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

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.

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.

←2→

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.

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.

←3

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.

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Comments

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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I must say that this was the weirdest story I have ever read but I have enjoyed it imensely. The imposibility of this is bafling but then you start thinking, man if this was true! This was exactly the kind of story I was looking for to make my day, unusual and humurous.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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Some unknown forces - authority, rules etc keep hitting us on the head all the while and we are powerless before them until our death. One can interepret the story this way. But forget, its wonderful, funny and i laughed all the way to end.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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I loved the parallels in human life with which this story deals. The humour captivated my attention, and the fact that we all have "a man in the habit of hitting us on the head with an umbrella" makes it that much more heart-felt. Thanks so much!

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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Friend, youd be better off ending the story at page two--literally, throw out the third page and the story reads great--something like a Kafka parable: (seemingly) simple and beautiful. All the third page does is diffuse the story--its telling the punchline of a joke.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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I dont know what you were on when you got that idea, but it is either a work of genius, insanity or purely a twinge of your sense of humour. Whichever, it only serves to prove that a short story can be about anything. I guess, well done.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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I use this story with college students. The interpretations are as varied as the individuals life experiences. I would love to have a dialogue with Sorrentino and find out what the "man" represents in his life. His bio gives no hints. LL

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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Hillarious.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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l-o-v-e-d it. Using this story for an oral interpretation. Cant seem to get the fact that there in fact could, possibly be a man out there with the habit of hitting someone on the head with an umbrella...strange, but it could happen. This is a fun story to read, Keep up the great work!

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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Why do readers constanly search/desire an end. What would you have, that the umbrella breaks in two? That the man that is getting hit kills his... friend? Life in itself is a constant cycle of birth and death. Do you not see the own cycles in your own life that you may hit yourself over the head with. (Anyone that has had more than one failed relationship surely must say a resounding YES to this). This story is good, well written, and disturbs you to think and learn, as the umbrella forces the man to think about his stange mind, and what he may become reliant upon in this strange life, Good or bad. Yours, wordblindman

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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Occasionally, a story does not exist to make a point, or to have a clever ending, or to be deeply meaningful. Occasionally, a story exists simply for the sake of telling a story. This is a fun example. I like that.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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The metaphor of the man with the umbrella could stand for anything. Sometimes the things we hate most in life, we eventually become attached to (emotional or otherwise), and ultimately dependent on. This story is a excellent interpretation of that process. Humorous and well-written.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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this story DOSE NOT need analyzation, just read it and leave it at that!it was a well written uncomlcated little thought bubble! like a fortune cookie, its fun to read but not overcome with Depth............

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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I think this story is profound. I did not find it overly weird or overly humourous, and I think thats to the authors credit. He pushes the envelope, but never abandons integrity. It is enjoyably thought-provoking. It is a significantly creative exposition on real life. In short, I completely "get it". As a result, I will forever appreciate it.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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Wow, I just had the wierdest, most disturbing day ever and just happened to stumble upon this story. and omg, THANKS!!! its great: it made me laugh and think. A truely great little piece of art, but (as someone already said) the 3rd page is unnecessary. Also reading the comments is interesting. Seems like for every person who finds it fantastic, another person hates it. Love the pointless, random, out of nowhere humor. keep wrighting!

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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SUPERB. I AM WRITING IN CAPITALS, SO I STAND OUT FROM ALL OF THE OTHER POSTERS, ALL OF WHOM LOVED THIS. UTTERLY IRRELAVANT, BETTER THAN ANYTHING I COULD EVER DO. HOWEVER, IT WAS SLIGHTLY MEANDERING IN ITS WRITING, BUT OVERALL, EXCELLENT.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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As I am reading this tory, and all of the other comments, I realize that my little man is hitting me with his umbrella- telling me that I will be up all night if I dont focus on the reasons why I got on the internet in the first place. Thanks for the distraction!

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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I think that the man with the umbrella represents the worries we have in our everyday life. They continue to plague us, but for some strange reason we are unable to move on in life without them. They batter us night and day and we cant make them go away, but when we have the opportunity for a worry-free day, we seem to yearn for that dark side of us and cant enjoy the good times.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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very good! im with someone who wrote earlier---why does everything written have to have a deep, hidden, psychological meaning??? cant we just enjoy a short story without trying to analyze every nook and cranny of its existence? i found this story very humorous, also; just the thought of being hit repeatedly over the head with an umbrella is, in my humble opinion, funny. (think three stooges.......)

Submitted by admin on Thu, 03/13/2003 - 08:15

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very good! im with someone who wrote earlier---why does everything written have to have a deep, hidden, psychological meaning??? cant we just enjoy a short story without trying to analyze every nook and cranny of its existence? i found this story very humorous, also; just the thought of being hit repeatedly over the head with an umbrella is, in my humble opinion, funny. (think three stooges.......)

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