In front of a basement, dirty little girls were singing the song of the Lorelei.  The windows were etched into the pale, sleeping houses like black panes with bright crosses.  The conglomeration of houses resembled large, venturesome ships, which lay at anchor or were gliding to a distant, beckoning sea.  The little locksmith thought about the last six women he had loved.  His attention was attracted by the hideously ringed eyes of a horribly hunch-backed gentleman who smilingly, with marked pleasure, although somewhat fearfully, was looking at him.  The locksmith thought:  hm—­for fun, he remained stopped; with his clear eyes, which shone like polished black buttons on his face, he slyly watched the even smaller gentleman.  Embarassed, he took his hat off his head and spoke, stuttering, said that his name was Kuno Kohn, and excused himself—­little else could be made out.  The hunchback hid part of his face behind thin fingers, coughed, and quickly moved on.  The locksmith thought:  hm, and went on his way.

Then there was a tug on his arm.  He turned his face:  the hunchback again stood next to him, still somewhat breathless from moving quickly.  Kuno Kohn was very red, but he could, without stuttering, say:  Excuse me for causing you more trouble.  I always know afterwards what I want to say.”  This he spoke extremely loudly, to overcome his embarassment.  Then he said:  “Perhaps you have the time...  Perhaps I may invite you to look for a restaurant with me...or may I assume that you have not yet eaten this evening.”  The locksmith was not against the idea.

In a huge tavern, Kuno Kohn ordered food and beer for Max Mechenmal.  He himself did not eat, and he drank little.  He enjoyed watching how pleased the locksmith was.  Later, probably, he sometimes stroked him timidly on the chin.  That pleased the locksmith.  At first they spoke of the misery of being alive, of the injustice of fate.  After Mechenmal drank his third glass of beer, he boasted of his beloved.  That was unpleasant for the hunchback.  Up to that point he had permitted the locksmith to talk.  And his interest was indicated only by the fact that he shut his blue eyes theatrically and approvingly, as a result of which, for a few seconds, only miserable shadows were visible, or he slowly shook his shapeless head, or he pressed his nervous fingers sympathetically against Mechenmal’s leg.  Now he began to express his own opinions.  He cursed women.  His voice seemed at every moment to crack with excitement.  He contended that anyone who had the misfortune to be a woman must have the courage to be a whore, that the whore is the essential woman, and that relations with women, incidentally, are more or less degrading.  When they left the tavern, Kuno Kohn placed the hard, miserable bone that was his lower arm upon Mechenmal’s thick, flabby lower arm.  A gold bracelet struck the hunchback’s wrist.  On the way Kuno Kohn asked Mechenmal to spend the night at his place.  The locksmith agreed to the request.