Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

I don’t know, said Hans, well, a little. And is the river saying something?

It’s saying, the old man whispered, I’m on my way. I’m nearly here.

What’s nearly here? Hans asked.

Spring, the organ grinder replied, even though we can’t see it, even though it’s frozen, it is on its way. Stay another month. You can’t leave here without seeing Wandernburg in spring.

Don’t these frozen trees, this icy landscape, make you feel sad? Hans asked.

Sad? said the organ grinder, they give me hope. They’re like a promise.

To the slow, steady rhythm of the handle, the days turned and turned, and Herr Gottlieb’s long-awaited betrothal dinners took place. During the first of these, which was held in Stag Street beneath the chandelier that recalled better days in the dining room Hans had never seen, amid the cabinets filled with porcelain and Saxon china figurines, around the big, oblong table that had once seen many more guests, Rudi had presented Sophie with the engagement ring. Eight days later, on the eve of the second betrothal dinner, she had reciprocated by sending him her portrait enclosed in an oval-shaped silver medallion. The Wilderhaus family had behaved towards Herr Gottlieb in a correct if unenthusiastic manner, and were certainly willing to indulge their son Rudi if this wedding was really what he wanted. Neither Sophie nor her father had ever set foot inside Wilderhaus Hall, whose impressive facade they had only seen from King’s Parade. Herr Gottlieb’s first reaction as they walked around it was shock, followed by awe, then finally exhilaration. Sophie held her chin up and remained silent during most of the dinner. Herr Gottlieb left the mansion feeling profoundly relieved. At last everything seemed to be going smoothly — after the desserts had been served, contrary to his expectations, the Wilderhauses raised few objections to his conditions and had agreed to the sum of her dowry.

Since their first tentative letters, Hans and Sophie had begun writing to each other almost every day, and by now Hans had become a frequent caller at the Gottlieb residence. He had achieved what he thought would be the most difficult aim — becoming Sophie’s friend ; and once he had, he felt disappointed. As had been their custom for some time, the two of them were taking tea in the drawing room. Herr Gottlieb had retired to his study and they were able to enjoy the luxury of gazing into each other’s eyes. As the carpet soaked up the afternoon light, Sophie described in detail the dinner at Wilderhaus Hall. Hans responded to her narrative with a sour smile. Why is she telling me all this? he thought. To show she trusts me? To see how I will react, or to put me off? Even as she spoke to him in a relaxed tone, Sophie could not help wondering: Why does he listen so happily to all this? To show his friendship? So that I make the first move? Or is he distancing himself? Yet the more Sophie shared her misgivings about the opulence of Wilderhaus Hall, the more Hans thought she was trying to bring Rudi into the conversation, and the more he smiled out of self-protection. And the more he smiled, the more Sophie thought he was deliberately showing his aloofness, and so the more she persisted in giving him details. And in their own way, during this exchange, they both felt an uncertain happiness.

Imagine our amazement, Hans, Sophie went on, when half a dozen liveried footmen kept serving ice cream throughout the meal and offering us tea every fifteen minutes, then brought champagne, Scotch whisky and bottles of Riesling after dinner. (I can imagine, Hans replied, how upsetting!) I swear I didn’t know whom to greet first or how to address them, there must have been at least two uniformed coachmen, half a dozen servants, goodness knows how many chambermaids, and a kitchen staff the size of a small village (my, what indigestion! exclaimed Hans), seriously, I’m not used to so much etiquette, I wonder how anyone can feel truly at ease surrounded by so many people (oh well, said Hans, as with most things, you grow accustomed to it, you know), the only place where there’s any privacy is in the gardens (the gard ens , he said, surprised), well, yes, there are two, one at the front and one at the back (of course, of course, Hans nodded), they were pretty, yes, but it sent a shiver up my spine when I realised one of them was full of graves, I’ll wager you can’t guess whose they were? (You have me on tenterhooks, he said.) The dogs’! Yes, you heard me, eleven dogs are buried there, the family’s hunting dogs, and each has a headstone with its name inscribed (how very commendable, Hans said, to extend such treatment to their poor animals), I don’t know, it all seems rather excessive to me, why would anyone need four billiard tables? (They certainly know how to keep themselves entertained! Hans said approvingly.) If they even play, because everything in that house looks unused, including the library, which incidentally is vast. I was able to leaf through a few old French volumes which I suspect no one has ever so much as glanced at. (And what about paintings? said Hans. Do they own many paintings, I imagine they must glance at them?) You seem in excellent spirits this afternoon, my friend, I’m delighted you are keen to know so much about my fiancé (I’m burning with curiosity, Fräulein, positively burning! said Hans, shifting in his seat), yes, indeed, they own many paintings, a large collection of Italian, French and Flemish masters they have acquired over the years from local convents. (What a magnificent investment! Hans exclaimed. And do they have a music room?) I’m afraid they do, a beautiful little room with gas lamps, and another marble-lined banqueting hall (yes, said Hans, marble is always best for banquets). May I offer you a herbal tea, Herr Hans, you seem a little on edge. Elsa dear, come here will you? I wasn’t aware you knew so much about architecture, indeed, I was going to tell you about the English taps and drainpipes, but I’m not sure I should.

Hans arrived at the inn with a hunger on his skin and a hollow feeling in his chest. He had no inclination to go out, preferring to remain slumped on the old settee mulling over his conversation with Sophie. Lisa, who was still up, hastened to serve him what remained of the family’s dinner. When he saw her approach with a plate and bowl in her hands, he was suddenly touched. Thank you Lisa, he said, you shouldn’t have taken the trouble. There’s no need to thank me, she replied, trying to look as if she couldn’t care less, I’m only doing my duty. But the pinkish tinge to her cheeks suggested otherwise. In that case I’d like to thank you for doing your duty so well. Thank you, Lisa replied, without thinking. And, after she realised what she had said, she could not help smiling brightly.

Within minutes she was next to him on the sofa, sitting with her feet tucked under her. Where’s your father? Hans asked. Asleep, Lisa replied. And your mother? Trying to put Thomas to bed, she said. And you? asked Hans. Aren’t you sleepy? Not really, Lisa said, shaking her head. Then she added: What about you? Me? Hans replied, surprised. No, well, a little. Are you going up to your room, then? she asked. I think I will, he said. Do you need some more candles? Lisa said. I don’t think so, replied Hans. Lisa stared at him with an intensity that was only possible from someone truly innocent or extremely artful. But Hans knew Lisa was still too young to be that artful. Good night then, Lisa said. Good night Lisa, said Hans. He stood up. She lowered her eyes and began picking at a hangnail.

When Hans was already on the stairs, Lisa’s voice called him back. Aren’t you going to tell me what you keep in your trunk? she asked, making patterns with her foot. Hans turned around, smiling. The whole world, he said.