A Hunger Artist 飢餓藝術家

by Franz Kafka

During these last decades the interest in professional fasting has markedly diminished. It used to pay very well to stage such great performances under one’s own management, but today that is quite impossible. We live in a different world now. At one time the whole town took a lively interest in the hunger artist; from day to day of his fast the excitement mounted; everybody wanted to see him at least once a day; there were people who bought season tickets for the last few days and sat from morning till night in front of his small barred cage; even in the nighttime there were visiting hours, when the whole effect was heightened by torch flares; on fine days the cage was set out in the open air, and then it was the children’s special treat to see the hunger artist; for their elders he was often just a joke that happened to be in fashion, but the children stood openmouthed, holding each other’s hands for greater security, marveling at him as he sat there pallid in black tights, with his ribs sticking out so prominently, not even on a seat but down among straw on the ground, sometimes giving a courteous nod, answering questions with a constrained smile, or perhaps stretching an arm through the bars so that one might feel how thin it was, and then again withdrawing deep into himself, paying no attention to anyone or anything, not even to the all-important striking of the clock that was the only piece of furniture in his cage, but merely staring into vacancy with half-shut eyes, now and then taking a sip from a tiny glass of water to moisten his lips. Besides casual onlookers there were also relays of permanent watchers selected by the public, usually butchers, strangely enough, and it was their task to watch the hunger artist day and night, three of them at a time, in case he should have some secret recourse to nourishment. This was nothing but a formality, instigated to reassure the masses, for the initiates knew well enough that during his fast the artist would never in any circumstances, not even under forcible compulsion, swallow the smallest morsel of food; the honor of his profession forbade it. Not every watcher, of course, was capable of understanding this, there were often groups of night watchers who were very lax in carrying out their duties and deliberately huddled together in a retired corner to play cards with great absorption, obviously intending to give the hunger artist the chance of a little refreshment, which they supposed he would draw from some private hoard. Nothing annoyed the artist more than these watchers; they made him miserable; they made his fast seem unendurable; sometimes he mastered his feebleness sufficiently to sing during their watch for as long as he could keep going, to show them how unjust their suspicions were. But that was of little use; they only wondered at his cleverness in being able to fill his mouth even while singing. Much more to his taste were the watchers who sat close up to the bars, who were not content with the dim night lighting of the hall but focused him in the full glare of the electric pocket torch given them by the impresario. The harsh light did not trouble him at all, in any case he could never sleep properly, and he could always drowse a little, whatever the light, at any hour, even when the hall was thronged with noisy onlookers. He was quite happy at the prospect of spending a sleepless night with such watchers; he was ready to exchange jokes with them, to tell them stories out of his nomadic life, anything at all to keep them awake and demonstrate to them again that he had no eatables in his cage and that he was fasting as not one of them could fast. But his happiest moment was when the morning came and an enormous breakfast was brought for them, at his expense, on which they flung themselves with the keen appetite of healthy men after a weary night of wakefulness. Of course there were people who argued that this breakfast was an unfair attempt to bribe the watchers, but that was going rather too far, and when they were invited to take on a night’s vigil without a breakfast, merely for the sake of the cause, they made themselves scarce, although they stuck stubbornly to their suspicions. Such suspicions, anyhow, were a necessary accompaniment to the profession of fasting. No one could possibly watch the hunger artist continuously, day and night, and so no one could produce first-hand evidence that the fast had really been rigorous and continuous; only the artist himself could know that, he was therefore bound to be the sole completely satisfied spectator of his own fast. Yet for other reasons he was never satisfied; it was not perhaps mere fasting that had brought him to such skeleton thinness that many people had regretfully to keep away from his exhibitions, because the sight of him was too much for them, perhaps it was dissatisfaction with himself that had worn him down. For he alone knew, what no other initiate knew, how easy it was to fast. It was the easiest thing in the world. He made no secret of this, yet people did not believe him, at best they set him down as modest, most of them, however, thought he was out for publicity or else was some kind of cheat who found it easy to fast because he had discovered a way of making it easy, and then had the impudence to admit the fact, more or less. He had to put up with all that, and in the course of time had got used to it, but his inner dissatisfaction always rankled, and never yet, after any term of fasting—this must be granted to his credit—had he left the cage of his own free will. The longest period of fasting was fixed by his impresario at forty days, beyond that term he was not allowed to go, not even in great cities, and there was good reason for it, too. Experience had proven that for about forty days the interest of the public could be stimulated by a steadily increasing pressure of advertisement, but after that the town began to lose interest, sympathetic support began notably to fall off; there were of course local variations as between one town and another or one country and another, but as a general rule forty days marked the limit. So on the fortieth day the flower-bedecked cage was opened, enthusiastic spectators filled the hall, a military band played, two doctors entered the cage to measure the results of the fast, which were announced through a megaphone, and finally two young ladies appeared, blissful at having been selected for the honor, to help the hunger artist down the few steps leading to a small table on which was spread a carefully chosen invalid repast. And at this very moment the artist always turned stubborn. True, he would entrust his bony arms to the outstretched helping hands of the ladies bending over him, but stand up he would not. Why stop fasting at this particular moment, after forty days of it? He had held out for a long time, an illimitably long time, why stop now, when he was in his best fasting form, or rather, not yet quite in is bet fasting form? Why should he be cheated of the fame he would get for fasting longer, for being not only the record hunger artist of all time, which presumably he was already, but for beating his own record by a performance beyond human imagination, since he felt that there were no limits to his capacity for fasting? His public pretended to admire him so much, why should it have so little patience with him; if he could endure fasting longer, why shouldn’t the public endure it? Besides, he was tired, he was comfortable sitting in the straw, and now he was supposed to lift himself to his full height and go down to a meal the very thought of which gave him a nausea that only the presence of the ladies kept him from betraying, and even that with an effort. And he looked up into the eyes of the ladies who were apparently so friendly and in reality so cruel, and shook his head, which felt too heavy on its strengthless neck. But then there happened again what always happened. The impresario came forward, without a word—for the band made speech impossible—lifted his arms in the air above the artist, as if inviting Heaven to look down upon this creature here in the straw, this suffering martyr, which indeed he was, although in quite another sense; grasped him around the emaciated waist, with exaggerated caution, so that the frail condition he was in might be appreciated; and committed him to the care of the blenching ladies, not without secretly giving him a shaking so that his legs and body tottered and swayed. The artist now submitted completely; his head lolled on his breast as if it had landed there by chance; his body was hollowed out; his legs in a spasm of self-preservation clung close to each other at the knees, yet scraped on the ground as if it were not really solid ground, as if they were only trying to find solid ground; and the whole weight of his body, a featherweight after all, relapsed onto one of the ladies, who, looking around for help and panting a little—this post of honor was not at all what she had expected it to be—first stretched her neck as far as she could to keep her face at least free from contact with the artist, then finding this impossible, and her more fortunate companion not coming to her aid but merely holding extended in her own trembling hand the little bunch of knucklebones that was the artist’s, to the great delight of the spectators burst into tears and had to be replaced by an attendant who had long been stationed in readiness. Then came the food, a little of which the impresario managed to get between the artist’s lips, while he sat in a kind of half-fainting trance, to the accompaniment of cheerful patter designed to distract to public’s attention for the artist’s condition; after that, a toast was drunk to the public, supposedly prompted by a whisper from the artist in the impresario’s ear; the band confirmed it with a mighty flourish, the spectators melted away, and no one had any cause to be dissatisfied with the proceedings, no one except the hunger artist himself, he only, as always. So he lived for many years, with small regular intervals of recuperation, in visible glory, honored by the world, yet in spite of that, troubled in spirit, and all the more troubled because no-one would take his trouble seriously. What comfort could he possibly need? What more could he possibly wish for? And if some good-natured person, feeling sorry for him, tried to console him by pointing out that his melancholy was probably caused by fasting, it could happen, especially when he had been fasting for some time, that he reacted with an outburst of fury and to the general alarm began to shake the bars of his cage like a wild animal. Yet the impresario had a way of punishing these outbreaks which he rather enjoyed putting into operation. He would apologize publicly for the artist’s behaviour, which was only to be excused, he admitted, because of the irritability caused by fasting; a condition hardly to be understood by well-fed people; then by natural transition he went on to mention the artist’s equally incomprehensible boast that he could fast for much longer than he was doing; he praised the high ambition, the good will, the great self-denial undoubtedly implicit in such a statement; and then quite simply countered it by bringing out photographs, which were also on sale to the public, showing the artist on the fortieth day of a fast lying in bed almost dead from exhaustion. This perversion of the truth, familiar to the artist though it was, always unnerved him afresh and proved too much for him. What was a consequence of the premature ending of his fast was here presented as the cause of it! To fight against this lack of understanding, against a whole world of non-understanding, was impossible. Time and again in good faith he stood by the bars listening to the impresario, but as soon as the photographs appeared he always let go and sank with a groan back onto his straw, and the reassured public could once more come close and gaze at him. A few years later when the witnesses of such scenes called them to mind, they often failed to understand themselves at all. For meanwhile the aforementioned change in public interest had set in; it seemed to happen almost overnight; there may have been profound causes for it, but who was going to bother about that; at any rate the pampered hunger artist suddenly found himself deserted on fine day by the amusement-seekers, who went streaming past him to other more-favored attractions. For the last time the impresario hurried him over half Europe to discover whether the old interest might still survive here and there; all in vain; everywhere, as if by secret agreement, a positive revulsion from professional fasting was in evidence. Of course it could not really have sprung up so suddenly as all that, and many premonitory symptoms which had not been sufficiently remarked or suppressed during the rush and glitter of success now came retrospectively to mind, but it was now too late to take any countermeasures. Fasting would surely come into fashion again at some future date, yet that was no comfort for those living in the present. What, then, was the hunger artist to do? He had been applauded by thousands in his time and could hardly come down to showing himself in a street booth at village fairs, and as for adopting another profession, he was not only too old for that but too fanatically devoted to fasting. So he took leave of the impresario, his partner in an unparalleled career, and hired himself to a large circus; in order to spare his own feelings he avoided reading the conditions of his contract. A large circus with its enormous traffic in replacing and recruiting men, animals, and apparatus can always find a use for people at any time, even for a hunger artist, provided of course that he does not ask too much, and in this particular case anyhow it was not only the artist who was taken on but his famous and long-known name as well, indeed considering the peculiar nature of his performance, which was not impaired by advancing age, it could not be objected that here was an artist past his prime, no longer at the height of his professional skill, seeking a refuge in some quiet corner of a circus; on the contrary, the hunger artist averred that he could fast as well as ever, which was entirely credible, he even alleged that if he were allowed to fast as he liked, and this was at once promised him without more ado, he could astound the world by establishing a record never yet achieved, a statement that certainly provoked a smile among the other professionals, since it left out of account the change in public opinion, which the hunger artist in his zeal conveniently forgot. He had not, however, actually lost his sense of the real situation and took it as a matter of course that he and his cage should be stationed, not in the middle of the ring as a main attraction, but outside, near the animal cages, on a site that was after all easily accessible. Large and gaily painted placards made a frame for the cage and announced what was to be seen inside it. When the public came thronging out in the intervals to see the animals, they could hardly avoid passing the hunger artist’s cage and stopping there for a moment, perhaps they might even have stayed longer, had not those pressing behind them behind them in the narrow gangway, who did not understand why they should be held up on their way towards the excitements of the menagerie, made it impossible for anyone to stand gazing for any length of time. And that was the reason why the hunger artist, who had of course been looking forward to these visiting hours as the main achievement of his life, began instead to shrink from them. At first he could hardly wait for the intervals; it was exhilarating to watch the crowds come streaming his way, until only too soon—not even the most obstinate self-deception, clung to almost consciously, could hold out against the fact—the conviction was borne in upon him that these people, most of them, to judge from their actions, again and again, without exception, were all on their way to the menagerie. And the first sight of them from a distance remained the best. For when they reached his cage he was at once deafened by the storm of shouting and abuse that arose from the two contending factions, which renewed themselves continuously, of those who wanted to stop and stare at him—he soon began to dislike them more than the others—not out of real interest but only out of obstinate self-assertiveness, and those who wanted to go straight on to the animals. When the first great rush was past, the stragglers came along, and these, whom nothing could have prevented from stopping to look at him as long as they had breath, raced past with long strides, hardly even glancing at him, in their haste to get to the menagerie in time. And all too rarely did it happen that he had a stroke of luck, when some father of a family fetched up before him with his children, pointed a finger at the hunger artist, and explained at length what the phenomenon meant, telling stories of earlier years when he himself had watched similar but much more thrilling performances, and the children, still rather uncomprehending, since neither inside or outside school had they been sufficiently prepared for this lesson—what did they care about fasting?—yet showed by the brightness of their intent eyes that new and better times might be coming. Perhaps, said the hunger artist to himself, many a time, things would be a little better if his cage were set not quite so near the menagerie. That made it too easy for people to make their choice, to say nothing of what he suffered from the stench of the menagerie, the animals’ restlessness by night, the carrying past of raw lumps of flesh for the beasts of prey, the roaring at feeding times, depressed him continually. But he did not dare to lodge a complaint with the management; after all, he had the animals to thank for the troops of people who passed his cage, among whom there might always be one here and there to take an interest in him, and who could tell where they might seclude him if he called attention to his existence and thereby to the fact that, strictly speaking, he was only an impediment on the way to the menagerie. A small impediment, to be sure, one that grew steadily less. People grew familiar with the strange idea that they could be expected, in times like these, to take an interest in a hunger artist, and with this familiarity the verdict went out against him. He might fast as much as he could, and he did so; but nothing could save him now, people passed him by. Just try to explain to anyone the art of fasting! Anyone who has no feeling for it cannot be made to understand it. The fine placards grew dirty and illegible, they were torn down; the little notice board showing the number of fast days achieved, which at first was changed carefully every day, had long stayed at the same figure, for after the first few weeks even this small task seemed pointless to the staff; and so the artist simply fasted on and on, as he had once dreamed of doing, and it was no trouble to him, just as he had always foretold, but no one counted the days, no one, not even the artist himself, knew what records he was already breaking, and his heart became heavy. And when once in a while some leisurely passer-by stopped, made merry over the old figure on the board and spoke of swindling, that was in its way the stupidest lie ever invented by indifference and inborn malice, since it was not the hunger artist who was cheating, he was working honestly, but the world was cheating him of his reward.
MANY MORE DAYS went by, however, and that too came to an end. An overseer’s eye fell on the cage one day and he asked the attendants why this perfectly good cage should be left standing there unused with dirty straw inside it; nobody knew, until one man, helped out by the notice board, remembered about the hunger artist. They poked into the straw with sticks and found him in it. “Are you still fasting?” asked the overseer, “when on earth do you mean to stop?” “Forgive me, everybody,” whispered the hunger artist; only the overseer, who had his ear to the bars, understood him. “Of course,” said the overseer, and tapped his forehead with a finger to let the attendants know what state the man was in, “we forgive you.” “I always wanted you to admire my fasting,” said the hunger artist. “We do admire it,” said the overseer, affably. “But you shouldn’t admire it,” said the hunger artist. “Well then we don’t admire it,” said the overseer, “but why shouldn’t we admire it?” “Because I have to fast, I can’t help it,” said the hunger artist. “What a fellow you are,” said the overseer, “and why can’t you help it?” “Because,” said the hunger artist, lifting his head a little and speaking, with his lips pursed, as if for a kiss, right into the overseer’s ear, so that no syllable might be lost, “because I couldn’t find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else.” These were his last words, but in his dimming eyes remained the firm though no longer proud persuasion that he was still continuing to fast. “Well, clear this out now!” said the overseer, and they buried the hunger artist, straw and all. Into the cage they put a young panther. Even the most insensitive felt it refreshing to see this wild creature leaping around the cage that had so long been dreary. The panther was all right. The food he liked was brought to him without hesitation by the attendants; he seemed not even to miss his freedom; his noble body, furnished almost to the bursting point with all that it needed, seemed to carry freedom around with it too; somewhere in his jaws it seemed to lurk; and the joy of life streamed with such ardent passion from his throat that for the onlookers it was not easy to stand the shock of it. But they braced themselves, crowded round the cage, and did not want ever to move away.


飢餓表演近幾十年來明顯地被冷落了。早些時候，大家饒有興致地自發舉辦這類大型表演，收入也還不錯。可是今天，這些都已毫無可能。那時的情形同現在相比確實大相逕庭。當時，全城的人都在為飢餓表演忙忙碌碌，觀眾與日俱增，人人都渴望每天至少觀看一次飢餓藝術家的表演。臨近表演後期，不少人買了長期票，天天坐在小鐵籠子跟前，就是晚上，觀眾也絡繹不絕。為了看得不失效果，人們舉著火把。天氣晴朗的時候，大家就把籠子挪到露天，這樣做是為了孩子，他們對飢餓藝術家有著特殊的興趣。大人們看主要是圖個消遣、趕趕時髦，可孩子們卻截然不同，他們看到這位身穿黑色緊身服、臉色蒼白、瘦骨嶙峋的飢餓藝術家時神情緊張，目瞪口呆，為了壯膽，他們互相把手拉得緊緊的。飢餓藝術家甚至連椅子都不屑一顧，只是一屁股坐在亂鋪在籠子裡的乾草上。他時而有禮貌地向大家點頭打個招呼，時而用力微笑著回答大家的問題。他還時不時把胳膊伸出柵欄，讓人摸摸瞧瞧，以感覺到他是多麼乾瘦。隨後又深深陷入沉思，任何人對他都變得不復存在，連籠子裡那對他至關重要的鐘錶（籠子裡唯一的東西）發出的響聲也充耳不聞，只是那雙幾乎閉著的眼睛愣神地看著前方，偶爾呷一口小玻璃杯裡的水潤一潤嘴唇。 　　除了熙熙攘攘、川流不息的觀眾外，還有被大伙推舉出來的固定的監督人員守在那兒。奇怪的是，這些看守一般都是屠夫，他們總是三人一班，日夜盯著飢餓藝術家，防止他用什麼秘密手段偷吃東西。其實，這不過是安慰大伙的一種形式而已，因為行家都曉得，飢餓藝術家在飢餓表演期間是絕對不吃東西的，即使有人強迫他吃，他也會無動於衷。他的藝術的榮譽不允許他這麼做。當然，不是每個看守都能理解這一點。有些值夜班的看守就很馬虎，他們坐在遠離飢餓藝術家的某個角落裡埋頭玩牌，故意給他一個進食的機會，他們總認為，飢餓藝術家絕對有妙招搞點存貨填填肚子。碰到這樣的看守，飢餓藝術家真是苦不堪言，這幫人使他情緒低落，給他的飢餓表演帶來很多困難。有時，他不顧虛弱，盡量在他們做看守時大聲唱歌，以便向這幫人表明，他們的懷疑對自己是多麼的不公道。但這無濟於事。這些看守更是佩服他人靈藝高，竟在唱歌時也能吃東西。所以，飢餓藝術家特別喜歡那些「秉公執法」的看守人員，他們靠近鐵柵坐在一起，嫌大廳燈光太暗而舉起演出經理提供的手電筒把自己照得通明。刺眼的光線對他毫無影響，反正他根本睡不成覺，但是無論什麼光線，也不管什麼時候，就是大廳裡人山人海，喧鬧嘈雜，打個盹兒他總是做得到的。他非常樂意徹夜不眠和這樣的看守共度通宵，喜歡同他們逗樂取笑，給他們講述自己的流浪生活，然後再悉聽他們的奇聞趣事。所有這些，都是為了使看守們保持清醒，讓他們始終看清，他的籠子裡壓根兒就沒有吃的東西，他在挨餓，不論哪個看守都沒有這個本事。而最令他興奮的是早晨自己掏腰包，請看守們美餐一頓讓人送來的早飯。這些壯漢子們在艱難地熬了一個通宵之後個個像餓狼撲食，胃口大開。然而，有些人卻認為請客吃飯有賄賂之嫌疑，這純屬無稽之談，當別人問到他們是否願意兢兢業業值一夜班而拒吃早餐時，這些人卻溜之大吉了，可要讓他們消除疑心並不容易。 　　諸如此類種種猜疑，飢餓藝術家似乎也難於擺脫。任何一位看守也做不到夜以繼日、絲毫不間斷地守在飢餓藝術家身邊，因此無人親眼目睹過，他是否確實持續不斷地挨餓。只有飢餓藝術家自己心裡最清楚，只有他才算得上是對自己的飢餓表演最為滿意的觀眾。但是由於另一種原因，他又從未滿意過。或許他乾瘦如柴的軀體根本就不是由於飢餓所造成的，而是對自己不滿所致，以致於有些人出自於對他的同情而不來觀看飢餓表演，因為這些人不忍心看他那被折磨的樣子。其實他自己明白，飢餓表演極為簡單，是世上最容易做的事，這一點恐怕連行家也不清楚。對此，飢餓藝術家直言不諱，但人們死活就是不信。善意的說法還好，說他謙虛，可大部分人認為他自吹自擂，更有甚者說他是個騙子手，他當然覺得挨餓是件輕鬆的事，因為他懂得如何能使挨餓變得輕鬆，而他竟然厚顏無恥，不肯百分之百地道出實情。所有這一切，飢餓藝術家都得忍受著。天長日久他也習以為常，然而內心深處的不快總攪得他不得安寧。每當一輪飢餓表演結束時，飢餓藝術家沒有一次是自願離開籠子的，這一點，人們一定要為他作證。演出經理規定每輪表演最高期限為四十天，期限過後，他絕不讓飢餓藝術家再繼續挨餓，即使在世界大城市裡也是如此。經理這樣做不無道理，因為根據以往經驗，全城人的興趣會通過四十天裡越來越火的廣告充分被激發出來，而四十天後，觀眾就會感到疲倦，看表演的人數隨之銳減。在這一點上城市和鄉村當然有些小小的區別，可是四十天最高期限已經成了一條通用的規律。在第四十天，籠子的門被打開，籠子四周插滿鮮花，半圓形露天劇場裡人海如潮，觀眾興高采烈，軍樂隊奏著樂曲。兩個醫生走進籠子為飢餓藝術家作必要的檢測，檢測結果通過高音喇叭傳遍劇場。隨後，兩位女士走上前來，她們樂滋滋的，慶幸自己能被選中去攙扶飢餓藝術家離開籠子走下前面的台階。台階前的小桌子上早已擺好了精心準備好的病號飯。在這種時刻，飢餓藝術家總是加以拒絕，雖然他還是自願地把自己皮包骨頭的手臂遞向前來幫忙的女士，但是他不願站立起來。為什麼剛到四十天就停止表演呢？他本來能長期地、無休止地餓下去，為什麼恰恰要在他表演最緊要的關頭停下來呢？他還沒有真正精彩地表演過一回哩！他還能繼續餓下去，他不僅能成為空前最偉大的飢餓藝術家（他或許已經是了），而且還要超越自我，達到不可思議的境界，因為他感到自己的飢餓表演能力永無止境。可是人們為什麼要奪走他繼續挨餓的榮譽呢？為什麼這些對他佩服得五體投地的人多一點耐心都沒有呢？他都能堅持繼續飢餓表演，為什麼這些人連耐心當觀眾都做不到呢？唉，他也累了，本該坐在乾草上好好歇一會兒，可現在他得立起他那又高又細的身軀去吃飯。他一想到吃就感到噁心，只是想到女士在自己旁邊才把要說的話嚥了下去，他抬頭看了看表面上和藹其實殘忍的兩位女士的眼睛，搖了搖耷在他無力的脖子上那過於沉重的腦袋。緊接著，老一套又來了。演出經理登場，他像啞巴一樣，一句話也不說（其實是音樂聲吵得他沒法講話），雙手舉到飢餓藝術家的頭上，好像在邀請老天爺下凡，參觀他那坐在蓬亂乾草上的作品——這位頗值憐憫的殉道士。說實在的，飢餓藝術家確實是個殉道士，只是在另外一層意義上罷了。經理雙手卡住飢餓藝術家的細腰，有些過分小心翼翼，他的動作神情使人聯想到，他手中不是一個活人，而是一件極易破碎的物品。這時經理或許暗中輕輕碰了一下飢餓藝術家，以致於他的雙腳和上身左右搖擺不停。緊接著經理把他交給了兩位臉色早已嚇得蒼白的女士，飢餓藝術家任其擺佈，他腦袋聾拉在胸前，好像它是不聽使喚地滾到那裡，然後又莫名其妙地一動不動。他的身體已經掏空，雙腿出於自衛本能緊緊和膝蓋貼在一起，雙腳卻擦著地面，似乎那不是真正的地面，它們好像正在尋找真正的可以著落的地方。他全部的、其實已經很輕的身體重量傾斜在其中一個女士身上。她喘著粗氣，左顧右盼，尋求援助，她真沒想到，這件光榮的差事竟會是這樣，她先是盡量伸長脖子，這樣自己的花容月貌起碼可以免遭「災難」，可是她卻沒有辦到。而她的那位幸運些的夥伴只是顫顫悠悠，高高地扯著飢餓藝術家的手——其實只是一把骨頭——往前走，一點忙也不幫，氣得這位倒楣姑娘在大庭廣眾的起哄聲中哇地一聲大哭起來，早已侍候在一旁的僕人不得不把她替換下來。隨後開始吃飯，經理先給處於昏厥狀態、半醒半睡的飢餓藝術家餵了幾勺湯水，順便說了幾句逗樂的話，以便分散眾人觀察飢餓藝術家身體狀況的注意力。接著，他提議為觀眾乾杯，據說此舉是由飢餓藝術家給經理耳語出的點子，樂隊憋足了勁演奏。隨後大家各自散去，沒有人對眼前發生的一切不感到滿意，只有一個人例外，那就是飢餓藝術家自己，他總是不滿。 　　就這樣，表演、休息；休息、表演，他過了一年又一年，表面上光彩照人，受人尊敬，而實際上陰鬱的心情經常纏繞著他。由於得不到任何人的真正理解，他的情緒變得越來越壞。人們該怎樣安慰他呢？他還有什麼渴求呢？如果同情他的某個好心人告訴他，他的悲哀可能是飢餓所致，那麼他就會勃然大怒（特別是在飢餓表演進行了一段時間以後），像一隻兇猛的野獸嚇人地搖晃著柵欄。但對於這種狀況，演出經理自有一套他喜歡採用的懲罰手段。他當眾為飢餓藝術家辯解並且表明，飢餓藝術家的行為可以原諒，因為這種由於飢餓引起的反常的易怒心態是正常人根本無法理解的。接著他就開始大講飢餓藝術家自己的需要加以解釋的觀點，說他實際能夠挨餓的時間比他現在做的飢餓表演的時間要長得多，經理大為讚賞他的執著追求、良好心願以及偉大的自我克制精神，這些當然也包括在飢餓藝術家的說法之中。而隨後，他又拿出一疊照片（照片也用於出售），輕而易舉就把藝術家的說法駁倒。因為從照片上人們可以看到，飢餓藝術家在第四十天的時候躺在床上虛弱不堪，奄奄一息。這些雖是老生常談，卻又不斷使飢餓藝術家難以忍受。他氣憤的是這種歪曲事實的做法，明擺著是提前結束飢餓表演的結果，人們卻要把它說成是不得不停止表演的原因。同愚昧抗爭，同這個愚昧的世界抗爭是徒勞的。他總是虔誠地、如饑似渴地抓著柵欄認真地聽經理說的每一句話，但當經理展示照片時，他每次都放開柵欄，唉聲歎氣地坐回草堆。於是，受到撫慰的觀眾又重新圍過來看他表演。 　　數年之後，每當這一場面的見證人回憶起這一幕時，連他們自己都弄不明白這是怎麼一回事，因為這期間發生了那個被提及的事變。這變化來的極其突然，它或許有更複雜的原因，但有誰去深究呢？無論如何，這個曾受大家喜歡的飢餓藝術家有一天發現自己被那些熱鬧上癮的觀眾忘卻了，他們紛紛湧向其它演出場所。演出經理領著他又一次跋涉了半個歐洲，他們想看看，是否能在某個地方重新找回逝去的狂熱和興趣，然而他們一無所獲。好像人們私下達成了某種默契，到處都籠罩著厭惡飢餓表演的氣氛。當然，這種情緒絕非一朝一日形成的，只怪當時人們過分陶醉於勝利的喜悅之中，沒有引起足夠的重視，也未加防範，而現在採取對策為時已晚。儘管肯定有一天，飢餓表演定會再次紅火起來，但這對於活著的人毫無慰藉。眼下，飢餓藝術家該去做什麼呢？成千上萬觀眾曾為之歡呼的飢餓藝術家如今去集市上的簡陋戲台上演出未免太慘了些，改做其它行當吧，他不僅年紀太大，而更主要的是他對飢餓表演有著如癡如狂的追求。最終，他告別了經理——這位人生旅途上無與倫比的夥伴，受聘於一家龐大的馬戲團。為了避免再受刺激，他甚至連合同條件都沒瞥上一眼。 　　馬戲團確實很大，數不清的人、動物、器械隨處可見，他們需要不斷更新和補充，不論什麼人才，任何時候都能在馬戲團派上用場，當然飢餓表演者也不例外，只要條件不苛刻。另外，他之所以受聘當屬特殊情況，這不單單是聘用一個藝術家本身，而更重要的是他當年的赫赫大名。其實，飢餓表演的技藝根本不會隨著年齡的增長而黯然失色，單憑這一點，人們起碼不能說，一個老得不中用的、再也不能站在技藝巔峰表演的飢餓藝術家想躲到馬戲團某個安靜的位置上去混日子。恰恰相反，飢餓藝術家向人保證，他的飢餓藝術不減當年，這是絕對可信的。他甚至還宣稱，只要人們准許他按自己的想法行事（人們馬上答應了他的這一要求），他要真正地震撼世界，達到前所未有的轟動效應。飢餓藝術家一激動起來，早把當今形勢忘得一乾二淨，他的話只引起懂行的人付之一笑。 　　然而，飢餓藝術家到底還是沒有忘記著眼於現實。人們把他和籠子沒有作為精彩節目放在馬戲團的中心地段，而是安插在一個交通路口，他也認為這是理所當然的事。籠子四周掛滿了標語，那些花花綠綠的大字在告訴人們那裡可以看到什麼東西。若是觀眾在其它演出休息的時候湧向獸場的話，總要從飢餓藝術家跟前走過並在那兒停留片刻。假如不是道窄人擠，後面的人又能夠理解前面的觀眾為什麼不急著去看野獸而停留下來，人們或許能在他面前多呆一會兒，慢慢欣賞他的表演。這就是飢餓藝術家看到觀眾馬上要向他走來時不往顫抖的原因。他以人們觀看自己為生活目的，自然盼望這種時刻。起初，他急不可待地盼著演出休息，眼看一群群觀眾朝自己蜂擁而來，他激動得欣喜若狂，可是他很快就看出，觀眾的本意是去看野獸，每次如此，幾乎無一例外，就是最固執的、故意自欺欺人的人也不得不承認這一事實。但是不管怎麼說，看著遠處的觀眾朝自己走來是令他最為高興的事，人們湧過來時，持續不斷的呼喊聲和叫罵聲亂成一片，一些人慢悠悠地看他表演，不是出於對他的理解（這些人使飢餓藝術家甚感痛苦），而是故意和後面催他們的人過不去，而另一些人則是心急火燎地想去獸場。大批人過後，剩下的是一些姍姍來遲者，沒人催趕他們，只要他們有興趣，滿可以在他面前多呆一會，但是這些人大步流星，目不斜視，直奔獸場。不過，飢餓藝術家偶爾也能碰到幸運的時刻。有時父親領著孩子來到他面前，父親一邊指，一邊詳細地講述這是怎麼一回事，他講到過去的年代，說他曾經看過類似的表演，但那時盛況空前。可是孩子們無論在學校還是在生活中都沒有經歷過這些事情，所以，他們始終不能理解大人的話，這也難怪，他們怎麼能懂得什麼叫飢餓呢？但是，從他們那探究性閃閃發光的眼睛裡流露出一種嶄新的、屬於未來的、更為仁慈的東西。飢餓藝術家有時悄然思忖，假如自己的表演場地離獸場稍遠一點，或許情況會好起來，而現在離獸場這麼近，人們很容易選擇去看野獸，更不用說獸場散發的臭味、動物夜間的鬧騰、給野獸送生肉時人走動的響聲以及投食時動物的狂嘶亂叫攪得他不得安寧，使他長期憂鬱消沉。但是，他又沒有膽量向馬戲團的頭頭們去說。他還得感謝那些野獸們，沒有它們，哪能引來那麼多觀眾？況且眾人當中還能找到某位真的是衝著他而來的呢。如果他要提醒人們注意自己的存在，那麼人們馬上就會聯想到，他——確切地說——只不過是通往獸場的一個障礙，誰知道人家會把他塞到哪個角落。 　　當然只是一個小小的障礙，而且會越變越小。人們在當今時代還要為一個飢餓藝術家耗神費力，這簡直是個怪事，可是人們對奇怪現象已習以為常，而正是這種習慣宣判了他的命運。他想使出最大能力做好飢餓表演，他也確實這麼做了，然而這一切都挽救不了他的命運。觀眾個個如匆匆過客飛快地從他面前掠過。去試試給人講飢餓藝術吧！但是誰對飢餓藝術沒有親身感受，就根本不可能心領神會。漂亮的彩色大字已經被弄髒，變得模糊不清，它們被撕了下來，沒有有想到換上新的。用於計算飢餓表演天數的小牌子上的數字當初每天都有新的記錄，現在卻無人問津，數字多日不變，因為數周之後，連記錄員自己都對這項單調的工作感到厭膩。雖然飢餓藝術家不停地做飢餓表演，這是他過去夢寐以求的事，也是他曾經誇過的海口，現在，他可以任意獨行其事了，但是，沒有人為他記錄表演天數，沒有人，甚至連他本人也搞不清楚自己的成果究竟達到了何種程度，他的心情變得沉重起來。假如某個時候來了一個游手好閒的傢伙，用那個舊數字逗笑取樂，說這是騙人的鬼把戲，那麼，他的話才真正是最愚蠢的、能編製冷漠和惡意的謊言。因為，飢餓藝術家誠實地勞動，他沒有欺騙別人，倒是這個世界騙取了他的工錢。 　　又過了許多日子，表演告終了。有一天，那只籠子引起了一位看管人的注意，他問僕人們，為什麼把一個好端端的籠子閒置不用，裡邊的谷草已經發霉變味，對此無人知曉，直到其中一位看見了記數的小牌子，他才猛然想起飢餓藝術家。人們用棍子撥開腐草，在裡邊找到了他。「你還一直不吃東西？」看管人問道，「你究竟什麼時候才算完呢？」「諸位，請多多原諒。」飢餓藝術家有氣無力地低聲細語，只有看管人才能聽清他說的話，因為他把耳朵貼在柵欄上，「當然，當然。」看管人一邊點頭，一邊把手指向額頭，以此來暗示其他人，說明飢餓藝術家的身體狀況非常危險，「我們當然會原諒你。」「我一直在想著，你們能讚賞我的飢餓表演，」飢餓藝術家說。 　　「我們確實也挺讚賞的，」看管人熱情地說。「可是你們不應該讚賞，」飢餓藝術家說。「那麼我們就不讚賞，」看管人說，「為什麼我們不應該讚賞呢？」「因為我只能忍饑挨餓，我也沒有其他辦法。」飢餓藝術家說。「你們瞧，太怪了不是，」看管人說，「你為什麼沒有其他辦法呢？」「因為我，」飢餓藝術家說著，小腦袋微微抬起，嘴唇像要吻看管人似的，直貼在他的耳根，生怕露掉一個字，「因為我找不到適合我胃口的食物。假如我找到這樣的食物，請相信我，我不會招人參觀，若人顯眼，並像你，像大夥一樣，吃得飽飽的。」這是飢餓藝術家最後的幾句話，然而，從他那瞳孔已經放大的眼睛裡還流露出一種不再是自豪、而是堅定的信念：他還要繼續餓下去。 　　「好了，大伙整整吧！」看管人說。飢餓藝術家連同腐草一起被埋掉了。籠子裡放進了一隻年輕的美洲豹子。即使是感覺最遲鈍的人，看到這隻野獸在閒置長久的籠子裡活蹦亂跳時，他也會覺得這是一種舒服的休息。這只豹子什麼也不缺，可口的食物看守人員無須長時間考慮就會送來。失去自由對它似乎都無所謂，這個高貴的軀體應有盡有，不僅帶著利爪，而且連自由好像也帶在身邊，自由似乎就藏在它利齒的某個地方。它生命的歡樂總是同它大口裡發出的強烈吼叫而一起到來。觀眾從它的歡樂中很難享受到輕鬆，可是他們克制住自己，擠在籠子周圍，絲毫不肯離去。