Laszlo Krasznahorkai - War & War

He had been traveling by taxi for days, just as he was now, on his way home, drunk and carrying masses of stuff, the backseat entirely filled with it as was the trunk that he had packed right up before getting in, the one thing he didn’t know, he said to the driver, being how the hell he was going to get all this up to the top floor, for he couldn’t see how it could be done since it was too much for one man, you see? and so saying he lifted one of the bags, saying, this is caviar, and not just any old caviar but Petrossian Beluga, and this is Stilton cheese, and this thing is some kind of preserve, and, he peeked in deeper, what’s this, ah yes, bagel with salmon cream cheese, and see this? he asked, grabbing another package off the floor, this is champagne, Lafitte, the most expensive brand, and cultured strawberries from Florida, and this, he searched around among the pile of paper bags, is Gammel Dansk you know, and then there’s chorizo and herring and a couple of bottles of Bourgogne wine, best in the world, world famous, so he hoped he understood, the interpreter told the taxi driver, that there would be a big party at home tonight, in fact the biggest party of his life, and did he know what they were celebrating, he asked leaning closer to the grille so the driver should hear him over the noise of the engine, because it wasn’t a birthday or a name-day, not a christening, no, no, no and no, he’d never guess because there were few people in New York who could celebrate what he was celebrating, and that thing was courage, his own personal courage, the fact, he pointed to himself, that he took the correct steps at the correct time, that he didn’t shit himself, he never wavered when the decision had to be made, asking himself whether he dared or not, but went and decided without a second thought, and dared do it, and not just at any moment but at precisely at the best, most appropriate moment, not one moment too soon, not a moment too late, but when the moment was dead right, and that is why this night would be the celebration of his courage, and at the same time the decisive prelude to the re-launching of a great artistic career, and this was why they’d all be drunk out of their minds tonight, he could faithfully promise that, and the two of them could drink to that right now for he had a drop of something on his person somewhere that would do, and so saying pulled a flat bottle of bourbon from his pocket that he slipped through the driver’s grille and the driver took it, licked the bottle’s lip then, nodding and laughing silently, returned it to the interpreter, who said, OK, OK, if you want more just say the word , they could finish the bottle, there were more where that came from, the whole cab was full of goodies, and the only thing he didn’t know was how in God’s name he was going to get it all upstairs, all this stuff, he shook his head grinning, no, he couldn’t imagine it was all to be carried up to his apartment, but actually, he had suddenly had an idea, like how would it be if they did it together for an extra dollar or two, seeing the cab wouldn’t run away, and the driver smiled and nodded, fine, and he did in fact help carry but only to the bottom of the stairs, that much he agreed to, but no further, not up the stairs themselves and he laughed silently again and kept nodding, but eventually said he had to be getting on so he received only one dollar and the interpreter cursed him vigorously for his pains while struggling up the stairs a good many times until finally it was all piled up at the top, and it felt so good then kicking the door open, he told the woman next morning, he in bed, she standing by the door, it was so good to stand there watching her and the little Hunkie stare at him among that vast pile of boxes, packages, satchels and bags without the faintest idea what it was about, that he forgot his fury and would happily have hugged them, but maybe that was what he actually did, didn’t he? before unpacking a table and two chairs, and, he was pretty sure, sitting Korin down opposite him, putting a couple of champagne bottles before him, switching to Hungarian and explaining to him how he should lead his life, how he should not go on like an idiot, that he should stop wasting his time and so on, though his listener didn’t seem to be listening to all this good advice but only wanted to know where the Hungarian quarter was, the area that he, the interpreter, had told him was the best source of paprika salami in New York, and that seemed to be the most important thing to him because he could swear this was what he kept asking about, that place he thought was above Zabar’s deli round about 81st or 82nd Street, but he wanted to get the street just right, and so it went on for ages, but he hadn’t the foggiest idea why now, or indeed yesterday evening, when he just wanted to tell him what to do should he ever come to a crossroads where he had to make a choice, and how, if he did come to one, he should be brave and trust to his instincts: courage, he said, it was the importance of courage he tried to impress upon him, giving a broad smile as he lay in bed and stuffed his head into his pillow, but the guy had gone on muttering something like, Mr. Sárváry, Mr. Sárváry, and so the time passed, him saying he had done what he had set out to do and a lot of stupid things like that in his usual fashion, and — he had just remembered — that he then paid what was owing on the rent and finally, or so he thought, dipped into his pocket, searched through the pocket of his trousers, brought out all the money he had left, saying it had to be in there, and had asked him, that is to say the interpreter, to pay the provider an advance that would ensure permanent maintenance of his site, and, he even had some glimmering that at the end they kissed each other — he snorted with laughter into his pillow remembering this — and had sworn themselves to eternal friendship, or so he thought, but beyond that he couldn’t remember a thing, so leave him alone now, he had a splitting headache with a bucket of snot for brains, leave him be, he just wanted to sleep now, sleep a bit, and if he’s not here he’s not here, who cares, but the woman just stood in the doorway crying and kept repeating, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s left all his things behind, but he’s gone, his room is empty.

In the corner opposite the bed the TV was on, a brand-new, large-screen, remote-controlled, two-hundred-and-fifty channel SONY MODEL, with the sound turned down but the screen was alive, the images continually running on a loop, the charming smiling man and the woman, and as the diamond show moved toward its conclusion the set darkened then flickered into life again, back to the beginning once more, the screen fading then brightening so that the room too began to pulse and twitch with the neurotic light, while the interpreter lay fast asleep, his legs spread out, with the woman beside him, turned away from him toward the window, on her side and still wearing her blue terry cloth bathrobe, having kept it on because she was cold, the interpreter having dragged all the covers off her this first night, so that she remained wide awake, unable to sleep for the excitement, on her side, her knees drawn up to her stomach, her eyes open, hardly blinking, while using her right hand under the pillow to support her head and extending the other arm along her body, her fingers bent, clutching a small box, gripping it tightly and never letting go, gripping it in sheer joy, staring straight ahead in the neurotically pulsing blue light, looking straight ahead and hardly blinking.

He did not look back once he set off but walked along the icy pavement toward the Washington Avenue stop, never glancing back over his shoulder, not, he explained later, because he had resolved not to but because everything now was truly behind him and nothing in front of him, only the icy sidewalk, and nothing inside him either except of course the four figures he was dragging with him toward Washington Avenue, that is to say Kasser and his companions; and that was all he remembered of that first hour after leaving the house on 159th Street, except the early dawn when it was still dark, with hardly anyone on the street, and the effort of slowly absorbing all the events of the previous night as he proceeded down the first two hundred yards or so along the ice, the way his savior, Mr. Sárváry, eventually fell silent after the great celebration and the countless toasts to their eternal friendship, the moment when he was free to return to his room, close the door and flop down on his bed and decide that he would take nothing with him, and, having decided that, closed his eyes; but sleep did not come, and later when the door quietly opened and there stood Mr. Sárváry’s young lady, Korin’s faithful listener through all those long weeks, who padded over to the bed quietly so as not to wake him, for he pretended to be deeply asleep, not wanting to have to say goodbye, since what could he say about where he was going, there was nothing to say, but the young lady hovered by his bed for a very long time, no doubt watching him, trying to tell whether he was really asleep or not, then, because he gave no sign that he was not, she squatted down beside the bed and very gently stroked his hands, just once, so lightly she was hardly touching him, his right hand that is, said Korin, showing the hand to his companion, the hand with the scar, and that was all, having done which she left as silently as she had come, and there was nothing to do after that but wait with as much patience as he could for night to be over, though that, alas, was very difficult, and he clearly remembered constantly checking the clock — quarter past three, half past three, a quarter of five — then he rose, dressed, washed his face, went to the toilet to do what he had to do there, and then a thought had suddenly occurred to him and he stood up on the seat to sneak a look at the sachets, the story being, he explained, that he had earlier discovered a hiding place behind one of the tiles that was full of little sachets containing a fine white powder and had immediately guessed what it might be, and that now he wanted to take another peek at them though he had no idea why, perhaps it was only curiosity, so he took down the tile again and found — not the packets but a vast amount of money, so much that he quickly put the tile back, and scurried into the apartment so as not to be seen by anyone on the lower floors, specifically by the person who had been depositing things in the toilet, so, having sneaked back, he closed the front door quietly behind him, folded the bedclothes in his room, piled them tidily on the chair he had positioned by the bed, looked round for the last time, saw that everything was precisely where it had been, the laptop, the dictionary, the manuscript, the notebook as well as little things like his few shirts and some underwear which would not need washing again, then left taking nothing with him only his coat and five hundred dollars; in other words there were no great tearful farewells, said Korin shrugging, and why should there be, why should he upset the young lady when it was certain that it would hurt her to see him leaving because they had got so used to each other, so no, it wasn’t a good idea, he said to himself; he’d go the way he came, then he stepped out into the street and really there was absolutely nothing in his head except Kasser and the other three, and the sad thing was he had nowhere to take them.