Uwe Tellkamp - The Tower

‘D’you think that’s what she needs?’ Schiffner stuck his hands in his pockets and began to rock on his toes as well.’

‘No, she swings the other way. She does it with that Julie from the riding school, that’s why they don’t have any children.’

‘The woman who lives on Rissleite, where Heckmann, the carter, used to have his business?’

‘The very one! She once gave one of my physicists a good thrashing because he’d had the audacity to pick a cherry that was hanging over the fence of her property.’ Arbogast tapped his walking stick, rocked on heel and toe. ‘Pity about Knabe, really. Tall woman, splendid hips … Junoesque. Or what do you say, Heinz? You’re the specialist here.’

Schiffner stroked his face, his habitual gesture for introducing a joke. ‘Dear ladies, if you only knew how gladly we see you among us and that it is our greatest pleasure to dwell in your midst …’ The three of them giggled, Meno turned away. The Old Man of the Mountain drew him aside. ‘Let’s have a drink, Herr Rohde. What is it to be?’

Meno shook his head.

‘Oh, come on, Rohde. It’s terribly hot in here … That power cut just now, during your talk, perhaps it has something to do with that … But in here’ — Altberg placed his hand on his chest — ‘it’s freezing. And that brandy warms you up, I can recommend it. VSOP — yes, in that respect he really does splash out.’ Altberg poured three glasses, held one out to Meno, downed the other two as if they were water, filled them again. ‘You beware of Arbogast. — Come on, let’s walk up and down, Sperber and Dietzsch are watching us … I think he’s a spy.’

‘Dietzsch?’

‘Sculptors can write reports too. Especially when they’re short of money — and of the success other sculptors enjoy … And this bottle’s coming with us, this warming, coppery liquor, it’ll be a corpse by the time we’ve finished, we mustn’t let something as good as this go to waste. — I had it from Malthakus and he heard it from Marroquin …’ Altberg emptied the fourth glass, gave Meno a horrified glance, suddenly started to breathe heavily. ‘You think that’s just rumour and conjecture? Do you know what? You’d be right! You’d be absolutely right! Pure supposition, that’s all … the imagination of a man whose business is literature has run away with him. I’ve spoken to Schiffner again, he actually does reject the book …’

‘Don’t you feel well? Would you like to sit down? Or get some fresh air?’

‘No, no, I’m all right, Rohde. Thank you for your letter. One has to be a bit careful with you … Do you know something? There’s no harm in a bit of gossip. After all, we make a living from that delightful fare.’

‘Please forgive me, Herr Altberg, I didn’t mean to, er, tread on your toes —’

‘That’s the problem! No one wants to tread on anyone’s toes, everyone’s polite and quiet and keeps their distance. I’ll make a start, for I have to admit … I love gossip.’ He took a sip and laughed. ‘Don’t use that against me if I should … well, crop up among your lot. As an old brandy spider, for example, heheh.’

Meno felt uncomfortable and yet he listened in fascination to the stories the old man recounted with relish — without appearing to be drunk; Meno had noticed his slight swaying before, during his visit to him at 8 Oktoberweg, it could just as well be ascribed to weakness or tiredness. Against his will he was gripped by the old man’s halting and disjointed delivery, soaked up his words with a craving previously unknown in himself, at least not in this connection, and it surprised him; he really ought to have withdrawn at once with some polite but empty phrase. Was Herr Rohde aware that Judith Schevola had had affairs with several of those present? She’d already been married four times — and was only thirty-five! She literally hunted men down, which didn’t necessarily do them any good. She must have had some bad experiences. ‘Do you know what her first husband said when he found her after she’d attempted suicide? — “Oh, then I’ll soon get my collection of prints back.” There was blood everywhere, the bathtub was full of it —’

‘Now then, Georg, talking scandal again?’ Teerwagen, the low-voltage physicist in his mid-fifties with heavy horn-rimmed spectacles and an imposing belly, over which a watch chain stretched, took a sip of a glass of red wine, his other hand casually stuck in the pocket of his elegant suit. ‘Are you coming along afterwards as well, Herr Rohde? — To look at the stars. From midnight onwards. It’s fairly clear tonight and astronomy is one of the main points of our social evenings. Arbogast will have the large observatory opened. We won’t, however, he able to see the Spider constellation. If you’d been here on 15 December you’d have been able to observe a relatively rare spectacle: an eclipse of the sun.’

‘Oh, come on, Heiner, it was only a half-eclipse. What we deserve, heheh, in this country with its half-people.’

Teerwagen slowly twisted his glass one way and the other. ‘Today we’re going to look at Pisces.’ He gave Altberg a swift glance; by this time the old man had emptied the bottle.

‘Yes, Heiner. The mute fishes,’ Altberg murmured.

‘It’s good that we’ve got to know each other a bit better, Herr Rohde. There we are, neighbours, but we don’t have a real conversation until we meet here. Funny. I quite often see you taking your evening walk, you’re pretty unmistakable with your hat. My wife wants me to ask you where you got it.’

‘Present from my sister. The Thälmannstrasse Exquisit, delivery from Yugoslavia.’

‘My wife thought it must be something like that. Lamprecht, the hatter, is still off sick, who knows if he’ll ever go to our heads again, so to speak. His son doesn’t seem interested in taking over the business. — But you need the right face to go with it. Mine’s too round. By the way, I’m also one of your readers. Our librarian gave it a blue card. I have to say that his feeling for quality is seldom wrong, at least for my taste. — Oh, thank you.’ Alke had come and, eyes lowered, was holding up a tray with ice cream.

‘Do you like ice cream, Herr Rohde? I’m mad about it. And it’s excellent here.’ Altberg rubbed his hands in delight and took two tubs.

‘Yes’ — Teerwagen loosened his tie — ‘the ice cream — and the heating.’

Meno was tired and wanted to leave. He gave Alke a surreptitious sign and she responded with a slight bow. He saw Malthakus attempting to slip out of the conference room with a bulging bag and the Baroness, who was close by, turning away at precisely that moment to take the person she was talking to by the arm and stroll away, chatting, as the stamp dealer grasped the door handle.

‘The Herr Baron wishes to speak to you,’ he heard Ritschel’s equally emphasizing voice murmur behind him. They went into the study. ‘I really would like to have longer to think your offer over,’ Meno said as he went in. Arbogast raised his hand, nodded to Ritschel, who closed the door. ‘Don’t worry, my friend, I don’t want to press you. Just a few formalities. A receipt for your fee. Sign by the red cross please.’ Arbogast handed Meno the form and an envelope across the table.

‘A thousand marks?!’

‘That is what our speakers generally receive. Good pay for good work. The reverse is true as well, something that is unfortunately too little understood in this country. I beg you to excuse the little power cut, there have been more and more recently. I don’t think it will have distracted you too much; you were speaking without notes anyway. Oh, and there’s one more thing …’ Arbogast opened a drawer and handed Meno a heavy, leather-bound tome. ‘Our visitors’ book.’ He picked up a fountain pen and slowly unscrewed the lid. ‘With a joke if possible, please. You should know that I collect jokes.’ There was a knock at the door. Alke came in, whispered something to the Baron.