17

When Rost woke up it was already ten o’clock. Through the crack in the curtains the sun drew stripes of heat that slanted across the floor and onto the soft, colourful rug in the middle of the room, a good imitation of a Persian carpet. The house was silent. Erna was at school, and she, Gertrude, had probably gone out with the maid to shop for lunch. This suited him very well. An hour ago a faint, timid scratching at the door had penetrated the agreeable drowsiness in which he lay wrapped. He kept still and pretended to be asleep. He knew at once who it was. The tragic expression that Gertrude had been wearing lately was not at all to his liking. He was getting sick and tired of the whole thing. Thank goodness the summer break was fast approaching: in a week or two the family would leave town on their vacation, and the problem would resolve itself naturally, without drama, without the unnecessary clarifications that were so hateful to him. He would have to move out of his room, since he could not go on staying in the empty house, and there would be no room for resentment and reproaches and tragedies. Later on, perhaps, he would visit their vacation spot for a week or two, where he would be a free agent, while she would be under the constant supervision of her husband.

With these thoughts in mind, he finished shaving and completed his toilet. It must be said that in some corner of his soul he felt a little sorry for her, for Gertrude, but could anyone actually expect him to tie his life to hers forever? She had become obsessed — was it his fault? Relations that were never intended to be anything but carefree and light-hearted, entered into simply out of joie de vivre, and that by their very nature were transient, since there was no basis in the external circumstances for anything else — the investment in such relations should not exceed what they were able to contain. There was no need to give all of himself where even half was more than enough: it would be a waste of his resources. As far as he was concerned, the affair was over.

When he was ready to go out, he heard the passage door opening, and the sound of Gertrude’s voice. He waited in his room to avoid bumping into her, but before long there was a knock at his door, and without waiting for an invitation Gertrude came in, still in her hat and overcoat.

‘I was afraid I would miss you,’ she said, sinking wearily onto the sofa. ‘I hurried back as fast as I could.’

Rost remained standing next to the table and looked at her.

Gertrude breathed heavily, her face rather red. ‘You’re going out again,’ she said with a note of resentment in her voice. ‘Aren’t you going to give me a kiss?’

‘Is there something you want to say to me?’ His impatience was lost on Gertrude. ‘I haven’t had my breakfast yet.’

Gertrude took off her dark-red straw hat and put it down on the sofa next to her. Passing her hand over her curly hair she suggested: ‘We can make you coffee here, or anything else you fancy.’

Rost did not reply. The room was now bathed in the sunshine coming through the open windows.

‘Would you mind closing the curtains a little? It’s too hot in here and, besides, the sun ruins the furniture.’

Reluctantly Rost went over to the windows and drew the curtains. At once, Gertrude’s presence became more pronounced, as if she had just entered the room. The room was now in semi-darkness. Rost stationed himself next to the table again. There was a faint smell of naphthalene in the air.

‘I don’t have much time now,’ said Gertrude without moving. ‘I have to make lunch.’ And after a moment: ‘This afternoon, Erna’s going to Friedel Kobler’s; she already told me so.’ When Rost said nothing, she added after a slight hesitation: ‘Perhaps you’re free this afternoon?’

No, this afternoon he would definitely not be free.

‘I could have sworn that that would be your answer,’ she said in a rather mocking tone, and went on absent-mindedly smoothing her hair. ‘Lately you’ve been neglecting me. One might say that you’ve been avoiding me.’ And as if in an attempt to awaken his appetite: ‘The maid won’t be here either. I gave her the afternoon off. It made me so happy, the idea of a whole afternoon together with nobody to disturb us.’

‘Today it’s impossible,’ Rost repeated firmly.

‘Today’s impossible, and yesterday and tomorrow too — it’s always impossible for you!’

‘Are you trying to make a scene?’

‘No,’ said Gertrude in mounting agitation, ‘where do you see a scene here? I was only happy about this afternoon, and now I’m no longer happy, I have nothing to be happy about.’ She took a handkerchief out of her purse and wiped her face. For a moment she looked at him in silence, her eyes glittering. ‘In two weeks’ time we’ll already be leaving for our summer vacation,’ she said as if to herself. ‘I don’t know how I’ll be able to.’

‘So I’ll have to look for another room,’ said Rost, pretending not to understand her meaning.

‘Why don’t you come with us? We can rent a bigger apartment. It’s a beautiful spot.’ She looked at him pleadingly.

‘Maybe I’ll come to stay for a week or two. I can’t come for the whole summer break.’

There was a silence. Gertrude lowered her eyes, lost in thought. She kept stroking her purse compulsively. Rost felt increasingly impatient. I have to put an end to it, he repeated to himself. But he went on standing there. He was overcome by boredom. It came to him in a flash that he no longer had any feelings for this woman. She was a stranger to him, a total stranger.

Gertrude stood up and advanced with slow steps. She crossed the shaft of sunlight, full of tiny motes of dust, slanting from the window to the middle of the room, and stood facing him. She was a little shorter than he was. In a voice full of suppressed emotion she whispered, ‘In the last few months I’ve lost everything. Suddenly it’s become clear to me that I have nothing left; my hands are empty. Everything is repulsive to me. Nothing attracts me, nothing appeals to me, I go on performing all my tasks as before — on the face of it nothing has changed, but the truth is that everything I do is simply out of habit. I don’t know where it will all lead.’ She took a breath. ‘I’m speaking to you frankly, without reservations, as if I were talking to myself. There are moments in life that leave no room for silly pride. Great sorrow is naked.’ And then she addressed Rost directly: ‘And you? Don’t you have anything to say to me? Why are you silent?’

‘I can’t save you.’

He knew very well that this was not the answer Gertrude had been waiting for. She had hoped for entirely different words, but these were words he could not say, not now and not to her. Perhaps it would have been better to lie, to put off the decision and wait for it all to gradually work itself out in the natural course of events. Now he stood there silently, and all he wanted was to be outside already, far away from this woman and her sorrow, which was beginning to be a burden on him.

Gertrude sank into an armchair standing nearby. ‘Yes,’ she said with a sigh, as if overcoming an inner obstacle, ‘perhaps you aren’t to blame, and nor is anyone else.’ She covered her face with her hands and sat for a while without moving.

Rost was beginning to see the whole thing as ridiculous, ridiculous and annoying at once. Hoping mistakenly to bring the oppressive situation more quickly to a close, and also perhaps stirred by a certain unacknowledged pity, he took a step towards Gertrude and put a hand on her shoulder as if to wake her up. She recoiled and pushed his hand away. She looked at him distantly, and there were tears in her eyes.

‘What is it?’ Rost’s patience snapped. ‘What for God’s sake is the matter?’

‘I can’t go on, I can’t go on.’

Rost tried to placate her. ‘What’s the great calamity? You have a husband, you have a daughter; you’re healthy, beautiful, in the prime of life, leading a comfortable, prosperous life; and you even have a lover — where’s the tragedy here?’

‘I have nothing,’ Gertrude repeated stubbornly. ‘I have nothing. I don’t need a husband; I don’t need a daughter. I’m not dead yet …’ And then she blurted out: ‘I’m ready to leave everything right now, at this very minute! All you have to do is say the word; all I need is one little hint from you, and I’ll go with you wherever you like, just one little word —’

‘Stop it!’ Rost cut her off sharply. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ He stared at her in astonishment. For a moment he thought that she had lost her mind. He couldn’t believe that her words were meant for him — the whole idea seemed so preposterous. And as if he had only just grasped how ridiculous it was, he burst out laughing.

Gertrude jumped up. ‘You think it’s a joke?’

‘I’m going to have breakfast. See you later!’ And he left the room.

At four o’clock that afternoon he met Erna as arranged. First he looked for a room, and he had already seen one, not far from where he was living now, that more or less suited him. He promised to give them an answer the next day, and went to keep his appointment with Erna in the Karlsplatz gardens. After a few minutes she appeared. Her vivacious schoolgirl’s face, always lively and capricious, began to beam as soon as she set eyes on Rost, who was standing in the shade of an ancient leafy chestnut tree. At first, in her breathless haste or inner excitement, she was unable to utter a word, and she stood still and looked at him with her eyes glittering like smouldering coals. Rost too was silent. He took her slender hand in both of his and gazed at her in wonder, as if seeing her for the first time. Her broad-brimmed white hat haloed her long, pale face with its delicate features. Her stubborn, rebellious mouth, with its full, sensuous lines, riveted his attention. There was something adult and knowing about this mouth, in contrast to the girlish face, something that promised unknown pleasures of a completely new kind. A strange, spell-binding mouth, impossible to overlook.

‘I’m so happy, so happy,’ said Rost, unable to restrain the joy that filled his whole being to bursting. ‘How lovely you are, my little Erna! I can’t stop looking at you.’

Erna blushed deeply.

In the end they uprooted themselves and began to walk slowly along the manicured lawns and the flowerbeds, among the children running about or building crumbling sandcastles; the nannies bent over their handwork or their book; the feeble old men and women enjoying what might be their last dazed, sweltering summer, an enjoyment that was already dimmed by senses dulled through long use. They walked silently, their fingers interlaced, flooded by a deep, inexpressible joy that made their hearts beat faster and the blood race in their veins. Every banal word took on a special meaning, a simple, innocent meaning. The summer day seemed boundlessly, breathtakingly beautiful, unlike any other day before or after it. An orange sun weighed down on the city, making people’s movements lax and heavy, somehow muffled, vague, and dim. But here, between the two lovers, everything was clear, deep, and transparent at once. Delicate threads stretched from one to the other, vibrating almost visibly in the heat. They saw everything that was happening before their eyes; they took in everything and nothing. Their eyes were clear, their senses sharp enough to register the faintest movement, but at the same time they were blind and deaf. Perhaps one day, many years later, some detail of that strange hour would surface in their minds, some hint of a smell or sound registered unwittingly by their stunned senses, and this detail would bring in its wake, would raise from oblivion, the state of mind that they were experiencing now, whose smell was the smell of ripe grain and hay, mingled with the red smell of poppies.

Yes, thought Rost — this is the point of everything. This is what makes it all worthwhile. Even fifty years of suffering. You could give your life for a moment like this.

They found themselves close to the street, and he suggested going to a café and having something to drink, because they both suddenly realised that their throats were parched. The street was full of the ceaseless hubbub of trams clattering on their rails and ringing their bells, the creaking of heavy horse-drawn wagons, carriages for hire and stylish private ones, of people crowding the pavements. A hot smell of fresh horse manure, dry dust, and melting asphalt filled the air. An insipid smell of vanilla rose from the sweet shops. The newspaper sellers shouted the headlines of the evening editions. The ice-cream vendors, selling their wares from the polished vats on their barrows, cried in hoarse, drawn-out voices: ‘Ice—cream! Ice—cream!’

They sat down on the awning-shaded veranda of a café on a side street. Erna took little sips from the tall, narrow glass of cold, refreshing soda mixed with raspberry cordial. From time to time she gave Rost a long, close look.

‘Weren’t you with Friedel Kobler?’

‘I was.’ And after a moment: ‘I don’t know, my mother seems strange lately. She’s always irritable. Especially to me, it seems.’

Rost changed the subject. ‘I went to look for a room today. I saw one that might suit me.’

Erna cried in a disappointed voice: ‘What, are you thinking of moving?’ And then she added: ‘Yes, of course, that would be best.’ She felt a brief instant of regret. Her parents’ home suddenly appeared empty and dull.

‘You’re going on vacation soon.’

‘And you won’t come?’

‘Yes, I will.’

‘Anyway it doesn’t matter,’ snapped Erna.

‘What doesn’t matter?’

‘Nothing.’

Erna fell silent. She felt a secret pain that she could not explain. For some reason she felt uncomfortable. Across the road, workers were repairing the pavement, arranging square paving stones on the ground and knocking them into place with brisk strokes of their hammers. Some of them were naked from the waist up, their bodies tanned, their chests hairy. Most of them were wearing bell-bottomed corduroy trousers. She kept her eyes on them for a while with an air of distraction, although she wasn’t actually thinking of anything. She was in a kind of daze, a state of pleasant, animal contentment, together with the dull pain that did not leave her.

In the meantime the sun had been sliding down in the sky and stealing little by little under the veranda awning, where it had reached the edge of their table, which was covered with a grey oilcloth, now tinged with orange.

Erna raised her eyes to Rost as if tearing herself from a distant dream, and she gave him a long look with an amenable, childish smile on her face, at the sight of which Rost’s heart was flooded with warmth. The whole of this young life was now directed at him, streaming thrillingly towards him.

‘I could go on singing your praises all day long, telling you how beautiful you are, how sweet you are, my dear little Erna,’ he whispered, leaning towards her. ‘Without the certainty of your existence nothing has any importance. Not the sun, not the summer — nothing matters without you. Do you understand? There would be no point to anything. The days, the years up to now, until I met you, are empty to me. My life only begins with you.’

Erna put her hand on the back of Rost’s hand, which was lying on the table, and stroked it gently once or twice with her eyes lowered. The sun was now climbing up her bare arm and into the short sleeve of her blue summer dress without her noticing.

With her eyes still downcast she said: ‘In a minute I’ll start to see myself as a very important person, equal to a cabinet minister at least.’

‘You are very important! There’s nobody more important than you.’

‘And yet I often feel like a little girl, a naive, ignorant child.’

‘Your body is full of wisdom. These arms, legs, this hair, this nose, these eyes — they’re all full of wisdom. I’ll still convince you of the wisdom of your sweet body. There is more than one kind of wisdom in the world, and the foolishness of youth is wiser than all the systems of philosophy put together. The two of us, you and I, are immeasurably wise because we’re young, full of life to the tips of the hair on our heads!’

They stood up and walked in the direction of the nearby Volksgarten. Unconsciously they chose side alleys for fear of bumping into anyone they knew. These were quiet alleys surrounded by high walls, drowsing in the sweltering heat, with children playing in them undisturbed, secluded from the city’s roar. An old woman’s ancient head peeped out of an open window, a cat next to her. From an upper storey the hurried notes of a piano tumbled down. In another alley there was nothing to be seen except for a carriage parked outside a doorway, the coachman huddled on his seat with his head bowed as if he were sleeping, and the horse wagging its cropped tail to chase away the flies. After crossing the busy Ringstrasse, they found themselves at one of the entrances to the Volksgarten. They strolled along quiet side paths at a leisurely pace in silence, afraid to mar with a superfluous word or a hasty movement the tremulous joy filling their hearts. A refreshing coolness wafted from the clustered bushes and the ancient trees with their heavy boughs. The noise of the city was faint here, and the only other people they encountered were solitary walkers or couples seeking seclusion. From time to time a burst of music from the park band reached them as if from another world, strange and distant, and suddenly disappeared again as if swept away by an invisible hand. The snatch of a tune was left lingering in the air, not at all melancholy, but secretly piercing the heart nevertheless, and bringing with it a sense of summer and youthful high spirits. From time to time Rost glanced at Erna walking beside him with her hat in her hand, and a stray lock of blue-black hair falling onto her fair cheek, which was blooming with a faint, almost imperceptible blush.

They found a bench and sat down. The bench was deep in the shade, with only a few rays of sunlight dappling the ground a little way off. Rost took advantage of a moment when the path was deserted to kiss her quickly on her mouth and neck.

‘Please don’t, darling,’ Erna protested weakly, blushing bright red. ‘Someone might pass.’

‘And if someone does? We’re not doing anything wrong.’

‘I don’t know. My mother would certainly think so,’ Erna said with a smile.

‘Oh, your mother! In her eyes you’re probably still six years old.’

‘I’m only sixteen,’ said Erna, ‘but I often feel like a grown woman in every respect. I feel that I’m able to love, allowed to love like a woman, and I don’t need to ask for anyone’s permission but my own!’ She said this in a confident and decisive tone that brooked no question, and as if to reinforce her words she seized hold of Rost boldly and kissed him on his mouth, his eyes, and his hair with passionate, reckless abandon. She bit his lip until it bled, and she didn’t let go until he extricated himself gently from her embrace.

‘You don’t have to eat me alive!’

They looked into each other’s eyes and burst into peals of liberating laughter, which lasted for some moments.

Two young men appeared, coming towards them on the path. Rost recognised them from a distance and burst out: ‘Damn it all! You can’t hide anywhere in this town,’ and to Erna: ‘We can’t get out of it now.’

Fritz Anker drew closer with Shor, and Rost introduced the latter to Erna.

‘We’re not intruding?’ said Shor.

‘Since I forgot to order the gatekeeper to lock the gates against intruders …’ Rost joked in a forced tone.

Anker remained standing, stealing embarrassed looks at Erna.

‘Anyone seeking seclusion should go somewhere else,’ remarked Shor. ‘Speaking for myself, I have no such desires; on the contrary, I’m delighted to meet you.’ And smiling frankly at Erna, he added: ‘Especially in the company of such a charming young lady!’

He sat down on the bench, on the other side of Erna.

‘And you, aren’t you going to sit down?’ she said to Anker. ‘You’re invited to sit down too.’

Anker had no desire to sit. Leaning on his cane, stooping slightly and staring through the thick lenses of his glasses, he regretted having approached them. His sharpened senses told him that he had made a mistake, that they shouldn’t have intruded. But at the same time he couldn’t take his eyes off Erna. How joyfully her eyes were sparkling: he noted this without a trace of jealousy, but with a secret pang in his heart, and felt acutely aware of his own extreme loneliness. ‘Why don’t we take a carriage,’ the words escaped him unwillingly, ‘and have supper in the fresh air?’

But Erna had to be back home at seven o’clock sharp.

‘What a shame you have to leave us so soon,’ said Shor. ‘Perhaps we’ll be luckier next time.’ They said goodbye and walked away.

‘Poor Anker,’ said Erna. ‘I don’t know, for some reason I feel sorry for him. A young boy who seems like an old man. He’s a person without any talent for living.’

When they left the park, the Ringstrasse was already full of people hurrying home after the day’s work. The covetous looks that passing men directed at Erna did not escape Rost’s notice, and they added to his satisfaction. He felt destined for good fortune, and full of extraordinary strength, both physical and spiritual.

The sun was now shining a reddish light on the upper storeys of the buildings, while the streets below were dim and shadowy. The walls and pavements, which had sweltered during the day, now gave off their imprisoned heat, and only in the open space of Karlsplatz was the air fresher. But Rost and Erna were out of luck: when they approached their street and were about to take leave of each other, Gertrude suddenly popped up and confronted them.

‘Where are you coming from?’ she asked with affected nonchalance.

Rost conquered his momentary embarrassment and said casually: ‘I bumped into Erna in the street and saw her home.’

‘You think she couldn’t find her way on her own? She isn’t a baby anymore.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Rost, with a hint of irony.

Gertrude turned to Erna. ‘Were you at Friedel’s place?’

‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask? You know I went to visit  her.’

‘I just thought that this wasn’t necessarily the way back from there.’

‘What, am I only allowed to take one way home?’ Erna demanded, and then added quickly: ‘It isn’t seven o’clock yet.’

‘Have it your own way,’ said Gertrude. ‘Go upstairs, I’ll be along in a minute.’

Erna stayed where she was.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Gertrude was vexed. ‘I told you I’d be along in a minute. I need to get something at the shops.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘What a pest!’ Gertrude was losing her temper. ‘I didn’t ask you to come with me, did I?’

‘Calm down, Mother,’ said Erna, ‘I’m going. I just thought you would like the company, but if you don’t want me to …’ She nodded at Rost and walked away.

‘So it’s her!’ Gertrude looked in her daughter’s direction.

‘What’s her?’ Rost feigned ignorance.

‘Don’t pretend. You know exactly what I mean.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ stated Rost firmly. He started walking away, and Gertrude followed him.

‘You can say what you like,’ said Gertrude furiously. ‘I won’t allow it. Do you hear? I won’t allow it!’ And after a moment: ‘She’s only sixteen!’

‘Nobody says she isn’t.’

‘Stop joking! You know I love you.’

‘And so?’

‘I won’t let anybody take you away from me, you hear? Nobody in the world!’

‘Nobody’s tried.’

Without paying any attention to him Gertrude continued: ‘You meet Erna too often; I won’t have it!’

‘Coincidence.’

‘When it happens all the time, it stops looking like a coincidence.’

‘You’re making yourself ridiculous. I can’t see any harm in accompanying Erna for a few steps when I happen to meet her, simply because I have an intimate relationship with you.’

‘That’s not what we’re talking about! I’m certain that you’re courting her.’

‘You’re mistaken.’

‘In any case I won’t allow it. I’ll take whatever steps are necessary.’

They were walking next to the park, and Rost stood still and leaned against the black iron grille of the fence.

Better to end it peaceably, without unnecessary complications, thought Rost to himself. This whole quarrel, however disagreeable, could not darken the happiness filling his being. His heart sang joyfully within him, and he was inclined at that moment to be merciful towards Gertrude and the whole world. The church bell rang briskly seven times, as if delivering an irrevocable sentence. Gertrude stood before him in silence, as if waiting for something to happen. For the first time Rost noticed a rather deep line next to her mouth, and a few small, barely perceptible wrinkles around her eyes. Suddenly she seemed to him pathetic, pitiful, even though — apart from these slight signs of ageing — the lines of her face were still firm and definite, without any sagging or slackening, and her eyes shone with a bright, youthful gleam. Her lips parted slightly as if she were about to speak, but she said nothing. She went on standing in front of him and looking as if through him and beyond him to somewhere very far away.

Rost waited. He picked a leaf from a branch overhanging the fence and played with it absent-mindedly. Suddenly he was overcome by a burst of impatience — what was he standing there like an idiot for? He’d had enough. More than enough. He held out his hand to take his leave.

Gertrude came to her senses and shook his hand in silence. Then she hurried away without looking back.