The Piano Teacher: A Novel (24 page)

Klemmer has the option of putting her back unused in order to punish her. It’s up to him, he can utilize her or not. He can even toss her around mischievously. But he can also polish her and place her in a showcase. Maybe he’ll never wash her, but just keep pouring fluids into her; and her edge would be sticky and greasy from all the mouth prints. A day-old coat of sugar on the bottom.

Walter Klemmer pulls Erika out of the toilet stall. He yanks her. For openers, he presses a long kiss on her mouth; it was long overdue. He gnaws on her lips, his tongue plumbs her depths. After endlessly ruinous use, his tongue pulls back and then pronounces Erika’s name several times. He puts a lot of work into this piece known as Erika. He reaches under her skirt, knowing that this means he is going places. He goes even farther, he feels that passion has permission. Passion has carte blanche. He burrows around in Erika’s innards as if he wanted to take them out, prepare them in a new way. He reaches a limit and discovers that his hand can’t get much farther. Now
he pants as if he has run a great distance in order to reach this goal. He must at least offer this woman his exertion. He is unable to force his entire hand inside her, but maybe he can manage one or two fingers. No sooner said than done. Feeling his index finger slip in deeper than deep, he jubilantly transcends himself and bites Erika all over, promiscuously. He covers her with spit. His other hand holds her tight, but it doesn’t need to, for the woman is staying put anyway. He wonders whether his other hand should raunch around under her sweater, but the V-neck isn’t enough of a décolleté. And then there’s that stupid white blouse underneath. Now he angrily tweaks and squeezes Erika’s abdomen twice as hard. He is punishing her for letting him dangle until he almost gave up—which would have been too bad for her. He hears a pained whimper from Erika. He promptly subsides; he doesn’t want to harm her wantonly before she really gets going. Klemmer has an illuminating flash: Maybe he can get into the sweater and the blouse by going under the waistband, i.e., from the opposite direction. First he has to pull the sweater and the blouse out of the skirt. He spits harder because he’s trying so hard. He keeps barking Erika’s name (which she knows anyway) into her mouth. But no matter how much he yells into this chasm, there’s no echo. Erika stands and rests in Klemmer. She’s ashamed of the situation he’s involved her in. Her shame is pleasant. It fuels Klemmer, who whimperingly whets himself on Erika. He kneels without letting go. He wildly hoists himself up Erika only to take the elevator down again, albeit stopping at lovely places. He kisses himself fast to Erika. She stands on the floor like a much-used flute that has to deny itself, because otherwise it could not endure the many dilettantish lips that keep wanting to take it in. She would like this student to be absolutely free and leave whenever he likes. She makes it a point of honor to stand still where he has stood her up. He
will find her there again, faithful to the very millimeter, when he feels like working her again. She starts drawing something out of herself, from that bottomless vessel of her self, which will no longer be empty for the student. Let’s hope he catches invisible signals. Klemmer applies the full hardness of his sex in order to throw her back on the floor. His landing will be soft, hers hard. He demands the ultimate from Erika. Because they both know that someone could come in at any moment. Walter Klemmer shouts something completely new about his love into her ear.

In an illuminating cadre, two hands appear in front of Erika. From two different directions, they make their way toward her. They are amazed at what has so unexpectedly fallen into them. The owner of the hands is stronger than the teacher. That’s why she keeps using the often misused word “Wait!” He doesn’t want to wait. He explains why not. He sobs lustfully. But he also weeps, because he is overwhelmed by how easy the whole thing is. Erika has cooperated like a good girl.

Erika holds Walter Klemmer at arm’s length. She pulls out his dick, which he has already slated for deployment. It only needs the finishing touch, for it is already prepared. Relieved that Erika has taken over this difficult task, Klemmer tries to push his teacher down all the way. Now Erika has to resist him with her entire weight so she can remain upright. She holds Klemmer’s genital at arm’s length while he fumbles about randomly in her vagina. She lets him know that if he doesn’t stop, she’ll leave. She softly repeats her threat several times, because her suddenly superior will has a hard time getting through to him and his rutting fury. His mind seems fogbound with angry intentions. He hesitates. Wondering whether he’s misunderstood something. Neither in the history of music nor anywhere else is the suitor simply barred from events. This woman has not a spark of submission. Erika starts kneading the red root
between her fingers. She demands a privilege, but refuses to grant it to the man. He must go no further with her. Klemmer’s pure reason commands him not to let her shake him off. After all, he is the horseman and she the horse! She’ll stop masturbating his cock if he doesn’t stop grazing down her lower body. It finally occurs to him that it’s more fun feeling than making others feel. So he obeys. After a few more unsuccessful attempts, his hand sinks away from Erika for good. Incredulous, he gazes at his organ, which seems detached from him as it huffs and puffs up in Erika’s hands. Erika orders him to look at
her,
not at the size his penis has reached. He is not to measure or compare with others, his measure is his alone. Whether large or small, it’s enough for her. This is unpleasant for him. He has nothing to do, and she works on him. It would make more sense the other way around, and that’s how it goes in class. Erika holds him far away. A yawning abyss, made up of seven inches of dick, plus Erika’s arm, and ten years difference in age, gapes open between their bodies. Vice is basically the love of failure. And Erika has always been trained for success, although she has never managed to achieve it.

Klemmer wants to get to Erika through a work/study program, reaching her intimately. He calls her name several times. His hands paddle through the air, venturing once again into forbidden territory: Perhaps she’ll open her black festival mount to him after all. He predicts that she, indeed both of them, could have a lot more pleasure, and he declares he is ready for it. His penis twitches in bluish bloating. It bangs around in the air. Klemmer is now forced to be more interested in his wormy extension than in Erika as a whole. Erika orders Klemmer to keep silent and not to stir no matter what. Otherwise she’ll leave. The student straddles the air in front of the teacher and still sees no light at the end of the tunnel. Bewildered, he gives in as if he were following directions for Schumann’s
Carnaval
or the Prokofiev sonata he is practicing. He keeps his hands helplessly near his fly; he can’t think of any other place to put them. His silhouette is distorted by his penis, which presents itself forward like a well-behaved boy—this protuberance, which throbs about, trying to strike aerial roots. It is growing dark outside. Luckily Erika is near the light switch, which she operates. She examines the color and makeup of Klemmer’s cock. She inserts her fingernails under his foreskin and orders him not to let out a peep, whether in joy or in pain. The student freezes in a somewhat stifling position in order to draw the thing out. He squeezes his thighs together and tenses the muscles of his buttocks into steely hardness.

It just shouldn’t stop now, please! Klemmer is gradually getting to enjoy the situation as well as the feeling in his body. In lieu of amorous activity, he speaks amorous words, until she orders him to keep silent. For the last time, the teacher commands the pupil to say nothing—in regard to the matter at hand or anything else. Has she made herself clear?! Klemmer wails because she is handling the full length of his lovely love organ. She deliberately hurts him. A hole opens, leading into Klemmer and fed by various conduits. The hole breathes into itself, asking about the time of the explosion. The time seems ripe, for Klemmer cries out the usual warning that he can’t hold back. He asserts that he is doing everything he can to hold back and that his efforts are to no avail. Erika digs her teeth into the crown of his dick, the crown doesn’t lose any points, but the owner shrieks nonetheless. He is told to shut up. So he whispers like a spectator in a theater: It’s coming, now, now! Erika removes the tool from her mouth and instructs its owner: In the future she is going to make a list of all the things he can do to her. My wishes will be jotted down and made available to you at any time. For such is man in all his contradictions.
Like an open book. Klemmer has something to look forward to!

Klemmer doesn’t catch her drift. Whimpering, he begs her not to stop for God’s sake, he’s about to discharge his volcanic load. He holds out his little machine gun, trigger-happy, so she can shoot it. But Erika says she’s doesn’t want to touch it anymore—not for all the tea in China. Klemmer bends over, pulling his torso down almost to his knees. In this position, he reels through the front room of the toilet. He is illuminated by the merciless light of a round white lamp. He pleads with Erika, but she refuses. He touches himself in order to complete Erika’s handiwork. He explains to his teacher why it is irresponsible, indeed unhealthy, to treat a man so disrespectfully when he’s in such a state. Erika replies: Hands off, otherwise you’ll never see me again in such a situation or a similar one, Herr Klemmer. The student depicts the notorious painfulness of blue balls. He won’t even be able to walk home. Then take a cab, Erika advises calmly. She quickly washes her hands in the sink. She swallows some water. Klemmer stealthily tries to play with himself (the score doesn’t exist). But a sharp shout holds him back. He should simply stand in front of the teacher until she commands otherwise. She would like to study his physical transformation. He can rest assured that she won’t touch him. Herr Klemmer begs, trembling and whimpering. He suffers from the abrupt break of relations, even though these relations were not mutual. He vehemently reproaches Erika. He goes into meticulous detail about every single phase of suffering between his head and his toes. Meanwhile, his dick shrinks in slow motion. Klemmer is anything but a born follower. He is the sort of man who has to ask why, and so he finally starts reviling his teacher. He loses all control because the man in him is being abused. After playing and working
out, the man must be polished clean and reinserted into the case. Erika talks back: Just shut up! Her tone keeps him shut.

While growing limp, he stands a few feet away from her. After allowing ourselves a short breather, Klemmer wants to list all the things a woman shouldn’t do to such a man. Erika’s behavior initiates a long chain of prohibitions. He wants to review the reasons. She tells him to keep quiet. It is her final demand. Klemmer does not go mute, he promises retaliation. Erika K. walks to the door and takes silent leave. He has not obeyed her even though she gave him several chances. Now he will never experience what he could carry out with her, what judgment, what sentence, if she allowed it. She squeezes the doorknob, but Klemmer begs her to stay.

He’ll keep still, word of honor. Erika opens the toilet door all the way. Klemmer is framed inside the aperture—not a very valuable painting. Any passerby would see his exposed dick without being prepared for such a sight. Erika leaves the door open in order to torment Klemmer. Of course, she can’t afford to be seen here either. She boldly takes a chance. The stairs end right next to the toilet door. Erika runs her fingers one final time across the shaft of Klemmer’s penis, which draws new hope. But it is once again cold-shouldered. Klemmer trembles like leaves in the wind. He has given up resisting, he exposes himself freely and does nothing about it. This is perfect therapy for a viewer. Erika has already fulfilled her obligation, gotten through her crash course without a single mistake.

The teacher is rooted calmly to the floor. She absolutely refuses to touch his love organ. The love hurricane is raging only feebly now. Klemmer says nothing more about mutual sensation. He diminishes painfully. Erika already finds him ridiculously small. He endures it. From now on, she will keep a sharp eye on his professional and leisure activities. If necessary, she will prohibit all canoeing for just a silly mistake.
She will leaf through him as if he were a boring book. She may even put him aside soon. Klemmer may wrap up his oar only when she allows him to. A stealthy attempt to stow it away and zipper up his fly is blocked by Erika. Klemmer is getting impudent, he senses the end is nigh. He predicts that he won’t be able to walk for three days. He describes his anxieties about this, because for Klemmer the athlete, walking is basic training without weapons. Erika tells him that he will receive instructions. Written or oral or by telephone. Erika allows him to pack away his asparagus. In an instinctive movement, Klemmer turns away from Erika in order to do so. But ultimately he has to do everything in full view. While she watches him. He’s glad just to stir again. He indulges in a few seconds of exercise, a little shadow-boxing. So he’s suffered no ill effects. He runs back and forth through the latrine. And the looser and more flexible he appears, the more rigid and more convulsive his teacher seems to become. She has, alas, retreated fully into her snail shell. Klemmer has to liven her up by playfully patting her cheeks, slapping her on the back of her neck. He tells her to lighten up, laugh a little, beautiful lady! Laugh and the world laughs with you! And now out into the fresh air, which, to be honest, is what he missed most during those past few long minutes. At Klemmer’s age you forget a trauma faster than at Erika’s.

Klemmer swoops out into the corridor and completes a thirty-meter sprint. Breathing violently, he zooms past Erika, back and forth. Laughing loudly, he gives vent to his confusion. He thunderously blows his nose. He swears that next time things will be a lot better for us! Practice makes a woman perfect. Klemmer’s laughter booms through the corridor. He leaps down the stairs, taking each curve by a hair’s breadth. It’s almost frightening. Erika hears the heavy school door slam below.