Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

The first thing Hans glimpsed through the railings was not Mayor Ratztrinker’s exaggeratedly large hat, nor his fine silk socks, nor his velvet frock coat, it was his beak-like nose as he climbed out of his carriage. While the mayor’s whiskers ventured into the open air, a servant folded back the hood. No sooner had His Excellency’s foot touched the ground than a second servant handed him a wreath; the mayor clasped onto it as he would a funereal life belt. The cortège advanced slowly, accepting peoples’ greetings. When they walked past Olaf, Mayor Ratztrinker gave one of the servants a sidelong glance, at which the servant showered the beggar with coins. Good afternoon, Your Excellency, Hans murmured as he passed him on the way out. The mayor stopped, handed the wreath to a servant, and doffed his hat, pausing a moment before returning the greeting. This struck Hans as suspicious. They exchanged pleasantries, remarked on the worsening weather, and before saying goodbye Mayor Ratztrinker took a step forward. He looked Hans up and down, gestured to his beret and said nonchalantly: Jacobins aren’t welcome in Wandernburg. Neither are adulterers. Imagine what we think of Jacobin adulterers? The police, quite naturally, are concerned. Good afternoon.

He arrived at the cave as night fell. The organ grinder was talking to Lamberg, who had brought him some supper. Hans sat down on a rock and patted Franz’s side. You’ve arrived, kof , just in time, I was telling Lamberg about my dream last night. (And how are you feeling? asked Hans.) Me? — kof —Fine, just fine, you sound like a mother! But listen, I dreamt, kof , I was alone in the woods and I was very cold, like I hadn’t a stitch on, and then I began, kof , to shiver, and the more I shivered the more I sweated — funny, isn’t it? — only instead of droplets, kof , instead of droplets of sweat, my body gave off sounds, you know? Like notes, and the breeze carried them through the woods, kof , and they started to sound familiar, and I went on shivering and giving off sounds until, kof , I began to recognise the tune coming from my body, and at that moment I woke up (because of the dream? asked Lamberg), no, no, kof , because I was hungry!

Hans burst out laughing. Then he grew very serious. The organ grinder stretched out his bony arm, beckoning him to come near, and asked cheerily: How is Olaf?

No, child, no, Father Pigherzog whispered into her ear as the bell in the round tower rattled out the midday chimes with a clang like coins dropping into the collection plate, calm yourself, child, in spite of everything it is best you tell no one, nemo infirmitatis animi immunis , I sympathise, we spoke about this the other day, do you remember? Yet no matter how great your suffering only you can free yourself from it, that is what makes us worthy of the Lord, the power to transform evil into good, and to forgive, of course not, my child, I am not saying the Lord wishes you to suffer so much, but that He wants you to love once your suffering is over, so that your reward will be much greater. That is why, my child, you must tell no one about what happened to you.

At the foot of the other tower, the pointed one, Frau Levin and Sophie were moving their lips, nodding their heads, shrugging their shoulders, warding off the cold wind and clutching their hats. A few yards away, Mayor Ratztrinker and Herr Gottlieb removed their hats, although in the gloomy afternoon daylight it might, from a distance, have seemed as if they were doing the opposite — taking off the heads of their respective hats. After the farewells, His Excellency’s last words hung thickly in the air, climbed the cracks in the tower, scaled the damp steps of autumn, edged between the flat clouds, dissolved little by little: “ … and I’ll say it again, Fräulein, you look positively radiant, there’s nothing like a wedding to enhance a woman’s beauty!”

Although it had lasted a matter of seconds, Frau Levin felt positively exalted by the mayor’s greeting. The Gottliebs’ presence had no doubt been a determining factor. Even so, this was the first time the mayor had deigned to address her, to utter her name. To acknowledge her as a respectable citizen and to accept her, finally, as a good Christian. For this reason, she was more determined than ever to do what she was about to do. What a neighbour of hers, who was a policeman, had been urging her to do for some time. Frau Levin waited for a group of carriages to pass before crossing Archway. She must hurry. In an hour’s time she had to serve her husband lunch; he continued stubbornly to refuse to attend Mass, and she had been forced to lie to him in order to be able to go home later. Lying to her husband terrified her — she always had the impression he knew. But besides fear, that morning she felt the excitement of being useful, of really being useful to the authorities. Frau Levin glanced behind her, from side to side, making sure no one was watching her. She quickened her pace. She walked towards Spur Street. She was more determined now than ever.

Aha, the Chief Superintendent’s teeth clacked. Are you taking note, sergeant? Carry on.

The words began to spill from Frau Levin’s lips. She was scarcely able to pause, to emerge from her trance when the Chief Superintendent rearranged his denture ready to pose another question. Some questions were easy to answer: Herr Hans’s profession, Herr Hans’s political leanings, Herr Hans’s friends, arrival of books at Herr Hans’s lodgings, Herr Hans’s everyday habits, Herr Hans’s dubious patriotism. Others were a little more tricky or ambiguous. And yet Frau Levin answered them without hesitation, supplying a wealth of detail, embellishing what she knew and inventing what she did not. After all she wasn’t doing this only for herself — although he didn’t know it, she was also doing it for the sake of her husband. Perhaps one day His Excellency the mayor would greet him, too.

The Chief Superintendent nodded, clacked his teeth, and made sure his officer was keeping pace in his note-taking with the hastily delivered statement. From time to time he raised his hand, made the Jewish bitch shut up and waited for a few moments before moving on to the next question.

When he had gathered more than enough information, the Superintendent raised both hands, and, without looking at the Jewess, said: Thank you for coming.

Herr Gottlieb stood at his desk finishing the inventory of his daughter’s trousseau — family jewels, imported fans, kid gloves, fine-quality brushes, bottles of perfume, expensive sponges, ornate sweet dishes. As her father paused between items, Sophie would say “Yes” or “It’s here”, and he would murmur, “Correct” and resume going through the list.

As he closed the inventory book, Herr Gottlieb’s face grew suddenly solemn. He placed his smoking pipe on the table, tugged on his waistcoat and stood to attention like a general about to embark on an important mission. He offered his daughter his hand, and led her along the chilly corridor. If Sophie were not mistaken they were going to her father’s bedchamber — a room she had not set foot in for years.

A strip of light from the window reached across the room to the opposite wall — the rest was darkness. Herr Gottlieb walked slowly over to the vast mahogany wardrobe, pausing after each step. He turned the key twice, opened the heavy door and whispered his daughter’s name three times. Then he thrust his arms into the wardrobe’s depths and pulled out a trailing luminescence. Sophie recognised her deceased mother’s wedding gown. It was a strangely ethereal garment. It appeared to be made of light. She studied the gown as her father handed it to her — the smooth feel of the satin, the tiny band of organdy around the waist, the airy netting on the skirt. Placing the dress in his daughter’s arms as one passing an invisible ballerina, Herr Gottlieb said: This was your mother’s favourite shade of white, egg white, the purest white of all, that of innocent hearts. If only she were here to help us! My child, my child, will you make me a grandfather soon? It pains me that you barely knew your own grandparents. I don’t wish the same on my grandchildren. But go, child, try it on. I need to see how the dress suits you.