The Historical Cabaret of Professor Fabrikant

Chapter One: A Death in Czernowitz

1.

Although he was approaching his ninetieth year, Professor Markus Fabrikant did not, at first, assign any significance to the indisposition of his bowels: since when is an experienced Jew, he said to himself, afraid of a little intestinal gas?   But as time wore on, the pains grew stronger, and after two weeks the professor was so weak he could not get out of bed. All manner of gurgles and spasms assaulted him with unfamiliar force, and the volcanic activity of his innards caused him terrible suffering. His face became pale, and his body dwindled so that it was difficult to recognize the distinguished professor of days gone by: he now understood that he had contracted his final illness.

His last weeks were spent in the largest room of the family apartment, with a view of the grand theatre of Czernowitz across the way. A fine fire burned in the hearth, dark rugs covered the splintery wooden floor, and the sickbed was made up each morning with fresh white starched sheets. Beside the bed stood a Biedermeier table with carved legs and round top, and upon it an array of dusky glass bottles containing ineffective concoctions prescribed by the doctor. Visitors could see only the professor’s tiny, weary head, sunk amid the stark plumpness of the quilts. Lest bright light tax his dimming eyes, the curtains were opened only in early morning, and in the remainder of the day the room was darkened and a crystal chandelier was lighted to disburse a gentle glow. By his own...