Laszlo Krasznahorkai - War & War

What they were discussing in the grove that evening while watching the vast mass of the sea swaying far below, was the fact that there was a hard-to-define but potent relationship between man and landscape, between observer and the thing observed, a kind of marvelous correspondence by the light of which man could understand everything, and furthermore, said Falke, this was the only time in all human existence when you could genuinely, without the least doubt, comprehend everything, all other attempts at universal comprehension being no more than a fond fancy, an idea, a dream, whereas what we have here, said Falke, is all real and genuine, no fleeting illusion or mirage, not a conveniently fabricated, devised, dreamed-of substitute, but an actual glimpse into the very processes of life, that being what a man engaged with the landscape was offered a brief glimpse of, of life in its winter quietude, of life in the explosive energies of spring, a sense of the greater whole perceived through its details; nature is itself in fact, said Kasser, the first and last of undoubted certainties, the beginning and end of experience and at the same time of rapture too, because if anywhere, it was here and only here, before the unity that is nature, that one could begin, that one could be shaken by something whose essence is beyond our comprehension, but which we know has something to say to us; the only way to begin and be shaken, said Kasser, is in the unique position of being able to observe the radiant beauty of the whole, even if this very observation involved no more than rapt wonder at this very same beauty, for it was indeed beautiful, said Kasser indicating the wide horizon of the sea swaying below them, and beautiful too the unbroken infinity of the waves, the evening light glimmering on the foam, though the hills behind them were beautiful too, and beyond them the valleys, the rivers and the woods, beautiful and rich beyond all measure, said Kasser, for when man properly considers what he means when he talks about nature he finds himself at an utter loss, for nature was rich beyond every measure, and that’s only taking into account the millions of entities that comprise it, leaving out the billions of processes and sub-processes at work in it; though one should ultimately point, added Falke, to the single divine manifestation, the omnipresent immanence, as we refer to the unknown end of that process, an immanence that while remaining beyond proof, nevertheless, in all probability, permeates those untold billions of processes and entities; and so they conversed on the hill in the olive grove that evening when, after a long silence, Toót mentioned that there was something they should discuss regarding the disturbing behavior of the birds, and from that point on, said Korin to the woman a couple of days later, the question of what that behavior meant, what should be done about it and how they themselves should respond to it, cropped up ever more frequently, until the day arrived when they had to admit that these so-called disturbing signs were evident not just in the birds— the birds , he said in English — but in the goats, cows and monkeys too, and that they had to keep an eye on this frightening change in the behavior of animals, on the goats, for example, who could no longer be kept on the mountainside because they’d fall to their deaths, or the cows who for no discernable reason lost control and started running, or the monkeys who swept screaming through the village, but apart from the screaming and the scampering, did nothing else out of the usual; and once this was pointed out of course there remained little of the joy and harmony that had characterized their early days, and while they continued to work beside the men and women, and though they visited the oil mills and took part in the torchlit octopus fishing , when they visited the olive grove after that, they made no secret of the fact that the joy had gone forever, a fact no one could deny, the time being ripe for them to admit it, as Bengazza did in the end, however painful it seemed, for it meant they had to leave this place and he claimed to see the harbingers of some terrible cosmic cataclysm, a heavenly war , he said, in the transformation of these animals, a war more terrible than anyone could imagine, as if there really existed something that could not be identified with nature, something, he said that would not allow this beautiful corner of this beautiful island to remain, that was impatient with these Pelasgians who had founded a peaceable domain and would not give themselves over to destruction, ruin , as they regarded it a scandal, said Bengazza, as something wholly intolerable.

Mastemann remained silent and reserved any opinion he might have had on anything to himself, breaking his silence, wrote Korin, only when he felt like approaching the women who hurried to and fro across the main square, calling them in order to commend the infinite range of choice he offered, a choice lacking nothing, he smiled as he pointed to his cages full of cats, from the Libyan White and the Marsh Cat, the Nubian Kadiz, the Arab Quttha and the Egyptian Mau, as well as the Bubastine Bastet, the Omani Kaffer and even the Burmese Brown, everything the heart could desire as he put it, offering not only what there was in store right now, but also what would be stocked in the future, in a word literally everything they could imagine, he went on, albeit in vain as far as his listeners were concerned, for he did not succeed in holding the attention of any of the busy women, in fact he tended to frighten them as much as his cats did, so the women hurried on, their hearts in their mouths, a little faster if anything, practically running, leaving the tall gangling figure of Mastemann in his long black silk cloak alone in the center of the square, in splendid isolation, to return to his usual place beside the cart as if his wasted words were of no concern to him, to pick up a cat and continue stroking it; and so he would go on all day in the shadow of the cart as if nothing and no one in the whole wide world were of the slightest interest, appearing to be a man incapable of being shaken out of his dour calm by any event whatsoever, even when, as actually happened, Falke stopped by the cages and tried to engage him in conversation, when Mastemann simply kept silent, fixing his light blue gaze on Falke’s eyes, staring and staring while Falke asked him, “Have you been there?” pointing toward Phaistos, “for people tell me they have a most wonderful palace, a remarkable work of art, marvelous architects; or indeed beyond it to Knossos, though I expect you have,” Falke sounded him out, “and you must have seen the frescoes there and perhaps even the Queen too?” he asked, but there was not the slightest flicker in the eyes of the other who continued watching him, “and then there are those famous vases, jugs and cups and jewels and statues, Mr. Mastemann,” Falke enthused, “there above the sanctuary, what a sight, Mr. Mastemann, and this entire one thousand five hundred years, as the Egyptians tell us, is after all, and we should acknowledge it as such, an unrepeatable, unique miracle?” but his enthusiasm had no effect at all on Mastemann’s dour expression, in fact, said Korin, nothing Falke could say made any difference whatsoever so what could he do, meaning Falke, but bow his head in confusion and leave Mastemann in the middle of the square, leave him to sit in the shadow of the cart alone again, stroking the ginger cat in his lap, seeing that he knew not Phaistos, nor Knossos, not the Regal Goddess with her serpents at the very top beyond the sanctuary.

He would find it difficult, said Korin to the woman next day as she was sweeping round the oven, her eyes averted after having finished the cooking, really difficult, he said, to give precise descriptions of Kasser, Falke, Bengazza and Toót, because even now, after everything, after hours and hours of study, following day after day of the most intense absorption in their company, he still could not say exactly what they looked like, who was the tallest for example, who was short, which of them was fat or thin, and to be honest, if he absolutely had to say something he would have attempted to get around it by saying that they were all four of them of middling stature and of average appearance, though he could see their faces and expressions from the moment he started reading as clearly as anything, as clearly as if they were standing before him, Kasser delicate and thoughtful, Falke gentle and bitter, Bengazza tired and secretive, Toót harsh and distant, faces and expressions you see once and never forget, said Korin, and the delicate, bitter, tired, harshness of the four of them so impressed itself on him that he could still see them as clearly as he did that first day, moreover, he was forced to admit before he went any further, that it was enough for him to think of them to feel a tug of the heart, since the reader knew as soon as he came across them that the situation of these four characters, not to put too fine a point on it, was, beyond doubt, vulnerable, that is to say that behind those delicate, bitter, tired and harsh features it was all vulnerability , defenselessness, he said, yes, that’s the kind of rubbish he came out with, imagine it, the interpreter recounted to his partner late next night in bed, he didn’t know, he said, from day to day what delightful tidbit to regale him with and chiefly not, why or in what language, but today, when he was careless enough to walk into the kitchen the man was there and collared him in the doorway, giving him this unbelievably idiotic story, offering it to him like it was lady luck or something, something about these four guys in the manuscript and their vulnerability, I ask you, excuse me sweetheart, but who the fuck cares whether they were vulnerable or not, only God in his infinite mercy cared what the hell they did in that manuscript, or what he was doing in that back room, the only thing that mattered being that he paid the rent on the dot and not stick his idiotic nose into other people’s affairs, because, and here he kept addressing his partner as “sweetheart,” it was their business, and their business alone what they did or did not do, or, to repeat, whatever difficulties they may occasionally encounter, do in fact encounter, was a matter entirely for themselves alone, and he very much hoped that nothing relating to them was adverted to in these kitchen conversations while he, the interpreter was away, that his sweetheart never attempted to give anything away regarding their private life, never even mentioned it in fact, because, to be honest, he didn’t even see what the point was of these great pow-wows in the kitchen, moreover in Hungarian, a language of which his sweetheart was almost totally ignorant, but all right, she can let the fool blather on, he couldn’t forbid that, but the subject of them, or his new job, was out of bounds to her, just remember that, and, propping his head on his hand as he lay in bed, he hoped his sweetheart had made proper note of this, his free hand creeping toward the woman, then, he changed its mind, and moved his hand to the parting of his snow-white hair, tracing the line from the bridge of his nose upward, mechanically checking that no strand of hair had accidentally strayed across from one side to the other to disturb the clean line of the parting in the middle.