Demian Read online

  I was dumbfounded.

  "And you think the part about killing his brother isn't all true either?" I asked, gripped with curiosity.

  "Oh, that part is definitely true. The stronger one murdered the weaker one. There's no way to know if it was really his brother, but that doesn't really matter, in the end all men are brothers. So, a stronger man killed a weaker man. Maybe it was heroic, maybe not. But in any case the other weaklings were now full of fear, they moaned and complained, and if anyone asked them, 'Why don't you just kill him?' they didn't say: 'Because we're cowards,' they said: 'No one can kill him, he bears a mark. God has marked him!' The lie must have started something like that. -- Well, I'm keeping you. Good bye!"

  He turned the corner onto Altgasse and left me standing alone, more astounded than I had ever been in my life. Almost as soon as he left, everything he'd said seemed entirely unbelievable to me. Cain a noble person and Abel a coward! The mark of Cain as a badge of honor! It was absurd, it was wicked blasphemy! Where did that leave our Lord? He had accepted Abel's sacrifice, had He not? Did He not love Abel? -- No, it was all stupid. And I had the feeling that Demian was just making fun of me and trying to trip me up. He was a damned clever fellow, and he sure knew how to talk, but--no--

  At the same time I had never in my life thought so deeply about any Bible story, or indeed about any story. And I forgot about Franz Kromer for longer than I had been able to for some time--I forgot about him for several hours, a whole evening. I reread the story at home, as it was written in the Bible: it was short and clear; to try to look for a special secret meaning in it was crazy. If Demian was right, every murderer could claim to be God's chosen one! No, it was nonsense. What I had liked was just Demian's way of saying these things, so simple and easy, as though it were all clear and obvious--and with those eyes of his too!

  Of course my own life was not exactly on the right track--in fact it was on a terribly wrong track. I had lived in a bright, clean world of light, I was a kind of Abel myself, and now here I was, stuck fast in the "other" world--I had fallen so far, sunk so deep, and at the same time there was basically nothing I could do about it! What was I supposed to make of that? Then, at that moment, a memory flashed up within me that almost took my breath away: on that ill-starred evening when my misery had begun, that moment with my father when I had, so to speak, seen right through him and his bright clean world and wisdom, and despised them! Yes, I had imagined on my own that I was Cain and bore the mark, and that the mark was not a disgrace but a badge of honor; I had felt that my wicked misdeed made me superior to my father, higher than the good and pious people in his world.

  It's not that I had thought it all through, clearly and analytically, at the time; it was just an emotion flaring up, strange stirrings that hurt me but at the same time filled me with pride. Yet all these ideas were contained in the feeling I'd had.

  When I thought about how oddly Demian had spoken of the fearless tribe and the cowards, how strange his interpretation was of the mark on Cain's forehead, and how marvelously his eyes, his peculiar, grown-up eyes, had lit up when he spoke, the vague thought passed through my mind: This Demian, is he not himself a kind of Cain? Why else would he defend Cain, if he didn't feel like him? Why does he have such power in his eyes, and why does he speak so scornfully about the "others," the fearful ones, who after all are actually pious and pleasing to God?

  I couldn't bring these thoughts to any conclusion, but a stone had fallen into the well, and the well was my young soul. For a long time, a very long time, this whole topic of Cain and the murder and the mark was the starting point for all my efforts at knowledge, all my criticism and doubt.

  *

  I noticed that the other students also paid a lot of attention to Demian. I had not breathed a word to anyone about the Cain story and what Demian had said, but he seemed to interest other people too. At least there were a lot of rumors that started circulating about the "new kid." If only I still remembered them now: every one of those rumors would shed some light on him, every one could be interpreted. I remember the first piece of gossip was that Demian's mother was very rich. It was also said that neither she nor her son ever went to church. They were Jewish, someone claimed to know, but then again maybe they were secretly Muslim. In addition, wild tales were told about Max Demian's physical strength. It was a fact that he had horribly humiliated the strongest boy in his class, who had challenged him and called him a coward when he refused to fight. The boys who saw it said Demian had just put one hand on the boy's neck and squeezed until he turned pale; afterward the boy had crept away and not been able to use his arm for days. In fact, word went around one night that the boy was dead. Everything was insisted on as the truth for a while, everything was believed, it was all marvelously exciting. Then, for a while, everyone had had enough. Not long afterward though, new rumors started up--that Demian had had intimate relations with girls and "knew everything."

  *

  Meanwhile the situation with Franz Kromer continued on its inevitable course. I could not get free of him; even if he left me alone for days at a time every now and then, I was still tied to him. He was with me in my dreams, like my shadow, and whatever he didn't do to me in real life my imagination had him do to me in these dreams. I was absolutely and completely his slave. I lived more in these dreams than in real life--I had always had powerful dreams--and I lost my strength and life to this shadow. One frequent dream was that Kromer was mistreating me, he spit on me and kneeled on top of me and, what was worse, tempted me into worse and worse crimes--or, rather, he didn't tempt me, he simply compelled me by exerting his powerful influence. The most horrible nightmare, from which I would wake up half insane, involved murdering my father. Kromer sharpened a knife and put it into my hand, we were standing behind the trees on a boulevard and waiting for someone, I didn't know who, and someone came walking by and Kromer squeezed my arm to tell me that this was the person I had to stab, it was my father. Then I woke up.

  Although I did think about Cain and Abel in this context, I didn't think much about Demian. The first time he made contact with me again, it was also, strangely, in a dream. Again I was suffering mistreatments and violations in my dream, but this time, instead of Kromer, it was Demian kneeling on me. Also--and this was entirely new, and made a deep impression on me--everything I suffered from and loathed when Kromer did it, I accepted happily from Demian, with a feeling as much of rapture as of terror. I had that dream twice, then Kromer was back again.

  It has been a long time since I could separate exactly what I lived through in these dreams from what I experienced in real life. In any case, my bad relations with Kromer took their course, and naturally did not end when I had finally committed enough little thefts to pay off the full amount he said I owed him. Now he knew about all those thefts too, since he always asked me where I had gotten the money from, and so now I was more in his clutches than ever. He threatened again and again to tell my father everything, and almost as great as my fear was the deep regret I felt over not having told my father everything myself, from the beginning. At the same time, however miserable I felt, I wasn't sorry about everything, at least not all the time; sometimes I even thought I felt that everything was the way it must be. A dark fate hung over my head and it was pointless to try to get free of it.

  The situation was presumably not a little painful for my parents too. A strange new spirit had come over me; I no longer fit into our group, formerly so warm and intimate, which I often felt a burning desire to return to as though to a paradise lost. I was treated more like a sick child than like an evildoer, by my mother at least, but my true situation could best be seen in how my two sisters acted. Their behavior, extremely considerate and nonetheless utterly upsetting to me, made it very clear that I was some kind of possessed person, more to be pitied than blamed for his condition, but still someone in whom evil had taken up residence. I knew they were praying for me, differently than before, and I felt how useless their prayers were. I of
ten felt a fierce longing for relief and a yearning to confess the whole truth, but I also could tell in advance that I wouldn't be able to explain everything properly, to either my father or my mother. I knew they would accept what I said with love and affection, they would be very gentle with me, even feel sorry for me, but they wouldn't fully understand me and would see the whole thing as a kind of mistake or lapse, when in fact it was destiny.

  I know that some people might have a hard time believing that a child, not even eleven years old, could feel such things. My story is not for them. It is meant for people who better understand the human heart. Adults, who have learned to transmute some of their feelings into thoughts, do not see such thoughts in children, so they conclude that the experiences are not there either. But there are very few times in my life that I have lived and suffered as deeply as I did then.

  *

  One rainy day, my tormentor had ordered me to come to the Burgplatz. I was standing there, waiting and rooting around with my foot in the wet chestnut leaves that were still falling every now and then from the black, dripping-wet trees. I didn't have any money but had set aside two slices of cake and brought them with me so that at least I could give Kromer something. I had long since gotten used to standing on a corner somewhere, waiting for him, often for a long time. I accepted it the way one always accepts the inevitable.

  Finally Kromer arrived. He didn't stay long. He nudged me in the ribs a couple times, laughed, took the cake, even offered me a wet cigarette (which I didn't take), and was friendlier than usual.

  "Right," he said when he was leaving, "I almost forgot--next time you can bring your sister with you, the older one. What's her name again?"

  I didn't understand him at all and said nothing. I just stared at him in amazement.

  "Don't you get it? Your sister, bring her with you."

  "Yes, Kromer, but that's impossible. I can't, and she wouldn't come anyway."

  I thought this must be another one of his bullying tricks. He used to do that a lot: demand something impossible, scare me, humiliate me, and eventually strike some kind of deal. I had to pay some kind of penalty, money or another offering, for not doing whatever it was.

  This time it was different. When I refused, he almost didn't get mad at all.

  "Well," he said casually, "you'll think it over. I'd like to meet that sister of yours. It's not hard, you can just take her with you on a little walk, and then I'll show up. I'll whistle for you tomorrow and we'll discuss it again then."

  After he left, an idea of what he wanted suddenly dawned on me. I was still a complete child, but I had heard hints and rumors that when boys and girls were a little older they could do some kind of mysterious, indecent, forbidden things with each other. And so now I was supposed to--all of a sudden it was crystal clear to me how monstrous it was! I immediately knew that I would never do it. But what would happen next, how Kromer would take revenge on me--I hardly dared think about it. A new anguish had begun, as if I had not yet been through enough!

  I was inconsolable and walked off across the empty square, hands in my pockets. New tortures, new enslavements!

  Then a lively, deep voice called my name. I was startled, and set off at a run. Someone ran after me, and a hand grabbed me gently from behind. It was Max Demian.

  I let myself be caught.

  "It's you?" I said, unsure of myself. "You scared me!"

  He looked at me, and never before was his gaze more like that of an adult, a superior being who could see right through me. We had not talked to each other for a long time by that point.

  "Sorry," he said in his polite but at the same time firm way. "But you shouldn't get scared like that."

  "Yes, well, it happens sometimes."

  "Apparently it does. But look: If you flinch like that at someone who hasn't done anything to you, he'll start to think. He'll be surprised; it'll make him curious. This person will think it's strange how jumpy you are, and then he'll think: People are like that only when they're afraid. Cowards are scared of everything. But I don't actually think you're a coward. Are you? Oh, I know, you're not a hero either. There are things you're afraid of; there are people you're scared of too. But that's not right. We should never be scared of anyone. You're not scared of me, are you? Or are you?"

  "Oh, no, not at all."

  "There, you see. But there are people you're scared of?"

  *

  "I don't know. . . . Leave me alone, what do you want from me?"

  He kept pace with me--I had started walking faster, thinking I might get away--and I felt him give me a sidelong look.

  He started again: "You can assume I mean well. Either way, there's no reason for you to be scared of me. I want to try an experiment with you, it's fun and you might learn something very useful from it. Listen closely! -- I sometimes try to do something that people call mind-reading. There's nothing magic about it, but if you don't know how it's done it can seem very mysterious. People sometimes find it quite a shock. -- Okay, let's try it. I like you, or I find you interesting, and so I want to bring to the surface your inner way of seeing things. I've taken the first step already: I scared you, which means you're jumpy. So there must be things and people you are afraid of. Now why? There's no reason to be afraid of anyone. If someone is afraid of another person, it's because he has given this person some kind of power over him. For example, maybe he's done something bad, and the other person knows it--then he has power over you. You follow? That's perfectly clear, right?"

  I looked him in the face, helpless. His face was as serious and intelligent as ever, and also well-meaning, but without the slightest gentleness--if anything, it was severe. Justice, or something similar, lay in that face. I didn't understand what was happening to me; he stood there like a magician.

  "Do you follow?" he asked again.

  I nodded. I couldn't say a word.

  "I told you it seems mysterious, this 'mind-reading,' but it's perfectly natural. I could also tell you pretty precisely what you thought about me when I told you about Cain and Abel, for example, but that's another topic. I also think you might have dreamed about me once or twice. But enough of that! You're a clever boy, most of them are so stupid--I like to talk to a clever boy once in a while, someone I trust. That's all right with you, isn't it?"

  "Oh yes. But, I don't understand how--"

  "Let's stay with our fun experiment. So, we've discovered that young S. is jumpy--he is scared of someone--and this someone probably knows an uncomfortable secret about him. Is that more or less right?"

  It was like in my dream: I was under his influence, overpowered by his voice. I only nodded. Wasn't he speaking in a voice that could just as well have come from within myself? That knew everything, better and more clearly that I knew it myself?

  Demian gave me a sturdy clap on the shoulder.

  *

  "So, that's how it is. I thought so. Now just one question: do you know the name of the boy who left the square here before you?"

  I was startled and shaken; he had touched on my secret. It shriveled up painfully inside me, not wanting to come out into the light.

  "What boy? There wasn't anyone else, just me."

  He laughed.

  "Just say it!" he laughed. "What's his name?"

  I whispered: "You mean Franz Kromer?"

  He gave me a satisfied nod.

  "Bravo! You're a quick one, we'll be good friends yet. But now I have something to tell you: This Kromer, or whatever his name is, is a bad person. I can tell from his face that he's a scoundrel. What do you think?"

  I heaved a sigh: "Oh yes, he is bad, he is the devil! But he can't find out anything about this! For God's sake, he can't find out! Do you know him? Does he know you?"

  "Calm down. He's gone, and he doesn't know me--not yet. But I would very much like to meet him. He goes to the public school?"

  "Yes."

  "Which grade?"

  "Fifth grade. -- But don't tell him anything! Please, please, don't say a
nything!"

  "Don't worry, nothing will happen to you. I presume you don't feel like telling me a little about this Kromer?"

  "I can't, no, leave me alone!"

  He was silent for a while.

  "Too bad," he said. "We could have taken our experiment a little further. But I don't want to upset you. But you already know this fear of him isn't right, don't you? Such fear just destroys us, we have to break free of it. You have to break free of it or you will never be all right. Do you understand that?"

  "Of course, you're totally right . . . but it's impossible. You don't know. . . ."

  "You've seen that I know some things, more than you would have thought. -- Do you owe him money?"

  *

  "Yes, that too, but that's not the main thing. I can't say it, I can't!"

  "So it wouldn't help if I gave you the money you owe him? -- I could easily do that."

  "No, no, it's not that. And please: don't tell anyone! Not a word! That would be the worst thing that could happen to me!"

  "Trust me, Sinclair. Eventually you will tell me the secret you share with him--"

  "Never, never!" I shouted.

  "As you wish. I only mean that maybe you will decide on your own to tell me someday. Of your own free will, obviously! You don't think I would act like Kromer does?"

  "Oh, no--but, you don't know anything about how he acts!"

  "Not a thing. I'm just thinking it through. And I'll never do the kind of thing Kromer does, believe me. And you don't owe me anything anyway."

  We were quiet for a long time, and I calmed down. But Demian's knowledge grew more and more mysterious to me.

  "I'm going home now," he said, and he pulled his loden coat tighter around him to keep out the rain. "There's only one thing I want to tell you, since we've already come this far: You need to break free of him! If there's nothing else you can do, then kill him! I would be impressed if you did, and happy. I'd even help you."