Correction: A Novel (17 page)

So there I sat on that old chair and again said sort and sift, sift and sort, several times, until I had said it so often that I burst out laughing, suddenly I was laughing out loud, very loud. Afterward it was quiet as never before.

Hoeller had turned out his light and I stood up and looked down and saw that it was dark in Hoeller’s workshop. Now I didn’t know why Hoeller had turned out the light just then, had he turned out the light because I had burst out into a laugh, or had he turned out the light without hearing me at all, simply because he had finished working on that huge black bird, actually Hoeller must have stopped working on the bird and left the workshop, unless he was still inside the workshop and had, for whatever reason, turned out the light, to stay in the workshop in the dark? I moved quite close to the window and listened, but I heard nothing, except suddenly the roaring of the Aurach again, but nothing else, as if all at once everything were asleep, as it seemed to me, on what basis I made this assumption I don’t know, but all at once it seemed to me that the whole house was asleep, but why had Hoeller turned out the light at the very moment I burst out laughing, just after my laugh the light in Hoeller’s workshop had been extinguished. But what would Hoeller be doing in the dark of the workshop, where he can’t see anything, or is it possible that the light from my window, from the attic window, falling on the Aurach, is enough light for the workshop as well, could Hoeller have thought that if he turned out his light he’d have enough light coming from the attic window, I thought as I stood at the window, and then I thought but why should Hoeller suddenly stop working now, at half-past twelve in the morning when he seemed to have been all set for work all through the night, it wasn’t at all an uncommon thing for him to do to stay at work in his workshop all night long, while his wife sits up in her bedroom all night long sewing or mending or knitting, with only the Hoeller children able to sleep, it was possible, I thought, that Hoeller was still there in his workshop, with his ears pricked up, watching me because, so I thought, once he had turned out the light in his workshop and could no longer be seen by me from the attic window, it was easy for Hoeller to watch me, that’s the kind of man he is, I thought, to watch me up here at the attic window where I am looking down at his workshop, while he’s hidden in the dark, watching me from where he sits, protected by the darkness at his workshop window, possibly observing the state I’m in and possibly drawing conclusions based on his observations with regard to my constitution, my mental and physical constitution, so that in the morning he may treat me quite differently, because of these nighttime observations, than he would have, had he not observed me, after all it was I who attracted his attention to myself by bursting into a loud laugh after all that brooding over sorting and sifting the Roithamer legacy, I thought, he can hardly do otherwise than keep me under observation now, turning out the light gave him the opportunity to observe me. He didn’t even have to get up and come to the window, he can keep an eye on me from his workbench where he might even yet be working at sewing up his bird, from where Hoeller is now sitting, as I suppose, watching me, he can observe me very well when I show myself at the attic window, I thought, if I show myself at the window I can be seen by Hoeller, in that case why am I showing myself?

I thought, after all I don’t have to show myself at the window, I can step back, I can step back so far that Hoeller can no longer see me, can’t possibly see me, and so I stepped back and I thought, now that I’ve stepped back Hoeller might turn the light on again in his workshop, because he’ll assume that I’m no longer interested in him now that I’ve stepped back from the window, he can feel free to turn on the light, as I’m no longer looking down there, I thought, he may well think, now I can turn on the light again here in the workshop, because he (me) is no longer looking down, quite possibly Hoeller was annoyed to see me constantly watching him, nobody likes to have someone constantly watching him, especially when he is absorbed in his work as Hoeller was absorbed just now in stuffing and sewing up that huge black bird. Now he has no reason not to turn up the light in his workshop again, I thought, as I was no longer watching him, Hoeller, I had sat down again on the old chair, though as I sat down I did slap my forehead with the flat of my hand several times, as though slapping my forehead was any use, I’d slipped into a state of excitement I couldn’t get out of, here I’ve tried every trick in the book already, I thought, pacing the floor, walking to the window, walking away from the window, walking to the sofa and away from the sofa, to the door and back again, then staring at the floor, studying my own hands, my own feet, for I’d taken my shoes off as soon as I’d come back from supper downstairs, then later on I took off my socks too and I’d been barefoot the whole time I was up in the garret, barefoot if only to avoid disturbing the Hoellers by my constant pacing the floor, I had this habit of rapidly pacing the floor, when I pace the floor barefoot, I don’t disturb anyone, so I’d always thought, and I’d always taken off my shoes, and naturally also my socks, even in England, anywhere at all, when I succumbed to my habit of pacing the floor, but studying my hands and feet and finally every object in Hoeller’s garret, including a black rubber sausage hanging on the wall of Hoeller’s garret which the Hoellers formerly used for driving cattle and which had attracted my special attention, what was this rubber sausage doing in Hoeller’s garret of all places, I thought, probably Hoeller himself one day cut this piece off a black rubber cable and converted it to a truncheon with a steel-band grip, back in the days when he still had cows and goats, he had to have this kind of rubber sausage, everybody around here has such rubber sausages made out of pieces of old cable, you can see them all over the Aurach valley, driving their cattle with these black cable sausages, out of their farmyards and into their farmyards, but what was this rubber sausage doing in Hoeller’s garret? I asked myself, could it have meant something in particular to Roithamer, and if so, what? but I couldn’t waste any more time on this rubber sausage, so I simply broke off thinking about this rubber cable sausage and took up another idea: namely, that thinking always came easier to me when I was barefoot than when I wasn’t barefoot, and why should it be that I can think not only more easily but more thoroughly about everything when barefoot, so that by now it’s an almost lifelong habit of mine to take off my shoes at once indoors wherever it’s permissible, and to run about barefoot, in Hoeller’s house I hadn’t taken off my shoes at first, I’d realized on entering that here I couldn’t take off my shoes, not right away, but upstairs in Hoeller’s garret I’d immediately taken my shoes off and walked around in my socks, going back and forth in my socks, unpacking and sitting down and inspecting Hoeller’s garret for the first time, until I put on my shoes again to go down to supper because it seemed impossible to me to go down to supper in Hoeller’s family room in my socks, because the Hoellers all wore shoes too, they didn’t go barefoot, probably it was
on my account
they didn’t go barefoot, just as it was on their account that I didn’t go
barefoot
, so none of us went barefoot, even though it would have suited all of us, the Hoellers as well as myself, to go barefoot, but right after supper, once I was back in the garret, I took off my shoes and my socks too and went barefoot. Going barefoot dates from my childhood, when I always went barefoot too, I even went barefoot to school, throughout the year, except only in the coldest months, we all went to school barefoot, all but Roithamer who wasn’t allowed to go barefoot because no child had ever come down from Altensam barefoot, how he’d longed to go barefoot with us, but it was never allowed, so he was always the one in school who never went barefoot, as even I had always been allowed to go barefoot, a rarity for the son of a doctor. If I walk barefoot they won’t hear me, I’d thought, and so as soon as I’d entered Hoeller’s garret I walked around and back and forth a lot in my bare feet in order to practice this barefoot walking in Hoeller’s garret, but once I’m aware how walking barefoot cuts down on the noise, even the barefoot walking becomes louder, I thought, so I mustn’t be aware that I am walking barefoot and therefore walking quietly. Actually, Roithamer had always gone barefoot in Hoeller’s garret, as I know for a fact, but he never went barefoot down to meals with the Hoellers, not even in summer, when it was quite normal and natural for all the Hoellers to go barefoot. Somehow that rubber cable sausage on the wall annoyed me and I took the rubber cable sausage off the wall, it was black and heavy and I cut the air with it a few times, then I repeated this cutting-the-air several times while looking out the window, in case I might be observed doing it. And suppose, I thought briefly, suppose I hit the desk with this rubber sausage? but I didn’t hit the desk with the rubber sausage, for fear of doing something with this rubber sausage that I’d better leave undone, I hung the rubber sausage back on the wall. But I couldn’t get my mind off the rubber sausage so I took it down again, opened the door, and hung it on a hook, out in the corridor, which had a straw hat hanging on it, probably Mrs. Hoeller’s straw hat, I thought. Back inside Hoeller’s garret I thought, all right, so now the rubber sausage is no longer inside Hoeller’s garret, and I wonder if I’m not being watched after all, it seemed to me that I was being watched but I couldn’t say for sure. People always do whatever they do for themselves alone, only for themselves and never, in no instance, is it done for someone else’s sake. If Hoeller is still in his workshop, I thought, then why hasn’t he turned on the light again, it seemed to me that I’d heard a sound from Hoeller’s workshop, a sound connected with Hoeller’s work, as I thought, so Hoeller must still be down there in his preservatory, but if so why was he hiding from me, at half-past one in the morning? I thought. Just then some metal object must actually have dropped from Hoeller’s hand, for I heard something metallic fall in the workshop. But then again: why isn’t he turning the light on again? So it suddenly occurred to me to turn out my light, to cast Hoeller’s garret into total darkness, to make Hoeller think I’d gone to bed now, finally gone to bed, so that he could keep on working undisturbed in his workshop, unobserved by me, working on his huge black bird, with all his lights on. I’d turned out my light and posted myself at the window in the expectation that Hoeller would now soon turn on the light in his workshop again, I was convinced that Hoeller was still in his workshop, after all I’d never heard him leave his workshop and go to his room, so he had to be in his workshop still, now that I’d completely darkened Hoeller’s garret, actually it was now pitch-dark in Hoeller’s garret, and when I looked outside I could also see nothing but total darkness, I might have suddenly heard the roaring of the Aurach again but I couldn’t see the Aurach, couldn’t see a thing, for it is well known that the darkness here along the Aurach, in the Aurach valley and most of all in the Aurach gorge, is the most impenetrable and so the darkest possible, that Hoeller chose the darkest point of this darkness, the Aurach gorge, to build his house in, and that Roithamer felt most comfortable here in this darkest darkness or, more precisely, that he found in the darkest place of all the ideal conditions for his purposes, is just what you’d expect. As for me, I never felt anything but frightened by the Aurach gorge, every minute I was there, at least that evening after my arrival and the subsequent night I have just described. From one moment to the next I expected Hoeller to turn on his light, but he didn’t turn it on, possibly, I thought, because he’d caught on that I’d turned out the light in the garret only so he’d turn on the light in his workshop again, because he knows that I haven’t gone to bed as I’ve tried to make him think but that I’m still at the window only waiting for him to turn on his light in the workshop again so that I can see him and watch him again. Better be on my guard against such people (like me) he’d probably thought and kept putting off turning on the light in his workshop, he’d sooner sit there in the pitch-darkness without turning on the light, I thought, ruining his eyes because he’s probably continuing to work on his huge black bird in total darkness, but as for turning on the light and letting himself be watched again by me, never. So I simply couldn’t stand it anymore and suddenly turned my light on again in Hoeller’s garret and I rushed to the window to see Hoeller’s reaction to my turning the light on again in the garret. I actually saw Hoeller sitting there at work with that huge black bird on his lap. He, Hoeller, is looking up at me, he’s working on the bird and looking up at me too, I thought. But then I stepped back from the window, because I didn’t want him to see me, and in stepping backward I overturned the big clothes tree that was standing beside the window, in my haste I’d stumbled over it.

Almost immediately my door flew open and there stood Hoeller, at the door, in his nightshirt. What happened, he said, and I pointed to the fallen clothes tree. He helped me to pick up the clothes tree. He expressed surprise that I hadn’t gone to bed yet but was still up and dressed. Once he had helped me to set up the clothes tree again, he left the garret without saying a word. So he hadn’t been in his workshop, in his preservatory, at all, I thought. I took off my clothes, turned out the light, and went to bed. It was half-past two and I thought, just before falling asleep, how utterly exhausted I felt. In the morning I’ll sneak up on Roithamer’s legacy, I’ll just sort of
sneak up
on it first, then I’ll
sift
it and
sort
it.

Sifting and Sorting

He, Roithamer, had never had to get away from Altensam, he had, in fact, struggled all his life only to draw closer to Altensam, to make himself understood where it had always been impossible, a crazy dream, where it always would be impossible for him to be understood, Roithamer had written, nor had he ever achieved the slightest rapprochement with Altensam, for he had always been a foreign element in Altensam. He simply wasn’t the man to adapt himself, against his grain, against the dictates of his character, the word opportune was totally alien, totally inapplicable to anything he could ever think or do, but as for me and my outlook and my ideas and everything, I’d always been an opportunist, Roithamer wrote. Everything in Altensam had always been impossibly hard for him, so he couldn’t stand Altensam from the beginning, he couldn’t give in to Altensam and its rules, he took the first opportunity to get clear of Altensam. Just as Altensam was alien to him, so he must have seemed a foreign element to his family, they had in the end worn each other out and used each other up in chronic mutual recriminations, primordial recriminations, Roithamer wrote, that is, he, Roithamer, on the one side and Roithamer’s family on the other side, were wearing each other out all the time in Altensam in the most inhuman way, a way least worthy of human beings, in this process of sheer mutual exhaustion. His natural bent for studying, i.e., for studying everything, however, had enabled him quite early in life, by studying Altensam, to see through Altensam and thereby to see through himself and to achieve insight and to take action, and thanks to these constant ongoing lifelong studies he’d always had to do as he ended up doing; all his life, though he’d rather call it his existence, or better still, his deathward existence, everything he’d ever done had been based on nothing but this habit of studying which he’d never been able to shake off, where other people get ahead easily and often quite rapidly, he’d never gotten ahead easily or rapidly, obsessed as he was with the habit of always studying, all of him, his organism, his mind, and everything he did, determined by this habit of studying. Everything had always come to him the hard way, the hardest possible. Yet it was evident almost from the beginning that such constant, above normal efforts paid off, Roithamer’s words, because of them everything I did went deeper, no step was taken without a thorough grounding in what preceded it, Roithamer wrote, nothing without completing all prior studies or at least trying to complete them, without trying to have first a clear understanding of everything that went before, although I knew, of course, that no clear understanding of anything is possible, only an approach to an understanding, an approximate though not an actual understanding, nevertheless an approximation. And so, while I loved Altensam more than anything in the world, because Altensam has always been closer to me than anything in the world, I also hated it more than anything in the world, because I’ve always been a foreign element there from the outset, and all my life, my whole existence, my deathward existence, had always been determined by that circumstance, causing a monstrous waste of all my energies. The question has always been only,
how can I go on at all, not in what respect and in what
condition
, so Roithamer. But no one in my vicinity had even the merest inkling of what was going on inside the young man I was, they were never capable of conceiving the possibility of so devastating a state of mind that could determine and devastate and ruin an entire life like this, because they simply did not want to think about it, everything in Altensam always opposed thinking as such, it must be said categorically once and for all, to the discredit of Altensam, that Altensam was opposed to any kind of thought.