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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781843916543 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Hesperus Press |
| Publication date: | 05/01/2019 |
| Series: | Hesperus Classics |
| Pages: | 144 |
| Product dimensions: | 4.90(w) x 7.60(h) x 1.20(d) |
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Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Hans was getting tired of waiting. 'This is ridiculous,' he said. 'If they don't come soon, I'm off. My legs ache, my eyes ache ... We've been crouched here, looking, for ages.'
'They'll come in a minute. You'll see,' said Erich, but he sounded less optimistic. 'It's just got to get a bit darker.'
'Yes, so dark that you can't see anything, and then you'll say: there they are, and it'll be a root. We know you. Daft. Just showing off,' snorted Hans, as he watched two swans, their necks proud, swim silently across the middle of the moat. They were heading for their little house. Hans clicked his tongue, but their heads did not turn, not even slightly.
'They came yesterday. Honest,' said Erich. Finally he had something he could impress Hans with, but it had not worked yet.
'Huh,' Hans grunted, and carried on watching the swans. They had reached the floating house, gliding round it in a beautiful arc.
The two girls were more patient and quiet. They were actually a bit scared: they did not really like rats. Horrible creatures. Pretty much the most repulsive animals in the world. Especially those smooth, hairless tails. Ugh. And didn't they go for people? Who had said recently that they got into bedrooms and — brr — don't think about it. We should go, really — but ... it's quite interesting, actually. And the boys would laugh and rag them, too. Scaredy cats. No ...
Fifi whispered into Luise's ear: 'I'm going to count to thirty, real slow, and if they haven't come, we'll just go. They can say what they like. OK?'
Luise just nodded, but did not look at her, fixing her large, sombre eyes on the bank, where the water stopped, the mud began, then the short, steep slope with its brown earth and free-hanging tree roots. So that was where those horrible creatures lived. Soft, warm mud. Toads. Pink worms. A little further on small fish glided through the gold-brown water. Luise scratched her bare knee in excitement, even though it did not itch. She was squatting, her arms wrapped round her legs. Her shoes were dirty yet again, and her socks, and what about the back of her skirt? She had sat down at one point ...
'There,' said Erich, his finger shooting out towards the bottom of the bank. 'There. Look ...'
'You were lucky,' said Fifi. 'I was about to count to thirty, real slow, and ...'
'Shut up, you idiot. You'll scare them away.'
It was beginning to get dark. You couldn't quite make everything out. But something was moving. Grey. Small. Under the tree roots. And again. There were two. And another. Three. They were coming nearer. The children froze, and stared.
'They come every evening,' whispered Erich all of a sudden in triumph, looking at Hans, as if he had made the rats himself.
Hans nodded gravely. 'Just look at those tails,' he said. They looked at the tails. The length of a finger, grey, hairless, twitching back and forth. 'Lie on your front,' hissed Hans. Without making a sound they did as they were told, poking their heads over the bank.
Then Luise suddenly screamed, shrill and piercing, as if bitten by a snake, in great distress. The rats leaped into the water and disappeared.
'You idiot!' shouted Hans. 'Now they've gone.'
'That was a stupid thing to do, screaming like that,' said Erich.
Luise was beside herself with tears. 'It looked at me, with its little eyes, real nasty, and then it started to open its mouth, like this, and there were its teeth. It was going to bite me, I'm sure of it.'
'Damn it, you can't do anything with girls. Come on, Erich, we're going to the harbour. The Adelaide's still there. You haven't seen it yet. Let's leave this pair of cry-babies. Rotten pair. I've had enough of you.' Erich stuck out his lower lip in scorn and went after Hans, his hands in his trouser pockets.
Luise had almost stopped crying. 'It gave me such a nasty look with its little eyes,' she said to herself.
'Never mind,' said Fifi. 'We've got to go home anyway.'
They looked around. The sun had gone and the water lay black in the town moat, you couldn't see very deep now, and it had shone such a golden brown. Mist, rising gently from the water, lay thickly over it. The trees in the park were starting to form heavy, dark clumps, the windmill on the hill raised its brown sails, soft and reproachful, in the warm, blue, smoky sky. From the harbour road glimmered the little flames in the lanterns. They would soon flare up.
Up on the path sat an old man on a bench, calmly looking straight ahead, his hands on his stick. Fifi skipped up to him, carelessly.
'Sir, what time is it?'
'Half past seven,' said the man, pressing the little button which flicked open the lid of his gold watch. Papa's watch isn't as big as that, and not made of gold either, or silver for that matter, thought Fifi. 'Thank you,' she said quietly.
'Wait a minute,' said the old man, fixing his blank grey eyes on her. 'What were you doing by the moat? What were you looking for?'
Fifi was silent, and looked at the ground, smiling.
'You wanted to see the rats, didn't you? Out with it.'
Fifi said nothing.
'I know: you wanted to see the rats,' said the old man. 'Do you like them then?' 'No,' said Fifi without looking up.
'Thought as much,' said the old man. He chuckled suddenly. 'You always want to see disgusting things, you children. Haven't you got anything better to look at besides rats?'
'No, we have,' said Fifi and quickly ran away, without once glancing at the old man. Luise was still standing in the same place, but she looked happy again now.
'It's already half seven. Come on, quick.'
They followed the moat and came to the street. The lamps were burning now, and even the tram — a Number 1 had just gone past and stopped under the railway bridge — had its lights on.
Frau Jacobi got out. She was carrying several packages. Fifi and Luise curtseyed politely, in an affected way. 'Good evening, children. Still out and about? Come on, off to bed with you,' she threatened in a friendly voice. Mama will strike a different tone. Only other ladies had this nice way of talking. But I still prefer Mama. I wouldn't like to have Frau Jacobi. Luise yawned. At the street corner they parted. They briefly shook hands.
The Number 1 tram which Frau Jacobi had been on went along the harbour road. It stopped. A drunken man came out of Bellmann's restaurant. The moment the door opened the sound of an orchestrion and laughter poured out. The conductor held the drunken man back, forcing him physically off the running board.
'I'm not having you on.'
'I ... I ... What do you mean ... I've got the money ... You bastard ...'
'Off. Do you hear?' A bell. The tram moved on. The man was left behind, hurling abuse. 'Don't want the lot of them filling the carriage with puke,' said the conductor to Oskar and Anton. The two students nodded earnestly, in sage agreement. The conductor looked at their large suitcases.
'Going on the Adelaide?' he asked.
'That's right,' said Anton. 'Rotterdam.'
'I envy you, on the sea like this in September,' said the conductor. 'If only.'
'Yes, we're really looking forward to it,' said Anton, and looked somewhat guiltily through the window. They were just passing the Astoria. The woman in the box office pulled back the curtain and pushed the window up halfway.
'There's a fantastic fight today between Dieckmann and Alvaroz, the champion wrestlers. You know ...'
Anton raised his eyes as if trying to remember. 'No, I don't think so.'
'On the Adelaide, eh,' said the conductor. 'Then you'll be getting acquainted with Captain Martens.' He laughed to himself. 'The man with the fancy stewards.'
'What do you mean?' asked Oskar.
'You'll see. And that fat little Nelly, too. That'll be fun. She always gets to sit on the red plush in the saloon.'
'Who's Nelly?' asked Anton.
'You'll soon see for yourselves, gentlemen. One thing's for certain: never a dull moment on the Adelaide.' And with grin on his face, the conductor went along the car.
'Bit disconcerting,' said Anton. 'What was all that about the ship?'
'Leave him,' said Oskar. 'He's only trying to spoil it. He's envious.'
'Shame we leave in the dark — down the river, the estuary, out to sea — we'll hardly see a thing.'
'Yes. Stupid.'
'But then ... the dark has its attractions. I shan't sleep much tonight.'
'Let's just wait and see, shall we?' said Oskar. 'Don't go over the top.'
The old man was still sitting on the bench, his hands on his stick, his hat next to him. He cast a calm, vacant gaze around. He just sat there. That was his life now. He sat there on that bench and looked around, taking in whatever happened and watching the evening draw on. He sat in the park, behind him the windmill on the hill, before him the grassy bank and the moat, and over there the railway embankment, behind which you could just see the first floor of the houses in Olbersstrasse, their white walls now dull in the dusk. He had watched the sun disappear behind the houses, the nursemaids with prams and children playing games had long since left the park, the water in the moat had turned black and the air soft and smoky and the sky a greyish blue. Some time before a little girl had asked him the time, and then promptly ran away again, really fled. Yes, they all went off, just left him sitting there. Even Karl and Berta didn't care for him very much, they visited him less and less in the evenings. Well, it's true, he couldn't offer them much, they'd rather go to the pictures.
From over on the harbour road came the dull sound of cars rumbling by. People were leaving work. The sausage-stand which stood underneath the railway bridge was surrounded by workmen. They bought the fat, red, peppery sausages, and he could hear the echo of their laughter. A dog, without its owner, padded past him on the dusky path, its head up in the air, following a scent. It knew where it was going. Everyone was going home. But what am I supposed to do at home? Sit in a dark room and look down at the street until it's time to go to bed? And then not be able to go to sleep? I'll sit here a while longer, sit and wait, but nobody comes. It's dreadful, nobody comes. But perhaps somebody will, perhaps that young man will come and I can have a few words with him. Isn't that him over there? No, it's not him. Look at that! The swans brushing against each other, snuggling, rubbing their necks together: someone's nocturnal pleasures already under way, then. Oh, they've stopped now, split up, swimming in gentle circles round their house. Was that it? That was quick. They head for their house, climb up the little wooden plank, lie down, gaze once more across the thick, tarlike surface of the water and tuck their heads under their wings. Sleep now. They stay outside the whole night. I should really be going. I'll just wait for the eight o'clock train. I wonder if that young man will come?
It will be a little while yet. He is still anxiously pounding the streets, his hands in his coat pockets. There is a strange, restless feeling in his legs. And his eyes glisten. He always takes the same route. Every day. Along the streets, across the embankment to the river. And then he stands on the bridge, watches the water rush underneath, red in the evening glow, black at night, it surges round the piers, whispering incomprehensibly to him. And he walks into the park, shares a few words with the old man who always sits there, always on the same bench, an old man who is unspeakably bored and doesn't want to let him go. Is he the only person he can talk to all day? And the old man can hardly conceal his joy when he comes. But today Peter doesn't want to listen to his desperate, empty chatter; he doesn't want to speak to him at all. Even I only talk to him because I don't have anyone else. No, today for once I shall walk past him. Say hello and walk past.
He turned off the street, heaving with traffic, into the 'Seefahrt'. He enjoyed walking through the large courtyard of this institution, where the widows of seamen lived. It was so wonderfully quiet and dead. You instantly felt the deep peace of their deadness. In some of the rooms the old dears had already lit their lamps and were having supper; the windows were open, but there was not a sound to be heard. The occasional chink of a plate, a spoon and knife knocking together; the shrill voice of a parrot from a dark corner, vain and insolent: 'Little Lora, little Lora ...' Some of the women had still not lit their lamps and were sitting at the window, staring out motionless, in a stupor; two hunched, round, black figures slowly walked along the wall of the building, another two stood before a little front garden, whispering and tittering, their bonnets waggling like cockscombs, and there was the sound of a little fountain which stood, foliage up to the rim, in the middle of a tiny patch of dark grass. Here it is quiet; here it is dead. They're simply no longer alive. Their children have left, their husbands lie at the bottom of the sea perhaps, but they are still in the harbour. They have the parrot they used to take with them when they still travelled with their husbands. They have little shells and pieces of coral on their dressing tables, and they doze away.
Then he was outside again, and he finally reached the park. After the park it was the harbour road, the river, then who knows where. And that's where he wanted to go: anywhere. But then he saw the old man in the distance. He was sitting on the bench as usual. Motionless, his hands on his stick, his hat on the bench beside him, he looked over at Peter, and as Peter tried walking quickly past with a 'hello' he called: 'You must have a moment to spare. Come on. I've been waiting for you for a long time.'
And when Peter had sat down: 'You should have seen. Children looking in the water over the bank. What were they looking for? Rats! Children, I ask you. Amazing what attracts them.'
'Rats? How funny!' said Peter, absent-mindedly.
He looked at the moat. There, round the bend, something black had appeared. A boat and a man rowing it with gentle strokes, splashing quietly. A broad boat, tarred and black. The rowlocks creaked. The man was wearing a large tapered straw hat.
'Who's that?'
'Don't you know the park keeper? You surprise me. Once a week he goes along the moat, making sure everything's all right. Checks the duck and the swan houses. He lives up there.' He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.
'In the windmill? What about the miller?'
'Didn't you know the mill isn't in use any more? Been dead for ten years. It's just decoration now, a theatrical backdrop. And somewhere for the park keeper to live. Strange feller. I could tell you a few things about him ...'
But Peter did not want to hear any more. He knew these interminable stories. 'Sorry, but I have to go. Things to do.'
'What things? I hope you don't mind my asking, or is it private, what you ...'
'Nothing important, nothing particular.'
'Nothing particular, nothing important? Ha, I know what you mean. I was just the same. You're busy tonight. Say no more. I was young once, too. But times change.' The old man chortled. 'Good luck. All the best.'
Peter felt sick. 'You misunderstand. Honestly. I just wanted ... I'm going to the cinema. Not what you think.'
'And why not? No need for false modesty. We're both men. Course, the cinema's not without its ... gets you in the mood. Yes, all the best. You'll be fine. I'll keep me fingers crossed.'
Peter hurried away. Disgusting. That's the last time I sit next to him. He walked along the moat to the harbour road, and when he reached the railway bridge, just as he went past the sausage-stand, the eight o'clock train trundled over the bridge. It went along the embankment, past the houses in Olbersstrasse, their façades dully lit by the lamplight, and its headlights flew in long streaks through the water in the moat. That was the signal for the old man to get up. Slowly, hesitantly, he would make his way home. For a short time he stood where he was, looking over towards the park keeper. His boat was nearing the swan house, and the swan woke up. Took its head out from under its wing, stretched its neck towards the park keeper and, with great, silent strokes, flapped its wings. The old man watched as the swan laid its head on the park keeper's hand; the park keeper tickled it gently under its bill ... Finally, the old man really had to go. He dreaded his room, with its stiff chairs, silent walls, the pictures of people long dead on the wall. But maybe Karl and Berta would stop by and they could have a chat, maybe they'd already be there when he arrived, maybe they'd already have gone again because he wasn't there. He suddenly quickened his step ...
But he need not have hurried: they were not sitting in his room waiting for him, and they would not come later either. He would have to see how he got through the evening alone. Karl and Berta were not even in town. It was Karl's afternoon off, and they had gone off on the steamer, downriver. They were just coming back. Berta was not thinking about her father, or even her husband, who was sitting at the table out the back, on deck, his head heavy from the strawberry punch and the bright afternoon sun. He had closed his eyes and was gently snoring.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "At the Edge of the Night"
by .
Copyright © 1988 Designs and Patents Act.
Excerpted by permission of Hesperus Press Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Title Page,
Dedication,
Translator's Introduction,
A Note on the Text,
At the Edge of the Night,
Hesperus Press,
Copyright,