The Other Side (23 page)

As I made my way home I thought about another dangerous incident the previous day which had turned out all right in the end. For a long time rumours had been circulating about a huge tiger, a pregnant female, that was said to be living in the Palace. Various people claimed they had seen its blunt muzzle and long back in the window gallery. Yesterday just such a beast had leapt into Alfred Blumenstich’s glazed veranda. At the sight of the fierce animal the lady of the house, who was fat and chubby, simply fainted without a sound. Professor Korntheuer happened to be having lunch with them. In this terrible situation the venerable old gentleman showed remarkable heroism. ‘Keep calm’, he said to the horrified husband as he stood up, ‘even the fiercest beasts of prey will submit to a higher being. They feel awe at our upright gait and our noble, lordly gaze fills them with fear.’ With that he walked towards the animal, taking his spectacles off. Whether it was the strangeness of the stiff-legged scholarly figure approaching or something else, the result was another crash of shattering glass as the tiger jumped out, unfortunately with Frau Blumenstich in its jaws. Blumenstich wrung his hands. ‘Oh God, please save my Julie’, he whimpered. Pursued by the servants armed with rifles, the tiger carried the unconscious woman off to the Palace. In the street everyone politely made way for them. The fire brigade was called out as quickly as possible and tried to separate the striped monster from its prey. You could hear it in one of the large rooms on the first floor, furiously snarling at its attackers. To shoot it was impossible, they could very easily have hit Frau Blumenstich, so they tried to winkle the animal out with their fire-hoses. That helped. The soaking shower persuaded the tiger to leave its corner, but unfortunately it didn’t forget its prey. With a huge leap it soared out through the high arched window. The people screamed in horror, but God heard her poor husband’s prayer. Frau Blumenstich got caught on the window-catch and hung there, upside down, her skirts over her head, visible to all and sundry, but safe. In the general rejoicing the tiger managed to make its escape.

There was great consternation at the fact that the animal had not been caught. The American suggested a thorough search of the Palace, but, despite the general emancipation from the Master, no one was willing to go that far; the military and the police flatly refused to cooperate.

The Lord’s behaviour was truly strange! Even if he was going to withdraw his protection from Pearl, he could at least have made an exception for his faithful followers, but he didn’t seem to bother about the distinction. At times now the city was quiet, even though almost the whole of the population of the Dream Realm was gathered there.

‘The mansions of the rich for the poor and needy!’ roared the mob. The rich gave up their houses all the more willingly as possession had to be wrung from the animals that had made their homes in them. Lampenbogen’s country villa had become a porcupine warren and a well-fed python was sleeping on the sofa in his late lamented wife’s boudoir. These animals had to be exterminated before the people could move in. And anyway, conditions in these palatial dwellings were not as fine as the common folk imagined. The precious objects had clearly lost the will to live. The valuable vases and china were covered in a delicate network of tiny cracks; magnificent paintings developed black spots which spread over the whole picture; engravings became porous and disintegrated. You wouldn’t believe how quickly well-looked-after furnishings could turn into a pile of rubbish. For this reason most of the peasants who had come into the city preferred to camp out in the open spaces and fields close to the city.

‘Lord, now you show your might through terror alone’, I thought as I made my way up Long Street. It was dark and there was a rustling and creaking all around. At one point a slate plummeted down from the roof, at another lumps of mortar fell away from the wall, there was a constant trickle of fine sand from holes in the masonry which were growing visibly larger and everywhere we had to clamber over piles of rubble, posts and stakes sticking up out of the ground.

Death weaving its intangible web.

On the roof of the coffee house quite close to my attic I could clearly see a black silhouette moving: the leopard. It had doubtless made its lair in the loft of one of the neighbouring buildings. It could perhaps have been killed by a rifle bullet, but we were all too cowardly. In my narrow room I fell into the depths of despondency. For a long time I walked up and down, aching in my back and joints.

‘What are we all still living for? We’re damned! If I fell ill now, there isn’t a soul would bother about me.’ An all-pervading fear crept over me. ‘I don’t want to die,
I don’t want to die!
‘ At a complete loss, I put my head in my hands. ‘The pinnacle of creation!’–It was my despair speaking.–‘Two legs, tubes of bone, bear my whole world, a world of pain and delusion. The worst part is the body.’ The fear of death sent a shudder through me. ‘What lies in store for my body? All its thousand organs, into what cunning instruments of torture will they be transformed? Oh, if only I could
stop thinking
, but that functions automatically. There are no certainties that are not countered by uncertainties! It’s an endless labyrinth, and I’m damned! My belly is filled with ordure and disgust, and whenever I do manage to feel something passionately I immediately lose my nerve. There is just one thing I do know: however much I wriggle and squirm, minute by minute I am coining closer to the inevitable, closer to death, and there is nothing I can do about it. I haven’t even the courage to kill myself. Lasting unhappiness is my destiny.’ I sighed.

‘I despair of Patera. I don’t understand him, he plays with mysteries. He must be as powerless as the rest of us or he would long since have crushed the American. But that is beyond him. It is the
American
who possesses
true life
. If only I weren’t so timorous, I would go to him, fall to my knees and he would help.’

I was at my wits’ end, almost out of my mind with the fear of death. Downstairs there was a banging and crashing, hooligans being thrown out of the coffee house, a nightly occurrence. In his lighted room across the road I saw the barber bent over his books.

VI

I felt an inner tug, several times in rapid succession. I had to stand up–there it was again–what was it? I was gradually pervaded by an obscure urge. There was another tug, a pounding, stronger this time. ‘I hear. What is it?’ I made a great effort and concentrated on the vague sensation. ‘Patera’, was the word I heard coming from within. ‘Patera. Palace. Come.’ It grew more and more urgent, persuasive, terribly distinct and clear. In the dark I went downstairs, sure of myself without having to think. I was being pushed and pulled, and surrendered completely to the force directing me. No one took any notice of me and when my mind cleared I found I was half way to the Palace. ‘For God’s sake’, I thought, ‘what am I doing? What is this I
have
to do?’ I decided to turn back. ‘Yes, I’ll definitely turn back at the next corner.’ It was no use. I
had
to carry on. I wanted to shout out to people, ‘Help me! Stop me!’ but it was as if my jaws were screwed together. Then I saw the imposing Palace with its huge gateway, its empty window sockets, like -a skull … and -I stepped into its darkness.

On all sides a labyrinth of colonnades stretched out. I walked on like a wooden marionette, mechanically, one-two, one-two. The long galleries were sparsely lit by suspended lamps. I came to the state rooms. All the doors were ajar. I heard a bang–the melodious chime of a clock–the draught made the doors open of their own accord–a crash! Sweet merciful Jesus! The tiger! The thought was like torture and the sense of urgency such I was almost running while trying to make as little noise as possible. Several times I thought I heard my name called out close by, quite loudly, then softly, but nothing could make me look back. Broken furniture was lying round the empty, deserted rooms and the stifling, musty atmosphere made breathing difficult. I passed through extensive chambers, dimly lit by a single candle: rumpled beds, torn-down draperies, bricked-up windows, fires going out in magnificent stoves, tapestries hanging askew. Like a sleepwalker I hurried up small, dusty staircases, down long, silent corridors, then I saw a low oak door I recognised. ‘Patera’, I kept on thinking, ‘Patera, Patera …’ This door was also ajar. From the ceiling hung a silver lamp with a flickering candle shining on the dangling tatters of a canopy. Apart from the faint outlines of the mosaic floor I could hardly see anything. I stopped–
now I could stop!
There! There! That face! Immediately a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

Wrapped in a gauzy, silver-grey robe, Patera was standing there, upright and asleep. I was filled with uncontrollable dread at the sight. In the deep, greenish shadows under his eyes lay suffering beyond that of ordinary mortals. Then I noticed that on one of his large, shapely hands the top section of the thumb was missing. Immediately I recalled the children born in the Dream Realm. Again there was the whispering I had heard on my first visit.

‘I called you.’ It sounded as if it came from a long way away. This time there was no chameleon-like change of expression. His facial muscles rippled, bulged and contracted, but there was no expression in it. His features went slack, only his lips twitched, a horrible sight in the otherwise inert face. And then it started again, very softly, as if muffled by a veil. At first I just heard a whispering, disjointed, meaningless, then I began to understand:

‘Can you hear the dead singing, the bright-green dead? They disintegrate in their graves, easily, painlessly. If you put your hand into their bodies all you feel are fragments, and the teeth come out so easily. Where is the life that drove them, where is the power? Can you hear the dead singing, the bright-green dead?’ I smelt the sharp odour of Patera’s breath and a sensation of weakness spread through my limbs. Then the Lord seated himself on his high bed and threw off his robe. Sitting there, straight-backed, bare-chested, his flowing locks tumbling to his shoulders, I could not but admire his broad, noble physique. His gleaming white body was like a statue. I drew on my last ounce of strength to ask my question. ‘Patera, why do you allow all this to happen?’

For a long time there was no answer. All at once he cried out in a resounding metallic bass voice,
‘I am weary
.’

I started. The next moment I was staring into those expressionless eyes.
I was spellbound
. His eyes were like two empty mirrors reflecting infinity. The thought crossed my mind that Patera was not alive at all. If the dead could look that is what their gaze would be like. I felt a command to speak inside me, but I could only stammer, I babbled and was surprised myself to hear what it sounded like. The question seemed to come from the deepest depths of time, the words must have been spoken billions of years ago and only now did I utter them, only now were they heard
here
:

‘Patera,
why did you not help?
’

Slowly, lifelessly, the lids closed and I felt easier. His features were now flooded with an inexpressible gentleness. They had an immeasurable softness, sadness which entranced me. Again came the whisper, clear and distinct, ‘I
did
help, and I will help
you
.’ It sounded like music. I was overcome with a sweet weariness, I bowed my head, my eyes closed …

A spine-chilling laugh, a laugh from hell, tore me out of my reverie. Standing in front of me in the brightly lit room in place of Patera was
the American
.

How I managed to get out of the Palace I no longer know. I ran and screamed. Men tried to stop me but I must have broken loose from them, for when I had my body under control again I was huddled up in a coach-house. Inside an overturned carriage I saw a litter of dead pangolins.

Snatches of the mocking laughter were still echoing in my ear, but it no longer had any effect on me. My nerves had given way completely. Fate, in whatever shape or form, had lost the power to drag me out of my torpor. Incapable of extended thought, I took strength from the consciousness of my own impotence. I couldn’t understand or solve these contradictions but, after all, what concern were they of mine? All my fear had vanished. The horrific vision, which revealed Patera’s double nature to me, closed off the abyss of my doubts and anxieties.

VII

It is this encounter alone that can explain how I was able to look on the ultimate terrors that engulfed the Dream Realm and still survive. My insensibility acted as a shield protecting my innermost heart. It was as a procession of spectral apparitions that the death throes of the Dream Realm passed before my eyes.

I no longer went back to my room and I also avoided the café. Apart from his filth, I now found Anton’s behaviour revolting as well. He had started giving the customers a hearty pat on the shoulder and saying things like, “Ere squire, that friend of yours, ‘e’s a real bastard, i’n’t ‘e??

‘Whom do you mean?’

‘Well, you know, that Castringius.’

The Dreamlanders gradually moved out to the open spaces. The best people camped out in the Tomassevic Fields and in the extensive building sites by the cemetery. They set up a kind of tented village there which stretched as far as the riverbank. True, the stifling fog and the damp clay soil meant it was not the best place to sleep, but they didn’t let that get them down and things were often quite jolly round the camp-fires in the evening. People danced and chatted. Some even caught fish, which had to be eaten more or less raw because they started to smell rotten as soon as they were killed. At night only the riff-raff was left in the town, searching for plunder. It was possible to go through the streets by day, if one took great care, but many were injured by collapsing masonry.