Uwe Tellkamp - The Tower

‘How are you two getting home, Hans? Can we give you a lift?’

Delighted, Clarens nodded.

Christian was freezing and went inside. Kurt Rohde, Meno and Niklas were standing in the foyer listening to Herr Adeling: ‘— by Kokoschka, I assure you, I’m certain of that. The chambermaid who used to look after the guests told me herself … She kept a record of her tips in a notebook, with the sums the guests gave, and I saw Herr Professor Kokoschka’s tips, they were some of the biggest. It’s one of the Herr Professor’s easels, yes, he left it to the hotel in memory of the many nights he spent here and naturally we treasure it, yes indeed.’ He looked up, rocked on his heels, the chalk-white napkin over his arm, casting a severe eye over one of the younger of the waiters who were still tidying up or clearing away.

‘Interesting, very interesting what you’ve told us there.’ Niklas had taken out his pipe and was filling it with vanilla tobacco from Meno’s pouch. Matches flared up; Meno had filled his pipe too, a different one this time, a short, broad one made of some purplish-brown wood. Kurt Rohde had lit one of his cheroots. ‘And you’ve never had any problems with it? I mean, I’m sure this easel is very valuable and there are perhaps people interested in it, people who would like to see it somewhere else, rather than here in your hotel …’ Kurt Rohde said, puffing away at his cigar. Adeling raised his eyebrows and gave him a suspicious look. ‘No, we haven’t had any problems so far and we at the Felsenburg Hotel would be very grateful for your discretion in this matter. If you would now excuse me …’ Adeling fluttered off.

‘You played beautifully, my lad. Come here and give me a squeeze, we haven’t said hello properly yet.’ Christian embraced his grandfather, who had taken his cheroot out and was holding it well to one side. Kurt Rohde was shorter than his grandson, and Christian leant down a little so his grandfather could kiss him on the forehead. He furrowed his brow — not because he was uncomfortable at being kissed by his grandfather but so that the pimples would disappear in the furrows. His grandfather’s familiar smell: his hair, combed back straight, still thick and full despite his sixty-nine years and only white at the temples, and the skin under his trimmed beard smelt of eau de Cologne, the coarse material of his suit of tobacco and naphthalene.

‘Christian, Anne would like us to give him the barometer now, once we’re all back inside,’ Meno said between two puffs on his pipe. ‘Would you be so good as to get things ready?’ Christian, sensing that he was in the way, nodded and went back into the restaurant, where Ezzo, Reglinde and Robert were busy at the buffet again, Ezzo and Robert smacking their lips and rolling their eyes with pleasure.

‘Where’s your clock-grandfather?’ Reglinde asked as she chewed.

‘Since he and Emmy got divorced they’ve come to an agreement: he doesn’t want to be where she is and vice versa.’

‘Oh. Have you seen Ina?’

‘Perhaps she’s gone to the loo. Fantastic dress she’s wearing.’

‘We made it at the Harmony. Barbara helped, of course.’

Christian could picture the little furrier’s on Rissleite, the glassed door, the paint peeling from exposure to the elements; it had become a tradition in the spring and summer, when the furs for the winter were delivered, for the children of the district to gather there and ask for the scraps that were left over after the furs had been made up. They collected the scraps and once they had collected enough, their mothers made them into warm jerkins, mittens and caps.

‘Actually, she had intended to wear it the first time for the college of education’s end-of-term ball. Did you see? The doctors on the other side of the table had their eyes popping out.’

Christian shrugged. Reglinde, who was studying to be an organist and choirmaster, told him news from the college for church music, but Christian was only half listening. He was still cold, he put his hands in the pockets of his best suit — Richard had passed it on because it had grown too tight for him — but took them out again when he remembered that it was impolite to stand there like that. He was embarrassed. When he looked at Reglinde for too long, her eyes strayed away from his and ran over his untidily combed, light-brown hair and its cowlicks and, when he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks — his bad skin. She had Gudrun’s high, beautifully domed forehead, also her delicate, translucent though not pale skin with the blue veins visible; her cheeks and mouth came from Niklas. Her natural chestnut ringlets, which she kept short, were not typical of the Tietzes, who, like the Rohdes, all had fairly dark, straight hair. People who didn’t know the family always took Robert for Ezzo’s brother — apart from his eyes, Robert was much closer in appearance to the Rohdes than to Christian.

Reglinde, probably sensing his embarrassment, concluded the conversation and went over to join Ina, who was waving to her from the doorway.

Christian went over to the table with the birthday presents. Meno had not only made a contribution to the cost of the barometer but had also given Richard — so that was what had been in the parcel — a record: Beethoven’s late quartets, by the Amadeus String Quartet. Beside it was the gift from Ulrich Rohde and his family, a book. Christian read the title page: Bier / Braun / Kümmell: Chirurgische Operationslehre , edited by F. Sauerbruch and V. Schmieden, Johann Ambrosius Barth, Leipzig, 1933. He knew the book, a well-preserved antiquarian edition with many coloured illustrations; it had always had a special place in his uncle’s library, for it was the famous edition of a famous book and, on top of that, had handwritten dedications by Sauerbruch and Schmieden; Richard always admired it and held it in his hands with a certain envy when they visited the Italian House. Ulrich Rohde had a large collection of such books.

Grandfather Rohde had given his father an odd present: an egg-shaped stone, about the size of a person’s head, that stood in the hollow of a smoothly polished wooden cube.

‘Careful if you pick it up, it’s sawn through in the middle,’ he suddenly heard Meno say beside him. ‘It’s called a druse or a geode, they’re found like that in the rock. Be careful, it’s valuable.’

Crystals glittering blue, crimson and purple, prisms, such as Christian was familiar with from rock crystal, arranged close together; some as long as his little finger and so precisely formed they seemed shaped by human hand.

‘That’s an amethyst,’ Meno said, the blue and purple reflections of the crystals flitting to and fro across his eyes.

Emmy had contributed to the barometer and Christian had heard about the Tietzes’ present from Ezzo, it was at home in Caravel: one of Niklas’s lovely nickel-plated stethoscopes from St Petersburg.

‘And what are the two of you looking at? My God, Gudrun, and people talk about the impoverished East,’ Barbara broke in, drumming on the table with her gaudily painted fingernails. ‘What d’you think of Ina’s dress? We got her hairstyle from one of Wiener’s magazines, you can forget what’s in ours. Should I arrange an appointment there for you?’

‘I went to the hairdresser’s yesterday, Barbara. To Schnebel’s.’

‘To be perfectly honest, Gudrun, I’m afraid you can tell. Send Reglinde round some time — her measurements are about the same as Ina’s and no one can have anything against more attractive funeral hymns.’

‘The success of a dress is measured by the number of proposals a woman receives, as Eschschloraque says in his latest play. A bit sexist, I mean, for God’s sake, Barbara, but we’re putting it on just at the moment. And Ina is getting to the age when off-the-shoulder is a bit risky.’