Read Traveler of the Century Online
Authors: Andrés Neuman
Traveler of the Century (59 page)
Embarrassed and more taken aback than Reichardt himself, Hans does something he had not intended, something that takes Reichardt by surprise and which relieves and saddens him in equal measureâhe closes his eyes once more. With a mixture of shame, gratitude and resentment, Reichardt resumes what he was doing. He takes Hans's cap, adds it to his spoils, and runs off down the path.
T
HROUGH THE WINDOWPANES, the sky resembled a piece of paper held up to a lamp. A tiresome drizzle persisted. For a few days now Hans and Sophie had said goodbye half-an-hour earlierâthe days were growing shorter.
HROUGH THE WINDOWPANES, the sky resembled a piece of paper held up to a lamp. A tiresome drizzle persisted. For a few days now Hans and Sophie had said goodbye half-an-hour earlierâthe days were growing shorter.
Leaving already? Hans asked, touching her nipple like someone pressing a bell. Sophie nodded and began hurriedly getting dressed. Wait a moment, he said, I want to tell you something. She turned, arched her eyebrows and went on dressing.
Look, said Hans, the publisher thinks, that is, he's written to me to say it might be a good idea if we revised the French libertines a little, you remember, the poems by de Viau, Saint Amant? (If we revised them? Sophie asked, stopping in the middle of rolling up her stocking,
a good idea
? What do you mean?) Yes, I mean, or rather Brockhaus means, that because of the problems they've had in recent years, they suggest we. (Suggest or demand?) Well, that depends on how you look at it, they're asking us to do our utmost to avoid alerting the censors. Apparently they were cautioned last month about one of the translations we sent. (What? Which one?) I'm not sure, they didn't say exactly, you've read the libertines' texts, but the fact is now it seems the publishers are worrying they might seize their book list, do you see? It's just a question of, I don't know, of toning them down a little, without relinquishing the. (Wait a moment, wait a moment, didn't you say that by signing them with the authors' pseudonyms the censors wouldn't realise they were banned authors?) And they haven't, my love, they haven't realised, but apparently the censor raised an objection
when approving the galleys, the publisher explained this wasn't their usual man, who is on our side and who lets everything through, he was unwell and the idiot replacing him says there are at least fifteen pages that are unprintable unless we, do you follow? That's what Brockhaus said, unless we're artful enough to revise certain passages, and â¦
a good idea
? What do you mean?) Yes, I mean, or rather Brockhaus means, that because of the problems they've had in recent years, they suggest we. (Suggest or demand?) Well, that depends on how you look at it, they're asking us to do our utmost to avoid alerting the censors. Apparently they were cautioned last month about one of the translations we sent. (What? Which one?) I'm not sure, they didn't say exactly, you've read the libertines' texts, but the fact is now it seems the publishers are worrying they might seize their book list, do you see? It's just a question of, I don't know, of toning them down a little, without relinquishing the. (Wait a moment, wait a moment, didn't you say that by signing them with the authors' pseudonyms the censors wouldn't realise they were banned authors?) And they haven't, my love, they haven't realised, but apparently the censor raised an objection
when approving the galleys, the publisher explained this wasn't their usual man, who is on our side and who lets everything through, he was unwell and the idiot replacing him says there are at least fifteen pages that are unprintable unless we, do you follow? That's what Brockhaus said, unless we're artful enough to revise certain passages, and â¦
Sophie, by now fully dressed, stood with arms akimbo. Hans stared at the floor without finishing his sentence.
Listen, he ventured, I don't like the idea any more than you, but if we want to see the libertines in print we have no choice but to (but then, she objected, they'd no longer be libertines), yes, yes they would, they'd be libertines published against the odds, as libertine as possible in times of censorship, it's that or nothing, it would be worse to withdraw the whole translation (frankly, she sighed, I don't know if it would be worse or more honourable), all right, all right. Do you know how many threats were issued to the magazine
Ibis
? And do you know what happened to the periodical
Literarisches Morgenblatt
? They stopped publication several times, Brockhaus changed its name, it was banned again, and it went on like that for years, the publisher ended up losing a huge amount of money and tens of thousands of sales, it's only natural they should try to avoid problems, this is part of the world of literature, too, Sophie, it isn't simply about visiting libraries, there's also this other side, of fighting against the elements. (I see, then let's refuse to make any changes and allow them to commission someone else to do the translation, that way we aren't preventing the publishers from printing the book, nor are we colluding with the censors.) But we've almost finished the texts! How can we throw away so many hours of work! (I don't like it either, but I'd rather sacrifice our work than our dignity.) My love, all I ask is that you look at it from another perspective, censorship is unavoidable but also stupid, if we rewrite the most sensitive verses we can say the same thing
in a subtler way, we could even use this opportunity to improve the translation (I can't believe you're suggesting we comply with such a command), I don't intend to comply with it, but to manipulate it at our whim. (Translation and manipulation are two different things wouldn't you say?) You know perfectly well I detest this situation as much as you, but if we really believe in our. (But my love, it is precisely because I believe in it, in our translation, that I refuse to delete a single comma!) I agree, in an ideal world, but the reality is different, wouldn't it be more courageous to accept that reality and fight it from within in order to publish as much of the original text as possible? (You talk to me about fighting! Why don't we pick a real fight by refusing to be trampled on? Write to the publisher and tell him â¦) That's not fighting, Sophie, it's giving in, trust me, this has happened many times before. (What? You've done this before? Is that how you work? Hans, I don't recognise you, I honestly don't recognise you!) Yes, no! That is, occasionally, but in my own fashion, I've never made an author say anything he hasn't already said or couldn't have said, I swear to you, but, how can I explain, instead of getting angry and doing nothing, I've tried to find inventive ways around it, using ambiguity, do you understand? It's a question of strategy (it's a question of principles, retorted Sophie).
Ibis
? And do you know what happened to the periodical
Literarisches Morgenblatt
? They stopped publication several times, Brockhaus changed its name, it was banned again, and it went on like that for years, the publisher ended up losing a huge amount of money and tens of thousands of sales, it's only natural they should try to avoid problems, this is part of the world of literature, too, Sophie, it isn't simply about visiting libraries, there's also this other side, of fighting against the elements. (I see, then let's refuse to make any changes and allow them to commission someone else to do the translation, that way we aren't preventing the publishers from printing the book, nor are we colluding with the censors.) But we've almost finished the texts! How can we throw away so many hours of work! (I don't like it either, but I'd rather sacrifice our work than our dignity.) My love, all I ask is that you look at it from another perspective, censorship is unavoidable but also stupid, if we rewrite the most sensitive verses we can say the same thing
in a subtler way, we could even use this opportunity to improve the translation (I can't believe you're suggesting we comply with such a command), I don't intend to comply with it, but to manipulate it at our whim. (Translation and manipulation are two different things wouldn't you say?) You know perfectly well I detest this situation as much as you, but if we really believe in our. (But my love, it is precisely because I believe in it, in our translation, that I refuse to delete a single comma!) I agree, in an ideal world, but the reality is different, wouldn't it be more courageous to accept that reality and fight it from within in order to publish as much of the original text as possible? (You talk to me about fighting! Why don't we pick a real fight by refusing to be trampled on? Write to the publisher and tell him â¦) That's not fighting, Sophie, it's giving in, trust me, this has happened many times before. (What? You've done this before? Is that how you work? Hans, I don't recognise you, I honestly don't recognise you!) Yes, no! That is, occasionally, but in my own fashion, I've never made an author say anything he hasn't already said or couldn't have said, I swear to you, but, how can I explain, instead of getting angry and doing nothing, I've tried to find inventive ways around it, using ambiguity, do you understand? It's a question of strategy (it's a question of principles, retorted Sophie).
Hans fell into an irritated silence. He looked at Sophie who was gathering up her things to leave, and said: It's very obvious you don't earn a living by translating, nor Rudi, for that matter.
Hans saw Sophie's fingers tighten around the door handle, her gentle knuckles tensing. Sophie released the handle. She slowly buttoned her gloves and responded, still facing the door: Do as you please, Hans. After all, as you've been kind enough to remind me, you're the professional and I'm only an amateur. I wonder whether a professional needs the help of an amateur. Good day.
My loveâI don't know which of us was right. But I do know that this translation, like all the others, belongs to both of us. And although I may have given a different impression, yesterday's discussion was my clumsy way of consulting you.
I have written to Brockhaus saying we won't change the text, and if they wish to publish the book would they please find another translator.
Would you do me the honour of continuing to work with me, Fräulein Bodenlieb, and of making me a better translator?
Libertine bites from your
H
Â
Â
Dear professional libertine, I am not sure either which of us was right, although I am glad we agree on the main pointâif we are working together the decision should be taken jointly.
I know how difficult it was for you to send that letter to your publisher. I see in it an act of love. And, since I have the honour of being your assistant translator, it would be unfair of me to interpret it any other way. Thank you.
Ah, what bites I have in store for you
S
Rudi's shoulders, Hans reflected looking at them, had, so to speak, come back bearing a heavier load after the holidays. And the tone in which he spoke to Hans in the salon was not the same eitherâthe words he used hadn't changed, but there was a nasality about his voice, an air of restraint each time he turned to him and said for instance “Good night, how nice to see you again” or “Herr Hans, would you pass the sugar bowl?” How could he describe it, Hans kept thinking, it was as though Rudi were studying Hans's every gesture, his every response, through a magnifying glass. He tried to ignore all these nuances and even attempted to appear more amiable, to wipe away any
possible trace of guilt from his demeanour. Yet there Rudi was, every Friday, breathing down his neck, pressing his hand in an overly vigorous manner when he greeted him. Regardless of everything, with some difficulty, order reigned once more in the lives of both familiesâthe Wilderhauses had reinstalled themselves in their sumptuous mansion on King's Parade, Rudi had opened the hunting season and at the Gottlieb residence preparations had resumed for what would undoubtedly be the wedding of the year in Wandernburg.
possible trace of guilt from his demeanour. Yet there Rudi was, every Friday, breathing down his neck, pressing his hand in an overly vigorous manner when he greeted him. Regardless of everything, with some difficulty, order reigned once more in the lives of both familiesâthe Wilderhauses had reinstalled themselves in their sumptuous mansion on King's Parade, Rudi had opened the hunting season and at the Gottlieb residence preparations had resumed for what would undoubtedly be the wedding of the year in Wandernburg.
From the frame on the desk, a pale-faced woman stared into the distance, beyond Herr Gottlieb's watery eyes, which were contemplating the photograph as though hoping it would utter a word, a whisper, anything, as he held onto his sixth glass of brandy. As far as Bertold could tell from having spent the past few weeks posted outside his study door, Herr Gottlieb spent entire afternoons doing little else but opening and closing drawers. The previous evening, Bertold noticed that his master had suffered a curious memory lapse that was most unlike himâhe had not wound the clock at ten o'clock sharp, but had left it until almost twenty minutes later. In addition, that same morning Herr Gottlieb had not risen bright and early, as was his custom, and at midday, had burst into the kitchen and yelled at Petra on account of something to do with black olives.
After eavesdropping for a few moments, Bertold rapped gently on the door. A grunt came from within. The servant entered, chin on chest. Sir, stammered Bertold, er, I came, well, to tell you you're expected at the Grass residence, sir, and that yesterday they sent another polite reminder, that's all sir, the carriage is ready whenever you are. (The Grass residence? Herr Gottlieb declared, lifting his head turtle-like. Those fools? And since when am I obliged to call on fools simply because they send me their pretentious visiting card? Is that what you came for, is that why you are bothering me?) Oh, no, sir, I
didn't mean to trouble you, it's just that, if I may be so bold, sir, you haven't been out of the house for days, and frankly, we are beginning be concerned for your health, sir, indeed, the other night you were imprudent enough to (imprudent? Herr Gottlieb flashed angrily. Who's being imprudent, me or you!?) Er, I mean, you didn't take the precaution of instructing me to accompany you on your evening stroll, exposing yourself to God knows what dangers, and I'm not sure whether you were even warmly enough dressed, sir, which is why I took the liberty this afternoon of preparing the carriage, and moreover (you may go, Bertold, thank you, Herr Gottlieb said, waving him away).
didn't mean to trouble you, it's just that, if I may be so bold, sir, you haven't been out of the house for days, and frankly, we are beginning be concerned for your health, sir, indeed, the other night you were imprudent enough to (imprudent? Herr Gottlieb flashed angrily. Who's being imprudent, me or you!?) Er, I mean, you didn't take the precaution of instructing me to accompany you on your evening stroll, exposing yourself to God knows what dangers, and I'm not sure whether you were even warmly enough dressed, sir, which is why I took the liberty this afternoon of preparing the carriage, and moreover (you may go, Bertold, thank you, Herr Gottlieb said, waving him away).
Bertold took two steps back, and, concealing his displeasure, lifted his chin in the air and said: There's one other thing I came to tell you, sir. Bertold spoke in a calm, outwardly respectful voice while endowing his words with an insidious, almost reproachful tone, as though deep down, rather than doing Herr Gottlieb's bidding, he were attempting to warn him that it was time he pulled himself together for both their sakes. One of the Wilderhauses' servants, Bertold resumed, after a calculated pause, has just delivered a card announcing Herr Rudi's arrival. What! Herr Gottlieb snapped, and you're telling me this now! Why the devil didn't you say so before? I was about to, sir, replied Bertold, when you. Bah, interrupted Herr Gottlieb, pushing aside the bottle and straightening his lapels as he sat up, stop wasting time, go and tell Petra to prepare something to eat and a tray of Indian tea, why the devil didn't you tell me this before! When did his servant say he was coming? Within the hour, Bertold said, standing to attention. Then take this away, Herr Gottlieb ordered, gesturing towards the bottle, and help me get dressed.
The creak of patent leather stopped in front of the study. The sound of someone clearing his throat could clearly be heard. Rudi Wilderhaus's right shoe rubbed against the left leg of his
breeches as though it had paused suddenly in the middle of a procession. Dense, almost visible, the particles of his lemony perfume dispersed before the door. There followed three sharp rapsâRudi knew that one knock at a door betrays unease, two knocks sound obsequious, but that three always sound resolute.
breeches as though it had paused suddenly in the middle of a procession. Dense, almost visible, the particles of his lemony perfume dispersed before the door. There followed three sharp rapsâRudi knew that one knock at a door betrays unease, two knocks sound obsequious, but that three always sound resolute.
On the other side of the door, Herr Gottlieb also cleared his throat, neither man aware that they were performing the same gesture. Herr Gottlieb was about to stand up and open the door when he instinctively realised that any remaining strength he possessed ought to be deployed there, in the centre of his own office, without stirring from his leather armchair. Yes, enter, he said in an overly high-pitched voice that failed to sound nonchalant. Rudi strode in with deliberate abruptness, rather like a husband arriving home earlier than expected and walking over garments strewn all over the floor. They hurried through the polite greetings, made a few of the usual noises and went straight to the point.
This is why I'm asking you, dear father-in-law, said Rudi, and for the moment let us refer to these as mere questions, how can you permit your daughter to go on working with that man, and to top it all, in that filthy inn! And why do you go on receiving him in this respectable home? Herr Gottlieb replied with as much aplomb as he could muster: This gentleman continues to visit my home, which you correctly refer to as
respectable
, because there is no valid reason why Herr Hans should not continue to attend my daughter's salon. Were it otherwise, dear son-in-law, wouldn't I have already taken the necessary steps? Wouldn't I have categorically prohibited him from coming here? Wouldn't I have punished Sophie? The fact that I have failed to take any such steps is precisely because they are unjustified. What I'm trying to say, my dear Rudi ⦠Or do you have convincing reasons? Well, do you? You say you've heard rumours,
rumours
! Now tell me, do you doubt my daughter's honour, the honour of your future
wife? For, so long as her virtue is without blemish, no one will be prohibited from entering this house. Anything else would be tantamount to recognising these sinister slanders, which in the name of my own decency I refuse even to consider.
respectable
, because there is no valid reason why Herr Hans should not continue to attend my daughter's salon. Were it otherwise, dear son-in-law, wouldn't I have already taken the necessary steps? Wouldn't I have categorically prohibited him from coming here? Wouldn't I have punished Sophie? The fact that I have failed to take any such steps is precisely because they are unjustified. What I'm trying to say, my dear Rudi ⦠Or do you have convincing reasons? Well, do you? You say you've heard rumours,
rumours
! Now tell me, do you doubt my daughter's honour, the honour of your future
wife? For, so long as her virtue is without blemish, no one will be prohibited from entering this house. Anything else would be tantamount to recognising these sinister slanders, which in the name of my own decency I refuse even to consider.
Rudi detected a mixture of severity and alarm in Herr Gottlieb's eyes. Plunging a little deeper into his liquid gaze, which was struggling to defy him, swimming in his moist entreaties, he understood that Herr Gottlieb was not defending Hans, he was simply behaving like a true gentleman.
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