Marija Peričić - The Lost Pages

I had put my watch on the night table and took it up from time to time to squint at its face, but it had become an indecipherable object, its hands indicating an illogical sequence of hours. The ticking of the watch became louder and louder and, it seemed to me, slower as the hours passed. The interval between each tick became longer and within this suspended space a host of other mechanical noises made by the watch gradually came to my attention: clicks and whirrings and the musical notes of tiny springs, like the calls of metallic birds.

In the dark, the dimensions of the room altered themselves and became strange to me. In the short time between closing and opening my eyes the distance between the pieces of furniture became unfamiliar, as though I were seeing the room for the first time. The wardrobe was like a dark elongated box rearing precariously over me, and the legs of the dressing table had grown long and spindly.

I thought of Franz and Anja moving through the house in Nostitzstrasse, going from room to room. The house became like a dolls’ house, with one wall that swung open so I could easily observe the pair and manipulate them like miniature dolls. I pictured the Franz doll and the Anja doll arranged in different tableaux, in all kinds of vulgar embraces and poses, while their faces smiled silently at me and the ticking of my watch reverberated around the room. [20] The following pages were written on blank writing paper torn from a different notebook and clipped to the pages of the exercise book. The writing is written in a small hand, and is in several places barely legible. The following section contains a number of unclear words, which have been approximated and are indicated in SMALL CAPS.

I threw off the bedclothes and looked down along my body spread on the white sheet. It looked just like a normal, straight BODY. I shifted my feet back and forth and they obeyed me. I had made up my mind. Without turning on the lamp, I gathered my clothing from where I had discarded it around the room and dressed. I put the letter and the now-booming watch in my pocket and left the house.

Then I was at the train station and the little lighted cabins of my train pulled up and I got on and there was no one in my compartment but me. My watch was making a slow thud from my pocket and my whole BODY vibrated with each shift of the little golden hand. I placed my hand over my pocket to dull the sound. I sat next to the window but could see nothing of the dark landscape that passed, and even if I pressed my face up against the glass all that was visible to me was a series of rushing shapes, like night ghosts, that formed a shifting background to the image [21] This may also read ‘reflection’. of my own white face looking back at me.

The exception to this was the few stations the train passed, which were like little lighted islands in the night. They were always empty, with not even a porter or a conductor visible, and I could never see the sign with the station’s name. I lost count of the number of stations we passed and then the train stopped. It stood still for a long time, hissing steam, and I got off and saw I was at Berlin’s Schlesischer Bahnhof.

The station was as bright and as crowded as though it were a busy morning with people hurrying to offices and shops and schools, but when I exited the station I was surrounded again by darkness and silence. I asked a passing MAN the way to Nostitzstrasse, and he pointed down the road without speaking. I walked a long way, always finding someone to direct me when the road that I was on came to an end.

I walked along wide alleys lined with plane or linden trees, down dirty cobbled lanes, I crossed rivers and parks. In my pocket, my watch beat like the heart of a wild animal, echoing between the stone faces of the buildings and shaking the leaves of the trees. I was afraid of the noise disturbing the inhabitants of those silent streets, so I took out the watch and wrapped it in my handkerchief to dull the sound, but this made no difference. From time to time I took Anja’s letter from my pocket and looked at the address again, even though I already knew it by heart.

I crossed a small bridge and then I saw the sign for Nostitzstrasse, which stretched out ahead of me. I stood and looked down it. There were only a few lighted windows in the houses, on the upper floors, and as I walked along the houses slowly fanned past.

Number 70 had heavy double street doors and the list of names next to the bells did not include Anja’s. I chose a name at random and rang the bell. I could hear its chime sound on the floor above, but just then I saw that the street door was ajar and I went in. The entrance hall was dusty and littered with dead leaves and the tiles were cracked and broken. It seemed unthinkable that I would find Anja in a place such as this. There was no light, and I began to ascend the staircase, stopping at each door to peer at the nameplate, but I reached the top of the house without finding Anja’s.

As I walked back down, I passed a door from beyond which came a familiar sound. It was difficult to hear anything with the monstrous beat of my watch constantly in my ears, so I stood close to the door and pressed my ear against it.

The sound was a scratching scuffle, like small animals burrowing in the dry undergrowth, and it stopped and resumed at IRREGULAR [22] This may also read ‘regular’. intervals.

I wondered if it might be MICE, or some burrowing insect in the wooden panels of the door, before I recalled the many times I had stood outside our hotel room at Karlsbad, listening to that same sound as Franz’s pen scratched across the paper inside the room. The memory immediately brought with it a wave of the sulphurous air of that town. As I had used to do with the hotel-room door, my fingers slowly reached out for the door handle, gently settled upon it and then steadily gripped it with increasing firmness to silently slide the door’s mechanism into itself to open it.

The door was not locked, and a yellow-lighted slit appeared next to my hand, slowly widening to reveal the very small entrance hall of the apartment. I put my hand in my pocket to muffle the sound of the watch and then I stepped inside. The scratching sound that I could hear from outside the apartment was much louder inside and had no clear point of origin; it seemed to come from the WALLS themselves, or up through the uneven floorboards.

There were two closed doors leading off the hall and I approached each in turn and listened. It was difficult to determine where the sound was louder, so in the end I chose the left-hand door at random. I opened it with less care than I had the front door. Inside I found a small bedsitting room. The scrabbling sound echoed around the room and formed a musical pattern with the watch, which was like a metronome, keeping time. The room was empty. Along one wall was a narrow bed, with a heap of bedclothes piled on it. In the corner was a small writing table strewn with papers and books, and a chair pushed back, as though someone had just risen from it. Next to this was a rail on which some clothing hung. I recognised FRANZ’S hat. The shirts and jackets were moulded STILL in the shape of the wearer, the elbows slightly bent, the holes for the neck hanging open like round mouths. [23] The description of the room is an addition to the text given in the margins. The ink is the same as that used throughout the text. There was no sign of Anja.

The scratching paused and was replaced by a softer rustling, and then the pile of bedclothes shifted. I crossed the small room in one stride and looked down into the bed. The bedclothes and pillows were pressed in around a small, shrunken figure and littered with sheets of paper and flecked with spots of blue ink.