borchert

die traurigen geranien, wolfgang borchert. my translation

wistful geranium


it was dark when first they met. then she invited him and now he was there. she showed him around in her apartment, and paraded the various tablecloths, and her bedding, as well as dinner plates and all the place settings she owned.

they sat face to face the first time in bright daylight; that's when he saw her nose. 
he thought that her nose looked like someone had sewn it on. it doesn't even look like a regular nose, more like a strawberry. oh, for god's sake, he thought, just take a look at those nostrils. they are completely unbalanced, truly. there's no harmony between them. one is narrow and oval, while the other yaws just like an abyss. dark and round and deeply endless. he took out a kerchief and dabbed his forehead. it is so very warm in here, she began.
he agreed, but looked at her nose. that nose must have been sewn on, he thought again. it is completely bizarre in that face. it also has a complete different color than the rest of her skin. so much more intense. and those nostrils, well, they really are without any harmony. or possibly a strangely novel harmony, he thought to himself, like a picasso.
so, he began again, don't you think picasso points in the right way?
who? who is that, she asked, pi-ca---?

well clearly not, he sighed and than in a sudden disconnect: you must have had an accident, yes?
what do you mean, she asked.
well, he uttered helplessly.
oh, because of the nose?
well, yes, of course.
no, the nose was like that right from the start.
she added patiently, yes, right from the start.
i'll be damned! he almost voiced, but then only said: no, really?
and asides, she whispered, i am exceptionally harmonic as a person. and i adore symmetry so much, just look at both my geranium by the window. one on the right, the other on the left. completely symmetric. oh, no, you must believe me, inwardly i am totally different, completely different.

that's when she laid her hand on his knee and he felt the glow of her appallingly intimate eyes way in the back of his head.
she continued quietly and a little shyly: i'm quite sincere about marriage as well, and about living together.

because of the symmetry? he evinced.
harmony, she bettered him kindly, because of the harmony.
of course, he said, on account of the harmony.

he got up.
oh, do you have to leave?
well, yes, yes, i do.
she brought him to her door.
inwardly i am really so much different, she began once more once.
oh come on, he thought, your nose is a complete imposition. a sewed on imposition. but he said aloud: inwardly you're like your geraniums, that's what you wanted to say, completely symmetric.
then he stepped down and out, not once turning around.

she stood by the window, gazing after him. that's when she saw that he stopped downstairs to dabb his forehead again. what she couldn't see was his grin of relief. she couldn't because she was in tears. and her geranium were just as sad.
at least they smelled that way.