Elfriede Jelinek - Greed

So what am I doing here, right, I'm describing one side of the culprit (you can meanwhile take the others. I haven't properly addressed them yet), from which really the return match should now come, normally in the shape of squeezing, pinching of nipples, and kissing somewhere or other, the sort of thing one does, as often as possible please, in the case of this man. With him I fear there's unfortunately too much biting as well, that's the most important thing for him, he could have been recognized by that. It's always the same with lust, people let themselves go, but every tiny change immediately confuses them, and they want to go home again. There is much that distracts them again, their projectiles, even if the change was specially marked in the book of life, even before one opened it. The victims believe that nevertheless, they're not loved anymore if something is done a little bit differently from usual. From whom did they learn it? This young woman here is lying ready on her knees in the car, the floor of which is very clean, you'd hardly believe it, and her jeans are losing hardly any fluff either, they are the most popular brand there is. Because of it the forensic experts will in days to come sweat blood rather than analyze it. So, a couple of bars back: His game, the man's game, now an almost furtive gentle groping, as if he didn't know where this body is, which is where it always is, on the passenger seat, already half on the floor, with its head in his lap, that's how simple the language of bodies is, everyone understands it without words, so with her head in the man's lap: this young woman, already a lover, grazing by the shore, lost, even before she could find herself. As usual the man has spread his legs a little and half turned towards her, as not even God, the Creator, would, because he would never allow his picture to be taken in such a position, he's surely got the right to his image, except no one bothers about it, including his agent, the priest, he's more interested in little boys, and Jesus is just too old (but how else should we find out if he's really man enough to torment us, this Lord God?), heavens, where will it end. Now I've lost the thread myself, the first set goes to you. You can have it, if you like. So, back to the position again: The man, is that clear?, the woman: facing him, her pelvis thrust forward, and the crown cork, with which the penis is sealed, so that it's not exploding all the time, possibly in one's own face, it's in the likewise wide open mouth of a woman, now, say it finally, so: a slight pressure on, how shall I explain it, well the carotid artery divides at a certain point in the throat, yes, there, into two parts, and between them there's a ganglion, and that's important, you should never squeeze it, that is on both sides at the same time, left and right, because otherwise you die or someone dies because of you in seconds, please don't alarm the player, he's almost ready now, and he's squeezing with his strong fingers, which are familiar with signal discs, measuring tapes, laser guns, even an ordinary gun, from above, as if by chance, it could accordingly also have been an accident, if one had no clue about the anatomy of the throat, because one was always concerned with other parts of the female anatomy, where it's wetter and more interesting (where there's water, there's life!), but the man knows this spot, and he altogether knows more about bodies than about anything else, and has attended all the obligatory first aid courses, some even voluntarily, to get on in his profession, which already go beyond first aid and are almost second aid, I mean the spot on the delicate stem of the neck and then also the spot in the fir plantation, he knows them very well, in the young corn which grows right up to the shore in the almost muddy ground, not where during the day people like to say, let's go for a little walk, the spot is deeper in the dark, hairstyle-spoiling forest, and the other spot, the one on the body, this proud article, which is available either completely free of charge or is anyway always too expensive for people like us, when we're standing in the perfume department in order to camouflage it at least, well the body, naturally it likes to put its best goods on display, but that doesn't mean that one can just stick one's hand in and take them. In short: The aforementioned spot is accordingly a little to the side, is easily accessible and the man has strong fingers, which would not, however, have been at all necessary. You and I, we would have managed it, too, if we had known where and known how, to squeeze the nerve spot between the carotid branches, I will find out what it's called, but the doctor, who's supposed to tell me, is still busy with something else. You'll find out right away, as soon as I've found out. At any rate now you know where you shouldn't grab, even if you don't know what it's called. It can't do any harm if, as a precaution, you get an expert to show you the spot so that you avoid it in future. So, no, not again: There's a spot, you shouldn't even try to reach out for it. It's like a door, which you shouldn't open, and now everyone's dying to do it, aren't they? People are allowed to see everything and grasp at everything and they grasp nothing, but just there: really please don't. What, did the man first bang the girl's head against the door handle? No, I didn't see the man bang the girl's head against the door handle. But I'm always the last person to find out about anything. Something on a sunken path through a forest, in the middle of Austria, has, without visible injury, gently, as if by chance, gone slack, the trees only stand up all the straighter, to stand out all the better from the human beings and to display toughness, which not everyone of us manages.

And now she's being cleared away, the girl, together with her name and her actions. Tidied up, wrapped up and removed from the earth and dispatched to the water, where she has already arrived. All that needs to be done is to open the cistern and give the float valve a shake, then it'll flow again and flush away everything that we had intended for the water.

Roses, tulips, carnations, all three wither; but not all at once, because they don't all grow at the same time. Carnations don't grow at all, one can only buy them at the florist. The flowers, how pretty they are, they don't covet property, a little patch of earth is plenty for them, they don't even know that others, less sedentary, covet property that is not their own. They live, and other flowers live next door, for our delight. Shush, they're listening to us! Being quiet, perhaps we, too, can learn new possibilities of existence from them: Is it better to be snapped or to be right away completely broken off? But also how to show off and spread oneself around. All their high spirits: nothing self-important! The front garden blooms and is carefully weeded, as if with a pair of eyebrow tweezers, Mrs. Janisch does that, and she does it on her knees, in order not to fall into the pit, which she doesn't see, but about which she knows: It's over there, somewhere, not far away, dug just for her. Perhaps by her rather selfish husband? No, probably not. She nevertheless seems quite crazy about her beautiful garden, perhaps mat's why she begrudges alien plants any association with her own native ones, which she has so laboriously tamed. An attack of immodesty, that's what one calls weeds. The garden is the kingdom of Mrs. Janisch, whereas her husband is on the lookout for other kingdoms; right now in the kitchen-living room he's bending over an architect's plan, which doesn't belong to him, and neither unfortunately does the house that goes with it. In this plan, as in every plan, including God's, a kitchen is marked in, it's as if people always wanted the same thing and that really means: themselves, except bigger and better please, so that from time to time one can also cook. How on earth did the country policeman get hold of this plan so quickly?, after all, he's not responsible for the land registry but for catastrophes. E.g., when the mountain comes calling, first of all in small amounts, in rockfalls, then later perhaps the whole thing breaks off, is that because of the old mine, of the many very old mines underneath? The whole country is completely hollow inside! And then all the people in the environs of the mountain, which also wants to move, but has no plan for doing it, have to leave their houses, which they built so laboriously with neighborly help, which is what they call the black economy round here. Saved decades for something and now this! The mountain casts an enigmatic glance at us, and whoever he throws a glance at, he follows it up with more, to add some weight to his glance. Who's talking down there? It's only us. So I, the mountain, will make you disappear now. The valley, which was likewise undermined by passages, doesn't want to be left behind and threatens that first there will be one subsidence, and then plugs will certainly soon form, and the water trickling through will become less and less. And then, says the valley bottom, grinning from every crevice, I'll really get going. Because, thanks to the high drop, this plug cannot be expected to hold for long. That is why, says the valley, and it grows ever louder, because it has to be heard above its own howling of subterranean winds, that is why it cannot be concluded, that because the first water and mud subsidence, which will then have occurred, will come to a standstill, that, should one attempt to pump off water underground and put up wooden partitions, that because of that anything would have been effectively sealed off, far from it. Not a trace. You see. That's exactly what will be left of the people down there.