Greed (16 page)

Such blubbering or something like it, often heard, often seen on the display, but never read, heard, or copied, now emerges from the handfuls of hair flowing down, which gently drape a glans which has already turned blue. We are in the car again, which is standing there, something else is standing too, only the heater is running. Afterwards the man will have to pick strands of hair from his mouth, pull them like fishbones between his teeth, which right away, you never know where you have to be first, it's like the homebound traffic jam at the junction with the Federal Highway to Mariazell on a weekday at five, so he'll need to feign kisses, which would actually have turned into angry bites, if the tongue had only joined in. But it has taken cover in time, sticking to the side of his mouth, so that nothing happens to it; he's already dreading, even before he opens his mouth to let in her aquatic bird of passage, one of many, and in addition all the flaps and nozzles of flesh, all of it, all the flesh won from impenetrable swamps! As if it's disappeared. He must force it, the tongue, well now, somewhat belatedly, it is joining in our aerobics exercise after all, after it had briefly withdrawn behind the barrier of the teeth for a rest. The tongue would fit very easily at the edge of the lake, but it is the slow-flowing rivers of a woman which are squeezed out through the sweet fingers of love. Juice shop. Have your glass ready nevertheless, you won't get anything else. If you place this glass on a tea light, the light will never flicker and go out. Because it cannot get away.

We are now on a parking lot, which isn't one at all. It is, freshwater life-forms can confirm it at any time, almost a bog, thick, juicy fennel stalks everywhere, though not until summer, now fresh weeds are just beginning to grow rampant and swamp the place, foul, stagnant, vegetable, right next to it the winter refuges of birds, it doesn't matter which. The vegetation is not yet fully developed, that's still to come. Rome wasn't built in a day either, but on swampland nevertheless.

We just have to watch that the wheels don't sink in, so that we can get away from here again, but there's plenty of brushwood, it can be put under the wheels if need be. So that we have the necessary friction and the peace and quiet for a young woman called Gabi, who at this moment is likewise rather naughty, to make a face and give this man a blow job. She has mastered that like an older woman, but she hasn't mastered herself. That's something they can all do, women: be bad, until one has to smack them on their raised butts, yes, turn it around to me, whispers the man in her ear, at least she didn't suffocate earlier on, Gabi. She's recovered again. A reason to be cheerful, but only one of many. So now she's ended up here, on this human island anchored in the lake, swamp island, this is exactly where, later on, it's already settled, he has to open up the salty face down there once again and give it a good licking, she won't give him any peace until then. Otherwise he'll drive straight back to the other one after all. Earlier we didn't get to where we wanted, she stopped us right to the end, the other one. Swamps only exist where there is very high precipitation, but Gabi is still very wet, from what, from that. Please, just let me drive Gabi home at least, the country policeman said a couple of minutes ago to Gerti, let me, I'll just quickly drive her home, and then I'll come straight back to you. I'll take her away, and come back as quickly as possible, right away, but you'll have to give me ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, you'll get something in return. No, nothing will get in the way, not this time, it did other times, but nothing will get in the way today, I promise you. For today, even I've had enough. I know: you haven't. This man may have enough, yes, even of himself. Nevertheless best of all he likes to do it with himself, which he conceals from all the people close to him: For him that is the equality on which our civilization is based-to avoid as far as possible being measured against others! He reflects, condemned to making advances: all the women, and so many all alone!, but most of all he is attached to himself and his dreams. They are all dreams of bodies, and they are sometimes even better than the dreams of houses. It is a pleasure at last to have people in front of one, and without the small difference between one another and what they have between their legs, that's not so very important in his opinion. He's had enough of women, he's never fed up with property, but the bodies, they befall him and overwhelm him. Nor does he see anyone he knows in front of him but faceless people in indeterminate positions. How nice. Children, whether boys or girls, get their chance just like adults. The age of the children is unimportant, they can be almost sixteen like Gabi, they can also be infants, it doesn't matter which month. And they all open up just for him, like suns.

So what am I doing here, right, I'm describing one side of the culprit (you can meanwhile take the others. I haven't properly addressed them yet), from which really the return match should now come, normally in the shape of squeezing, pinching of nipples, and kissing somewhere or other, the sort of thing one does, as often as possible please, in the case of this man. With him I fear there's unfortunately too much biting as well, that's the most important thing for him, he could have been recognized by that. It's always the same with lust, people let themselves go, but every tiny change immediately confuses them, and they want to go home again. There is much that distracts them again, their projectiles, even if the change was specially marked in the book of life, even before one opened it. The victims believe that nevertheless, they're not loved anymore if something is done a little bit differently from usual. From whom did they learn it? This young woman here is lying ready on her knees in the car, the floor of which is very clean, you'd hardly believe it, and her jeans are losing hardly any fluff either, they are the most popular brand there is. Because of it the forensic experts will in days to come sweat blood rather than analyze it. So, a couple of bars back: His game, the man's game, now an almost furtive gentle groping, as if he didn't know where this body is, which is where it always is, on the passenger seat, already half on the floor, with its head in his lap, that's how simple the language of bodies is, everyone understands it without words, so with her head in the man's lap: this young woman, already a lover, grazing by the shore, lost, even before she could find herself. As usual the man has spread his legs a little and half turned towards her, as not even God, the Creator, would, because he would never allow his picture to be taken in such a position, he's surely got the right to his image, except no one bothers about it, including his agent, the priest, he's more interested in little boys, and Jesus is just too old (but how else should we find out if he's really man enough to torment us, this Lord God?), heavens, where will it end. Now I've lost the thread myself, the first set goes to you. You can have it, if you like. So, back to the position again: The man, is that clear?, the woman: facing him, her pelvis thrust forward, and the crown cork, with which the penis is sealed, so that it's not exploding all the time, possibly in one's own face, it's in the likewise wide open mouth of a woman, now, say it finally, so: a slight pressure on, how shall I explain it, well the carotid artery divides at a certain point in the throat, yes, there, into two parts, and between them there's a ganglion, and that's important, you should never squeeze it, that is on both sides at the same time, left and right, because otherwise you die or someone dies because of you in seconds, please don't alarm the player, he's almost ready now, and he's squeezing with his strong fingers, which are familiar with signal discs, measuring tapes, laser guns, even an ordinary gun, from above, as if by chance, it could accordingly also have been an accident, if one had no clue about the anatomy of the throat, because one was always concerned with other parts of the female anatomy, where it's wetter and more interesting (where there's water, there's life!), but the man knows this spot, and he altogether knows more about bodies than about anything else, and has attended all the obligatory first aid courses, some even voluntarily, to get on in his profession, which already go beyond first aid and are almost second aid, I mean the spot on the delicate stem of the neck and then also the spot in the fir plantation, he knows them very well, in the young corn which grows right up to the shore in the almost muddy ground, not where during the day people like to say, let's go for a little walk, the spot is deeper in the dark, hairstyle-spoiling forest, and the other spot, the one on the body, this proud article, which is available either completely free of charge or is anyway always too expensive for people like us, when we're standing in the perfume department in order to camouflage it at least, well the body, naturally it likes to put its best goods on display, but that doesn't mean that one can just stick one's hand in and take them. In short: The aforementioned spot is accordingly a little to the side, is easily accessible and the man has strong fingers, which would not, however, have been at all necessary. You and I, we would have managed it, too, if we had known where and known how, to squeeze the nerve spot between the carotid branches, I will find out what it's called, but the doctor, who's supposed to tell me, is still busy with something else. You'll find out right away, as soon as I've found out. At any rate now you know where you shouldn't grab, even if you don't know what it's called. It can't do any harm if, as a precaution, you get an expert to show you the spot so that you avoid it in future. So, no, not again: There's a spot, you shouldn't even try to reach out for it. It's like a door, which you shouldn't open, and now everyone's dying to do it, aren't they? People are allowed to see everything and grasp at everything and they grasp nothing, but just there: really please don't. What, did the man first bang the girl's head against the door handle? No, I didn't see the man bang the girl's head against the door handle. But I'm always the last person to find out about anything. Something on a sunken path through a forest, in the middle of Austria, has, without visible injury, gently, as if by chance, gone slack, the trees only stand up all the straighter, to stand out all the better from the human beings and to display toughness, which not everyone of us manages.

And now she's being cleared away, the girl, together with her name and her actions. Tidied up, wrapped up and removed from the earth and dispatched to the water, where she has already arrived. All that needs to be done is to open the cistern and give the float valve a shake, then it'll flow again and flush away everything that we had intended for the water.

Roses, tulips, carnations, all three wither; but not all at once, because they don't all grow at the same time. Carnations don't grow at all, one can only buy them at the florist. The flowers, how pretty they are, they don't covet property, a little patch of earth is plenty for them, they don't even know that others, less sedentary, covet property that is not their own. They live, and other flowers live next door, for our delight. Shush, they're listening to us! Being quiet, perhaps we, too, can learn new possibilities of existence from them: Is it better to be snapped or to be right away completely broken off? But also how to show off and spread oneself around. All their high spirits: nothing self-important! The front garden blooms and is carefully weeded, as if with a pair of eyebrow tweezers, Mrs. Janisch does that, and she does it on her knees, in order not to fall into the pit, which she doesn't see, but about which she knows: It's over there, somewhere, not far away, dug just for her. Perhaps by her rather selfish husband? No, probably not. She nevertheless seems quite crazy about her beautiful garden, perhaps mat's why she begrudges alien plants any association with her own native ones, which she has so laboriously tamed. An attack of immodesty, that's what one calls weeds. The garden is the kingdom of Mrs. Janisch, whereas her husband is on the lookout for other kingdoms; right now in the kitchen-living room he's bending over an architect's plan, which doesn't belong to him, and neither unfortunately does the house that goes with it. In this plan, as in every plan, including God's, a kitchen is marked in, it's as if people always wanted the same thing and that really means: themselves, except bigger and better please, so that from time to time one can also cook. How on earth did the country policeman get hold of this plan so quickly?, after all, he's not responsible for the land registry but for catastrophes. E.g., when the mountain comes calling, first of all in small amounts, in rockfalls, then later perhaps the whole thing breaks off, is that because of the old mine, of the many very old mines underneath? The whole country is completely hollow inside! And then all the people in the environs of the mountain, which also wants to move, but has no plan for doing it, have to leave their houses, which they built so laboriously with neighborly help, which is what they call the black economy round here. Saved decades for something and now this! The mountain casts an enigmatic glance at us, and whoever he throws a glance at, he follows it up with more, to add some weight to his glance. Who's talking down there? It's only us. So I, the mountain, will make you disappear now. The valley, which was likewise undermined by passages, doesn't want to be left behind and threatens that first there will be one subsidence, and then plugs will certainly soon form, and the water trickling through will become less and less. And then, says the valley bottom, grinning from every crevice, I'll really get going. Because, thanks to the high drop, this plug cannot be expected to hold for long. That is why, says the valley, and it grows ever louder, because it has to be heard above its own howling of subterranean winds, that is why it cannot be concluded, that because the first water and mud subsidence, which will then have occurred, will come to a standstill, that, should one attempt to pump off water underground and put up wooden partitions, that because of that anything would have been effectively sealed off, far from it. Not a trace. You see. That's exactly what will be left of the people down there.

Mr. Janisch would prefer to move into one of the houses that are already there, then he would have two of them, his son would also have his (not quite, the old woman, to whom it belongs, is still alive, please don't forget to bring her no flowers! Not until her funeral will some be handed to her, from the garden naturally, what do we have one for), Mr. Janisch Jr. wants to do some rebuilding then, but that can wait. There's still another person living inside, a person one can't simply take out of it like jam out of the jar. The people here owe the mountain countless unpleasant hours, and as far as dirty tricks are concerned it is in constant competition with the lake. The lake gets something tipped into it which doesn't agree with it, the mountain has thrown off its magic wood and has become a threat to people, settlements, and buildings; it is a wood with an excellent effect on public welfare, so let us set up a welfare committee, not to cut it down, but to keep out the water and the stones and to break off dolomite and other nonsense, but this wood has not kept its promise. It didn't keep the stones to itself, that would certainly have been a feat, since there are so many. And below it, too, there are shocking scenes taking place, a house slips into the depths, and nothing but the balconies with their floral decorations are peeping out, we're enchanted by them, so much beauty in such a small space! It's just being photographed now, before it disappears. Look, the tree up there, it's interesting, too: Its root fibers reach desperately into the air, will they manage to catch hold of the piece of earth that's sledging down to the valley there, but already the whole tree itself is toppling over, and in the air in which its root ropes are waving around it won't even catch a midge, in the air there's no support anymore.

Nice and warm today, but the days are still rather short. It'll come. They're already stretching their limbs. Spring awakens. A girl's room in an attic is empty. The whole business, the dream-heavy feelings behind drawn curtains, at the edge of a precipice, is not the routine case, which it will appear to be for a couple of days, it is not a case at all yet. A young woman is missing, it is assumed she has not been able to resist the wide world, the district capital, yes, the one with the big hospital, in which people die of cancer, which they were unable to show to a doctor of their choice in time-people never have time for the essentials, and if they do, then they wouldn't know which ones and which kind-it is assumed, therefore, the young woman has presumably been unable to resist the world beyond the village and simply hasn't come home for a night. Didn't feel like it. A vanished young beauty, a lost light. Don't panic, beauty is untouchable, just try to catch hold of this beautiful swan, then you'll soon see! Beauty is untouchable, it's for our eyes only, so that we all get something from it, not only the gentlemen who climb over marble cliffs in order to get to know Naomi Campbell or Cindy Crawford personally. Gabi Fluchs will pop up unexpectedly, but she will be most urgently awaited by her mother and her boyfriend. She can be here at any moment. We'll start waiting now. So, early in the morning her mother waits with the familiar comfort of a cup of white coffee and a sandwich with either sausage or cheese, usually with both. Then, as every day, the daughter is supposed to catch the bus, the stop can be seen from the living room window of the detached house, or the train, but the daughter doesn't see why her mother always has to be gazing after her as she does so. Plants bloom in these troughs, too, and reach out cheekily to the shiny windows, until they can get a hold and look into the room, but why then do they so persistently and stupidly turn their heads away to the other side, to the flashing sun? Perhaps they looked too deeply into the window glass? Why do we not want to see what is evident and would interest us; what forces us to constantly incline our heads to the other side? On the other side are the people who should be our models, beautiful and good humored. And we are here.

The sun entices us out there. What, the Worthersee is somewhere else altogether? It can't be! We don't believe it! Well, it doesn't matter, stranger, we'll just drive there. How good it feels, the sun shower. Do we, too, have to find out something that to know would certainly not make us feel so good? We have to see, we won't give up, what others want to obscure: They use sweet smiling cats' faces for that, or stylized portraits of dogs stuck to the windows of cars, and for this purpose alone: to keep off some of the light, to stop the glare. Early in the morning Gabi always thought she looked so pretty in front of the shiny bathroom mirror, and she was, too, remembers her mother. Getting up ten minutes early to put on make-up, that will perhaps get her one hour's pleasure, later, again and again, but not until later (that's the point of pleasure, that one can't consume it right away, first pay at the checkout of the drug store!), and yet she always smiles herself into a good mood again in the mirror, our Gabi, who's an apprentice in a big building materials company. All of it without success. She's hardly started. But the sun has already risen for her, no one can be brighter than it, and the thousand pieces that the atom has ordered for itself in order to enter into competition with them, nothing can be brighter than this sun, except sometimes a human face, which in the end one still doesn't like, for one reason or another. But one is too dazzled to notice. So we'll just leave the face to the one it belongs to. It won't suit him either, it didn't even suit Socialism, which took it off right away and put the old one on again. Then Socialism was content again for a few years with what it was familiar with.

So, how can we help up to its feet this ground, which is just rushing down towards us, down the mountain flank, and promptly landing on its nose, not on ours, please? This nice, comradely mountain-also a face which has fallen and no one wants to help up. The mountain has dropped its mask. Now it already looks different from how it did a little while ago, when it was still whole. Perhaps houses will even have to be evacuated? Watch out, that could mean loss of homeland and lead to critical situations! I wish I could plan an early warning system, but would need help, so that the life of these people here could be maintained to the same high standards they are used to, inclusive of the deep freeze cabinet, into which at least one whole deer would fit if it were foolish enough to go into it. And also inclusive of a glazed conservatory, in which things could very well be a bit more exotic, if we had been sent the appropriate catalog, which we ordered on the phone.

The mountain remains unpredictable, again and again it throws off its debris, which has grown too heavy for it, it has to relieve itself. Last year's avalanche alone, thank you very much, it need not have been so generous, that first the slope slips down, and then all the rock follows. Austria. Just as during the holidays visitors have been getting to know it from above, so for centuries and millennia, mines have been getting to know it from below, at every level. The country's top side and its underside are well trodden. The country exists as positive and negative, depending on where one finds oneself, at the moment unfortunately we hear more about the negative. Why do I always only see the negative, I am admonished. I don't know either. Perhaps I don't know the country well enough, so as to be able to do justice to its good sides. One can be shut up inside the mountain, no I wouldn't like to get to know this country from the inside at all, the outside is already enough for me. We have mining to thank for all that, for being so hollow. You probably think, the doors always open when you hammer on them with your fist? A mistake. Right now you're sitting in the mine cage at the bottom, and while up above the rubble is breaking away from the mountain and howling and raging the mud is coming to visit, you yourself are smashed to pieces down there, and no one will ever see you again. Someone should have taken care of it, the mountain, shielded it from human beings, instead it turned into a shield somewhat full of holes for them. The thunderstorm came, a thundering and roaring as if from a thousand express trains arose, yes, exactly, as if, let's say, rather: five hundred trains are pulling out at the same time. Ordinary mortals were frightened to death, and the rest did then really die, it's true, you can read it up in many other places, if you don't believe me. I think of the big hit that God had with these dead, who will be in the papers for years, but he wasn't on target. The mountain wouldn't have helped me, nor anyone else either. No one helped it, although it was put in our care, and what did we do to it? We hollowed it out completely, disembowelled and made what I don't know what out of its innards. This and many another mountains have been ground down into baby powder, is that not unbelievable? The big doesn't remain big, it is as if it's made for whatever's small. We've already said a lot, perhaps too much, about the water, but we will no doubt be able to say a great deal more about it, when one day it's finished with you. Nature is as romantic as a human being, both want to have a nice experience and can, too, but a human being moves in a larger radius. This missing girl, Gabi, likewise had no end of care, but you see how deceptive such protection can be; you'll understand when the storm comes and you're left standing in the rain with nothing to shield you. All right, all right, I will stop, but not yet.

Gabi is gone, like a part, almost a whole horn of this mountain. Nature adapts to human beings, or is it the other way round? Just try some time to meet a mountain, after all, the tourist brochure explicitly demands it of you! The mountain won't avoid you, but the human being, in this case you, certainly will. Or the mountain's removed from the playing field, where it was only tolerated on the sidelines, in smart, glittering wrapping, as a cheerleader and everyone jumps for joy at it and at its commands, when the team underground in the display mine wants a boost. Someone squeezes his button accordion and there's an incredibly loud bang. Every girl with a boyfriend among the players is already happy in advance, we simply must win, we must! And we, every one of us friends of the mountains, shake arms and legs, to be harvested as ripe fruit by our charges, when the time comes. The mountain's coming. We can do nothing at all about that, except conduct a conversation with it.

What fashionable shoes Gabi bought herself only last week from the birthday money she got in advance! She would even want to be buried in them, even if the layers of the soles have turned out a bit heavy, even clumsy-looking compared with the remainder that is built up on top of them. The mountain, full of understanding, thinks so too. The layers down below have become too heavy for it, and what does it throw off? It throws off its upper story, which is not to blame in the least. A very independent girl, our Gabi, sensible. The new shoes are gone, they still haven't turned up, perhaps because they're too heavy. She also has a boyfriend, who is now at a loss. Although she's only sixteen, with a discount, because she won't be for another two months, she's already had a steady boyfriend for a long time, he's very nice, I think, perhaps a little boring and pedantic for his age. At least he's not one of the inconsiderate, insolent kind, equipped with fashionable sunglasses and ugly haircuts and hooded sweatshirts. He has drawn up a life plan and is sticking to it, whereas the others only have a goal in life, with nothing in between as to how they want to achieve it: No, I'm being unjust, the goal is the fast car and the beautiful house and several beautiful women. Of all the other treasures one only needs one of each, oh if one only had it already!, apart from money, there can never be enough of that. So I'm slandering young people, because I'm no longer one of them myself, and everybody remarks on it. But I'm generalizing again, people are incredibly different, and life is an altogether far too dirty business, particularly if, like me, one doesn't want to get one's hands dirty. Money, that really interests us, but work, no. You will permit me to look at the carefully devised map of New York, as I write this. I would like to go there and as fast as possible! This lad believes in himself, it's only natural, that's he's got something to offer and looks attractive, both of which are quite true, only he doesn't dress well, nor does he come from far away, where for instance Saint Nicholas is kept in store until his big appearance, but he ranks, even among the youth of the village, among the also rans: not an outsider, but someone, nevertheless, on whom one would not place any money, even if one stood to win a lot. Let's wait and see, it'll look different in a couple of years, then he'll be earning a good wage and be able to afford a bit. After all he's getting a good training, even as shampoo and water are running fraternally down the sides of his car. Gabi will then have to run through questions for his exam. One would virtually have to drive across the border to find another little place where there was a similarly ambitious young man. And she lets him get away, our Gabi, when she doesn't even have to keep the door shut herself, she doesn't have to do anything with her friend, just be there, and yet last night she nevertheless didn't turn up at his house, although yesterday as every day he could have been a good influence on her. He is, I can't repeat it often enough, a quiet, hard-working lad, and has never believed what was said about his girlfriend, all made up by her friends, it's said. It can't be true, there, behind the lipstick, inside there's supposed to have dwelt an insatiable appetite, for what, she had everything, didn't she? Feet are made for walking, and the younger they are, the further they'll go, what's the point of this unequivocal remark, if one's still unable to move? It's as if one's nailed to the spot. If we had been apart for any length of time, then it would have been something else, says the schoolboy with his own car. If I'm sitting next to her, I'm always good to her. The room in Gabi's parents' house, that too, I can only repeat: really pretty, cuddly toys, magazine photos without warmth and pity, that this pretty girl nevertheless was unable to get enough points for the amateur model competition. She sent in the photo quite in vain, our Gabi, a narrow miss is still a miss. But now it really does come in useful, the nice photo, which a photographer, who really knows what he's doing, took of her. Because her mother and her boyfriend don't, not exactly, carve it into the wood, but they stick it to the power poles between the house and the next village, and they go even further. Over here, closer, a little bit closer, yes, in the house, you see the room of an innocent girl. Her father already moved out years ago and is living with another woman, three villages on, towards Mariazell. Now that's a woman!, I'm telling you, she's a home-loving creature, gentle, yet as if from another planet, on which people are put together differently from here, exotic and unforced, because one can't force her to do anything; parts of the hands of the second wife of Gabi's father have developed almost into flippers. The fingers have grown together as far as the penultimate digit, it looks strange, but occurs frequently in this district, in which even the valleys have it off with each other, because there are so few of them and they find nothing else to play with except for their own boulders, their own debris, their own bodies. The mountains play with themselves, and sometimes they play with people, if they can catch some. No, don't look the other way! I'd like to continue with my descriptions, but this time something quite different, not far away. I, a pole-vaulter, but one who doesn't like to increase her pace, have for many years been cautiously courting this district with all too many words, and what does it give me in return? My characters evidently want me to fail myself, yet I always fail because of them. Let's see if this time a whole lot come at once to finish me off! What do I see? This district only gives up pictures of itself, pictures which I've had to have made myself. But I'm going to stop soon.