Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

At eight o’clock sharp, most of the guests had arrived and were keen for the dance to begin. The lady of the house signalled to Sophie. She in turn signalled to Hans, Hans looked at the organ grinder, and the old man lowered his head, inhaled, closed his eyes and slowly began to turn the handle.

Despite the suspicious glances the guests gave the old man as they passed close to him, the first two or three dances went down well. Above all the first, a popular polonaise which the old man had been canny enough to play at a faster pace than usual on account of the guests’ youthful exuberance. The rows of couples began dancing around the room, laughing as they changed places. Hans heaved a sigh of relief, and for a moment he thought everything would go smoothly. Little by little, however, the dance began to lose steam. By the third tune, several couples began to leave the dance floor muttering. In the two that followed, the complaints became audible. At the sixth or seventh, the dance floor was all but deserted. Before the organ grinder could start up with his next tune, Fräulein von Pogwisch marched over crossly and ordered him to stop. The instrument quivered like an animal suffering from cold.

Hans and Sophie did their best to calm Fräulein von Pogwisch and the more irate among the guests. I say, what’s going on! one of them piped up. Whose idea was it to play minuets, anyway? What about some waltzes? another one demanded indignantly. Where are the waltzes! Well, added another, if the idea was to send us to sleep it’s been a great success! Which century does that thing belong to? cried another. Which century! We should invite my great-grandmother! Another one declared: My great-grandmother! Tell me, a voice rang out from the back of the room, where did you find this clown? Which poorhouse did you drag him out of?

Hans pushed his way through and found the organ grinder backed into his corner clutching his barrel organ, unable to move.

They crossed the room amid disdainful whispers, mocking laughter and jeers. The organ grinder followed behind with that detached air that made him seem at once fragile and unassailable. As they were reaching the hallway, they heard a voice from inside shout: What a relief! Here’s a pianoforte! Come here, Ralph! Ralph! Come and play us a lively tune!

Walking through the door was like plunging into a fountain of cool water. Night had fallen and the air was laced with the sound of crickets. Seeing them emerge, Franz pricked up his ears, lowered his tail and frowned. A moment later, Sophie appeared. She stopped Hans, clasping his hands and bringing them up to her cheeks. She closed her eyes in a gesture of deep regret and sighed: I don’t think it was a good idea to choose this house, it’s my fault. No, Hans replied stroking one of her ringlets, it wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t your idea either. Sophie went over to the organ grinder, gave him a long embrace and told him she was sorry. I’m the one who is sorry for playing your friends tunes from thirty years ago, replied the old man. I think I’m no longer …

At that moment, Fräulein von Pogwisch appeared in the doorway. She contemplated Hans sharply, looked scornfully at Sophie, and finally her gaze settled on the organ grinder as one encountering a peculiar rock in her path. I’ve come to pay you for your concert, announced Fräulein von Pogwisch. She placed a few coins on top of the barrel organ and made as if to leave. I should think so, Hans said angrily, especially as you were the one who cut it short. I wouldn’t dream of taking your money, Madame, said the organ grinder (the only trace of irony Hans was able to detect in his words was his use of Madame —the hostess was still a young woman), I couldn’t accept payment because I haven’t done my job, people pay me for playing, but I have never charged anything for not playing. Good evening, Madame, I apologise for the inconvenience.

Will you please explain why you didn’t accept? Hans rebuked him on the way back, that money was yours, you earned it! You did the best you could! Dignity is one thing, pride another. You, Franz, and the barrel organ all need the money and you weren’t stealing it from anyone. Now it turns out you went through all that for nothing. Ah, no, replied the organ grinder, forgive me, but you’re wrong, it wasn’t for nothing — it was lovely riding in this elegant carriage.

(Whenever I am menstruating, Sophie had reflected as she climbed the stairs at the inn, a strange thing happens to me. On the one hand I feel, or in theory I know, I’m more of a woman than ever. Yet on the other hand it stops me, limits my fulfilment. For example, I imagine Hans will want to make love as soon as I get upstairs, or that’s what I like to imagine. And I know I will, too, and I won’t stop feeling awkward, like an intruder in my own body. In any event I’ll end up feeling guilty, which I detest. Guilty about what? It’s hard to be open when nature dictates one thing and one’s conscience another. But is it really a dictate? Or is it a wonderful possibility, which I’m free to refuse? The fact is today I have cramps, I feel sick, I have a pain shooting down from my waist, and I haven’t felt like eating all day. I’d like to tell Hans all this, but I’m not sure he’d understand or that I’d be able to explain it to him even …)

Lying face up, clasping his back between her calves, Sophie said: Don’t pull out this time, then.

The smell of blood hindered them at first and then finally made them lose all inhibition — they shared its stains, soiling themselves in the act of lovemaking.

She was embarrassed at him seeing her bleed onto his sheets, but she felt this sight united them or obliterated a secret. Suddenly it seemed natural and profoundly true — now, when he spilt his seed inside her, they would be brought together by a common desire not to conceive, to unleash together a pleasure that began and ended completely with itself. If the past is like a father, its true offspring would be this absolute present, not the future. (This idea struck her as she reached the edges of orgasm, interrupting her thoughts.)

They spoke in hushed voices, naked. Sophie’s loins were soaked in blood and Hans’s pubic hairs were matted, solidified. Their features expressed the intensity and repose of those still in the aftermath of pleasure. They listened to one another breathing, wiggled their feet, stretched their limbs. How delicious, he said, not having to pull out. Mmm, she said. Or did you not enjoy it? he asked, concerned. No, it isn’t that, she replied, I don’t know how to describe it, I loved it and at the same it scared me, do you understand? I’m not sure, he said, turning to look at her. You see, Sophie said sitting up, I’ve always been afraid of being a mother. Don’t get me wrong, I want to have children. I just don’t want to be a mother. Is it possible to be both a selfish girl and a doting mother? What can you do when you want to be both things? Oh, my love, so many stupid things go through my head, the discomforts of pregnancy, gaining weight, my skin losing its smoothness, physical pain. I suppose I don’t know how to be a strong woman. On the contrary, Hans said, embracing her, only a strong woman admits these things.

Sophie spoke of her need for independence, of Rudi’s plans to have a family, of what her fiancé’s buttocks felt like through his breeches, of what she imagined her sex life with him would be like, of the most curved penises she’d seen, of her curiosity about semen, of her monthly curse. And then in the same breath, incongruously, she began talking about Kant. According to Kant, Sophie said, killing an illegitimate child is less of a crime than being unfaithful. Pure reason, my eye! He says it would be better not to know of the existence of such a child, because legally he should never have existed. An adulterous relationship is a fictitious love. An illegitimate child is a non-existent being and therefore ending its life shouldn’t be a problem. This is what Kant says. And so our morality, Herr pretty bottom, becomes a negation of life. The morality we are taught is aimed at restricting life not helping us to understand it.