I did not pine for Willem after he left. He stayed with me, a phantom limb by my side, while I planted my last thousand thousand trees, the bags filling, this unbearable weight gradually lightening until I felt almost buoyant. In losing him, I had also lost the babysitting per diem that came with him. This forced me to plant faster. I had two weeks for my last hurrah — I wanted to get out of this with ten grand, that was my goal. Karl contrived to plant near me, and every once in a while he yelled encouragement.
Jezebel!
No matter how fast I planted, I could not compete. I sensed him breathing down my neck. He planted as if he was pursuing me, chasing me up and down the corridors in a way that would have appeared, bird’s eye, as a strange game with a multiplicity of rules. Karl was it. He leered at me through the wild rose and fireweed and the grass that was by now the height of harvestable wheat.
I see you.
I’m working, Karl. I’m trying to work, okay?
He pulled alongside me and slowed his pace so that for ages I couldn’t lose him. Increasing my speed proved impossible (I was incapable of going any faster), so I tried slowing down until I might as well stop, might as well unplant. He planted and stood up and stared at me. The salt sweat and caustic garlic reek of him wafted over. He rubbed his eyes with the balls of his loose fists in a kind of Tourette’s tic as if he never quite believed what he saw. His eyes were rheumy from constant rubbing.
You’re lovesick, he said. I can tell.
I don’t think so, Karl.
No use denying. It’s written all over your body language. I thought you were a little smarter than that, eh? Eh? I mean this idea of the noble savage, this wild boy of Aveyron, this whatever you call it, Iron Hans, Jungle Boy silliness is all pretty old fashioned, out of date. Like a hundred years or so out of date. I mean you didn’t really seriously think about it like that, did you?
What are you talking about?
I was there, he said. I saw you and Ideal Man, eh? Thumping about in the forest like two little lovebirds. I almost began clapping my hands. Yes? It was very Romantic with a capital R. I must think about the Grimm brothers going around collecting all that crap, that folklore, the fairy stories, eh? And good old Friedrich Froebel walking around with his kindergartners in the Black Forest. I too love the noble savage. He is so-o-o nostalgic. But really we must draw the line when it comes to selection. I had such high hopes for us, Alma, you have no idea.
Go away, will you?
The Hapsburg dynasty, he continued. Well, I realize that there isn’t a wooden nickel left, but there is something in a name, a pedigree at the very least, don’t you agree? I know eugenics is not really politically correct. However, I could have given you such well-bred children, Alma. Instead you insist on seeking out the primitive. I get such a headache, you know? Karl rubbed his fingers together, his bulbous fingers that looked like those of a tree frog, and pressed the balls of his hands into his eye sockets, alleviating some pressure within. The pressure of his own personality.
I don’t understand, I said. Some instinct buried deep within me suggested I should run but I held it at bay, willing to examine it only as if it were not really part of me, an alien thought of no consequence. Make him stop. But no.
I had you there years ago in the Queen’s Suite, Alma. I’m insensitive, I’ll admit to that. I thought I had reason to entertain the idea that you might reciprocate. I am an idiot in that case — you were right there. I don’t expect you to easily forget and forgive this, no. But if I had been my own ancestor, ho ho, I would have just proceeded. How times have changed! I would have simply raped you. There were plenty of fine, well-adjusted children born in those good old days under just these circumstances. So you can admit that I’m maybe slightly better than my legacy. I mean I didn’t do it, you agree, and now I want to apologize for that.
Forget it, Karl. Just . . .
I’m not really finished, he said. Karl’s voice had become a bit wheezy, and certain bits of what he had to say went missing in the gaps that memory defined. He grabbed my shoulder with his free hand, so strong for such a weak man, I thought, and I could already feel the surge of adrenaline through my limbs, but I did not run. I was paralyzed by what might be his intentions. I could see the whites of his eyes all around the irises.
What about Kaspar Hauser?
Karl . . .
All Kaspar could say the whole time was, “I want to be a rider like my father,” over and over again. What about the wild boy of Aveyron, or better, Wild Peter, found in seventeen-something-or-other in Hanover with nothing at all to say? Completely retarded, I suppose, sucking the iron and minerals out of a stalk of nettle, eh? You don’t think you can escape this, do you? You don’t think I can see through you, either. I can see right into your heart. It’s deluded. Karl was shaking me lightly, and I thought I might faint but didn’t. He wouldn’t shut up.
He muttered under his stinking breath, Look at you. And you will keep on until there isn’t anything left for you at all. The world is not as pretty as you imagine, Alma. It isn’t a story or something with a nice ending. There is no remedy for what ails us. This is only yearning. Poof — it’s gone! And now I am going to save you from this delusion so that you will maybe make something of yourself.
Stop it, Karl. Let me go.
But I love you already for a long time.
You’re crazy.
There is nothing more pure than action, he announced. You will accept this in time. And don’t forget. If you do, I will be back to remind you. He let me go then, and after glaring at me for a moment, he stepped over the slash and got back to work. He didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day, but there was an uneasiness in the air.
July 28. I almost ruined everything that day. I almost did but not quite. I couldn’t help my melodrama, you must try to understand, I was born out of time. I scared her. She had no idea what I was on about and thought I was crazy. I’m not, of course. You know that. I have you as my witness, then. I repented over and over again to her. I think she had forgiven me. I think she accepted my apology. I was so sorry. Very, very, very. My intensity can be scary.