Oranges, part 1 Oranges, part 1 It was nightfall in a cloudy winter. Seating myself in a corner of a second-class railway coach, I vacantly waited for a departure bell. In the coach already lit up there was no passenger except me and I couldn't find any figures on a platform through a window. Sometimes lonesome barks of a dog in a cage reached my ears. That atmosphere was peculiarly fitting for my feeling at that time. Prostration and lassitude swirled around in my head like darkened sky by snow clouds. Thrusting my hands into pockets of my coat, I sat on the seat without any motivation to read a newspaper which I had bought at a kiosk. After a while, the sounds the starting signal was heard. Leaning my head on a window, I awaited that the scene before my eyes would begin to move backward. But ere that, I caught the big sound of footsteps and vituperation by a station employee. Shortly a door of my carriage opened, a girl circa 14 years old hurriedly entered in. On her boarding, the train pulled off with a pitch. Utility poles standing sparsely, an abandoned water mill and a woman waving a handkerchief flew away. I felt relieved at noticing that I was on the way to home at length, lighting a cigar. The restless girl took a seat before me. Having flushed cheek and lusterless hair, she seemed to be very bumpkin. Wearing a frayed muffler around her neck, she had a small box on her knee. A red ticket for third-class coach was gripped in a hand holding the box. I became unpleasant again by the wench and her squalid habiliment. On top of that, her insipience that she didn't know the class of tickets got on my nerves. Wanting to forget the existence of the heifer for one thing, I took out the newspaper from my bag. As soon as I started reading, the sound surrounding me became different because of entering in a tunnel. My spirit, however, was not refreshed by the newspaper. There were too many featureless incidents in the world. After going into the tunnel, feeling as if the direction of movement changed, I automatically ran my eyes through the articles one by one. But during the while, I could not help feeling that the bud was sitting with a vulgar visage before me. I thought that these things could be a symbol of baffling, unjust and barren life, felt that everything was trifling. Throwing aside the newspaper, I closed my eyes to take a nap.

Es war einmal ein tapfer Mann Es war einmal ein tapfer Mann. Er war der Bogenmeister, und der General in dem Norden. Die nordolichen barbarischen Völker scheuten ihn. Einst ging er auf die Jagd. Einen Stein in dem Busch mit einem Tiger verwechselnd, schoss er. Dann näherte er sich die Zielscheibe, und bemerkte, dass der Pfeil in den Stein stak. Nach drei Tagen versuchte er, den Pfeil in den Stein stecken, aber hatte keinen Erfolg. Man kann die überraschene Kraft beweisen, wenn er etwas konzentriert.