Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

In order to change the subject, or to give Rudi the opportunity to shine, Herr Gottlieb asked his future son-in-law aloud about the state of the family lands. Grasping Herr Gottlieb’s intentions, Rudi instantly put on a perfectly reluctant expression, as though the subject were loathsome to him. He waved his hands about, minimising the importance of his affairs and casually scaring off a couple of flies. He mentioned new crop fields, meadows and woods, cattle, sugar mills, breweries, distilleries and manufacturing plants. At one point in his inventory, he commented that the peasants were losing their traditional skills. They behave more and more like mercenaries, he said, as if they are working for you but they could be working anywhere. And couldn’t they indeed be working anywhere, Herr Wilderhaus? declared Hans. Unfortunately for them, Rudi shrugged, I suppose they could, believe me when I tell you the old corporations were much more effective, they may have been stricter but they provided the day labourers with a home, whereas now they fill their mouths with talk of rights, roam up and down the country and end up in the big cities, lost and defenceless. Don’t worry too much about them, said Álvaro sarcastically, I think they’d be happy if someone paid them a decent wage. Dignity, said Rudi, does not depend on pay. Until recently the peasants knew where they stood, and that they could trust the landowners. And that, Monsieur Urquiho , can be worth its weight in gold. Don’t you think, dearest? I think, Sophie said, biting her lip, that my opinion on the subject is neither here nor there, business doesn’t concern me. Quite, quite! said Herr Gottlieb, smiling with relief.

As soon as the corn had turned a burning yellow, a flaming yellow; before the ripened grain grew hard, at the precise moment when it began to glow inside and turn a coppery red; when the sunlight seemed almost chewable, ready for the harvest; in the anxious season, the mating, rutting season; when the sheep had lost their woollen coats and wandered the fields skinny and wounded looking, the lovers too cast off their clothes. Hans and Sophie would go on day trips to the countryside and remain alone thanks to the connivance of Elsa, who would leave Sophie halfway, stepping out of the coach to go and see her own lover, who was waiting for her at his house, to the south-east. The two women would meet again at the end of the afternoon and return home together.

Her face peeping out from under the circle of shade of her green parasol, seeing the fields pass by to the swaying of the landau, Sophie watched the harvesters at work. She contemplated their bent backs as they scythed, back and forth like pendulums. Yet she was thinking of Elsa, who seemed to be deliberately avoiding her gaze from the seat opposite. She trusted Elsa’s loyalty, she had proved she was discreet and Sophie was sure she wouldn’t betray her secret. Besides, Sophie thought, trying to put her own mind at rest, her meetings with Hans allowed Elsa a few hours off work to delight in love. To delight in pleasure, plain and simple, as every woman deserved, regardless of her situation or her station. What harm was there in that? In Sophie’s opinion, none. But what did her maid think? Why did Elsa seem to obey her without really approving of what she was doing? How could a young, intelligent girl like Elsa judge her behaviour from a conventional moral standpoint? But more to the point, why did she, Sophie, care so much? Did she perhaps share Elsa’s misgivings? Sophie was aware of being perfectly capable of deceiving her father, Rudi, everyone, but she didn’t mean to deceive herself. And yet, if she closed her eyes and inhaled the mid-day breeze, nothing mattered very much compared to Hans’s and her impetuous behaviour, which would carry on until she knew not when, as long as the summer allowed.

The carriage pulled up so that Elsa could get out. Seeing the sun on Sophie’s face, she said: Fräulein, I implore you, keep covered, otherwise your father will notice and ask me what we get up to in the country. But I want to take the sun, replied Sophie, and I don’t see why we girls always have to stay out of it. Tell that to your father, said Elsa, I don’t make the rules. Sophie realised Elsa was in no mood for games. She leant forward and took her arm. Listen, Elsa, she whispered in her ear, you understand how much this means to me, don’t you? And you understand how important it is to maintain absolute secrecy. Of course, Fräulein, Elsa nodded solemnly, you needn’t remind me, have no fear. But you do understand, Sophie insisted. I understand nothing, I see nothing, I hear nothing. It’s part of my job. That, replied Sophie, is what worries me, you understand everything, and I have no idea what you think. Don’t worry, Elsa concluded, rest assured, my lips are sealed. I know, I know, breathed Sophie, but you do understand, don’t you? I mean, besides being, well, my accomplice on these outings, it occurs to me you would do the same, and that’s why you understand me. Fräulein, said Elsa, my job is not to understand your decisions but to do your bidding. Yes, yes, Sophie became impatient, but apart from that, Elsa, can you not put yourself in my shoes and feel what I feel, see what I see? Elsa lowered her eyes, then she looked straight at Sophie and said: Do you want my sincere opinion, Fräulein? I do, I do, said Sophie. If I were in your shoes, replied Elsa, I wouldn’t bother asking my maid what she thinks, if you see what I mean. I see only too well, Sophie said with a sigh. Six o’clock back here, then? said Elsa. Yes, said Sophie, no, we’d better make it five-thirty. I’m dining out with Herr Wilderhaus tonight. I’ll be here, said Elsa climbing down from the carriage. I’ll see you then, Sophie said, sitting back in her seat, take care, take care.

The green parasol was propped up against the tree. The lovers’ ankles were entwined. Her hiked-up skirts lay in folds about her thighs. His unbuttoned trousers were rucked around his ankles. Beneath the shade of the tree, as always when they spent a few hours together, they alternated moments of exhilarated conversation and long stretches of shared silence — aware of how much they could say to one another, remaining quiet did not bother them. They liked to think without speaking, each withdrawing into the other. They listened to the ebb and flow of their silence. Sophie sat up, fixed the ribbons in her hair, and reached for her parasol. Hans turned his head to look at her from below, still with the taste of her saliva, her sweat, her brackish sex at the back of his throat. She gazed at the countryside and turned the little ivory handle just as the sun turned among the treetops, as the wind turned, stirring the appetite, as the distant carriage wheels on the main road turned, as the cogs in the Tower of the Wind in the market square turned, as the organ grinder’s handle, small, pivotal, turned and turned in its corner.

Hans was daydreaming and Sophie watched over him with a smile, trying to imagine what he was thinking. He also smiled and reached out to pinch her breast. He was thinking of her unruly breasts jiggling when she gave herself to him, of the violent way she clawed him, bit his face, sat astride him and shook him. He was thinking of the almost brutal honesty of Sophie’s responses, of her surprising physical strength. Contrary to what he had imagined, she was not content to lie back submissively and let him decide everything — she satisfied her desire as naturally as a pitcher being poured. Hans felt embarrassed to admit it, but to begin with Sophie’s sexual skills had intimidated him. Remembering his naive assumptions about her inexperience, Hans began to chuckle. She joined in without knowing what they were laughing about, then kissed him and said: What? Nothing, nothing, he said, it’s silly, I was thinking about your, bah, about our, so you weren’t a. Hans, my love, Sophie interrupted, pressing two fingers to his lips, I’m going to ask you this just once — don’t try to resemble my father in any way at all! But I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, Hans insisted, on the contrary! I simply wasn’t expecting it, I mean, well, have you had many experiences with men, then? Sophie shrugged coquettishly and said: What would you like me to answer? That’s not what I mean, he tried to explain, don’t misunderstand me, it’s just that, from the way you look, I expected you to be more … More what? Sophie arched her eyebrows. I don’t know, said Hans, more innocent, I suppose. Now you know, she smiled, are you disappointed? No, no, he said, I’m surprised. Well, she said, shaking her skirts, before your surprise wears off, my love, try to keep it a firm secret, because I’ve always enjoyed a spotless reputation among the upper classes and suitable lovers among the lower classes. Why the lower classes? asked Hans. I’m surprised you ask, replied Sophie, firstly because of a natural attraction and secondly, you silly man, because coachmen, craftsmen and peasants are highly unlikely to gossip to the aristocracy. And if they did, no one would believe them. The truth is, your average nobleman is more puritanical than the man in the street. Don’t look at me like that. And do you know why? Because the aristocracy have such an easy life they end up underestimating pleasure. Respectable men are more fearful of a revolution in the bedroom than they are of political strife. Would you mind fanning me? I’m a little flushed.