Translation number 13 (week thirteen—not unlucky at all, but most challenging):

     The friction of my right shoe had cost me the sightof one eye back in 1934.   It wasn’t easy to carry out a really thorough inspection.   But I swiveled my head, not limiting myself to a half-circle—the miserable 180 degrees allotted to the human neck, and blinked simultaneously all the eyes which were still intact, driving away the fatigue and darkness, and I succeeded in viewing myself on all sides and from several different angles at once.   What a fascinating sight it is, and what a pity that it is only accessible to me in the all-too-short night hours.   If I hadn’t been living in exile for thirty-two years, I should probably never dream of admiring my exterior.   But here I am the only example of that lost harmony and beauty I call my homeland.   What else is there for me to do on this earth except delight in my person?