Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

"You are a witty man," said Frick, laughing deliciously, as if he had just heard the most amusing jest, and once again the situation was saved; members of our little party were now ready to help things along, determined to ward off further attacks from Father, so their chattering grew louder, became a frantic hubbub, until an elderly, highly respected lady, who must have weathered quite a few storms in her time and had ample practice at saving the day, took Frick's arm and cried, "I am going to snatch you away from here, sir," and with that she jolted the whole company out of any lingering shock; becoming aware of the changed mood, people were ready to gloss over the momentary unpleasantness, though the word "scandal" must have still been buzzing in their heads, and though when Mother took Father's arm she seemed to be restraining him, which he needed, for he looked as if he was about to hit someone or start screaming, but the dowager chimed in again: "I know it is beastly of me, but what I have to say is important and should mitigate my rudeness— the Prince, you see, is waiting for you!" and the old lady's pleasantly tremulous voice rose above the din; by then our company began to move, treading on the crunchy gravel path leading to the white stationhouse, and only two of us were left behind, almost abandoned: Fräulein Wohlgast, who, still paralyzed from the earlier situation, could not take advantage of the improved, more favorable one, and I, of course, whose presence made absolutely no difference to anyone.

"Let's get out of here, and quick!" Father snapped, and promptly began walking with Mother in the opposite direction, but an unpleasant white apparition blocked their way, the Fräulein herself, who in this latest confusion somehow ended up in front of Mother and, having cast about in her stunned mind for a plausible explanation, seemed just at that very moment to have hit upon the answer: "You won't believe this, but after breakfast I felt like going for a long walk, and I didn't stop until I got as far as Bad Doberan, and who should I meet there?!" — her chatty tone in the circumstances sounded like an absurd parody—"You have behaved scandalously, Fräulein!" Mother said, with an air of superiority, looking calmly into her eyes, but then Father pushed Mother along, and the two of them swept the young lady out of the way; I hurried after them across the railroad tracks, as in complete silence and almost running, we let the forest trail lead us on, and only after making a detour long enough to count as an excursion, via the marsh, did we return to the spa, well after dark.

Oh, what a terrible night was to follow!

I was startled from my sleep by someone standing in the open terrace door behind the translucent curtain — or was it just a shadow, a ghost? — and thinking that even a flickering eyelid might be noticed, I didn't dare close my eyes again, even though it would have been much better not to see or hear what was to come; the terror of the previous afternoon returned, adding to my fear; and then the curtain did move, and a shadowy figure entered and hurried across the room, in the dark, a night without light, footsteps tapping on the bare floor, then muffled on the soft rug, and I recognized Mother in the shadowy figure, heard her reach the double door leading to the hallway; she must have put her hand on the door handle and even pressed it down, because a sharp click shattered this deepest silence of the night, in which the lazily rolling sea could barely be heard and even the pine trees had stopped whispering, but then apparently she changed her mind, crossed the room again, the high heels of her swansdown-trimmed slippers tapping resolutely, as though she knew exactly where she was going and why, she was wearing her flowing dressing gown, which she must have hurriedly thrown over her nightgown, I could hear the silky rustle; when she got back to the terrace door and stayed there motionless for a few seconds, I wanted to say something, but no sound would leave my throat, just as in a nightmare, except I knew I was fully awake; then cautiously, with the attentiveness of a spy, she pulled the curtain open, but instead of stepping out on the terrace she turned around quickly, hurried across the room again toward the double door leading to the hallway, pressed down hard on the handle, the sound was unmistakable, but the door didn't open, she turned the key, the lock clicked open, yet evidently she thought better of it; without venturing into the hallway, she headed back to the terrace, while the door left ajar produced a slight draft, making the curtains flutter in the dark; I sat up in bed.

"What happened?" I asked very quietly, perhaps too quietly, because of the shock, far greater than mere fright, that seized my neck and throat, but without responding — she may not even have heard me — Mother now walked out on the terrace, took a few steps, and, as if the irritatingly loud tapping of her slippers made her stop, rushed back into the room; "What happened?" I asked again, louder this time; and now she was at the front door again, opening it, and once more turning around, and at this point I simply had to jump out of bed, I had to try to help her.

Moving fast in opposite directions, our bodies collided, and for a moment we clung to each other in the middle of the dark room.

"What happened?"

"I knew it, for five years I've known it."

"What?"

"I knew it, for five years I've known it."

We were holding on to each other.

Her body was terribly rigid, I could feel the tension in it, and though for a brief moment she hugged me and I tried hard to yield to her by hugging her back, I sensed that our physical contact was of no help to her, that my eagerness was in vain, that though I could feel her she could not feel me, I might as well have been a table or a chair she was using to regain her balance and resolve, resolve bordering on hysteria, to propel her on to carry out her will, and still, not wanting to let her go, I pressed my body to hers, as if I knew precisely what she was about to do, what awful act I had to keep her from committing — it made no difference to me what it was, I had no clear idea what it might be, but my instincts told me to protect her and keep her from doing whatever it was she now seemed desperate enough to do — and it felt as though my persistence did affect her, as if she had finally recognized me as her son, as someone who belonged to her, and she bent down and kissed my neck passionately, almost biting it, but the next moment, as if having drawn strength from that kiss and from my quaking body, tore my clinging arms from her waist and pushed me away—"Unhappy boy!" she cried, and ran out the terrace door.

I ran after her.

Instead of heading for the wide staircase leading to the park, as one might have expected, she ran in the opposite direction, stopping at the door of the Fräulein's suite.

Candles were burning within, and their lambent light reached our feet.

The sensation that I was standing on my feet had never been so acute.

Nor the feeling that not only my eyes but my whole body was there only to absorb the sight before me.

I cannot honestly say that I didn't know what it all meant, but neither can I claim that I did.

Because a child doesn't merely have knowledge of what ought to take place at such moments but, shocking though it may be to admit it, may have already experienced it, when squeezing pleasure out of his own flesh; nevertheless, what I was seeing came as such a surprise I am not sure I could comprehend it.

Here the spectacle was created by two strange bodies.

Their nakedness gleamed on the bare floor.

With pieces of white garments strewn all about them, the Fräulein seemed somehow to be lying on her side, her knees drawn up almost to her breasts, her body bending into itself, turning her formidably ample buttocks to Father; seeing them in retrospect, with experienced eyes, those buttocks seem extremely beautiful and "turning to" a most inadequate phrase; she was proffering, tendering, serving up her buttocks to Father, while he more or less squatted, knelt above her, one hand frantically clutching her loose dark hair, as he slammed against her, the convex hollow of his loins thrusting in, clinging to, then retracting from the concave double bulge of her behind; he was inside the perfectly enclosed body, able to ravage it freely, powerfully, yet most exquisitely; today I know how that is — in this position not only can one's member slip to the deepest or, I should say, highest reaches, but the sensitized foreskin, the bulbous glans, the bulging blood vessels, while rubbing against the stiffened clitoris and caressing the vulva, can swab and scrub the tight yet slippery cave of the vagina, making the erection so tumescent, so throbbing, that the organ, having reached the mouth of the womb, the last obstacle, can fill the hollow so fully, so perfectly, that one can no longer tell what is ours and what is hers; in this odd position, therefore, violent entry and tender lovemaking can merge and become one; could anyone wish for pleasure more intense? but on that occasion all I could see was that Father's spine was bending sharply, his buttocks spread almost as if he were about to defecate, and he was supporting himself with his free hand: in the moments of rhythmic disengagement his enormous, slightly updrawn testicles became visible, and then he would lunge again, covering completely the spot that induced such bubbling pleasure in both of them; the Fräulein squealed in a piercing, high-pitched voice while Father's mouth opened — and this frightened me because, as if unable to close it, he let out a deep rattle, the tip of his tongue stuck out, and his wide-open eyes stared into space, but of course I couldn't connect the shriek and the rattle to the carnal delight I was witnessing, because when Father reached the highest point of penetration, when he seemed to find his place at last, he froze, and his whole body, covered with thick patches of black hair, was shaken by an uncontrollable and insatiable trembling; still holding her by the hair, he kept raising and banging her head against the floor, and though this produced in her the most pleasurable shrieks, she also began squirming underneath him, as if trying to escape, so that dropping back from his climax, Father's loins resumed their gentle but firm thrusts, which she greeted with softer, more intimate squeals; then Father yanked her head up and knocked it against the floor with a resounding bang.