Peter Handke - Absence

A jolt passed through all of us at once when we remembered how in childhood we had often hidden from others because we wanted them to look for us. A wind arose as though from within us, and permeated all things: the wind of poetry, the wind of fantasy, the wind of arrival in a very different absence. The park smelled of new-mown hay, and the birds in the cedar tree called as though from field furrows. The bell in the cathedral tower, a motionless black silhouette, hung. The straight stone staircases mounted. The sunshades arched. The chambermaid leaned. We sat. The gardeners stood. The walls stood. The branches of the cedar tree crisscrossed. The roots extended. The magma blazed. The sea surged. The cosmos whirred. The birds in the sky glided wing to wing. The leaves greened. The tree trunk grew rounder. The smoke gave signals.

I could write a whole book about our quest. But first we were granted a brief respite. The soldier stretched his legs; the gambler divided up his money; the woman put on makeup and smiled at someone around the corner. In the end we put our arms around one another’s shoulders. And for a little while all three of us just sat there showing ourselves.