The Other Side (4 page)

Aha, caught you there, I thought. ‘In that case wasn’t it perhaps rather rash of you to tell me so much about it?’ I pointed out. ‘You couldn’t possibly know what my response would be.’

‘That is not quite true, sir.
I knew you would come.
’

He shook me by the hand and turned towards the door. ‘It is getting late now. I will return tomorrow at the same time to give you all the information you need regarding the journey. Discuss it with your wife and give her my best regards. Good evening.’

And with that, he was gone.

The ten minutes I had to wait until my wife came back from her shopping seemed endless. I felt a desperate compulsion to speak, to communicate my extraordinary news, I needed someone to talk to … There she was.

The surprise I was hoping for came to nothing. My wife could tell how excited I was from the look on my face. Although she paid close attention to the incredible things I had to tell her, she could not resist the mocking question, ‘Are you sure you’re all right, dear?’

‘Of course I am, my love. At first I assumed Gautsch was some kind of swindler or madman as well, but I gradually became convinced of his honesty and generosity.’ With a triumphant gesture I played my trump card, the cheque. For my wife, too, it was more effective than words. She did insist I should check that it was genuine first thing in the morning, but then we got down to discussing all the details and arrangements necessary for the journey.

‘Of course, the picture. Let me see it.’

The effect was surprising. After she had looked at it for a long time, she leant back in her chair and whispered, as if resigned to her fate, ‘Do we really have to go there? I don’t like the look of that man. I don’t know what it is, but there’s some thing terrible about him.’

She was close to tears.

‘Now what’s all this, my dear?’ I embraced her with a laugh. ‘That’s my old friend Patera, as nice a chap as you could hope to meet. If he wants to spend all his money on artistic ventures then I think all the better of him for that.’

‘Don’t you think you should make further enquiries first of all?’

‘I don’t know what you think I’ll find out. I’m willing to vouch for my friend and we’ll know tomorrow whether the cheque’s valid. I think the Dream Realm’s a magnificent idea, and we were going to go to India anyway. But then you pour cold water on anything I want to do.’

My tone had become reproachful and I tried to reassure her. Eventually she came round to my way of seeing it and even called her outburst neurotic.

‘I’m sure you’ll love it there. And think of the stimulation for my work … And then the money, that’s lavish, isn’t it?’

She was reassured, her serene self again, and immediately occupied herself with the practical questions of the move. I, on the other hand, was already thinking of myself as a Dreamlander and gave my imagination free rein … I kept looking at the picture and the cheque and fell a little in love with both …

It was already starting to get light before we fell asleep.

VI

I was waiting outside the bank an hour before it opened. In return for Gautsch’s slip of paper I received a thick, thrice-counted wad of banknotes. Once I had this small fortune in my hands I could not get into a cab fast enough to get it safely locked away.

At home there was a letter from Gautsch for me. He was very sorry, he said, but he couldn’t come back. New orders made that impossible. He strongly urged us, given the likelihood of winter storms on the two sea-crossings we would have to make, to set off as soon as possible. He wished us all the best for the future. Enclosed with the letter was the route: Munich-Constanta-Batumi-Baku-Krasnovodsk-Samarkand. There we would be expected at the railway station, our arrival had been announced, he said. I was to use the picture of Patera as identification.

We had already decided to dispose of our apartment and effects. With my excellent wife in charge, all the preparations for our great journey went smoothly. My state of exhilaration lasted right to the end, though on the last day we spent in our old home I did feel a twinge of melancholy. I don’t know if others are the same, but I always find saying farewell to places that have become dear to me a painful business. I was leaving behind another piece of my life which from now on would exist in memory alone. I went to the window. Outside it was dark, everything bare and autumnal, the sounds of the city muted. My heart ached and I looked up at the sky. It was studded with tiny stars. Then I felt the comfort of an arm round me.

The next day was a Friday. We were due to leave by the evening train and spent most of it in a hotel by the station. I already had two Orient Line tickets for Constanta in my pocket. I said goodbye to any acquaintances I happened to meet, casually remarking that we were off to India. At nine o’clock in the evening we were in our seats on the train.

I will deal with this next part as quickly as I can. There is no shortage of travel writing, most of it much better than I can supply.

Everyone knows the bustle and press of a rail journey. Once we were beyond Budapest the country took on a slight Asiatic air, but I won’t go into that. I wouldn’t want to damage the sales of my book in Hungary. At least by the time we reached Belgrade I had so far settled down that I wasn’t feeling my breast pocket every ten minutes to make sure my bulging wallet was still there. You don’t need to let everyone know where you keep your money, especially not in Serbia.

I generally find I suffer from slight irritation in railway compartments. This time it was considerably better. We did, of course, travel in the greatest possible comfort. I spent my time daydreaming and looking forward to all the pleasures in store for me. If only my wife had been a little more cheerful. Unfortunately she just lay there, brooding and complaining of headaches.

Once we were past Bucharest, though, I had had enough myself. Spending two nights in a train is no small matter, however comfortable it may be. For the last few hours of the journey we were almost like wild beasts in a cage.

Thus it was that when the Black Sea hove into view in the early morning we had been standing in the corridor for some considerable time, all ready to get off. The sun was just rising as we came into Constanta. There was a great deal of wrangling over luggage.

The steamer which was to take us to Batumi belonged to Austrian Lloyd. It was clean and comfortable, which had a therapeutic effect on my wife. After a nice bath she had fully recovered from the rail journey and was enjoying the beautiful weather and the sea. I stood on the afterdeck watching the mainland disappear … Europe … Soon all that was left of the coast was a thin line on the horizon. That too disappeared. I strained my eyes and for a long time I persuaded myself I could still see it.

My wife suggested I maintain great reserve towards my fellow travellers, and she was quite right. When one is full of an idea, as I was on this journey, how easy it is to give one’s destination away. And that might possibly have unpleasant consequences.

When Gautsch swore me to secrecy he did not look as if he were joking. Anyone who betrayed it might well not be let into the Dream Realm and have to pay the travel money back. No thank you! Accordingly I was very taciturn, which was not difficult as there were no Germans on board and I cannot speak any other language. As a result I spent more time than ever thinking of the Dream Realm and indulging in the most extravagant fantasies about it.

This mood prevailed, apart from a rude awakening when we had to transfer to the railway again. My wife, on the other hand, was delighted at how spacious Russian railway carriages were. Ali, Russia! Now there was a country for me. Huge, luxuriant, unrefined, but quick to provide the appurtenances of comfort at the first sign of hard cash. People of means like us can get by anywhere. I drank a toast to the Czar, rejoicing in the few drops of Slav blood coursing through my veins. The principal cause of this positive view of the whole Russian Empire was our unusually rapid progress through passport and customs formalities.

One week after leaving Munich we were in Krasnovodsk. The Caspian was already behind us. We had crossed it in a few hours in a Russian ship the like of which I had never seen before. A filthy hulk! My opinion of the Czar dropped sharply. But you had to give him one thing. The Caucasus, that is to say what we could see of it, was beautiful.

By now even I was somewhat tired of travelling. It was hard, having to spend all day cooped up, even if you did see half the world glide past without having to lift a finger. Damn it all, I need my exercise!

The increasingly suspicious-looking faces that approached the train seemed little more than rabble. We were travelling through desert country, heading straight towards Merv. Oases popped up on either side. New dishes gave us the opportunity of a stomach upset, though that was hardly necessary since my excessive smoking had the same effect. Pity I didn’t keep a count of all the cigarettes I lit up between Munich and Merv. And now the tobacco question reared its ugly head. My tobacco! What should I do with it? To conceal it between the pages of my books seemed a clever idea but impractical. Becoming desperate, I asked my wife if she would allow me to use her coiffure for smuggling. What I had in mind was a kind of mountainous chignon, but I got short shrift. As usual, my last idea was the best. I spent hours patiently stuffing it into an inflatable cushion. Was that cushion pampered! I clasped it to my breast and never let it out of my sight for one minute. I
had
to have my own tobacco, Russian cigarettes are too pungent for me, I’m very particular about that. Oh course, being accustomed to travel on a shoestring, it never occurred to me that I could have saved myself all the trouble at the expense of a few roubles. But my cushion-load would not last for ever, and what then? Glumly I pondered various solutions but eventually decided to put my trust in the Dreamland. Gautsch looked like a man I could trust! Once more I wrapped myself up in thoughts of the future.

My wife was feeling well. The longer the journey went on, the livelier she became. She was adapting, she claimed. I couldn’t understand how, but deep down inside I felt envy tinged with admiration. The train stopped for a short while in Merv. In a siding was a goods train with some wagons full of old iron and other junk. Perhaps a consignment for Pearl, I thought, staring at them. A Dream consignment!

My wife began to get worried about me. She didn’t like the way I was wallowing in visions of the future.

‘You’re missing out on the enjoyment of the journey. All the exotic sights, the fantastic costumes and, well, everything might just as well not be there as far as you’re concerned. Usually we just have to step outside the door for you to have your sketch-book at the ready and now you’re hardly looking out of the window at all.’

She sighed and, yes, she was right. But I said nothing. I can’t stand women sighing. Then she stroked my hand. ‘Whatever splendid triumphs the future may bring, we shouldn’t ignore present reality entirely.’

I went over to the window of our compartment. The station was teeming with a motley throng, people of all different nations: long-limbed Georgians, Greeks, Jews, Russians in furs, Tartars, slitty-eyed Kalmucks, even some Germans. There were thousands of interesting things to be seen. People were haggling–talking and shouting–over pelts, Turks appeared with veiled women, an Armenian tried to sell me some fruit, he even tried to palm a packet of saffron off on me. What use would I have for it?