There's a Man in the Habit of Hitting Me on the Head with an Umbrella

Fernando Sorrentino
Translated by Clark M. Zlotchew

There's a man in the habit of hitting me on the head with an umbrella. It's exactly five years today that he's been hitting me on the head with his umbrella. At first I couldn't stand it; now I'm used to it.

I don't know his name. I know he's average in appearance, wears a gray suit, is graying at the temples, and has a common face. I met him five years ago one sultry morning. I was sitting on a tree-shaded bench in Palermo Park, reading the paper. Suddenly I felt something touch my head. It was the very same man who now, as I'm writing, keeps whacking me, mechanically and impassively, with an umbrella.

On that occasion I turned around filled with indignation: he just kept on hitting me. I asked him if he was crazy: he didn't even seem to hear me. Then I threatened to call a policeman. Unperturbed, cool as a cucumber, he stuck with his task. After a few moments of indecision, and seeing that he was not about to change his attitude, I stood up and punched him in the nose. The man fell down, and let out an almost inaudible moan. He immediately got back on his feet, apparently with great effort, and without a word again began hitting me on the head with the umbrella.
His nose was bleeding and, at that moment, I felt sorry for him. I felt remorse for having hit him so hard. After all, the man wasn't exactly bludgeoning me; he was merely tapping me lightly with his umbrella, not causing any pain at all. Of course, those taps were extremely bothersome. As we all know, when a fly lands on your forehead, you don't feel any pain whatsoever; what you feel is annoyance. Well then, that umbrella was one humongous fly that kept landing on my head time after time, and at regular intervals.

Convinced that I was dealing with a madman, I tried to escape. But the man followed me, wordlessly continuing to hit me. So I began to run (at this juncture I should point out that not many people run as fast as I do). He took off after me, vainly trying to land a blow. The man was huffing and puffing and gasping so that I thought, if I continued to force him to run at that speed, my tormenter would drop dead right then and there.

- 2 -

That's why I slowed down to a walk. I looked at him. There was no trace of either gratitude or reproach on his face. He merely kept hitting me on the head with the umbrella. I thought of showing up at the police station and saying, "Officer, this man is hitting me on the head with an umbrella." It would have been an unprecedented case. The officer would have looked at me suspiciously, would have asked for my papers and begun asking embarrassing questions. And he might even have ended up placing me under arrest.

I thought it best to return home. I took the 67 bus. He, all the while hitting me with his umbrella, got on behind me. I took the first seat. He stood right beside me, and held on to the railing with his left hand. With his right hand he unrelentingly kept whacking me with that umbrella. At first, the passengers exchanged timid smiles. The driver began to observe us in the rearview mirror. Little by little the bus trip turned into one great fit of laughter, an uproarious, interminable fit of laughter. I was burning with shame. My persecutor, impervious to the laughter, continued to strike me.

I got off - we got off - at Pacifico Bridge. We walked along Santa Fe Avenue. Everyone stupidly turned to stare at us. It occurred to me to say to them, "What are you looking at, you idiots? Haven't you ever seen a man hit another man on the head with an umbrella?" But it also occurred to me that they probably never had seen such a spectacle. Then five or six little boys began chasing after us, shouting like maniacs.

But I had a plan. Once I reached my house, I tried to slam the door in his face. That didn't happen. He must have read my mind, because he firmly seized the doorknob and pushed his way in with me.

From that time on, he has continued to hit me on the head with his umbrella. As far as I can tell, he has never either slept or eaten anything. His sole activity consists of hitting me. He is with me in everything I do, even in my most intimate activities. I remember that at first, the blows kept me awake all night. Now I think it would be impossible for me to sleep without them.

- 3 -

Still and all, our relations have not always been good. I've asked him, on many occasions, and in all possible tones, to explain his behavior to me. To no avail: he has wordlessly continued to hit me on the head with his umbrella. Many times I have let him have it with punches, kicks, and even - God forgive me - umbrella blows.

He would meekly accept the blows. He would accept them as though they were part of his job. And this is precisely the weirdest aspect of his personality: that unshakable faith in his work coupled with a complete lack of animosity. In short, that conviction that he was carrying out some secret mission that responded to a higher authority.Despite his lack of physiological needs, I know that when I hit him, he feels pain. I know he is weak. I know he is mortal. I also know that I could be rid of him with a single bullet. What I don't know is if it would be better for that bullet to kill him or to kill me. Neither do I know if, when the two of us are dead, he might not continue to hit me on the head with his umbrella. In any event, this reasoning is pointless; I recognize that I would never dare to kill him or kill myself.On the other hand, I have recently come to the realization that I couldn't live without those blows. Now, more and more frequently, a certain foreboding overcomes me. A new anxiety is eating at my soul: the anxiety stemming from the thought that this man, perhaps when I need him most, will depart and I will no longer feel those umbrella taps that helped me sleep so soundly.

PS :

This Peanuts cartoon sums up this story quite well. (Click on it to see an enlarged strip)

Fox, Lion, Rabbits, Wolf and Management

Thanks Anita, for these two Moral stories ...

Story #1

It's a fine sunny day in the forest and a lion is sitting outside his cave, lying lazily in the sun. Along comes a fox, out on a walk.

Fox: "Do you know the time, because my watch is broken"

Lion: "Oh, I can easily fix the watch for you"

Fox: "Hmm... But it's a very complicated mechanism, and your big claws will only destroy it even more“
Lion: "Oh no, give it to me, and it will be fixed"

Fox: "That's ridiculous! Any fool knows that lazy lions with great claws cannot fix complicated watches"
Lion: "Sure they do, give it to me and it will be fixed"

The lion disappears into his cave, and after a while he comes back with the watch which is running perfectly. The fox is impressed, and the lion continues to lie lazily in the sun, looking very pleased with himself.

Soon a wolf comes along and stops to watch the lazy lion in the sun.

Wolf: "Can I come and watch TV tonight with you, because mine is broken"


Lion: "Oh, I can easily fix your TV for you"

Wolf: "You don't expect me to believe such rubbish, do you? There is no way that a lazy lion with big claws can fix a complicated TV"

Lion: "No problem. Do you want to try it?"

The lion goes into his cave, and after a while comes back with a perfectly fixed TV. The wolf goes away happily and amazed.

Scene :
Inside the lion's cave. In one corner are half a dozen small and intelligent looking rabbits who are busily doing very complicated work with very detailed instruments. In the other corner lies a huge lion looking very pleased with himself.

Moral of the Story :
If you want to know why a Manager is famous, look at the work of his subordinates.

Management Lesson :
If you want to know why someone undeserved is promoted, look at the work of his subordinates.

Story # 2

It's a fine sunny day in the forest and a rabbit is sitting outside his burrow, tippy-tapping on his typewriter. Along comes a fox, out for a walk.

Fox: "What are you working on?"

Rabbit: "My thesis."

Fox: "Hmm... What is it about?"

Rabbit: "Oh, I'm writing about how rabbits eat foxes."

Fox: "That's ridiculous ! Any fool knows that rabbits don't eat foxes!"

Rabbit: "Come with me and I'll show you!"

They both disappear into the rabbit's burrow. After few minutes, gnawing on a fox bone, the rabbit returns to his typewriter and resumes typing.

Soon a wolf comes along and stops to watch the hardworking rabbit.


Wolf: "What's that you are writing?"

Rabbit: "I'm doing a thesis on how rabbits eat wolves."

Wolf: "you don't expect to get such rubbish published, do you?"

Rabbit: "No problem. Do you want to see why?"

The rabbit and the wolf go into the burrow and again the rabbit returns by himself, after a few minutes, and goes back to typing. Finally a bear comes along and asks, "What are you doing?

Rabbit: "I'm doing a thesis on how rabbits eat bears."

Bear: "Well that's absurd ! "

Rabbit: "Come into my home and I'll show you"

Scene :
As they enter the burrow, the rabbit introduces the bear to the lion.


Moral of the Story :
It does not matter how silly your thesis topic is. What matters is whom you have as a supervisor.

Management Lesson :
It does not matter how bad your performance is. What matters is whether your boss likes you or not.

Thomas

- Karin Gündisch, Germany

Thomas is hungry. He is often hungry. He isn´t allowed to eat much. Thomas is fat.

He has nothing to eat at break. At lunch he can´t have enough to eat.

You become too fat, says his mother.


Thomas´ mother is fat, too. She is also not allowed to eat much. She has learnt not to eat much.

In the afternoon Thomas goes to his friend Jens. They play together. After a while Thomas says : "I am hungry."

Jens gives him some curd.

Thomas eats the curd. "Don´t you have some bread", he askes.

Jens gets the bread. "Do you want some cheese on it ?"

"Yes, I do", says Thomas.

"Maybe sausage also ?"

Thomas nods in agreement.

"But ... But, you become too fat", says Jens.

"So what ?", says Thomas. "I also like myself fat."


"I like you fat, too", says Jens.

The boys look at each other and laugh.

At dinner time Thomas is not hungry. The mother says : "You see, it works if you want !"

Thomas nods and grins.

[Sent by Petra from Germany]

Post Script :

Life : Explained

An American businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with a fisherman docked. Inside the boat were several yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied only a little while. The American then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish?


The Mexican said he had enough to support his family's needs.

The American then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time?

The Mexican fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, señor."

The American scoffed, "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat and with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked, "But señor, how long will this all take?" To which the American replied, "15-20 years."

"But what then, señor?"

The American laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions."

"Millions, señor? Then what?"

The American said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos."

The mexican thought to himself, "I would tend to think, not very different from today..."

Moral of this story : "Know where you're going in life... you may already be there."

Lion and Rabbit

- Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Germany

Once upon a time, there was a great Lion in the forest. But, like many big and mighty, this Lion too had a soft corner for a small and tiny being. A rabbit.

This Lion and the Rabbit were quite a good friends.


They were so close that the Lion felt okay to reveal all its secrets and weaknesses to the rabbit friend.

"But is it true then", asked the rabbit once, "that a wretched crowing cock can chase away you lions so easily?"

"Indeed it is true", answered the lion; "and it is acknowledged widely, that we big animals all have a little weakness. So you will have heard, for example, of the elephant, that the grunting of a pig raises him shudder and horror."


"Really?", interrupted him the rabbit.

"Well, now I understand why we rabbits are dreadfully afraid of dogs."

[Sent by Petra from Germany]