Panorama (35 page)

Ringel wants to continue to explain his marvelous painting to Josef with the help of Haschke, but things are about to get under way, as Yolanda declares soothingly that there will be plenty of time later on to talk about painting, and that Josef can indeed visit Ringel if he’s interested in modern painting. Then everyone quiets down and gathers together, though Herr von Flaschenberg uses the time for an extended explanation of a very important poem that came to him, which just yesterday he wrote down while on the streetcar, a cosmic poem whose inspiration came to him as he rode home with Achter from the registry. Spiridion is a registrar at an insurance firm and often explains in reference to his position that, through his work, insurance is tied to the entire cosmos and to eternal justice, but just yesterday while on his way home, as he thought to himself, it occurred to him to compose a poem in much the same manner that the electrical winds its way through the chaos of the city and finds its way to the harmony of the spheres. Meanwhile the other members of the group grow impatient, they don’t want to delay the evening any longer, some asking to hear the poem, which they know Herr von Flaschenberg has in his briefcase, since he always carries his new poems around with him until there are enough to fill a new book, which happens at least once a year, he urging everyone he knows to take a subscription, writing long dedications to them in their copies
which end “with exceptional love” or “in burning brotherhood.” Spiridion also wants to say something quite brief about his poem, but he has to shut up, because Johannes, who smiles continually, gives a sign for all to quiet down, he wants to read something, as someone hands him the writings of Meister Eckhart, whom even Ringel recognizes with the title “Meister.” Johannes reads aloud an excerpt quietly in a graceful flowing voice and concludes, “And so one must penetrate to the truth, to the one and only, which is God himself, without seeking a manifest being, for thus one arrives at a unique state of wonder. One should remain immersed in this wonder, because human understanding doesn’t have the ability to get to the heart of the matter. Whoever wants to truly understand the wonder of God, he easily attains such knowledge within himself.” Johannes closes the book and smiles again, a smile seeming to continually rest upon his face, though it’s not frozen there but rather is joyfully alive, as he shakes his head in mild surprise and says, “That’s wonderful. Yes, it is all that simple. One doesn’t need big words. In the end, we all arrive at the same place.”

Some guests try to comment on the reading, Johannes listening silently to most of them, now and then nodding lightly in agreement or disagreement. Once he says that it’s good to discuss such matters, but one should also just listen, it’s the truth that speaks and not the person, it being the beauty of truth that it doesn’t say anything, one can’t interfere with it, or search for God, but only search within himself for the God that is there. Yolanda then tries to elaborate, saying, “If you search for the truth as part of your day’s work, that is good. As a housewife I can’t afford to neglect my duties. The saying is true: first God, then others. But if you want to genuinely serve God, then you must serve others, and the work of a housewife does just that by managing the household. Then I think of that part of God’s will that wanted me to be a housewife. That is the wonder that keeps me going. It makes me happy and gives me hope when my dear husband and my Schorschl are happy.” Both nod to her and say as one, “Through Mother we are able to concentrate all the better.” The opaque, smiling Johannes appears to agree, but then Haschke lets out, “Through Meister Eckhart one sees precisely how wonderful it all is! We humans are always lost in a duality, for we cannot concentrate well enough and listen too much to people who end up confusing us. Because it simply is, one should not search for
Being, which is hard, for at the same time one does want to search for Being. But one should just act in the knowledge that the truth is inside us, and thus God as well, for God speaks to those who can speak the truth. Oh, it’s wonderful, Johannes! How wondrous it is, just as your reading describes!” Johannes only replies that one should be careful not to just turn himself into a wonder as well.

Frieda and Greta arrive with the tea, Yolanda and two other women jumping up to help them, plates with store-bought baked goods handed out, it being meager fare, sweet and salty, as Yolanda says, “Goodness, I have a cake in my bag outside that I baked for you all! Schorschl, be so good as to bring me my bag!” Schorschl runs out, the tea is poured, and each person is asked how many sugars he would like, followed by slices of lemon, which are handed out in little bowls, and raspberry juice in dark-red bottles, which almost looks like schnapps, some taking lemon, though more dribble some of the rich raspberry juice into their tea, others taking some of each, Schorschl appearing again and calling out, “Mama, I’m really sorry, but I can’t find either the cake or the bag. I looked everywhere, your coat is in the kitchen, and I found your hat on the floor in the foyer. Someone must have stepped on it, because it was smushed. I straightened it out right away, but one of the berries on it is cracked and can’t be fixed. I cleaned off the hat, but the bag is nowhere to be found.” Frieda asks if Yolanda remembers where she put the bag, or if perhaps she left it at home, but Yolanda’s husband knows better, saying, “No, no, my precious, you certainly didn’t leave it at home. I took some paper out of the drawer and helped you pack it. We wrapped the cake twice so that it wouldn’t leak any butter. Schorschl, do you remember whether Mama had the bag on the electrical?”—“Papa, I’m not sure. But I think Mama had it with her.” Frieda asks, “Do you think, Yolanda, that you left the bag lying somewhere?” Greta declares, “No, I know she brought the bag here. I remember that Yolanda had this beautiful big bag with her, and I even asked, ‘What’s in the bag, Yolanda?’And Yolanda said, ‘It’s a cake, Greta. It’s a new recipe I tried, which my family thought tasted really good. I also made one for you all at the same time.’ Don’t you remember, Yolanda? I then asked you about the recipe, and you said you’d give it to me, but first I had to try the cake and guess what was in it.” Yolanda recalls, “You’re right, Greta, I did promise you the recipe.” Spiridion declaims, “Yolanda, it’s a victim
of God’s mysterious ways. The cake has disappeared into the cosmos. Accept the sacrifice selflessly!” Yolanda replies, “I’m happy to make a sacrifice. But that’s ridiculous. I made the cake for you all. And I’m pained about the bag, for Schorschl gave it to me for Christmas.” Schorschl says, “Don’t worry about the bag, Mama. I’ll get you another one. But the cake, the one you made for everyone, you were so pleased with it!” Frieda appeases her, saying, “We know that the good Yolanda always wants to surprise us. But it’s the thought that counts!” August adds, “My dear Yolanda, you all know her well! How well she takes care of Schorschl and me, always putting the family first and loving us with God’s love. Yolanda put a great deal of fresh butter into that cake which she got from her sister-in-law from the village by Wlaschim. However, one must take it all in stride, whatever happens is to the good.” Haschke recommends, “Yolanda, make a good example of yourself and concentrate until you think of where the bag is!” Yolanda responds, “I’m trying already. But as long as you all keep talking I can’t help being confused. The next time I bake a cake I won’t let it out of my hands.” Johannes has listened to it all with a smile and says, “We thank you, Yolanda, but we have enough to eat already. The bag will turn up, it most likely is out among the coats.” Then Thomas says emphatically, “We should all search at once, that’s the best thing to do!” Most everyone then begins to look around, but at this Yolanda claps her hands together and yells, “I think I know! I washed my hands in the bathroom!” She runs out, the bag is found in the bathroom, everyone gathers round as Yolanda gleefully swings the bag back and forth.

Spiridion praises her, saying, “That’s a lovely bag, Yolanda. It’s made of calf leather.” But then Herr Herold, who until now has not said a word but only sat there with an earnest face, stands up, feels the bag, and declares, “That’s a fine bag, it’s premium goods, but Spiridion, it doesn’t look like calf leather. That’s cow leather. If you come with me, I’d like to show you some calf leather, in order that you can note the difference.” Spiridion laughs, saying, “My dear friend, you very well may be right. But I am also right. What is a calf? It’s a young cow. The calf grows up and becomes a powerful animal, like the sacred cows of Egypt or India. We should bow before the bag, for it is made of calf leather. And Yolanda’s cake is also sacred, since it was in a sacred vessel. But everything is sacred, for it is man who thinks it
so.” Haschke agrees, exclaiming, “Oh, Spiridion, what heavenly words you have spoken! Everything is sacred—the cake, the bag. It only needs us to call it sacred!” Master Ringel warns, “We shouldn’t commit idolatry.” Greta asks, “What do you mean?” Ringel explains, “If I paint a picture, a higher power, as it were, works through me. But when I go about my daily affairs I am more reserved, in order not to turn everyday things into idols. Whoever does that commits idolatry.” Spiridion is of another view and says, “Master Ringel, that’s not right. The everyday is indeed august. One only needs the right perspective, and that is the cosmic perspective. We all honor your paintings, but you yourself should know that it is easy to depict the divine in that which is not in fact divine. The everyday must be made divine through it in order to elevate it and make it worthy of God. That’s my charge as a poet, as I have often explained here. Isn’t that true, Johannes, have I not?” Johannes says nothing and smiles, then Spiridion continues, “I don’t want the tea to get cold on us. Johannes, have some already, then we’ll argue some more. Let us eat and drink so that we can offer our tribute to the ephemeral! Afterward you will all hear what happened on the electrical, how I gave voice to my conception, and about the streetcar with its motor, its electrical current, the conductor selling tickets, the driver, and the passengers.”

Some of them look at Spiridion astounded, but Yolanda continues to hold her cake, which she has unpacked, saying, “Frieda, there are no clean dishes available, and there’s no knife. We need a plate and a knife.” Greta is at the door and calls, “I’ll get the plate right away. Frieda, you just sit down, you must be dead tired! I’ll bring a knife as well.” Greta has already left the room, but as soon as she returns Frieda says, “The plate is fine. Yolanda, you can put the cake on the plate. But the knife is the wrong one and won’t work, for I used it to slice onions. If you had just let me go, Greta!” Then Frieda runs out for a knife, while the rest of the women praise the cake, saying how good it looks, wanting to know what Yolanda did to give it such a lovely golden color, and Yolanda explains how she brushed the cake with an
egg
before baking, then baked it slowly in an oven that was not too hot, patience being the most important thing of all, though whoever is on the true path knows patience. Finally Frieda is back with the correct knife and wants to slice the cake, but Yolanda announces that she will do it, as Johannes says,
“You must indeed let her if she is the one who brought the cake.” Yolanda counts the number present and is not done doing so before her son jumps up and says, “Mama, I’ll count for you!” He counts three times and says he did so because he thought it was fifteen, but that is wrong, it’s really fourteen, and she needs to cut twenty-eight pieces so that everyone gets two, but while slicing she miscounts, even though she laid out the planned cuts lightly with the knife a number of times, she ending up with twenty-nine pieces, Spiridion commenting, “Good, Yolanda, good! First we thought the bag and the cake were lost, but everything turned up. Everyone has two pieces, and we can offer up the extra one to the unknown God, much like the ancient Romans.” This doesn’t sit well with Yolanda, she thinks it a sin to waste food like that, so she suggests that the extra piece should go to Johannes for breakfast, Frieda lifting it up, at which everyone agrees and praises the cake, Johannes however simply saying, “Yolanda always makes us something good.” She is proud of this praise, August and Schorschl also looking content that someone has acknowledged dear little Mother, the women meanwhile discussing what is in the cake, none guessing exactly, until finally Yolanda dictates the recipe as all the women write it down.

Johannes says, “Well, I hope everyone feels invigorated. Now I’d like to play some music before it gets too late.” Haschke’s face is awash with bliss as he closes his eyes and says to Josef that he should also close his eyes, you can concentrate better that way, it’s a great opportunity to learn, for all you have to do is empty your head of thoughts and the music will put you in the right mood, which will help you attain true concentration. Josef wants to get away from Haschke, but Thomas has already guessed this and recommends that Josef follow him as they head for the chamber between the tower room and the foyer, where there are two chairs available. Johannes is already sitting at his gong, and Frieda turns off all the lights except for the eternal light, as Johannes waits a bit longer for everyone to be quiet, which takes a little while. Then the gong is barely struck, and as if from far off comes the sound, it seeming especially far from inside the chamber where Josef and Thomas sit, as if the sound were passing through a veil-like wall, though slowly the sound begins to swell, the disk sways and vibrates, sounding like leaves falling and metallic rain, an agglomeration of notes rising, echo and repercussion,
melodic notes with pacifying counternotes, moaning and sighs accompanying the tapping of the gong. Johannes releases more and more tones from the disk, cautiously expanding his marvel and yet surprising others as he does so, Josef thinking what a canny spirit Johannes really is, but then to string together notes in unique, strongly struck rhythms, what kind of man is it who gets caught up with quarter-wits, if not half-wits, which is pretty much what they are, though such a consideration now seems inappropriate and is already fading away in the face of the music that continues to swell powerfully, the full blossoming of its sound born from the strength of its quietness, a softly droning vibration that sends out waves and builds up walls of sound, creating a joyful fullness as before Josef’s eyes there appears a powerful cluster of bright lights that burn everything from his heart, whatever still clings to triviality there in the tower room. What kind of a magician is Johannes, and what does he really want? What powers are at work within him and emanate from him? There is a power here that burns everything away, extinguishing all things, though the soul is what is rapt, Johannes a lord, everything extrinsic peeled away by his sound, as Josef grasps something, or thinks he does, it is what Johannes releases with the gong, the disk that commands all their powerful feelings, which can be released only by the gong’s copper casting, and not by the artificially constructed and elaborate mechanism of a violin or even a flute, a swaying disk being all it is, worked by hand, but what hands they are! What heart moves it! It’s a heart through which riches unfurl and ancient landscapes appear, sunken forests rise up in twilight, crystals floating as well that shimmer and sparkle with glittering colors that unfold and collect, melding together into a single glowing stream, the symbol or even augury of a mystical brotherhood. Thus love’s law makes itself known, it being powerful and virile and yet tender, the conscious wedded to an unconscious essence that the listener takes in with each breath, Josef sensing his own heartbeat in the striking of the disk, the gong growing more quiet, its heavenly sound a simile for the peace among daily matters as it releases a soft glow, which is its blessing, its shadow full of a warmth that is the peace of the tower room above the joyless depths of the hopeless city. Johannes pauses more and more, each time longer than before, then he makes three muffled blows and waits for the
sound to dissipate, repeating this again and again, though ever weaker, the final blow resulting in nothing more than a breath of sound seeping away, the disk swinging without being struck, and then it’s quiet.