Laszlo Krasznahorkai - War & War

Should we die, the mechanics of life would go on without us, and that is what people feel most terribly disturbed by , Korin interrupted himself, bowed his head, thought for a while, then pulled an agonized expression and started slowly swiveling his head, though it is only the very fact that it goes on that enables us properly to understand that there is no mechanism.

The whores’ fit of madness, he continued, could only be explained by the appearance of Signor Mastemann, though no one was clear about the reasons for it at the time because they all missed the most important thing, that Mastemann’s presence produced a kind of magnetic field, the power appearing to emanate from his entire being, and it can’t have been anything else, for as soon as Mastemann arrived and settled in on an upper level, the Albergueria changed: the ground floor fell silent as never before, silent, until he came down that first evening of his stay and sat down at an impromptu choice of table — that of Kasser’s companions as it happened — at which point everything changed, for though life went on nothing was as it had been, so that tailors, cobblers, interpreters and sailors, though they continued where they had left off, all kept an eye on Mastemann, waiting to see what he would do, though what could he have done? — Korin spread his hands — since he simply sat down opposite Kasser’s companions, talked, filled his glass with wine, touched his glass to theirs, leaned back and in other words did nothing to suggest that this universal stillness— this general rigor , said Korin — might have its origins in him, though one had to admit that it was enough to look at him in order to feel the terror he inspired with his frighteningly pale and immobile blue eyes, his pockmarked skin, his huge nose, his sharp chin and long, delicate, graceful fingers, his cloak black as ebony, especially when its scarlet lining flashed from beneath it, when the words froze in everyone’s mouth: hate and fear , hate and fear being what he inspired in the tailors, cobblers, interpreters and sailors on the ground floor; though all this was nothing as to the effect he had on the prostitutes, for they not merely trembled before him but were completely beside themselves whenever he appeared, wherever they came across him, the nearest and loveliest girls of Algiers and

Granada immediately running to him and surrounding him, as if drawn by an irresistible magnet, swarming round him as though he had bewitched them, touching his cloak and begging him, please, to come with them, he needn’t pay, they whispered in his ear, it could be the entire night, every part of them was his, anything he wanted, they crooned and burst into bubbles of hysterical laughter, jumping up and down, running about, hugging his neck, pulling at him, patting him, dragging him this way and that, sighing and rolling their eyes as if Mastemann’s mere presence was a source of ecstasy, and it was perfectly obvious that once Mastemann arrived they had taken leave of their senses, though this meant that the thriving trade that had depended on them very quickly and most spectacularly went bust, for a new age, an epoch, had begun in which whores no longer sought financial rewards for their services but sought payment in orgasm instead, though orgasm was not to be had since there wasn’t anyone left who could satisfy them, and men advised each other to leave them alone for they would only drain you to the dregs and use you rather than you using them, and everyone knew which way the wind was blowing, that the cause of all this was Mastemann, so that, under the apparent calm, the fear and hatred— hate under the quietude , said Korin — grew hour by hour, in a manner very similar to that experienced in Corstopitum, for you could hardly describe it as anything else but fear and hatred, as Bengazza and his companions detected in the general attitude toward the unknown Mastemann, as they heard the depressing accounts of the primipilus and the librarius , and marked the bitter words of the Praetorius Fabrum recalling how adept Mastemann had been at exploiting the well-oiled machinery of the cursus publicus ever since it started building up its network of agents, and how people had already feared and hated him then, though they hadn’t even seen him, holding him in contempt and shuddering at his name despite the fact that there was no chance of actually meeting him, and it was only Kasser who did not reveal his feelings, said Korin, Kasser who remained inscrutable, without a stated view for he was incapable of saying a word and expressed no opinion either in Corstopitum when the others came to visit him, nor at the table in the Albergueria, where he hardly ever appeared now to take part in conversations, and when he did come, he only sat silently, watching the bay through the window, gazing at the wreath-like sails visible through the fog patches, that ghostly gathering of galleons, frigates and corvettes, the naviguela, caravelles and hulks as they waited so that, finally, after eleven days, the wind should begin to rise again.

Castus returned precisely seven days later to tell them that their rhapsodic report on the divine Vallum had been passed to the Praetorius Fabrum and that having been delivered their business in Britannia was in fact done, and having done so bowed his head and once again addressed them as an emissary of the Pater , telling them that he was doing them an honor by addressing his task to them, the task being that they should follow him to Brocolitia for the sacred feast of Sol and Apollo , on the day, he raised his right hand, of the great sacrifice and the great feast, where he would see them through the purification ceremony required of those who wished to partake in the glorious day of the killing of the Bull and the rebirth of Mithras, though only Bengazza, Falke and Toót were to make the journey for Kasser was incapable of undertaking it, especially in weather that was, if anything, worse than before, as Kasser told Falke, very quietly, when asked, saying no, it was too late, he was beyond making the attempt, and the others should go without him, asking them to report everything in great detail on their return, and so Bengazza and the others gathered together the cloaks and masks required for the ritual, put on heavy fur coats and, following their instruction to the letter, proceeded without an escort and therefore in the utmost secrecy — and, for the first time in their adventures, without Kasser — setting out on their journey most of which, with a quick gallop and three changes of horse, they managed to complete in one short night despite the icy wind blowing in their faces, which made any kind of gallop a superhuman task, as they told Kasser later, on their return, but they made it in time, that is to say they arrived before dawn in Brocolitia where Castus directed them to the secret entrance of a cave a little to the west of the encampment, though Kasser had the feeling they were hiding something from him and gazed at them with ever greater sadness, not asking, nor expecting them to reveal what it was, but plainly knowing that something had happened to them on the road , something that they were keeping quiet about, and all the while their eyes sparkled as they spoke of Mithras’s rebirth, of the gushing of the bull’s blood, the feast, the liturgy and the Pater himself, how inspiring he was and how wonderful, yet Kasser noticed some subtle shadow in their sparkling eyes that spoke of something else, nor was he mistaken in this— no error , said Korin — the manuscript was clear on this point, for something did actually happen along the way, at the second stop, between Cilurnum and Onnum, where they had changed horses and drank a little hot mead and where they were suddenly confronted by something they might have anticipated but could not prepare, for as they were about to leave the precincts of the mansion and set out on the road again, a group of horsemen of unknown appearance, but reminiscent, if anything, of Swedish auxiliaries, burst out of the darkness, wearing chain mail, fully armed with scutum and gladius , who simply rode them down, so they had to dive into the ditch along with all their horses to avoid being killed, the assailants being a cohort in tight formation headed by a tall man in the midst of them, a man without insignia, wearing a long cloak that flowed behind him, who cast the merest glance at them as they clung to the ditch, a glance, that’s all, then galloped on with his cohort toward Onnum, but a glance that sufficed to tell Bengazza who it was, and thereby confirm the rumors, for the glance was harsh and stern, though that is not quite accurate enough, said Korin, for stern would not quite do, it was something more like a blend of seriousness and dourness , as he put it, the kind of look a murderer gives his victim to inform him that his last hour has come, or, more to the point, Korin tried to sum up, his voice taking on a bitter tinge, it was the Lord of Death they saw in him, the Lord of Death , said Korin in English, from the wayside ditch on the road from Cilurnum to Onnum, and the narrative of the Gibraltar chapter merely pauses to point out how in one place it was the terrible distance dividing them and in the other the terrible proximity that frightened Bengazza and his companions, since it is probably superfluous to add, Korin explained, that when Mastemann sat down at the table with them at the Albergueria and embarked on a perfectly normal conversation they were aware of how close they were to such a terrifying face, a face that was more than terrifying, a face that froze their blood.