Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

He breathed in and plucked up his courage. Before walking towards Sophie, he repeated the words several times over in his head so he would become accustomed to them, so they wouldn’t sound humiliating. Sophie pretended she hadn’t seen him approaching her from the side — she adopted an absent-minded look, but in the meantime centred the neck of her dress and smoothed the rebellious curl, which instead of forming a bass clef on her cheek was intent on tickling her earlobe. Sophie started, pretended to start, when Hans touched her shoulder as someone might tentatively ring a door bell thinking “Please let there be someone at home”. My dear Hans, declared Sophie, how delightful to see you here, I thought you wouldn’t come, I had almost forgotten about you.

Hans ran over the sentence again and then, eyes half-closed, pronounced it out loud. His own voice seemed to boom in his ears. Teach me to dance, he said. I came here so you would teach me to dance. Sophie’s eyes lit up, her lips flushed and her curl sprang out of place. Arms akimbo, she squeezed her waist, it felt ticklish. She replied: Why didn’t you ask me before, silly?

She led him to the least crowded part of the dance floor. I’ll begin by teaching you the basic steps, she said, so that at least you stop moving like a duck. Don’t be offended, I’ve always liked ducks. The steps are the same in almost every dance, and once you’ve mastered them we can try a minuet, which is the most suitable dance for us, remember your partner is a respectable young woman about to be married! No, don’t worry, it doesn’t bother me, on the contrary, I’m only reminding you because when I start to dance I’m the one who sometimes forgets about my engagement and being respectable. What? Yes, I can imagine, all right, well, it was a joke.

Hans felt embarrassed by these exercises and asked Sophie if she would teach him the minuet straight away. Are you sure? she said, looking down at his feet. Hans nodded gravely. Sophie agreed, and as the orchestra had just started playing a complicated quadrille, she began explaining the minuet close, very close, to his ear. She told him it was quite a slow dance in three-four time, that the couple didn’t have to twirl, that it was French, that is to say elegant but not very lively, that it was already going out of fashion, although people still danced it, particularly married couples of a certain age. (Are you teaching me a dance for old people? said Hans. No, Sophie giggled, I’m showing you the only dance you’ll be able to manage tonight without falling over.) And she went on describing close, very close to his ear, the different steps. She took him by the arm, and, moving back slightly, told him about the “Z” on the floor, the man’s right hand, the couple’s left hands, about the last but one step and the final sequence of “Zs” before the dancers raise their arms and end saluting one another from opposite corners. (All very chaste, for real ladies and real gentlemen, that’s why we young couples no longer want to dance it.)

How am I doing? asked Hans, bent almost double. Sophie did not answer. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she was laughing so much. Although the other couples were busy dancing, and the crowd was more taken up with its own affairs and merrymaking, to Hans it seemed as if everyone were staring at him. Why am I making such a fool of myself? he wondered, not realising that only those who ask themselves this are making fools of themselves. Moved by Hans’s clumsiness, Sophie decided to give up on the minuet and begin at the beginning, with the basic steps. Hans raised no objections this time, because among other things, besides feeling ridiculous, the infernal minuet had kept their bodies too far apart.

What did Sophie smell of? She smelt of rose water. Not of heady perfumes. Not of pungent lavenders or jasmines. But of translucent petals, of tranquil rose. Of self-possessed beauty. Yes, and, underneath, of almond milk. Of a neck you never wanted to stop … Pay attention Hans! Hans said to himself, and Sophie spoke close to his ear. And he longed to dance, but not in that way, not there.

All right, said Sophie, let’s try it once more. Legs straight, that’s right. Heels together. Now, feet in line and pointing out (feet in line? You do realise I’m a biped, Hans laughed), come on silly, if only you looked like a biped! Now, legs apart, more or less the length of a foot (whose foot? Hans whispered. Mine or yours, yours are so small and pretty and), shh! Listen, no, closer together, perfect, now cross them over, what do you mean what? Your feet! Yes yours! Cross your right foot like that over your left, more or less at the level of your ankle (Sophie, declared Hans, you’ll have to pick me up off the floor), you’re doing very well, don’t be like that! Quite well anyway, now the salute, do you see? The lady bends forward once she is in position. (I can’t hear you Sophie, why are you so far away?) Because that is how this part goes, can you hear me now? Good, so, the lady stands legs apart, bends her knees and lowers her head. Don’t stand there gaping at me, it’s your turn! Now, the gentleman … (Do you mean me? Are you sure? In that case why are you laughing, Fräulein Gottlieb?) Hans, please, enough! Carry on, transfer your weight to one foot, no, the one in front, and the one behind moves into the fourth position, do you remember? (What? Is this the fourth position already?) Shh, you rogue! Now transfer your weight to the other foot and then return it to the other, no wait! Return it to the first position (ah, then I think I’ll stay still until you come back), now bend your head, let your body follow, there, you see, that wasn’t so difficult, now lower your arms slowly. (Actually, I think I’d better keep them up, I surrender, help, Herr Gottlieb, take your daughter in hand! Father Pigherzog forgive her! Professor Mietter write a review! …)

Hans didn’t learn the basic steps, he couldn’t find his rhythm or his coordination, he didn’t understand the minuet, but that night he learnt to love dancing. As he watched each of Sophie’s quick, alternating steps, Hans was able to enjoy the crossing of her shoes, the brushing together of her ankles, the movement of her legs, the sway of her hips. And, depending on how close he was, he also noticed the different pressure she applied with her hands. So that, rather than focusing on her instructions, which in any event he was incapable of carrying out, Hans tried to follow the movement of Sophie’s clothes, the way her gown folded and unfolded, the inner creaking of her corset, which pulsed beneath each movement, constraining the appetite. And unless Hans was much mistaken, he was not the only one whose arms were trembling.

The three of them, Sophie, Hans and Elsa, left late, and joined the queue waiting for a carriage in front of the Apollo Theatre. Sophie and Hans walked side by side, talking. Elsa lagged behind, pensive. Hans noticed his face felt cold, his brow clammy; he was sweating, his lungs burned and his throat was hoarse. But more strongly than any other sensation, he felt a liquid euphoria in his muscles, a kind of certainty. Had he been drinking? Yes, on top of everything else he had been drinking.

After quite a long wait, they managed to secure a landau. Hans insisted on paying for all three of them, and immediately calculated that at this rate his savings would last him another two or three weeks. The coachman was unwilling to leave one of the four places unoccupied and insisted they cram together on one side so he could accommodate another couple on the opposite seat. Sophie allowed Hans to help her up — their fingers touched, exchanging imprints before separating. The carriage tilted and creaked in weary acceptance as Sophie placed her foot on the small step.