For the last six months I have had a new assistant. His name is Leopold Lehmann. He knows everything better than I. He is the nephew of the deputy director. He calls himself a trainee. He likes to hear himself talk. Most of all he likes to talk about himself. As a result, I know the story of his life.
Leopold Lehmann, as he emphasizes, was drawn in a clumsy manner from the womb with a forceps. His head is misshapen, like a noodle. His nose also. He has gone through the usual illnesses. He enjoys a complicated form of syphillis. It has eaten holes the size of fists in Lehmann's body.
Leopold Lehmann wishes to give up his duties in the bank, to study theology. I believe that he has already given notice.
Lehmann associates exclusively with theologians and with me. And with the deputy director.
He has sclerosis of the spinal cord.
Conversation about Legs
When I was sitting in the coupé, the gentleman opposite me said:
"Nobody can step on your toes."
I said: "How so?"
The gentleman said: "You have no legs."