H. Adler - Panorama

Some of them look at Spiridion astounded, but Yolanda continues to hold her cake, which she has unpacked, saying, “Frieda, there are no clean dishes available, and there’s no knife. We need a plate and a knife.” Greta is at the door and calls, “I’ll get the plate right away. Frieda, you just sit down, you must be dead tired! I’ll bring a knife as well.” Greta has already left the room, but as soon as she returns Frieda says, “The plate is fine. Yolanda, you can put the cake on the plate. But the knife is the wrong one and won’t work, for I used it to slice onions. If you had just let me go, Greta!” Then Frieda runs out for a knife, while the rest of the women praise the cake, saying how good it looks, wanting to know what Yolanda did to give it such a lovely golden color, and Yolanda explains how she brushed the cake with an egg before baking, then baked it slowly in an oven that was not too hot, patience being the most important thing of all, though whoever is on the true path knows patience. Finally Frieda is back with the correct knife and wants to slice the cake, but Yolanda announces that she will do it, as Johannes says, “You must indeed let her if she is the one who brought the cake.” Yolanda counts the number present and is not done doing so before her son jumps up and says, “Mama, I’ll count for you!” He counts three times and says he did so because he thought it was fifteen, but that is wrong, it’s really fourteen, and she needs to cut twenty-eight pieces so that everyone gets two, but while slicing she miscounts, even though she laid out the planned cuts lightly with the knife a number of times, she ending up with twenty-nine pieces, Spiridion commenting, “Good, Yolanda, good! First we thought the bag and the cake were lost, but everything turned up. Everyone has two pieces, and we can offer up the extra one to the unknown God, much like the ancient Romans.” This doesn’t sit well with Yolanda, she thinks it a sin to waste food like that, so she suggests that the extra piece should go to Johannes for breakfast, Frieda lifting it up, at which everyone agrees and praises the cake, Johannes however simply saying, “Yolanda always makes us something good.” She is proud of this praise, August and Schorschl also looking content that someone has acknowledged dear little Mother, the women meanwhile discussing what is in the cake, none guessing exactly, until finally Yolanda dictates the recipe as all the women write it down.

Johannes says, “Well, I hope everyone feels invigorated. Now I’d like to play some music before it gets too late.” Haschke’s face is awash with bliss as he closes his eyes and says to Josef that he should also close his eyes, you can concentrate better that way, it’s a great opportunity to learn, for all you have to do is empty your head of thoughts and the music will put you in the right mood, which will help you attain true concentration. Josef wants to get away from Haschke, but Thomas has already guessed this and recommends that Josef follow him as they head for the chamber between the tower room and the foyer, where there are two chairs available. Johannes is already sitting at his gong, and Frieda turns off all the lights except for the eternal light, as Johannes waits a bit longer for everyone to be quiet, which takes a little while. Then the gong is barely struck, and as if from far off comes the sound, it seeming especially far from inside the chamber where Josef and Thomas sit, as if the sound were passing through a veil-like wall, though slowly the sound begins to swell, the disk sways and vibrates, sounding like leaves falling and metallic rain, an agglomeration of notes rising, echo and repercussion, melodic notes with pacifying counternotes, moaning and sighs accompanying the tapping of the gong. Johannes releases more and more tones from the disk, cautiously expanding his marvel and yet surprising others as he does so, Josef thinking what a canny spirit Johannes really is, but then to string together notes in unique, strongly struck rhythms, what kind of man is it who gets caught up with quarter-wits, if not half-wits, which is pretty much what they are, though such a consideration now seems inappropriate and is already fading away in the face of the music that continues to swell powerfully, the full blossoming of its sound born from the strength of its quietness, a softly droning vibration that sends out waves and builds up walls of sound, creating a joyful fullness as before Josef’s eyes there appears a powerful cluster of bright lights that burn everything from his heart, whatever still clings to triviality there in the tower room. What kind of a magician is Johannes, and what does he really want? What powers are at work within him and emanate from him? There is a power here that burns everything away, extinguishing all things, though the soul is what is rapt, Johannes a lord, everything extrinsic peeled away by his sound, as Josef grasps something, or thinks he does, it is what Johannes releases with the gong, the disk that commands all their powerful feelings, which can be released only by the gong’s copper casting, and not by the artificially constructed and elaborate mechanism of a violin or even a flute, a swaying disk being all it is, worked by hand, but what hands they are! What heart moves it! It’s a heart through which riches unfurl and ancient landscapes appear, sunken forests rise up in twilight, crystals floating as well that shimmer and sparkle with glittering colors that unfold and collect, melding together into a single glowing stream, the symbol or even augury of a mystical brotherhood. Thus love’s law makes itself known, it being powerful and virile and yet tender, the conscious wedded to an unconscious essence that the listener takes in with each breath, Josef sensing his own heartbeat in the striking of the disk, the gong growing more quiet, its heavenly sound a simile for the peace among daily matters as it releases a soft glow, which is its blessing, its shadow full of a warmth that is the peace of the tower room above the joyless depths of the hopeless city. Johannes pauses more and more, each time longer than before, then he makes three muffled blows and waits for the sound to dissipate, repeating this again and again, though ever weaker, the final blow resulting in nothing more than a breath of sound seeping away, the disk swinging without being struck, and then it’s quiet.

Josef fears this is the end, but he also hopes that it is, for he figures that it’s not possible to listen to such music for too long, which is what Johannes has to consider as well, for he runs the risk of destroying the spell, and so he gives the gong two final strong, muffled blows. Josef is pleased by this finish, as Thomas whispers almost inaudibly, “Now you know what kind of man Johannes is.” Josef responds just as quietly, “I know.”

Johannes has already stood and left the bay, turning on lights and returning to his previous spot, Thomas and Josef also returning to the group, the light dazzling them as they sit spellbound and silent, Master Ringel stroking his beard, Herr von Flaschenberg quietly shifting in his chair, though the rest simply remain there with dreamy or serious faces, slowly relaxing as Haschke tips his head back in ecstasy and licks a corner of his mouth before he pulls himself together and is the first to break the silence. “Oh, this music was heavenly! I always say that is true love. It makes us brothers and sisters, almost angels. How often have I told my brother that he should come hear it and not spend all his time chasing girls!” At this Johannes smiles once again, looking away as the others remain lost in a moony silence during which they pay no attention to Haschke, Thomas also turning from Haschke, who then turns to Josef, who has carelessly not turned away fast enough, and sweetly purrs at him, saying how wonderful it must be to experience this heavenly treat for the first time, to which Josef reluctantly asks out of curiosity where Haschke is headed, Haschke answering that he sings in the church choir at Saint Portiunkula, which he does in order to help the faithful attain a bit of enlightenment, since it’s possible to do that when one’s voice speaks from the inside and makes such concentrated music as Johannes. He says to Johannes, “In fact, if you came to Saint Portiunkula with your gong I think everyone would be inspired, the priest most of all.” Johannes smiles opaquely and says, “You rave too much, Haschke. You use too many words. One must live more simply.”