B007P4V3G4 EBOK (16 page)

'In the hall? Now which hall would this be then?'

'In the hall of parables. The house stood in a forest and in the
blue light of the streaks of lightning we were well able to see one
another's faces. Though heaven was enraged, we did not fear
because we were together and our joy consisted of the fact that
otherwise we would have been afraid. I looked at my mother's, my
father's sweet face jolting out in the light, for they were all there
too.'

'They are dead and buried,' the elders cried.

'In a manner of speaking,' smiled the merchant. 'Next day the
weather was splendid, the boat floated through the shadows the
trees cast on the water. We saw the fish fanning out, stones
distorting in the waves and the swaying of all kinds of sea grass,
red, green ... And the master taught the while. 'Don't you be
frightened now,' he said, 'for what is truth, after all.'

'But the message,' cried the elders crotchetily, 'something to
cling on to.'

'To one it's this, to another it's the next,' the merchant said, 'but
he who hears truly cannot but accept it. To me, the word was
'Refresh those who thirst, and no more whingeing.'

When the water from the cistern began to run out, the skulls
became more pointed, the ears more deaf. But then, the chabot
village does not care much for the word proclaimed; the village
was more one for the whisper, for muttering from behind a hand,
speech during which one sees no lips move. There came a time
when the merchant was standing alone on his box and, beard peaky and unkempt, was speaking of salvation, cleansing water
and all things like that, and soon he was only a babbling greybeard
with no possessions at all, and they had plenty like them in the
village already. Moreover, a little further along, the water trade
had enjoyed a lively rebirth; where the new merchant got the
water from was a mystery, but he had the stuff and he was a very
severe man who went to extremes.

Thus the army of thirsty ones was reduced by one and augmented by one, and therefore not much had changed. When, with
some malicious pleasure, they asked the merchant reduced to
beggary who was also waiting in the burning sun for his little
drop, what he now thought of the word, he said: 'I was with the
master, not you: one cannot crimp those who are absent.'

It came to pass that the youth opened his eyes in his foster
parents' house in town. 'Lovely weather,' he thought, 'some day,
this,' and while he sat up, half asleep, in his bed, the night birds
withdrew into the dark niches of his brain. The floral, predominantly pink pattern of the curtains unfolded itself slowly and slid
back together again under the slight pressure of the morning
breeze; now and then he would see the sharp sunlight on the
window sill for a moment.

In the house scattered noises arose, first signs of life on this
splendid summer morning: a scrap of radio, a door slamming, the
shower turned on. The youth listened to the wind in the garden
for a while, and though no one was watching him or sticking their
head round the door, he went to lie down again and meticulously
pretended to be asleep. But there were more and more noises, on
the street now too, and he decided to sit up on the edge of his
bed, after all, where he scratched both armpits and head and
looked at-his feet. 'Some day, this'
- -- - - - - -- - - -

Thoughtfully, he stood up and then walked across to the wash
stand to polish and gurgle away sleep once and for all. Washing
and splashing, he was flooded with summery resolutions, so much
so he tried to push open the window a little further with wet,
foamy hands so as not to prevent anything from flooding in, fully
and unhindered. He also stuck his damp head out of the window
and, morning drunk, he looked around: everything sparkled with
dew. He twisted his sleep-stiff neck as far as possible and let the
light plunge down into his eyes so that it hurt, then he slowly
went inside again and continued dressing. Or so he thought, that is, but with a sudden start he knew that he had been standing at
the window for quite a while, drowsing; in a great feeling of
happiness he had healed the sick, taken away pain, advanced
money, watered a dog, saved children from a pond, and a tremendous treacle eye, black with gratitude, stared at him so that his
own eyes became moist because of it.

'It's all ready,' somebody cried from downstairs and simultaneously the scent of toast and coffee curled its way upstairs. Cups
chinked sharply, a giggle struck him painfully, a laugh cracked hard
and hoarse. He knew what awaited him downstairs, he already
knew the jostling, the punches and jokes, and he knew he did not
want to enter this day, but wished to stay alone to preserve
himself carefully.

Breakfast was in full spate downstairs, but he had always been a
tardy riser and he knew they would not yet make things difficult
for him. First, he shaved himself until his jaws gleamed like a dog's
dick, then he slowly brought out his newly acquired things and
settled down in front of the mirror again. With slow movements
he began smearing a cleansing morning cream on to his coarse
face; still sleepy, his fingers circled and pushed the white stuff
across his skin, a service of love with feeling tips to a face that was
becoming ever dearer to him. As elegantly as possible, he cleaned
himself up with tissues and threw the crunched up balls in the
wash basin with coquettish gestures not observed before. Then he
applied the moisturising cream which smoothed and tightened the
skin, bleached it just a touch and created a splendid foundation for
the eye shadow. Most attentively he brushed on his Kleine
Nachtmusik, spleen looming up around the little eyes, shadows of
nocturnal tossing about and refined suffering. He highlighted the
cheekbones a little with blusher but all the while he hugged
himself over his coarse mouth with those lips like ones from a joke
shop: out of these he would make a pink-glossed and moistly
sucking openness to the entire world, a warm and flesh-pink
flirting from heart to heart. Finished with this, to his regret, he
listened sharply to the house and then on tiptoe fetched the wig
from the permanently locked little cabinet. Back in front of the
mirror, with shoulders high and angular from tension, he slowly
domed the elegant mass over his stubbly pate, relishing the
metamorphosis. That moment could not really be executed slowly
enough and he regretted that the coiffure was in place. Holding his
breath, he leant forward deeply and regarded in a misty gaze his image in which his great, pink lips still languidly massaged one
another a little. Now, a touch of perfume, little-fingered wispily, in
the dimple at the base of the throat, and away he crept, largest size
high-heeled shoes in hand, down the stairs and on to the street.

At a safe distance from the house, he put his shoes on and
walked in the morning sun in the direction of the park. He was
outside like this for the first time, bursting with promise and safe
from humiliating recognition and it was as if he hurled himself on
to the entire world. With great intensity he tried to find the right
walk for that feeling; he built one up, one with a nice, long hipline, a slight sway of the buttocks, a well-placed syncopation of the
heels and a deep, wide swing of the right arm. His first whistles of
praise he harvested near the tennis courts, from the morning-fresh
youngsters of good taste, yet people did not recognise him there.

He sought a bench in the shade because of the make-up and,
light-headed and absentminded, he awaited the moment when the
tolling of bells would roll across the park and the city, and would
call away the faithful from behind their coffee tables. The way to
church ran through the park; whenever it was at all possible, the
entire neighbourhood would take the stroll in order to get in the
mood for God's word so clearly present in the raked paths, pruned
shrubs, flower beds and mown grass. That was where one greeted
one another, with one's hat or just a hand, with that slight but not
unpleasant worry the tolling of a church bell evokes.

The youth got many looks; he saw men and women looking
round furtively, peering, turning away quickly in shame or sinking
into a frown, but he knew himself to be unrecognisable in his
confusing conspicuousness. His ear, sharp and having a fine instinct,
noticed how much irritation had crept into the previously so
cheerful, unforced cries of the children who always stayed behind
near the ducks and the swans.

In church he looked for a seat as far to the front as possible, at the
heart of all the whisperings, and regarding the statues and frescos
with great piety, he showed the churchgoers his elevated profile, the
white-powdered nose now in keeping with the weight of hair, the
little black eyes wide-wafted in Egyptian mascara, the muscular yet
well-filled neck and the pendulous earlobes. Women's mouths carved
their way in, men stared sombrely between their knees at the ground
in front of them; the youth knew all too well what seething fabric of
love, anger and hate bound him to the churchgoers, and a deep feeling
of happiness tingled through him from his toupee to the soles of his feet.

The gaze from the little eyes of the preacher rested on him a
moment and his voice began, high and strong: 'It so happens, dear
friends, that I must catch the train this morning early, but this
enforced haste in fact gives me precisely the opportunity to seek
your attention for a fundamental matter that just occurred to me.
Why, I wondered just now, did the Lord Jesus, who after all is
love, tempt mankind to commit the greatest possible sin, the
killing of Him - and how! Well, my good people, because He is
the Truth, too, and for no other reason. Therefore: have faith in
moderation, continue to hope, and love thy neighbour as you
please. Furthermore, learn three prayers off by heart, one for
breakfast, one the Lord's Prayer, and one for the traveller, for there
are a lot of evil folk on the road and I have to travel rather a lot. A
blessed morning to you all.'

Thoughtfully, the youth sniffed whiffs of incense and wax
candle, slow-moving feastday-scents in which bright white tennis
players made broad swings against a claret-red background. Deep
inside himself, he studied them while listening to the high, lamenting boys'-voices. Some day, this! ... One full of pure mouths
down to the last fibre, serious tennis faces, solemn, thin necks
protruding from white lace, and pink throats swaying with godswoe.

Now and then he also cast a benevolent glance upwards for a
moment, at the darkness of the arches and the yellowy-white body
above the altar. Nasty business that, very nasty.-. . sure.

And yet, a peerless tennis gesture, too, stretched out broadly as
if for cosmic applause. He saw himself hanging there, shatteringly
coiffed, in a heavenly trance and with pitiable hands large as
breakfast plates. His heart swelled with yearning for suffering,
sacrifice, doom and bloom; and suddenly bunching everything
together - choirboys, church and heaven - he muttered: 'And now
for some coffee, a good strong cup of it.'

And in the evening, after a day to which there seemed to be no
end, he walked towards his house in the gathering dusk, roamed
around outside it a while, took cover among the shrubs and
watched. The lawn was lit by a few standard lamps and by the big
windows, a barbecue placed the summer scent of a roast on the
wind, on a table decorated with flowers stood snacks, canapes and
many bottles of wine. Elegantly dressed, the guests walked to and
fro, the women to show off their expensive outfits, the men not to
trouble others with their cigars.

In the middle of the lawn, so that everyone could see her
clearly, stood the hostess, elegantly wringing her hands, who cried:
'Oh, where might he be, what could he be up to.'

'His stubble's prickling him,' said the host, looking up from a
conversation a moment, 'he'll turn up again,' and he continued his
discourse.

More guests arrived; they drove up, got out immaculately,
exchanged words of greeting and spread out heartily across the
lawn. From time to time, however, the hostess would wander to
the edge of the circle of light, there where the darkness began, and
she would call out worriedly: A few half-full glasses
stood round her in the grass; above, heaven domed its balmy
curve.

The youth in the shrubs turned round and went off into the
summer night, but not for long. Not far from the house
he was already being addressed by a gentleman who apparently
was out on an evening stroll still and who stood out because of his
screamingly expensive hat which he had placed elegantly on his
turnip pate.

His clothes were immaculate for that time of day: a dresshandkerchief caught the fading light and spread the pleasant scent
of soigne hotels in distant lands, atop his stick a golden knob
gleamed mattly but implacably. Judged by the cut and quality of
the suit, the man was successful in business relations and, judging
by the whiff of cologne, seasoned in financial transactions too. Yet
he was nervous, and indeed, having introduced himself elaborately,
he told how the frightful incident of yesteryear made him unhappy
still and often robbed him of his nightly rest.

The youth regarded the man before him with great intensity, for
he experienced much sympathy for all people who were in difficulty, and he searched for an apt and cheering word.

'You must know,' the man said, while far beyond his head some
clouds floated past the moon that had suddenly appeared there,
'that, though my influence is large, I was not able to prevent it at
the time. Truly, I put in a good deal of my time, conducted bouts
of telephoning right down to far beyond the borders, but it was
unpreventable. I can prevent many things, maybe all things even,
but this happened as if it had happened already.'

The youth's attitude expressed both great interest as well as
concern. 'Best tell the lot, ' he said, 'it eases it all.'