Sasa Stanisic - Before the Feast

Herr Schramm: “I see.”

Frau Mahlke: “How about children? Should the lady have children?”

Herr Schramm: “If they’ve left home then I don’t mind.”

Frau Mahlke: “Right. How would you define yourself politically, Herr Schramm?”

Herr Schramm: “Protest voter.”

Frau Mahlke: “And what kind of political attitude should the lady have?”

Herr Schramm: “FDP.”

Frau Mahlke: “The Free Democratic Party? Ah. — Driving license?”

Herr Schramm: “You can’t manage without one here.”

Frau Mahlke: “Right.”

Herr Schramm: “That bit about the FDP was a joke. And about the lady — you keep saying: the lady. She doesn’t have to be a lady, that’s really not necessary.”

Later, Frau Mahlke and Herr Schramm were sitting outside the butcher’s shop in the sunset, but Frau Mahlke didn’t want anything to eat; she was wearing her sunglasses propped in her hair in spite of the sunlight, and Herr Schramm thought: maybe that’s because her eyes look all right, they’re well worth showing without sunglasses, and he told her so, he put his meatballs on his plate and said, “Frau Mahlke, it’s quite all right that you’re not wearing your sunglasses. Because of your eyes. Because they really look good the way they are.”

And then Frau Mahlke decided to try the meatballs after all, just a little bit of one, and later Herr Schramm signed the agreement, and Frau Mahlke shook hands with him and drove back to Berlin with the sunset in her rearview mirror.

Herr Schramm got into the rowing boat and went out on the lake, alone this time. An edgy character, Herr Schramm. Face like the sole of a boot. Firm and leathery and scarred. Bright white hair, the kind of white ex-soldiers get from stress, thin and sparse. He was smoking. He had smoked a lot that day — it’s two months ago now. We’re not surprised that the representative from the dating agency didn’t ask any questions about smoking. Herr Schramm smoked, and made up his mind to stop, let himself drift until the light was only an idea of the gleam in Frau Mahlke’s eyes as she ate the meatball.

KRONE, BUTCHER’S SHOP AND CAFÉ—LUNCH

Monday: roast meat and gravy (€4.40)

Tuesday: loin of pork with sauerkraut (€4.40)

Wednesday: meatballs (€3.90)

Thursday: sausages wrapped in bacon (€4.40)

Friday: roast meat and gravy (€4.40)

Saturday (Feast Special): grill behind the shop

IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1589, AT THE TIME OF the Anna Feast, it so happened that the Inn-Keeper here, Ulrich Ramelow, lost his Wife, and got Another in her Stead, a Woman that he did not desire to keep. Folk said that Mine Host had not entirely understood the Warning given him, not to serve his Guests bad Beer, for he had brew’d another Draft at the Anna Feast such as caus’d those who partook of it Grave Incommodity, and it was of a Vile Flavor into the Bargain.

So now the Inn-Keeper had that strange Female in his House, and could not find his own Wife any Where. The Woman told him roundly that he must endure her to keep Company with him, nor think of making any Complaint to the Mayor, for if he did so he would put her Person and his Own, and above all the Person of his dear Wife, in even greater Danger than was the Present Case. His Horses, she also informed him, were Well and throve exceedingly.

Our Inn-Keeper knew not What to do, but the Reason for his Plight was, that until he brewed Decent Beer he should not have a Decent Woman. For the Newcomer was a Sloven who thought Nothing of God and His Word, or of the Holy Sacrament, and she was much given to Cursing and Blaspheming, and moreover had a Vile Stench about her.

The Inn-Keeper resign’d himself to his Lot, so that his Wife and his Horses should come to No Harm, and he also swore to brew bad Beer no more. Before he next brewed Beer, none the less, the Sloven had done great Harm to his Name and his Inn. She plagu’d Ramelow mightily with her Desires and her Commands, and all but impoverish’d him. Furthermore she caus’d all Manner of Riffraff, Foreigners and Scoundrels to frequent the Inn, for hardly an Honest Man would show his Face there. There was much Wrangling and Strife among the Guests, who oft came to Fisticuffs for the Favors of that Woman, who made very free with her Charms.

But on the Night when the Inn-Keeper broached his new, good Brew, the Woman was gone, leaving a Besom Broom in the Bed where she had lain. Soon Ramelow his true Wife came home, and right glad she was of it. She said, that two Men had taken her away by Force to a Cavern in the Kiecker Forest, and oblig’d her to stay there with them. The Aforesaid Men were wicked Scoundrels, Thieves and Sorry Deceivers, yet they did not molest her. They had given her good Nourishment, and she had both grave and amusing Talk with them. Many a time the Couple were Away, leaving her with a Fox to bear her company. This Fox was a very tame Beast, and they lov’d it greatly. When they return’d they brought all Manner of Fine Wares, good Cloth, fine Gowns of Damask, Atlas and even Silk with them, together with Jewelery and such Stuff.

She once tried to run Away, but the Fox had followed like a Dog, and being afeared that the Animal might betray her, she gave up the Attempt.

The Wife of the Inn-Keeper could describe those Men and tell their Names. One was tall of Stature, t’other short and round as a Carp. The first was called Kuno, his Companion’s Name was Hinnerk. They were Native to Fürstenfelde, which Disclosure serv’d to account for many a Robbery and grievous Assault. The noble Lord Poppo von Blankenburg led ten Horsemen into the Kiecker Forest to bring the Rogues to Justice. The Cavern was found, but there was Nought therein.

One Day the Congregation did see the Inn-Keeper’s Wife in the House of God, adorn’d with a very fine Girdle, stitch’d as it seem’d with Pearls. There was some Gossip concerning that Girdle, which she never again wore thereafter.

ANNA IS BREATHING MORE EASILY. THE PRESSURE in her chest hasn’t been so bad since she got into the van. The driver is keeping to 50 k.p.h., no faster. A small, stylized fox’s brush hangs from the rearview mirror, along with a pennant with a lightning flash on it, like the one on the driver’s football shirt. Something like German rap is coming from the loudspeakers. “We Are Legends.”

Anna points to the pennant. “What’s that for?”

“All for the best. We just like lightning,” says the smaller youth.

“It’s our team’s crest, not really frightening,” adds Q, shaking his head.

There they go again. Anna tries to find some indication that the whole thing is a game, maybe a bet: who will fail to find a rhyme first?

Q hoots his horn. Right in the middle of the carriageway, no lights on, a car is racing toward them. In films you often see a duel like that. Usually one vehicle ends up in the ditch or against a wall. Q simply brakes and steers to the side of the road. The other car slides off the road, scraping past a birch tree, and drives on into the meadow.

Anna says, “He must be really tight.”

“Soon be out like a light,” Q agrees.

The car is a white Golf, and it makes straight for a tree. Anna gets out. The Golf slithers over an uneven spot on the ground, but hardly seems to slacken speed. Anna runs.

When she looks back, once, she sees no van on the road.

The car stops not five meters from the tree. Anna must go more slowly; the ground is uneven and wet, her breathing isn’t steady yet. She is maybe fifty meters away. Someone is sitting motionless inside the car with his head on the steering wheel.

IT’S IN OUR NATURE TO TAKE A HISTORICAL INTEREST. And anyone who takes a historical interest in us can go to the Homeland House. Exhibitions take place there, Leitz file folders full of potential research materials wait for researchers on a chest of drawers adorned with decorative film bearing a pattern of grapes, and there’s a copying machine that also works as a fax. A senior citizen from California has said he is coming for the Feast, and he wants to explore his family tree a bit. On the phone he told Frau Schwermuth that he’s heard this place is at its best in late summer. Visitors can use the telephone, the coffee machine and the visitors’ toilet, and can also admire Frau Kranz’s charcoal drawing Mayor Heinz Durden after Shooting Duck , which shows a duck flying through the air. Frau Schwermuth asked the senior citizen what place isn’t at its best in late summer.