Hans Castorp pulled his hand out of his pocket and, without meaning to, held the little wooden stick between two fingers. In his hand it looked like a toy, like a piece of evidence, like something you would give a child so that it is occupied.<\/p>\n
The doctor looked at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh,\u201d he said softly. \u201cSo you do have something.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp said nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that your pen?\u201d asked the doctor.<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp felt a heat in his ears.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was given to me,\u201d he said finally.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what do you write with?\u201d asked the doctor. \u201cWith what do you write yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp looked at him, and in that moment it seemed to him as if in the letters on the little sign \u2013 AuDHS \u2013 a second question were hidden that is not spoken: Who are you?<\/p>\n
\u201cWith everything,\u201d said Hans Castorp, and it sounded as if he were repeating a sentence that another voice had given him. \u201cIf one is prepared for it to smudge.\u201d<\/p>\n
The doctor nodded slowly, as if Hans Castorp had said something correct, although it was only an image.<\/p>\n