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encounters.
    â€˜Suddenly’, he recounted to a few interested friends in the club, ‘who sits down at my table, right up against me, but a large blonde, a curly-haired blonde in a low-cut dress with a dazzling white neck, and of her bust I’d rather not say anything! She orders caviar rolls, and as she eats, I tell you, as she continues to look over at me, I realize how many drinks she’s downed. Well, I need not say more.’
    Perlefter actually enjoyed his experiences less than the memories of his experiences. As he chewed themover and recounted them he spun a nostalgic gloss around the experiences, of the type one culls from memories and by which they are enrobed, and that was when he first became the bold adventurer, conqueror of women and heartbreaker. As soon as he returned home he delighted in his courage and his deeds. As he conquered his way through his pocket calendar he could already hear himself telling of his conquests, reliving his memories, and it was actually only from his memories that he created adventures. He was like a man who lives for his diary. Perlefter, however, kept no diary.
    Yes, he liked to travel. He could not deny, though, that he had to overcome various fears along the way. Although he never admitted it to anyone – and when the occasion arose he freely mocked the superstitions of his wife, the cook and his daughters – he was himself superstitious. He feared a train collision, especially if the porter who took his baggage wore the number thirteen. When Perlefter ascended to his compartment his primary concern was just that there be no collision. Further, he would search with his eyes for the emergency brake. He usually inspected the locomotive before boarding. He knew nothing about the engines of steam trains. Thus he was pleased with the big powerful wheels, the lustrous letters and numbers, the levers, screws and valves, and he sought to fathom whether it was a machine of the latest style or the penultimate one. His investigation of the locomotive reassured him, but he was still far from being certain. Other trains could come, signals and switches could bewrong or the engineer could be drunk. Perlefter prayed silently, quickly, but intensely.
    Then something extraordinary happened. As Perlefter was ordering his ticket one day the Society for the Advancement of Tourism explained to him that there was now an opportunity to fly on an aeroplane. Would Herr Perlefter wish to fly? It was a publicity flight and of extraordinary importance, if Perlefter would care to participate. Perlefter said yes immediately. Indeed, he had no idea how he got to the point where his own courage overtook him. A minute later he was so terrified, as if realizing he had just looked Death straight in the eyes. What had he done? Was he a pilot? How did he come to put his life in danger for an organization that did not really concern him? And yet he was afraid to back out. He would become a hero out of fear. I have been told that such was the case for many a hero.
    That afternoon I came by looking for Perlefter. It was past four o’clock. He had been expected there by three o’clock. He arrived at five. He was unrecognizable. On his head he wore a brown leather cap. A large green pair of goggles with square lenses lay on his forehead. He came in smiling, into the room in which everyone was sitting at the table drinking chocolate. Everyone stood up, shocked. I had never seen Herr Perlefter like this before.
    He sat down at once, talked loudly, ate and drank more than usual and told of his flight.
    â€˜I simply must. I can’t help it!’ he said. ‘This is the consequence of honorary appointments. I’ll neveraccept another. But if I turn down such an honour with which mortal danger is associated! It’s a publicity flight. Three aeroplanes will take off. I will sit in the first. It is to be hoped that nothing will happen.’
    Frau Perlefter began to sob gently. She