Fury

They tell me, shaking their heads: 'You should be kinder... You are somehow-furious.' I used to be kind. It didn’t last long. Life was breaking me hitting me in the teeth. I lived like a silly puppy. They would hit me- and again I would turn the other cheek. I’d wag my tail of complacency, and then, to make me furious, someone chopped it off with a single blow. And now I will tell you about fury, about that fury with which you go to a party and make polite conversation while dropping sugar into your tea with tongs. And when you offer me more tea I’m not bored- I merely study you. I submissively drink my tea from the saucer, and, hiding my claws, stretch out my hand. And I’ll tell you something else about fury. When before the meeting they whisper: 'Give it up... You’re young, better you write, don’t jump into a fight for a while...' Like hell I’ll give in! To be furious at falsehood- is real goodness! I’m warning you- that fury hasn’t left me yet. And you ought to know- I’ll stay infuriated for a long time. There’s none of my former shyness left in me. After all- life is interesting when you’re furious! 1955 Translated by Tina Tupikina-Glaessner, Geoffrey Dutton, and Igor Mezhakoff-Koriakin (revised)