Amerika (27 page)

He was almost asleep when he heard a loud scream, rose to his feet, and saw Brunelda, who was sitting on the sofa, fling her arms wide apart and lock the kneeling Delamarche in an embrace by twining herself around him. Embarrassed by the sight, Karl lay back down and sank into the curtains so as to go back to sleep. It seemed quite clear to him that he would not last even two days here, and it was therefore all the more necessary to get some sound sleep so that he could have all his wits about him and quickly make the right decision.

But Brunelda had already noticed Karl's weary wide-open eyes, which had startled her once before, and shouted: “Delamarche, I can't stand this heat anymore, I'm boiling, I must get undressed and have a bath, so send those two out of the room, wherever you like, into the corridor, out onto the balcony, only make sure I cannot see them. I'm in my own apartment yet I keep on being disturbed. Delamarche, if only I could be with you alone here. Oh my God, they're still here! Look how shamelessly that Robinson is stretching out in his underwear in the presence of a lady. And see how that young stranger, who gave me such a wild look only a moment ago, has lain down so as to deceive me. Off with them, Delamarche, they're a burden to me, they lie heavily upon my breast, and if I should die now, it would be on account of them.”

“They'll be gone in a second, so you can start getting undressed,” said Delamarche, and he went over to Robinson and shook him with his foot, which he had placed on his chest. At the same time he shouted to Karl: “Rossmann, get up! Both of you have to go out on the balcony! And woe betide you if you come back before you're called! And be quick about it, Robinson.” He shook Robinson more vigorously—“And you, Rossmann, watch out, or I'll have a go at you too”—and he made two loud clapping sounds with his hands. “It's taking so long!” cried Brunelda from the settee; while seating herself, she had spread her legs far apart to create more room for her immoderately fat body, and only with the greatest effort, amid a great deal of panting and frequent pauses for rest, did she manage to bend down far enough to grab the tops of her stockings and pull them down a little, for she could not remove them entirely—that was a job for Delamarche, whom she awaited impatiently.

Completely numb from weariness, Karl crept down off the heap and slowly approached the door to the balcony; a piece of curtain material wound itself around his foot, and he dragged it along nonchalantly. As he passed by Brunelda, in his absentmindedness he even said, “I wish you good night,” and then ambled past Delamarche, who pulled the curtain on the door aside a little, and out onto the balcony. Right behind Karl came Robinson, who was probably no less drowsy than Karl, for he was humming to himself: “And to be mistreated like this always! If Brunelda doesn't come, I won't go out on the balcony.” But in spite of this assertion, he went out without any resistance and, since Karl had already sunk into the armchair, lay down at once on the stone floor.

When Karl awoke, it was evening, there were already stars in the sky, and the moonlight rose behind the tall houses on the other side of the street. It was only after he had looked about a little in this unfamiliar neighborhood and taken in some of the cool refreshing air that he realized where he was. How careless it had been of him to ignore all the head cook's suggestions, all Therese's warnings, all his own fears, and now here he was, seated quietly on Delamarche's balcony, having even slept here for half a day as if his great enemy, Delamarche, were not there behind the curtain. That lazy fellow Robinson lay on the floor, writhing and tugging at Karl's foot, which was obviously how he had awakened Karl, for he said: “You're such a sound sleeper, Rossmann! Oh, the carefree ways of youth. But how much longer do you want to sleep. I could have let you sleep, but first, it's too boring lying on the ground, and second, I'm very hungry. Please stand up, only for a moment; I've saved myself something to eat under that armchair and want to pull it out. And then you'll get some too.” Karl, who stood up, watched as Robinson rolled over on his stomach without getting up and, with his hands stretched flat, pulled out a silver dish of the kind used, say, for keeping visiting cards. But the bowl contained only one half of a very black sausage, a few thin cigarettes, an opened and still very full can of sardines, and numerous mostly crushed sweets that had turned into one great lump. There then appeared a large slice of bread and a sort of perfume bottle, which however seemed to contain something other than perfume, since Robinson took special pleasure in pointing it out to Karl as he smacked his lips. “You see, Rossmann,” said Robinson, devouring one sardine after another and wiping his hands on a woolen cloth that Brunelda had evidently left on the balcony. “See, Rossmann, that's the way you must keep your food, unless you want to starve. Listen here, though, I've been pushed aside entirely. And if you keep on being treated like a dog, you start thinking this is in fact what you are. It's good you're here, Rossmann, for at least there's somebody here now that I can talk to. No one in this building ever talks to me. Everyone hates us here. And all because of Brunelda. She certainly is a magnificent woman, of course. Listen”—and he motioned to Karl to bend down so that he could whisper in his ear—“I once saw her naked. Ah!” And recalling the joy, he started squeezing and slapping Karl's legs until Karl shouted, “Robinson, you're absolutely crazy,” grabbed his hands, and pushed them away.

“You're really still only a child, Rossmann,” said Robinson, then drew from his shirt a dagger that hung from a piece of string tied around his neck, took it from its scabbard, and cut the hard sausage into little pieces. “You still have a lot to learn. But you've come to the right place for that. Do sit down. You don't want to eat? Well, you can develop an appetite as you watch me eat. You don't want to drink either? You don't want anything? And you're not especially talkative either. But it really doesn't matter who's out here on the balcony, so long as there's somebody else here. You see, I'm often out on the balcony. It's a great sport for Brunelda. She's always thinking of something new, first she's cold, then she's hot, then she wants to sleep, then she wants to comb her hair, then she'd like to open her corset, then she wants to put it on, so I'm always being sent out on the balcony. At times she actually does what she says, but for the most part she stays on the settee and doesn't stir. Often I would part the curtains a little and look in, but ever since one such occasion when Delamarche—I know for certain that it wasn't his idea and that he did so only at Brunelda's request—hit me on the face with a whip—can you see the weals it left?—I don't dare look anymore. So I lie out here on the balcony, and the only pleasure left is eating. The day before yesterday, as I lay here all alone in the evening, still wearing my elegant clothes, which, alas, I then lost at your hotel—those dogs! the way they tore those expensive clothes from my body—as I lay here all alone, gazing down between the columns of the balustrade, everything somehow seemed so sad that I started to bawl. Though I didn't notice right away, at that moment Brunelda came out wearing her red dress—it's the one that suits her best—and, after watching me for a while, she finally said: ‘Dear little Robinson, why are you crying?' Then she lifted her dress and wiped my eyes with the hem. Who knows what else she might have done if Delamarche hadn't called for her just then and she hadn't had to go back into the room right away. Of course, I thought it was going to be my turn, so I asked through the curtain whether I could go back into the room. And what do you think Brunelda said? ‘No,' she said, and then she said, ‘How dare you?' ”

“But why do you stay if that's how you're treated?” Karl asked.

“I'm sorry, Rossmann, but that's not a very clever question,” Robinson answered. “You'll stay too even if you get worse treatment. Besides, I'm not being treated so badly.”

“No,” said Karl, “I'm leaving, possibly even this evening. I'm not staying with you.”

“But how, for instance, do you want to go about leaving this evening,” asked Robinson, who had cut out the soft part of the bread and was dipping it carefully into the oil in the sardine tin. “How can you leave if you're not allowed into the room?”

“Why can't we go in?”

“We're not allowed in until the bell rings,” said Robinson, and he devoured the greasy bread with his mouth, which he had opened as wide as possible, using one hand to catch the oil dripping from the bread so that now and then he could dip the rest of the bread into the palm of his hand, which served as a reservoir. “Everything has become stricter. At first there was only a thin curtain, you couldn't see through it, but at night you could make out their silhouettes. Brunelda found that unpleasant, and I had to make a curtain out of one of her theatrical gowns and hang it up here instead of the old curtain. And now it's impossible to see anything at all. I used to be allowed to ask whether I could go in, and depending on what was happening, they would answer yes or no, but I probably abused this by asking too often. Brunelda couldn't stand that, for in spite of her girth, she has a weak constitution; she has headaches often and gout in her legs almost always—so they decided I would no longer be allowed to ask but could go in whenever they pressed the bell on the table. It rings so loud that it rouses even me from my sleep—I used to have a cat here to amuse myself a bit, but it ran off, frightened by that ringing, and never came back. Well, that bell still hasn't rung today—and if it does it'll mean I may, or rather must, go in—and if it doesn't ring for such a long time, it can take a lot longer.”

“Yes,” said Karl, “but what's true for you isn't necessarily true for me. Besides, that is true only for those who are prepared to put up with that kind of thing.”

“Why not,” cried Robinson, “why shouldn't it be true for you too? Of course it applies to you. Just wait quietly until the bell rings. And then you can try to get away.”

“But why don't you move away? Is it only because Delamarche is, or rather was, your friend? But is this a life? Wouldn't you be better off in Butterford, where you wanted to go first? Or even in California, where you have friends.”

“Yes,” said Robinson, “nobody could have predicted this.” And before continuing with his story, he added, “Here's to your health, my dear Rossmann,” and took a long sip from his perfume bottle. “Well, when you were so nasty as to leave us in the lurch, things were going badly for us. We couldn't find any work for the first few days; besides, Delamarche didn't want to find any work; he would have found some if he'd made an effort, but he always sent me out on my own instead, and I never have any luck. All day he simply knocked about, then it was almost nighttime, and all he brought back was a lady's purse; though it was very beautiful, made of pearls, he's since given it to Brunelda as a present—there was next to nothing in it. Then he said we should go begging in the apartments, one can come up with some useful items on such occasions, so we went begging, and I sang at the apartment doors so as to make a favorable impression. And since Delamarche is always so lucky, we had gone no farther than the door of the second apartment, where we sang some little ditty for the cook and the servant, when the lady who owns this apartment, in other words, Brunelda, comes up the stairs. Maybe she was a little too tightly laced, in any case she couldn't climb up the last few steps. But she looked so beautiful, Rossmann! She wore an absolutely white dress, with a red parasol. She was so lickable! So drinkable! Oh God, oh God, how beautiful she was. What a woman! But tell me, how can such a woman even exist? Of course, the girl and the servant ran over and almost carried her upstairs. We stood right and left by the door and saluted, that's how we do it here. She stopped for a moment, for she was still out of breath, and I don't really know how this happened, but I was so hungry I wasn't in my right mind, and well, she was even more beautiful up close, enormously broad, and thanks to her special corset, which I can show you in the drawer inside, so firm all over—in any case, to cut a long story short, I did touch her a little from behind, but, well, only very lightly, I barely even touched her. And of course having a beggar touch a rich lady is something that simply cannot be tolerated. There was really almost no touching, but in the end there was a little contact. Who knows how badly all of this would have turned out if Delamarche hadn't given me such a hard slap in the face that I needed both hands for my cheeks.”

“You're always up to something,” said Karl, and spellbound by the story, he sat down on the floor. “So it was Brunelda?”

“Well, yes,” said Robinson, “it was Brunelda.”

“Didn't you at one point say she's a singer?” Karl asked.

“Of course she's a singer, a great singer,” answered Robinson, rolling a mass of candy on his tongue and now and then using his fingers to push in a piece that his mouth had ejected. “Of course at the time we didn't know yet; we could only see she was a rich lady and a very elegant one too. She acted as if nothing had happened and may indeed not have felt a thing, since I had really only touched her with my fingertips. But she kept on looking at Delamarche, who in turn gazed straight into her eyes—as only he is capable of doing. Then she said, ‘Come in for a bit,' motioning to Delamarche with her parasol that he should lead the way into the apartment. The two went in, and the servants closed the door behind them. They forgot me outside, and at first I thought it wouldn't take so long and sat there on the steps waiting for Delamarche. But it was not Delamarche but the servant who came out, bringing me a dish of soup filled to the brim; ‘Courtesy of Delamarche!' I said to myself. The servant stayed with me for a moment as I ate and told me a few things about Brunelda and then I could see what this visit to Brunelda's might mean for us. For Brunelda was a divorced woman, had a large fortune and was completely independent. Though her former husband, a cocoa manufacturer, still loved her, she didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. He often came to the apartment, always very elegantly dressed, as if for a wedding—this is all absolutely true, I know him personally—but despite the biggest bribes, the servant wouldn't dare ask Brunelda whether she would receive him, for he had already asked several times, and Brunelda had always taken whatever she had at hand and thrown it in his face. Once she happened to grab her large filled hot-water bottle and knocked out one of his front teeth with it. Yes, Rossmann, imagine that!”