Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

Elsa finished her cold coffee. Why don’t we go away? Don’t pull a face, not for ever, just on a trip, we could go to England, I’ve never been to England. (That’s impossible, he murmured, letting go of her hand, I mean, not for the time being at least.) Why not, tell me, why not, explain to me, be truthful, I implore you, are you ashamed to be in love with a servant, is that it? (Of course not, Elsa, he said, clasping her hand once more, how can you even think that!) Why then? Because we mustn’t be seen together? Who are we hiding from? (And what about now, here, aren’t we being seen together?) Oh come, come, you know perfectly well your rich friends never frequent this tavern. (What? What are you saying? Do you want us to meet in the Central Tavern next time or in Café Europa or wherever you like, is that what you want?) No, my love, I don’t want to meet you in a tavern or anywhere else, what I want is to be free, not to hide any longer, to leave that house once and for all, that’s what I want. I want to do other things. I’m not young any more (you look younger than ever to me. And lovelier), don’t flatter me. Oh don’t flatter me.

Tell me, she said, letting him kiss her hand, what is England like? (Big, Álvaro said with a sigh, and complicated.) Well I want some complication in my life. In any case, I’ve started studying English. Seriously! Why are you laughing, silly? Don’t you believe me? Don’t you … no … believe me not ? she said, partly in English. And for your information … know you now that I … that I don’t intend spending the rest of my life like this! … being a … ( A maid , smiled Álvaro, the word is maid , Elsa, I don’t believe it!) Well you’d better believe it, silly, maid you say? Well, being a maid , then, anyway my love, dear dear , start getting used to the idea, and I don’t know why you’re so surprised. If you can learn to speak German, I don’t see why I can’t learn English, or Spanish even. (Of course you can, I believe you’re capable of anything, and besides I like it Elsa, I like it.) Do you? … Mucho bien ! Because I’ve seen a Spanish grammar at the house too. In a few months I’ll be giving you lessons in your own language!

Elsa, he said, I love you, you know that. You’d better! she said, rubbing her leg against his calf and revealing a stockinged ankle.

Lisa clutched the pencil clumsily in her delicate but chafed hands. The pencil wobbled, turning on itself in search of an angle, a thrust. Hans glanced at Lisa’s fresh face and saw her wrinkle her brow, screw up her eyes, push the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth. Lisa was concentrating so much, reflected Hans, that she did not even notice him — there was only an interminable line, a sluggish pencil, a pair of burning eyes and an unsteady hand. Everything else had vanished. Lisa’s powers of concentration never ceased to amaze him. Up until ten minutes ago she had been running back and forth to the market, hastily scrubbing floors, sewing incessantly, as she would soon go back to doing until evening. And yet now, sitting at Hans’s desk, staring intently at her writing, she looked like a schoolgirl who spent her whole time in a classroom. Considering how little time they had for lessons, half-an-hour twice weekly, she had made remarkable progress. She made few mistakes, and if she did, she would be the one to scold herself and impose minor punishments from which an astonished Hans tried to dissuade her. If I get that verb wrong once more, Lisa had said the week before, I’ll burn myself with the candle flame, how will I ever do anything in life if I can’t even conjugate the verb to do ! Hans had tried to encourage her by explaining that the verb to do behaved erratically, and therefore it was logical that she got in a muddle with the different tenses. Lisa had insisted this was no excuse, because her behaviour was also erratic, sometimes she did things one way and sometimes another, so she oughtn’t to get into such a muddle.

Hans became distracted as he remembered this exchange. When he looked again at Lisa’s exercise book, he raised his eyebrows — she had completed the table of verbs in the present and past tense; furthermore, of her own accord, Lisa had added the verb to finish in the column for the verb to do . When you do things, she said, you have to be able to finish them, don’t you?

As Lisa was reading back with laborious pride the sentences Hans had just dictated to her in the present and past tense, a roar came from the floor beneath. Lisa immediately dropped her pencil and leapt to her feet in terror. Herr Zeit was shouting his daughter’s name as he lumbered up the stairs. Lisa closed her exercise book, said goodbye to Hans with a swift kiss on the cheek (a kiss, which, on the other hand, Hans reflected, proved she wasn’t very scared), ran across the corridor and hid in one of the other rooms. Hans stood behind his door listening — when Herr Zeit found her, she pretended she had been changing the sheets up on the second floor. But her father refused to be placated, he had come up in a terrible rage.

Wretched girl! he bellowed. Where did you get this? Lisa looked down at his hands and recoiled in horror — it was her new make-up. Where did you get it? Herr Zeit repeated, you don’t have money for this! He seized his daughter by the hair and dragged her from the room.

Frau Pietzine turns into Archway. She has spent the afternoon in church, meditating. This has made her late and she needs a carriage. There are no empty ones in the market square, so she must either wait there, or try her luck at the stand on the north side. When she hears the bell in the clock tower strike seven-thirty, Frau Pietzine pauses. She thinks about how neglectful of her motherly duties she has been of late, and how much her children hate having to eat their supper with the servant. And so she walks back the way she came, making her way to the stand on the north side, taking short cuts through the side alleys.

Once inside their apartment, the innkeeper slams the door, releases his daughter and looks around for a bag. When she sees her father hurl her make-up and perfumes into it, Lisa begins to cry. Herr Zeit bears down on her, fist raised. How did you pay for this filth? he bawls. With the change from the shopping? Have you been robbing your own family? Answer me, you wretched girl, is this how you make your father happy?

The masked figure hears the sound of Frau Pietzine’s hurrying shoes behind him as she turns into Wool Alley. As it is not quite dark yet, instead of waiting for her, he walks on, hands in pockets, careful not to make any strange movements, even quickening his pace slightly in order to get farther ahead. It would be rash to do anything before they reached the bend in Jesus Lane.

What’s more, Herr Zeit screamed, it isn’t right for a young girl, a girl like you, to be perfuming herself! As well as giving the money back to your mother, I forbid you to bring another bottle of perfume into this house. That’s the last time you disobey me, the last, do you hear me! Do you hear me!

Backed into the dark corner in Jesus Lane, the shadow tilts his hat, puts on his mask and checks he has all his tools. The sound of heels draws closer and closer. The mask moves at cheek level — the masked man is smiling. He is very lucky. For several weeks he has been avoiding the side streets as a precaution. Policemen have been patrolling the neighbourhood, he has seen them when he has been walking through without his mask. He has even greeted them with a polite nod. But for a few days now the police have stopped patrolling, and this is the first evening he has gone out wearing his long coat and black-brimmed hat. Fewer and fewer women walk out alone after seven o’clock.