The Confessions of Felix Krull by Thomas Mann

Author:Thomas Mann [Mann, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 2

I CONTINUED to be a lift-boy all winter, and in spite of the signs of favour that came my way from the transient public, I soon became bored. I had reason to fear it would go on for ever and I would, so to speak, be forgotten there and grow old and grey in the job. What I heard from Stanko increased my concern. He, for his part, wished to be transferred to the main kitchen, with its two big ranges, four roasting-ovens, grill, and singeing-grate, so that in time he might become, if not actually a chef, then perhaps assistant kitchen-manager, whose duty it is to take the orders from the waiters and divide them among the company of cooks. But in his opinion his chances of such advancement were slight; there was too strong an inclination to keep a man where he happened to be, and he darkly predicted that I would stay tied to the lift for ever, though perhaps not permanently without pay, and would never come to know our cosmopolitan establishment from any point of view other than my narrow and limited one.

It was just this that worried me. I felt imprisoned in my lift-cage and in the shaft up and down which it moved at my direction. There was no chance, or at best only a fleeting one, for a glance at the scenes of high life in the lobby at five-o'clock teatime, when subdued music filled the air and girls in Greek attire danced for the entertainment of the guests who sat in wicker chairs at their usual small tables, consuming petits fours and delicate little sandwiches with their golden drink, and getting rid of the crumbs afterward by a kind of fluttering of their fingers in the air. The grand staircase swept between rows of palms in sculptured urns up to a gallery adorned with potted plants; here, on the carpeted steps, they would pause to chat; their expressions and the movement of their heads betokened wit; they exchanged jokes and indulged in the light laughter of men of the world. How fine it would be to move among them, waiting on them or on the ladies in the card-rooms or, at evening, to attend them in the dining-room, whither I saw tail-coated gentlemen proceeding, and ladies blazing with jewelry. In short, I was restless, longing for my existence to expand, for richer possibilities of contact with the world; and in actual fact kind fortune brought this to pass. My desire to get away from the lift, put on a new uniform, and embark on a new occupation with wider horizons was fulfilled: at Easter I became a waiter. This is how it happened.

The maître d'hôtel, Monsieur Machatschek by name, was a man of great consequence; clad daily in fresh linen, he moved his expansive belly around the dining-room with a vast authority. His clean-shaven moon face beamed. He commanded to perfection those lofty gestures of the lifted arm by which the master of the tables directs from afar the entering guests to their places.

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