Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

One afternoon, while they were chatting in Hans’s room, Sophie began leafing through the books and papers on the table. He showed her some magazines containing his translations, and a couple of poetry books for which he had written the prologues. They sat down next to the lighted oil lamp and read through the bilingual versions of the poems together, unable to resist the temptation to suggest alternative versions to the published texts. Sophie expressed three or four tentative objections to Hans, which he found surprisingly perceptive. They continued commenting on the poems until Hans had the idea that instead of spending time correcting what had already been published, Sophie could help him translate a couple of English poems he had to send off urgently to the Atlas . The Atlas ? Sophie said eagerly, but I read all their issues in the library! They set to work, and despite Sophie insisting English was not her forte, Hans was delighted at the way she reformulated the sentences, the adjectives she chose, and her ability to take judicious liberties — she was like a child playing with her toys. Seeing Sophie’s excitement as she reread the texts, her delight as she pondered the more challenging passages or recited the verses aloud under her breath, Hans had an idea that filled him with desire and enthusiasm.

A few days later, Hans sent her a note asking her to find any excuse to come to see him immediately. Not long after, Sophie appeared with Elsa at the inn, and while her maid waited downstairs playing with Thomas, she went up to his room. The moment Hans saw her come in, he gave her a kiss and told her to sit down and close her eyes. When Sophie opened them again, she found the proofs from the Atlas on her lap. When she saw her name printed under the translations next to that of Hans, she dropped the pages as if they were on fire. But Hans, you didn’t, you shouldn’t have! she stammered, with a mixture of delight and disquiet. Why not? he grinned, you translated almost half the verses! But, how? she said. Ah, it was easy, replied Hans, I wrote to the publisher and told them the translations were co-authored, it was only fair wasn’t it? Are you saying you wish I hadn’t? Sophie kept shaking her head and protesting, even as she began removing her underskirt until she was sitting astride Hans, pinning him to his chair. They rose up and down, clasping one another with wild gestures, without making a sound. When they were still again, the first thing Sophie did was to smooth out her skirt and pick up the proofs from the floor. Hans offered her some water.

Think about it properly, said Hans, if we translated together, not occasionally but officially, we could have a wonderful summer. We would enjoy reading and working together, and it would give us the perfect excuse to see one another here. We already agreed we have to act naturally so as not to arouse suspicion. If we insist on being secretive we’ll end up looking as though we had something to hide. We share the same tastes in books as we do in bed, it’s the perfect plan! Sophie made a gesture of partial surrender, before replying: I know, and I agree about the need for less secrecy, I don’t know what will happen, but this way is better. As for my father, we’ll have to see, I don’t even want to think about that now. Rudi will agree, because I’ll try, if I explain it to him in such a way, well, anyway — he’ll agree. But to be completely honest, I’m not so sure about myself, about my abilities and what Brockhaus might think, Brockhaus, no less! (Don’t say that, protested Hans, they see what they see, your translations, and they know they’re good, and that’s all they care about.) Yes, well, maybe you’re right, and I appreciate your belief in me, maybe you have more faith in me than I have in myself, but try to understand, Hans, it isn’t only that, there’s all the rest, oh, I don’t know whether a man can understand! I also worry that while the publishers judge you solely on your translations, they judge me first and foremost as a woman translator, it’s a small difference but a terrible one, how can I be sure they will read my work without bias, when not only am I young but I’m a woman? Or that they’ll they take me seriously? Or worse still, how do I know they won’t make allowances for me? (My love, said Hans, you’re complicating things unnecessarily, it’s really quite simple, if they like what you do they’ll accept it and if they don’t they won’t, as for making allowances — you’re right, I’ll ask them to split the payment, to send me half and the other half to you, that way you’ll be in no doubt.) No, no, Hans, I won’t hear of it! (Of course, of course.) I mean it, please. (Too bad, princess!) Look, this is crazy, I’m a young lady of means, but what will you do? How can you survive on half the money? (I’ve managed to put aside a few thalers, and besides, it wouldn’t be half the money because the two of us could translate almost twice as much, if we split the work between us my earnings would be more or less the same.) Hans, Hans, you’re impossible, quite impossible and I love you and no doubt I’ll live to regret it, in short, I refuse to argue with you over money, I don’t know, let’s assume you are right, but in any case I’m sorry, I’ll only agree on condition I receive no payment for our translations, besides, my father would never give his consent, believe me, he’ll take enough convincing as it is — imagine, a daughter of his, engaged to a Wilderhaus, working! As though he couldn’t afford to keep me! No, it will be much simpler if I present this to him as a kind of literary pastime, a form of education, do you see? Then perhaps he’ll agree and everything will turn out all right, and I will come here every afternoon and talk Latin to you and decline all your verbs for you and (hey!) and squeeze this thing here, and (Sophie, Elsa is waiting for you downstairs) and give it a good bite (oh, oh, oh) and we can work in any tongue you like.

Herr Gottlieb pulled his moustache, curled it and wound it round his finger. He put his pipe down on the open magazine and shook his head in dismay. But my child, couldn’t you have consulted me first? How could you do such a thing without even telling me, we’ve been through this before! Oh, God help us. But Father, Sophie purred, why are you so annoyed? Are you really so upset about your daughter amusing herself with a few harmless poems? You know perfectly well I’ve never prevented you reading or studying anything, replied Herr Gottlieb, that isn’t what upsets me, what I thoroughly object to is you and Herr Hans (I and Herr Hans what, Father? Sophie said jauntily), well, this literary collaboration, as you call it, but my dear girl, do you think it decent for a young woman of your standing to associate herself with the publishing world? Father, smiled Sophie, you say the publishing world as though you were describing some criminal activity! Try to understand, I implore you, or are you suggesting a girl like me should stay at home reciting Children, Cooking, Church? Do you expect me even before I am married to devote myself entirely to cooking and giving you grandchildren? Please darling Papa, please, I know you’ll say yes! All I ask, sighed Herr Gottlieb, pacifying his snake-like whiskers, is that you give some consideration to these matters. If that’s your only objection, Sophie said with as much truthfulness as irony, then have no fear — I think of nothing else but the wedding these days. Be honest with me, my child, Herr Gottlieb beseeched her, aren’t you happy at the prospect of starting a good family? That depends, she replied, if you refer to it as an inevitable duty, then perhaps not, Father, but if you mean it as a possibility, then, yes, I suppose I am, but is it really necessary to discuss that now? Tell me, Herr Gottlieb insisted, doesn’t Rudi show you daily that he loves you? Father, Sophie took a gamble, it’s getting late, I have to go and translate now, and I’m serious — if you try to stop me, if you forbid me to pursue this literary collaboration with Herr Hans, I’ll lock myself in my room and translate anyway, I suppose you can’t stop me from doing that, I’ll lock myself in every afternoon, and do nothing but sleep, eat and translate until my wedding day! I’ll grow pale, wretched and ugly, and the day I marry everyone will ask why I look so miserable on such a happy occasion and you’ll feel ashamed to have such a, such a, such an ugly daughter, dear, darling Papa, be nice! My fate is in your hands, if you insist, I shan’t go outside all summer, and that way you’ll be happy, and in the end, Father, I’ll also be happy because I’ll have been a dutiful daughter and obeyed your orders. Child, Herr Gottlieb said falteringly, don’t speak to me like that, you’re being unfair (rest assured I’ll obey your orders, Sophie said, pursing her lips), now you can’t say that I (I trust you to be fair, Father, Sophie simpered, lowering her head), child, child! Be reasonable, I implore you! (I’m simply awaiting your verdict, whatever you decide will be for my own good.) But Sophie, if you would at least, I’m not trying to stop you! You know I always (I know, I know, and I’m eternally grateful, she said, fluttering her eyelashes), in that case, is there really no other solution? (Oh, Father, you’re so understanding! Sophie tinkled, throwing her arms around him.) Child, dear child … (Not as dear as you are to me!) Very well, very well, but, wouldn’t you at least consider translating with him here at home, what have you against that? Why do you have to do it at that godforsaken inn? (Oh, Father, I already told you, we would be distracted here, there are too many people, Bertold, Elsa, visitors, my friends, and besides, Father, Hans has a whole library at the inn, not to mention a pile of useful papers and dictionaries, everything we need for translating, imagine how cumbersome it would be to transport all that here every afternoon, let’s be practical Father, isn’t that what you’ve always taught me?) Very well, very well! You’re impossible! But there’s one condition which I absolutely insist upon! (What is that, Papa?) Elsa must go with you every afternoon, and you must come back here together at the same time before it grows dark. (How tiresome, Father, are you sure? Sophie said, barely able to conceal her glee, do you really think it necessary for poor Elsa to watch over me all day long? Is this the trust you show your own daughter?) No, no, not another word! Either you translate at the inn with Elsa or you stay here and I won’t hear another word about it! (How stern you are when you want to be! All those hours with strict Elsa! Very well, it will be as you wish, Father dear, a kiss and I bid you good afternoon.)