Traveler of the Century (3 page)

Read Traveler of the Century Online

Authors: Andrés Neuman

BOOK: Traveler of the Century
3.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Hans calculated that they had walked more than half a league from the market square. Had he been able to climb the rocks behind the pinewoods, he would have had a panorama of the whole of the surrounding countryside and the city. He would have been able to observe the highway along which he had traveled on the first night, as it skirted the eastern edge of the city—at that very moment, several coaches were making their way north to Berlin, or south to Leipzig. On the far side, to the west of the plain, the air was stirred by the sails of the windmills around the textile mill with its brick chimney stack polluting the atmosphere. In the hedged fields, a few peasants were dotted about, carrying out the first hoeing of the year, slowly scratching at the soil. And snaking through it all, a silent witness, ran the River Nulte. Too shallow for boats, the Nulte was an anaemic river. Its waters seemed worn out, resigned to their fate. Bordered by two rows of poplars, the Nulte trickled through the valley as though in search of help. Looked at from the top of the hill, it was a loop of water flattened by the wind. Less a river than the memory of a river. Wandernburg's river.
They crossed the tiny wooden footbridge over the Nulte. The pinewood and the stony outcrop seemed to be the only things ahead of them. Hans did not dare ask where they were going, partly out of politeness and partly because, wherever they were going, he had enjoyed discovering the outskirts of the city. They walked through the pinewood almost in a straight line. The wind hummed in the branches, the organ grinder whistled to echo the sound, and Franz echoed his master's whistles with barks. When they had reached the first rocks, Hans said to himself that the only possibility left was for them to go through the rock.
And, to his astonishment, that was what they did.
The organ grinder stopped in front of a cave and began unloading his cart. Franz ran inside and trotted out with a morsel of herring in his mouth. Hans's first thought was that this must be some mistake. On second thoughts, it struck him as altogether wonderful. And that nobody in a long while had surprised him as much as this old man. The organ grinder, who was smiling at him again, welcomed him with a sweep of his arm and said: Make yourself at home. Hans responded with a theatrical bow, stepping back a few paces in order to get a better view of the cave's setting. On close inspection, and ignoring the fact that it bore no resemblance to a house, the cave could not have been better situated. There were enough pine trees surrounding it to soften the effects of the wind or the rain, without making it inaccessible. It was close to a bend in the River Nulte, and thus guaranteed a source of water. Unlike other barren, muddy areas at the foot of the hill, the entrance to the cave was blessed with a thick patch of grass. As though concurring with Hans, the organ grinder said: Of all the caves and grottos in the hill, this is the cosiest. As he stooped to enter, Hans discovered that, although undeniably damp, the cave was warmer than he had expected. The old man lit some tinder and tallow candles. By their light, the organ grinder took Hans on a tour of the cave, showing him every nook and cranny as if it were a palace. One of the great advantages to this dwelling is the lack of doors, he began, which means Franz and I can enjoy the view from our beds. As you see the walls aren't exactly smooth, but the irregularities break the monotony and create an interesting play of light, and what light! (The old man raised his voice, wheeling round with surprising agility—the candle he was carrying traced a faint circle on the walls, sputtered, but stayed alight.) Besides, how can I put it, they provide plenty of opportunity to enjoy
some privacy or sheltered sleep. The reason I mention privacy (the organ grinder whispered, winking) is because Franz is a bit nosey, he always wants to know what I'm doing, sometimes it feels like he's the owner of the house. Anyway, sshh! I didn't say a word, let's carry on! Here we have the back of the cave, which, as you can see, is simple, but notice how still, how quiet it is, all you can hear are the leaves. Ah, and as for the acoustics, the echoes are amazing, when I play the barrel organ in here it feels as if you've downed a bottle of wine in one.
Hans listened to the organ grinder spellbound. Although he found the damp, the gloom and the dirtiness of the cave uncomfortable, he thought it would be an excellent idea to spend the evening or even the night there. The old man lit a fire with some broom, dry grass and newspaper. Franz had been down to the river to drink and had come back shivering, his fur standing on end, the flecks on his paws a little paler. When he saw the fire, he trotted over to it, almost singeing his tail. Hans burst out laughing. The organ grinder passed him a demijohn of wine he kept in a corner. Only then, in the glow of the fire the old man had lit, could Hans appreciate the entire cave and study its odd furnishings. A few bits of clothing hung from a rope stretched across the entrance. Beneath the rope, the sharp point of the umbrella was embedded in the ground. Next to the umbrella were two pairs of shoes, one almost in tatters, stuffed with balls of paper. Lined up against the wall in order of size stood a row of earthenware cups, some plates, empty bottles with corks in them, tin pitchers. In one corner lay a straw pallet, and on top of it a heap of sheets and scraps of filthy wool. Scattered around the mattress like a ruined dressing table lay bowls, small wooden boxes and pieces of soap. A bunch of newspapers was hanging between two rock ledges. At the back of the cave was a pile of shoeboxes filled with pins, screws and various pieces of equipment and tools necessary for repairing the barrel organ. Spectacularly out of place in the
midst of all this lay the immaculate rug the instrument sat on. There was not a single book in sight.
There were two temperatures in the cave now. Within a half-yard radius of the fire, the air was warming up, caressing their skin. An inch beyond that, the room was freezing, lending a hard outline to everything. Franz appeared to be asleep, or intent on getting warm. Rubbing his hands together, Hans puffed into them. He pulled down his liberty beret, wound his scarf twice more round his neck, turned up the collar of his frock coat. He gazed at the organ grinder's threadbare overcoat, its baggy seams and worn buttons. Aren't you cold in that? said Hans. Well, it's seen better days, the old man replied. But it brings back good memories, and they keep us warm, too, don't they?
The fire shrank slowly.
 
A few days after meeting the organ grinder, Hans was still intending to leave Wandernburg at any moment. And yet, without really knowing why, he kept putting off his departure. One of the things that most captivated Hans about his new acquaintance, besides the way he played his instrument, was his relationship with his dog. Franz was a Hovawart with a broad forehead, an alert muzzle and a bushy, restless tail. He was as sparing with his barks as if they were coins. The old man would let Franz guide him through the countryside; he would talk to him and whistle tunes from the barrel organ to lull him to sleep. Franz seemed to have a remarkable ear for music, and would growl if the old man stopped in mid-tune. Occasionally they would look at one another knowingly, as though they could both hear some inaudible sound.
Without giving away too much, Hans had explained to the old man that he was a sort of traveler, who journeyed from place to place, stopping off at unfamiliar destinations to discover what they were like, then moving on when he grew bored, felt the
urge to travel again or found something better to do elsewhere. A few days earlier, Hans had suggested to the organ grinder that he accompany him to Dessau. The old man, who never asked questions Hans did not seem happy to answer, proposed he stay on another week and keep him company before leaving.
Hans usually woke up late, later anyway than the handful of other guests who, to judge by the leftover food, the footsteps on the stair and the sound of doors opening and closing, were also staying at the inn. He would eat his breakfast under the watchful eye of Frau Zeit, whose furious prowess with the kitchen knives would have woken him, or he would go out for a bite to eat at the Central Tavern. There he would read for a while, have a coffee, or more precisely two coffees, and after that would go to meet the organ grinder. He would listen to him play, watch him turn the handle and let his memory spin round in circles. To its rhythm, he would think of all the places he had visited, about the future journeys he would make, about people he did not always wish to remember. Some days, when the hands on the Tower of the Wind said it was time to go, Hans would accompany the organ grinder home. They would leave the city centre, stroll along River Walk and through High Gate, follow the narrow earthen path to the footbridge, cross the babbling waters of the River Nulte, and traverse the pinewood until they reached the rocky outcrop. On other days, Hans would pass by the cave later, and the organ grinder would welcome him with an open demijohn and a blazing fire. They would pass the time drinking wine, talking, listening to the river. After the first few nights, Hans lost his fear of the path and grew used to going back to the inn on foot. Franz would accompany him part of the way, only turning back when the lights of High Gate came into view. Herr Zeit would get out of bed to unbolt the door for him, fat cheeks furrowed, grunting and cursing to himself, snoring in his slippers. Hans made his way upstairs, wondering
how much longer he could put up with the rickety old bed.
The Zeit family would rise at first light, when Hans had only been asleep a few hours. Herr Zeit made them gather round while he read a short passage from the Bible, then the four of them ate breakfast in their apartment. Afterwards, they would each go off to fulfil their different duties. Herr Zeit would take up his position behind the reception desk, spreading the newspaper over his formidable belly as though it were a lectern, and there he would stay until shortly before midday, when he went out to settle a few bills and other payments. He would stop off on the way home to drink a few beers and listen to the local gossip, which he maintained was part of his job. In the meantime, Frau Zeit would tackle a long list of chores that included cooking, fetching firewood, doing the ironing and cleaning the rooms, and ended after supper with a last bit of darning in front of the fire. Then the frown would fade from her brow; she would cast off her apron and parade around the bedroom in the flannel gown she insisted on calling her kimono, swaying her hips with a mixture of sadness and faded charm.
Thomas's sister Lisa would take him to school. Besides being constantly on the move and never finishing his homework, the boy had a habit that infuriated his sister—he was fond of easing his stomach by letting out little explosions. Each time he did so, Lisa would march out of the bedroom they shared and fetch their mother, who would come and give him a scolding. While Frau Zeit bawled him out and threatened punishment, Thomas would begin again. So, amid giggles and explosions, explosions and giggles, Thomas would finish dressing. He came home every day for lunch, and attended Bible class twice a week. Lisa did not go to school, even though she had always been a more hard-working pupil than her brother. After dropping him off, Lisa would return to help at the inn, shop for groceries in the market square or wash linen in the Nulte. In winter this was
the hardest chore, because the washerwomen had to search for stretches that were not iced over. Lisa was tall for her age and quite thin, although in the past year she had begun to fill out, a fact of which she was proud and faintly uneasy. Her skin was smooth and downy, except for her hands—in contrast to the softness of her neck or shoulders, Lisa's hands were coarse. Her knuckles were red, her fingers chapped, the skin above her wrists raw from the freezing water. Hans noticed this one morning when he wanted to take a hot bath. Lisa was ferrying pans of boiling water up and down the stairs to fill the tub. He suddenly found himself staring at her hands, but she snatched them away, ashamed, and concealed them behind her back. Abashed, Hans tried to distract the girl by engaging her in conversation. Lisa seemed to go along with the ploy, and for the first time since his arrival uttered more than a few words to him. Hans was surprised at how knowledgeable and self-assured she was, although at first she had seemed so timid. When the bathtub was almost full to overflowing, Hans turned to open his case and had the impression Lisa was lingering in the room. As soon as he heard the door close, he felt foolish for even having entertained such a thought.
Worried about the frugality of the organ grinder's meals, which consisted mainly of boiled potatoes, salted herring, sardines or hard-boiled eggs, Hans would take with him to the cave a little meat, a wheel of sheep's cheese or some of Frau Zeit's sausages. The organ grinder accepted these delicacies, but the moment Hans left, fed them to Franz. When Hans discovered his ruse, the old man explained that, although grateful for his generosity, he had promised himself many years ago he would only live off what his barrel organ could provide, which was why he played it in the first place. Hans finally managed to win him over him by persuading him they were simply dining together. One evening, as they were both tucking in to a piece
of larded beef and a bowl of rice with vegetables, Hans asked him whether he ever felt lonely in the cave. How can I feel lonely, replied the organ grinder, chewing his beef, when I have Franz watching over me? Isn't that right, my boy? (Franz trotted over and licked his hand, using the opportunity to help himself to a small chunk of beef.) Besides, my friends come to see me. (Who are they? asked Hans.) You'll meet them soon enough, you'll meet them soon enough (the organ grinder topped up his glass), I expect they'll show up tomorrow or the day after.
Sure enough, a couple of days later, Hans found two other guests at the cave when he arrived—Reichardt and Lamberg. Nobody knew Reichardt's exact age, but it was obvious he was at least twice as old as Lamberg. Reichardt scraped a living as a hired field hand. He would offer his services to hoe, plough, sow or do a few days' work on seasonal tasks. He lived crowded together with his fellow labourers on church lands about twenty minutes from the cave. Reichardt was one of those men whose once relatively youthful appearance makes them look even older as they age; their lean bodies betraying more starkly the ravages of time. He suffered from stiff joints, and his hairless skin was cracked and blotchy from the sun. Half his teeth were missing. Reichardt took pleasure in using swear words; he preferred them to the actual subject of a conversation. That evening, when he saw Hans arrive, he greeted him by saying: Shit, so you're the fellow who comes from who-knows-where. Pleased to meet you, replied Hans. You don't say? Reichardt replied with a guffaw. Shit, organ grinder, he's even daintier than you said he was!

Other books

Husband Wanted by Charlotte Hughes
The Great Deception by davidberko
The Last Castle by Jack Holbrook Vance
Black Scar by Karyn Gerrard
Timebends by Arthur Miller
The Klone and I by Danielle Steel
The Marriage Bed by Constance Beresford-Howe