Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

One thing I fail to understand, said Hans, is why the Church owned land in this region? What was a Catholic principality doing in Protestant territory? This city becomes more baffling by the minute. Yes, said Álvaro, it surprised me at first, too. You see, during the Thirty Years’ War these lands were virtually on the border between Saxony and Brandenburg, you might say they were Saxon by the skin of their teeth. The Catholic army invaded the region and used it as an enclave to disrupt the enemy communications. Thus, inadvertently, Wandernburg became a bastion of the Catholic League at the heart of the Protestant Union. At the Peace of Westphalia it was declared an ecclesiastical principality, waiter, two more tankards, what do you mean no! Never say no to the last round, no, I insist, you can pay next time, or don’t you intend to visit another tavern with me? What was I saying? Yes, and this became the Principality of Wandernburg, which is still its official name. Remember that in Westphalia princes were free to choose the religion of their state, a deplorable decision, I know. And it seems the ruling prince here at the time was a Catholic. Apparently, in order to save the city from destruction, his parents collaborated with the Counter-Reformation troops. That is how Wandernburg came to be, and still is, Catholic (very interesting, said Hans, I’d never heard that story, I didn’t even know Wandernburg was an ecclesiastical principality, I’ve travelled past it a few times, but), I’m sure you have, like everyone else, I came here for very different reasons, otherwise I’d never, well, let’s leave that for another day. Yes, and still more strange — the situation has remained almost unchanged in two centuries. This was only a small region, surrounded by enemies and one of hundreds of states scattered throughout Germany, and the reunification of the empire was never going to be determined by a few hectares. (And what about Napoleon? Didn’t everything change under the French?) That’s the interesting thing! Since Saxony sided with Napoleon, his troops carried out a peaceful occupation of Wandernburg, through which they passed unimpeded on their way to and from the Prussian front. In return for services rendered, Napoleon’s brother decided to respect the Catholic authority in Wandernburg. But when the emperor was overthrown, Prussia occupied part of Saxony, and Wandernburg ended up a few miles inside Prussian territory. Once again it became a border territory, only on the other side this time. And so, my friend, a toast! We’re Prussians now, coño ! and should declare it from the rooftops. Let’s become inflamed with Prussian zeal! (And clinking tankards with that foreigner, Hans felt at home in Wandernburg for the first time.)

Álvaro laughed: Now it’s Prussia which receives its share of the tribute, and that’s why it respects Wandernburg’s exceptional status. The Wildherhauses, Ratztrinkers and other landowners continue to declare themselves Catholics, and as defenders of the Church uphold its many privileges, while at the same time declaring themselves tolerant, interdenominational and Prussian before the King of Prussia, as vehemently as they once claimed they were Saxons, supporters of the French or what have you. This is why some descendants of exiled Lutheran families have returned, like Professor Mietter. Prior to the Congress of Vienna the authorities and the press would never have treated a man like the professor with such respect, but now it is politically advantageous (I don’t suppose Saxony will stand by and do nothing, Hans said), well, Saxony has made no moves as yet, I imagine they don’t expect the borders established at Vienna to hold for very long either, the way nothing does in Germany. That, I guarantee, would be no problem for the Wandernburg authorities. They would simply throw themselves into the arms of the corresponding Saxon prince, bemoan the atrocious torments they suffered at the hands of his Prussian enemy, declare a public holiday and receive the new prince with true Saxon pomp and ceremony. And so it will be evermore, until this land falls into the sea or Germany is unified. And for now neither event seems likely. I hope I haven’t bored you with my disquisition! ( Disquisition ? Where did you get that word from?) Well, in all modesty, I also know the word homily . (You sound like a Saxon grandmother!) So, as you see, Wandernburg’s borders change from one day to the next (aha, Hans said, jokingly, maybe that’s why I get lost whenever I walk around it. Álvaro looked at him, suddenly serious), so I’m not the only one, you also have the feeling sometimes that (that what? That the streets … move?) Yes, yes! I’ve always been too embarrassed to mention this to anyone, but I often leave home well in advance in case something changes place unexpectedly. And I thought I was the only one! Your health!

The alcohol was beginning to slur Hans’s speech. He put a hand on Álvaro’s shoulder. Er, sorrry, he said to Álvaro, ’d’I step on your toe? Paardon me, y’know, ev’ sin’ we beggan talkin’ I been m-meanin t’ask you how ccome you spea’ ssuch good Sherman? Álvaro slumped suddenly. That, he replied, is the story I didn’t want to tell you. I was married for many years to a German woman. Ulrike. She was born about three leagues from here. She loved this place. The scenery. The customs. I don’t know. Those were her childhood memories. That’s why we came to live here. Ulrike. Many years. Who could possibly leave now?

Hans contemplated the frothy remains on the rim of his beer mug, the hollow ears of the handles, all the things one looks at when everything has been said. Then he whispered, When? Two years ago, said Álvaro. Of tuberculosis.

Álvaro and Hans drank up their beers. The waiters were wiping down the tables with the reproachful air they have when it is time to close. Hey, Hans stammered, aren’t there a lot of wwidowed people in Wwandernburg? Sophie’s father, Fffrau Pietzzzine, Proffessor Mietter even, perhaps. It’s no coincidence, Álvaro replied, border cities are soothing, they make you think there’s another world nearby, I don’t know how to describe it. Travellers come here, people who have lost their way or were headed somewhere else, lone wolves. And they all end up staying here, Hans. You’ll get used to it. I don’ thin’ sso, said Hans, I’m p-passing through. You’ll get used to it, Álvaro repeated, I’ve been passing through here for over ten years now.

Hans was perched on his trunk, legs apart, trying not to drip water onto his bare feet, shaving in front of the mirror he had placed on the floor, the washbasin on one side and on the other a towel draped over the back of a chair. He liked this way of shaving, leaning as though over a tiny pond, because he felt it helped him to think — when you get up, especially if you are a night owl, your brain needs a bit of a shake-up. Sometimes it feels as if there aren’t enough hours in the day, Hans reflected. He had woken up in good spirits and eager to carry out all the tasks he had set himself. He would finish the book he was halfway through over lunch, go to see the organ grinder and suggest they dine together, meet Álvaro for coffee then follow Sophie a little, if, as on other occasions, he managed to bump into her out strolling with a friend, emerging from a shop with Elsa or on her way to pay someone a visit. Sitting clutching the razor, face streaked with foam, still only half-dressed, Hans had the impression all this could be done in a trice.

His reverie was interrupted by shouts from downstairs. Considering the day officially started, Hans dried his face, replaced the watercolour on its hook, got a splinter in his foot, pulled it out cursing, finished dressing, and went out into the corridor. The shouts continued. Lisa was trying to get into the kitchen, while her mother and the suspended hams blocked the way. I don’t care what you say, Frau Zeit exclaimed, you can’t fool me, there’s at least fifteen or ten groschen missing. Mother, Lisa argued, can’t you see I bought an extra pound of beef as well as more tomatoes? Of course I can see, Frau Zeit retorted, and I’m wondering who asked you to buy all those tomatoes, the meat doesn’t matter, what’s left over can be salted, but who do you think is going to eat a whole basketful of tomatoes? And anyway, a pound of meat couldn’t cost that much, do you think I’m stupid? Mother, replied Lisa, I told you the prices went up this morning by one loth in seven. We’ll see about that! her mother protested. I’ll go to the market myself tomorrow, and I warn you. Do as you please, Lisa interrupted her mother in turn, if you don’t believe me you can go and see for yourself tomorrow and the day after, and every day if you want. I’m not interested in the butcher or in tomatoes or in arguing with you. But child, Frau Zeit replied, seizing Lisa by the wrists, even if it’s true, don’t you see what things cost? When will you learn? If they put the price up overnight you have to haggle like the rest of us, do you hear? Haggle! And stop giving yourself such airs and graces.