and it came out to be little Mary. And then everyone unceremoniously demanded God from little Mary. What to do? The little girl scratched around in her pockets. Now at last she remembered that she had received Him in the morning; but now He was gone. Probably she had lost Him here while playing.

And when the children went home, the little girl remained behind in the meadow and kept looking. The grass was rather high. Twice people came by and asked what she had lost. Each time the child answered, “A thimble,” and continued her search. The people helped her look for a while, but soon got tired of bending over, and one of them called to her as he was leaving, “You’re better off going home, you can buy a new one.” But little Mary kept on looking.

The meadow became more and more alien as the dusk fell, and the grass began to get wet. Then another man came. He bent over the child and asked, “What are you looking for?” Now little Mary, who was not far from tears, answered bravely and defiantly, “The dear Lord.” The stranger smiled and simply took her by the hand, and she let herself be led along as though everything were now fine. As they were walking along, the strange man said, “Now look what a pretty thimble I found today.”

The evening clouds had long since become impatient. Now the wise elder cloud, who had become fat in the meantime, turned to me and said:

“Excuse me, but may I not hear the name of the country over which you—” but the other clouds ran off laughing into the sky and dragged the old man cloud after them.

A Tale of Death with a Strange Postscript

A Tale of Death with a Strange Postscript

I was still staring up into the gradually dimming evening sky when somebody said, “You seem to be very interested in that land up there.”