Read Crossing the Sierra De Gredos Online
Authors: Peter Handke
Crossing the Sierra De Gredos (55 page)
A vacuumâand in the Hondareda region one of these voids that, as we know, are abhorred by nature, has developed, simply as a result of the negative thinking here, a widespread “not that!” “not that way,” “not him,” etc.âa vacuum provokes, attracts, and creates fullness, in this particular case a violent fullness, in the form of a natural pushing, penetrating, overturning, rushing from all sides into the vacuum created here, which brought on this purely physical violence by keeping this space open.
And if there is any physical mass here in the basin, it is almost negligible, and furthermore hardly moving and heterogeneous, while the mass all around, to the borders of the ecumene, as far as the Arctic and Antarctica, in the meantime seems completely homogeneous, thanks to its exclusively positive signs, “that way!” “precisely so!” “you, you, and you!” etc., a constantly moving and expanding mass, and above all one infinitely larger and more powerful than the one here.
As the laws of nature dictate, energy and matterâas you will soon be able to observe hereâproduce motion and force. To speak of aggression, therefore, of hostile actions, forays, violations, war, or even planned liquidation, in connection with what is in the offing for the people up here is inaccurate and inexcusable anthropomorphism in view of such purely physical processes. Sweeping Hondareda from the face of the earth will be neither an act of revenge nor a punitive operation. It is imposed by the laws of nature and inevitable.
In your reports, however, although you, the observer, may not have likened the immigrants of Hondareda to a sect, you have described them, particularly in the context of their attempt to achieve a different relationship to time, as “on their way to something like a new world religion.” According to you, the Hondarederos are in unspoken agreement that everything to be revealed, from A to Z, has already been revealed, once and for all, and captured in the writings of the most diverse peoples in the most diverse ways, yet always with the same meaning, where it can be read and used as a guide to life. In the settlers' opinion, as your report will have it, no new revelations of any sort can be expected, and none are neededâfor which reason this is no sect, according to your observations.
As far as any essential or thought-provoking contrary notion of time goes, they think that anything that needed to be revealed has been revealed, from Isaiah to Buddha, from Jesus to Muhammad. Except that what you call these “unintentional founders of a religion” distinguish between uncontested religious revelations, which they accept without reservation, and prophecies. Of all that is prophesied in the revealed religions, they believe that only the prophecy of a different kind of time is a promise that has gone unfulfilledâthat indeed, in the current era it has perhaps even more prophetic force for each individual and solitary person than ever before, precisely because it does not aim to be extracted from one's thinking, one's innermost feelings, one's self-awareness, and imposed on the external world, to conquer or achieve power over others. As your report puts it, “What for the Jews remains the promise of the Messiah, is for them, though quite different and above all different in focus, the promised time.”
And you continue: “To be once more, as before story became history,
children of time
, of the god Kronos, and also to behave like children of time, unlike the original time-god-murdering children: that is the prophecy, a sort of unplanned universal religion, according to which each individual in Hondareda wants to live, with such obscure watchwords as âto restore time's veil,' âback to veiled time,' and the like.” Yes, I have studied your reports closely, by means of my own peri-periscope.
children of time
, of the god Kronos, and also to behave like children of time, unlike the original time-god-murdering children: that is the prophecy, a sort of unplanned universal religion, according to which each individual in Hondareda wants to live, with such obscure watchwords as âto restore time's veil,' âback to veiled time,' and the like.” Yes, I have studied your reports closely, by means of my own peri-periscope.
And in them, in the course of your assignment here, you have hinted more and more that you are drawn to the region and the immigrants here, even filled with enthusiasm, although of a sort that differs from mine. You, too, dear Jakob Lebelâthe name of this old variety of apple, named for a farmer, suits you to a Tâyou, too, are, or at least once were, an enthusiast: except that your original enthusiasm emerges in reshaped and often peculiar forms as a result of your profession as observer.
Thus, in your reports, the way in which each of the Hondarederos, for himself in his cave and hideout, speaks of and rethinks time, day and night, in toneless monologues, you compare with people talking in their sleep, and furthermore not adults but children.
That impression on someone passing by outside stems primarily, you say, from the voices (which you could not hear as I could when I was inside as a guest) of those people talking to themselves in the dwellings: these sounds and syllables, seemingly uttered with great effort, which to
your ears seldom resolved themselves into comprehensible words and even more seldom into an audible sentence, in fact have the ability, you write, “to transport an unprepared listener out of ordinary time and to suggest to him a subliminal time, a downright violently contrary timeâan underground time” (later in the report you once use the verb “to murmur” pejoratively, as proof that you are immune to what is imputed to you, but on the other hand you note, in referring to yourself personally, that “in the meantime, however, I am more likely to prick up my ears whenever something is murmured to me, than in response to all the usual speaking in no uncertain terms, explaining, clarifying, intoning, and articulating”).
your ears seldom resolved themselves into comprehensible words and even more seldom into an audible sentence, in fact have the ability, you write, “to transport an unprepared listener out of ordinary time and to suggest to him a subliminal time, a downright violently contrary timeâan underground time” (later in the report you once use the verb “to murmur” pejoratively, as proof that you are immune to what is imputed to you, but on the other hand you note, in referring to yourself personally, that “in the meantime, however, I am more likely to prick up my ears whenever something is murmured to me, than in response to all the usual speaking in no uncertain terms, explaining, clarifying, intoning, and articulating”).
And, according to you, something uncanny emanates from the people talking to themselves in Hondareda, as elsewhere from people talking in their sleep. But in your report, where those who gave you your assignment would perhaps, for obvious reasons, like to see the word “threat,” you unexpectedly used the word “threatened.” Which brings us back to your comparison with children talking in their sleep: like them, you wrote, especially when they were lying alone somewhere, far away or separated forever from any kin, “utterly forsaken,” and stammered and stuttered into the nocturnal stillness, and finally could not produce one coherent sentence, the people up here “exuded with their entire existence, not only at night, but also on the brightest, sunniest day, an unparalleled sense of being threatened and exposed.”
And so, you conclude, they do not represent any danger to the worldâsimply because they would never, ever want to proclaim themselves an enclave in the valley they cultivate, and would never lay claim to property, either personal property or real estateâbut on the contrary are themselves the ones who are threatened, yes, “lost and abandoned.”
And at this moment, so the story goes, she, the mistress of her story, standing opposite the observer up there on the granite slab in the midst of the wilderness near the Candeleda Pass, suddenly switched from thinking to speaking out loud, and directly, and continued, clearly audible to the other person: “And your enthusiasm, my dear, and mine for the people up here come together in our recognition of their loss, of everything that gives an impression of abandonment and lostness.”
And the red-haired, freckled observer promptly replied: “Yes, that is how it is. I have already been dispatched to hundreds of places and battlefields. But to Hondareda, and back and forth through the Sierra de Gredosâthis has been my first real journey, and if I am ever sent anywhere else, it will be only to places like this, just as painful and just as alive.”
And she repeated out loud, though in somewhat different words, what she had previously said in her thoughts: “This is a one-day people here, most definitely. Their time reckoning does not include a year, let alone a century, and even months and weeks: canceled. Not to mention halves and quarters: how they laughed at me when, after my arrival, I slipped up once: âI have been here for half a month now.' Nothing more ludicrous in Hondareda than âa quarter of a year' or, heaven forbid, âa trimester,' âa semester.' If there is any unit of time, it is nothing but a day, a whole day. This is a one-day people, and a twilight people, and the glacial floor down there is the arena or the dance floor for their twilight dance, which will not save this people and its day and its time, and will at most postpone the extinguishing of the lights for another rowanberry or rice-grain moment.”
And he: “And the old man who has been searching day and night since he came here for his son, who went missing somewhere else entirely, and if only he could find his bones, if only he could bury one small bone of his son at least!”
And she: “And the way the person who just died kept trying for a while afterward to form one word with his lips.”
And he: “And the unusual or perhaps not so unusual crying of the children here, sounding so unusual in this rocky basin because it carries everywhere, a crying without an
a
or an
i
or a
u
, without vowels, only in consonants,
b
,
d
,
g
;
k
,
l
,
m
;
r
,
s
,
t
. Or the crying in general here.”
a
or an
i
or a
u
, without vowels, only in consonants,
b
,
d
,
g
;
k
,
l
,
m
;
r
,
s
,
t
. Or the crying in general here.”
And she: “And the way all their books are dog-eared, and the way they manhandle the books further before they read them, tossing them in the air, bending them almost to the point of breaking the spine, leaving them out in the open, exposed to rain, wind, dew, and snow, letting them be pounded by hail.”
And he: “And the way they have made a daily ritual of sniffing deadly poisons, together with their children and grandchildren, whether in mushrooms or flowers, many of which contain the same poisons as they do elsewhere, but in a more concentrated form up here.”
And she: “And the way they use one of their favorite words, a word that is rightfully or wrongfully shunned elsewhere, the word âactually,' in a sense that expresses happy amazement at a characteristic, a condition, or a phenomenon thought to have disappeared long ago, to have been abolished, to have become no longer possibleâtheir constant âThat's actually beautiful!' instead of a mere âThat's beautiful,' finding beautiful something of which one would no longer have thought that, of which one would not even have dreamt thatâhence the astonishment.”
And he: “And the way, when, in exceptional cases, they involuntarily, spontaneously, turn to us, even to us observers flown in from elsewhere, because the matter itself calls for it, as it were, and exclaim simply, âIsn't it beautiful up here in our Hondareda?!' without any âactually'!”
And she: “And the public library there, with the books even more beat-up than those in the houses: transparent glass structures right on the edge of a cliff, with a view from the reading room and from the reading ladders into the still-open crevice at the end of the melted glacier.”
And he: “And in their disdain for gatherers they are not serious in the slightest; they themselves gather whatever they can, crouching down, crawling on their stomachs, on all fours. But they do not look like
gatherers, or even grabbers, snatchers, on the one hand because while gathering, instead of becoming utterly immersed and absorbed in it, they broaden their outlookâprecisely through their searching and gathering and âcollecting,' which somewhat resembles harvestingâand acquire a three-hundred-sixty-degree sense, a sense that has no specific focus but lets them become open to all sides, especially when, in contrast to contemporary gatherers, instead of doing their gathering in secret, shamefacedly, with a guilty conscience, they do it openly and proudly and thus relieve us of our gatherers'guiltâand among them the young people also gather cheerfully and with an infectious matter-of-factness, dressed in the latest styles from the cities and at ease with the latest technology!”
gatherers, or even grabbers, snatchers, on the one hand because while gathering, instead of becoming utterly immersed and absorbed in it, they broaden their outlookâprecisely through their searching and gathering and âcollecting,' which somewhat resembles harvestingâand acquire a three-hundred-sixty-degree sense, a sense that has no specific focus but lets them become open to all sides, especially when, in contrast to contemporary gatherers, instead of doing their gathering in secret, shamefacedly, with a guilty conscience, they do it openly and proudly and thus relieve us of our gatherers'guiltâand among them the young people also gather cheerfully and with an infectious matter-of-factness, dressed in the latest styles from the cities and at ease with the latest technology!”
And she: “And have you heard how the children up here can launch into storytelling from one word to the next, and then do not want to stop, while elsewhereâor at least this is what is claimedâstorytelling is dying out more and more, and hardly any children surprise the people around them with storiesâyet how wonderful and redeeming it used to be to hear, and also see, one's own child, or any child, unexpectedly turning up as a storyteller!”
And he, with an expression he had never used in his reports: “It is true: with my own eyes I have seen the way two butterflies up here, when they flutter around each other, amount, as the Hondarederos say, to more than a pair, and as they gyrate in the air defy being counted, in harmony with the principle here, that time âdefies measurement.'” The expression he had never used before? “With my own eyes.”
And she: “And look: the water in the lake down below is flowing in a circle.”
And he, turning his head to look down into the basin: “And look, the untouched piles of freshly split firewood everywhere in the settlement, as if in Hondareda it were simultaneously winter and early spring and already summer again, or fall. And look, the branches bending under the weight of fruit there in the garden of the man who is dying. And I have experienced personally”âanother new expression for the observerâ“that walking the town squares and the streets of Hondareda, naturally paved with smooth-polished granite, is infinitely easier on the feet and more unimpeded than anywhere in the great cities, where even the most central squares and avenues have become so uneven, dangerously uneven, despite their general appearance, from the constant digging-up and repaving of small patches, that with one step I stub my toe on a bump, with the
next stumble or go flying into the air, with the third slip and fall, and so on. And look over there, the frog in the crown of the tree. And there, a lost pizza-delivery man!”
next stumble or go flying into the air, with the third slip and fall, and so on. And look over there, the frog in the crown of the tree. And there, a lost pizza-delivery man!”
And she, shouting at him: “Isn't it beautiful in Hondareda? Couldn't it have been beautiful?”
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