The Light and the Dark (46 page)

Once when I was putting her to bed she suddenly asked:

‘Mummy, where did I come from?’

‘I sculpted you out of snow.’

‘Not true! I know where children come from!’

She’s funny.

At the station my father climbs into the tram, there are lots of people, we’re sitting at the back and he gets in through the front door, I wave to him, but he doesn’t see. I only hear him speaking loudly, as if he’s on a stage – he’s already had a drink first thing in the morning – telling the entire tram about how they bought him new galoshes when he was a child.

‘Those galoshes made the day a real celebration! Soft crimson baize on the inside! And that delicious smell of rubber! And I just can’t wait to go outside in them, to where the fresh snow has fallen, because the prints from new galoshes are very, very special – like chocolate bars! We pretended that was our chocolate. I took my mitten off, picked a bar up carefully with my fingers and munched on it. And we used to gorge ourselves on that snow chocolate!’

‘Mummy, is there still a long way to go?’

‘No, we’ll be there soon.’

The conductress’s glasses have steamed up, she’s pushed them up onto her forehead and she’s counting the change in her satchel, examining the coins with no heads minted in Utrecht.

‘Mummy, is there still a long way to go?’

I hug her to me and whisper in her ear:

‘Listen, there’s something I’ve got to tell you. There’ll be someone there, don’t be surprised when he lays his head on my knees.’

‘Why? Does he love you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I love you too. Lots and lots!’

And she laid her head on my knees.

Sashenka!

My love! My darling!

I’m on my way to you. Only a little bit further to go.

Something amazing has happened to me.

I suddenly hear this:

‘Right then, show me your muscles!’

I don’t understand a thing and I ask:

‘Who are you?’

He says:

‘Who am I? Can’t you see? I’m Prester John, and everything round here is my kingdom – clamorous, fragrant and imperishable. I am the Lord of Lords and the Ruler of all Rulers. In my kingdom everyone knows his own future, but he still lives his own life, lovers love even before they find out about each other, get to know each other and get talking, and the rivers flow one way during the day and the other way during the night. Tired?’

I:

‘Yes.’

He:

‘Have a seat. I’ll just put the kettle on.’

I:

‘I can’t. I have to be going.’

He:

‘I know.’

I:

‘I ought to hurry. The point is …’

He:

‘I know, I know everything. She’s longing to see you.’

I:

‘I don’t have any time. I’ve got to go to her. I’ll be off.’

He:

‘Hang on, you won’t find her without me. I’ll show you the way. Sit for a while, take a breather. I’ve just got one thing to do, then we’ll be going. I’ll be quick.’

I:

‘Tell me, that picture on the wall …’

He:

‘Well, go on, go on! Don’t worry about me writing. I’ve got to finish this off, there’s only a little bit left. I’m listening.’

I:

‘Where did you get it?’

He:

‘What?’

I:

‘That cross-section plan of a steamship. The one with the sailor drawn in on the anchor, there he is, with a bucket and brush.’

He:

‘You’ve got to take that with you. Take out the thumbtacks and roll it up into a tube. And by the way, don’t you know that the anchor is the only thing on a ship that they don’t paint? Well, all right, that’s a mere trifle. You’ve got to take everything important with you, not forget anything. Have a think, get yourself organised.’

I:

‘But I haven’t got anything. I don’t need anything.’

He:

‘Have you forgotten, or what? You said yourself that the unnecessary things are the most essential. There, hear that?’

I:

‘A stick clattering along a fence?’

He:

‘Yes. Everyone who fancies the idea clatters it as they walk by, some with a stick, some with an umbrella. And now, do you hear that – grasshoppers, as if someone’s winding up a little watch? And that’s a tram rumbling over the points in the distance.’

I:

‘And what’s this?’

He:

‘Those? Prickly burrs. You threw them in her hair. Then you pulled them out again, but they clung on tight. You’ve got to take all that. And the smells! You can’t possibly leave the smells behind! Remember the sweet aroma from the confectioner’s shop? Vanilla, cinnamon, chocolate, your favourite rum truffles.’

I:

‘Look, there’s the list from my herbarium, with “Ribwort,
Plantago”
written in painstaking childish writing. Are we taking that too?

He:

‘Naturally. And the wood-pile of books from the floor of your room. And your mum’s ring, which is still spinning and jingling on the windowsill, skipping about like a transparent little gold sphere. And the way a certain person used to polish his glasses with his tie.’

I:

‘And the scrap of newspaper stuck to a shaving cut?’

He:

‘Yes, of course, after all, every scrap of paper like that has its own person, unlike all the others, and he feels with his fingers for the hands on his watch without any glass on the dial.’

I:

‘It’s time we were going.’

He:

‘Yes, yes. We’ll be off in a moment. Wait just a little bit!’

I:

‘And where’s the round pebble that’s eternity?’

He:

‘Ah, I threw that away. Stuck it in my pocket and went for a walk. There was a pond there. Eternity skipped on the water a couple of times, then went plop, and there was nothing left behind but circles, and then not for long.’

I:

‘Let’s go!’

He:

‘Hang on! Just a moment. There was something I wanted to tell you, but I can’t remember what now. Ah, that’s it – don’t listen to Democritus! Bodies can touch, and there isn’t any gap between souls either. And people become what they always were – warmth and light. Now let’s go. It’s time. Check to see you haven’t forgotten anything. I’m just finishing up. That’s it. The pen squeaks across the paper like clean-washed hair between fingers. My weary hand hastens and lingers, tracing out at the last: Happy as the ship having passed over the depths of the sea is the scribe on reaching the end of his book.’