Happiness and health themselves do not plunge into the waves of life with any more delight than that with which he now immersed himself in the lake. The tranquil but already cold surface of the water was steaming; it lay there like oil, so immobile, so firm. The coolness of the element made the naked body move more vigorously and briskly. The attendant stationed beside the changing rooms called out to him: “Don’t swim out so far, you out there. Hey! Don’t you hear me?” But Joseph calmly went on swimming, he was not in the least concerned that he might get a cramp in his limbs. With broad strokes of his arms, he sliced and carved out a wet, beautiful path. From the depths of the lake, he felt ice-cold streams rising to touch him: how lovely that was, and he lay on his back, raising his eyes toward the wonderfully blue sky. When he swam back to land, he saw before him the whole countryside, which was drunk with autumnal hues, the shoreline, the houses. Everything was enveloped in a blissful flurry of colors and scents. He climbed out of the water and put on his clothes. As he was leaving the bathing establishment, the attendant who had become fearful on his behalf said that he ought to have obeyed him and swum back when he’d shouted to him; if some mishap were to occur, it was he, the attendant, who would be held responsible. Joseph laughed.
Frau Tobler looked shaken when he told her he hadn’t been able to resist taking one last swim this year.
They were sitting in the summer house. Joseph found the taste of the brown liquid incomparably delicious after his swim. Frau Tobler offered that one really ought to take advantage of the few warm days remaining to them. She began to chat about her marriage, and the apartment where she had previously lived.
To have a house of one’s own like this where one could come and go as one pleased, she said, was really a charming and peaceful thing. It might be a while before they were able to find something like that again—
Joseph interrupted her. Politely he said:
“Frau Tobler, you are about to get worked up again. Why do you have to think of this all the time? Allow me to remind you that I am your humble servant. But why all these conflicts? I am going to get up from the table now and await your permission to be seated again.”
He had risen to his feet. She said he should sit down again. He did as she instructed.
For a while they were silent, and then suddenly she was seized by the whim to sit on the swing, and she asked the assistant to give her a push and then tug on the ropes that would keep her in motion. Flying high up into the air on her wooden board and then back down again, she cried out that she was enjoying herself and that they really did have to take advantage of the garden as long as it lasted. Soon winter would come and command them all too imperiously: Sit indoors!
But soon he had to stop her, for she was in danger of becoming dizzy. As he did so, he couldn’t help but inhale the perfume of her body, around which he had thrown his arms for just one moment. Her hair touched his cheek. These full, long arms! He forced himself to look away. The thought of kissing her neck instantly shot through him, but he restrained himself. One minute later he was filled with horror at the thought of this simple possibility and was very glad he had let it slip by.
Again they sat across from one another. She was chattering away unrestrainedly, telling him how, in the building where she and her husband used to live, a young man had courted her, such a foolishly infatuated fellow—no, she couldn’t help laughing aloud even to think, much less speak of it. One night this young man, who, incidentally, belonged to the upper crust, had slipped into her bedroom—she was already lying in bed—and had thrown himself on his knees before her and confessed his passionate longing. In vain she had shouted at him indignantly that he should remove himself at once. The young man got to his feet, but instead of taking his leave, he’d embraced her. Even now, recalling this horrific moment, she could feel the pressure of the hands clutching her. Naturally she cried out for help, and by chance—and now came the funny part of the story—her husband was just coming up the stairs. Hearing her cries, he burst into the room and set upon the young man with a vengeance. He brought his stick down so hard upon the lad’s head and shoulders that it broke in two, and it was a thick one, and in the end she, the cause of this beating, had to implore Tobler to go easy on his opponent who, it seemed, was no match for him at all. Her husband had then thrown him down the stairs.
“I will have to be careful, then,” Joseph said.
“You?” Never was a face more uncomprehending than the one Frau Tobler displayed to the assistant as she spoke that word.
She began to occupy herself with Dora. Then suddenly turned to Joseph and asked whether she might ask a favor of him. There was a rather large parcel for her at the post office containing her new dress. She really would love to try it on today. Would it be asking too much if she were to request that he go and fetch it? Perhaps it was too burdensome a task, and it might well be that Joseph had more important matters to attend to.
Not at all, Joseph replied, he would go and fetch it at once. He was quite happy to have a reason to make the trip to the post office again.
He ran off at once, and half an hour later brought the package into the living room of the Villa Tobler. The woman was raptness personified as she opened this long-awaited parcel. She went up to her bedroom to try on the dress, Pauline had to assist her. It was good that the master of the house was not at home. With what scoffing and scolding he would have greeted this display of ecstatic womanly excitement.
A few minutes later she returned to the living room wearing the highly modern ensemble. It suited her splendidly. She asked Joseph to tell her how she looked. Silvi, the little messenger, had to run down to the office to summon him. The assistant was astonished to see Frau Tobler looking so beautiful.
“Exactly like a baroness,” he said, laughing.
“No,” she said, “seriously, how do I look?” She looked magnificent, he confessed, and allowed himself to add: “Your figure is shown off to excellent advantage. Actually you don’t really look like Frau Tobler any longer, but more like a mermaid just emerged from the lake. For the eyes of the Bärenswilers, this dress might in fact be almost too beautiful. But in the end, even they deserve to learn and discover what feats can be accomplished by the seamstresses of the capital. The material and form of this garment are such that one supposes the material itself provided the idea for the form, and conversely that the form itself appears to have chosen this lovely material.”
These remarks filled Frau Tobler with delight. Perhaps she was somewhat unsure of herself in matters of taste. Smiling, she replied that she wouldn’t dream of appearing in such a getup on the streets of Bärenswil, she intended to wear the dress only when she had occasion to go to town.
Unpaid bills and obligations. The bank was becoming incredulous. The tone of voice in which the teller at the Bärenswiler Bank conversed with Joseph when he had business there no longer expressed merely astonishment, but now condescending pity as well. “Things must be rough up there on your hilltop,” this tone of voice said. Warnings and notices demanding immediate payment arrived by mail at the Evening Star on a daily basis. Nothing had been paid for, not even the cigars that were going up in smoke.
The grotto in the garden had now been completed as well, except for a few minor details that Tobler intended to have taken care of later, as soon as things were looking up. The contractors submitted their bill, which ran to approximately one thousand five hundred marks, a sum that had not been seen in the Villa Tobler in quite some time. Where would they get it? Could they dig it up from beneath the earth? Should they set Leo on some retiree out for a nocturnal stroll, knock him down and rob him? Alas, it was the twentieth century, the age of moonlit robberies was over.
And now the time had come to at least throw a little party once more. Cards were sent out to seven well-respected men in the village, and three accepted the invitation to attend the nocturnal grotto celebration, while the other four were—as regrets are so commonly phrased—unfortunately unable to attend.
Which, by the way, was of no consequence. The fewer participants in attendance, the more each of them would get to drink. There were still a few bottles of excellent Neuenburger wine in the cellar. Their moment had come. A worthier occasion would not so soon present itself.
The three men—the owner of a grocery and general store, the innkeeper from the Sailing Ship and an insurance agent—arrived one stormy evening at the appointed hour. At once they proceeded to the fairy grotto, a cave-like, cement-lined, wallpapered thing, oblong in shape like the inside of a stove, and somewhat too low, causing the visitors to strike their heads on more than one occasion. A table was placed in this grotto along with a few chairs which the assistant and Pauline dragged in. A lamp provided the illumination.
Soon the wine arrived as well, a noble fiery beverage that flowed into the glasses and then went leaping across the savoring and tasting and smacking lips and down throats. As long as he still had such a splendid little wine on hand—Tobler broke off mid-speech, reminded of the need to display discretion and prudence by a glance flashed from the eyes of his wife. Yes, he had been about to say something stupid in front of three Bärenswil slyboots. As for him, he was an open book.
The conversation grew ever gayer, ever more unconstrained. Crude jokes that in fact were quite unsuitable in the presence of three ladies (the parquet factory ladies were there as well), flew from mouth to mouth, received in each case with loudly laughing approbation. Joseph alone was not laughing much. Was he out of sorts, Tobler wanted to know. He should have some more wine, then his spirits would improve. Worries lay at the bottom of the glass; one had to make short work of them and just swallow them down. Where was Pauline? She should come try the Neuenburger as well. Frau Tobler declared this unnecessary, but the engineer insisted on it.
Stories of the most salacious sort were now being exchanged. The three Bärenswilers proved to be masters in the comical presentation of such tales. If Tobler had received a hundred-mark banknote for each burst of laughter that erupted on this evening, he would have become in fact a regally wealthy man overnight, affluent enough a hundred times over to eradicate all his debts at a single blow. But the laughter brought no profit, it faded out against the walls of the stone grotto—amusing but not enriching.
“To the success of your enterprises, Tobler!” the innkeeper from the Sailing Ship cried, raising up his full glass. Both moved and hurt by this, Herr Tobler summoned all his strength and made the following speech:
I should certainly hope so!
When a healthy man stakes all he has on his ideas, there will always be idle chatter in the wider circles of humanity, slandering and belittling the work of this man. This man, however, stands high above these suspicions. He is an entrepreneur and as such is obligated to venture not just some of what he has but all of it. His risk-taking, gentlemen, may appear bold, but it may often look boastful and ridiculous as well, for its sole and never-ending task consists in not shying away from anyone’s judgment. What could such daring accomplish in a garret or laboratory, in a notebook or on a drawing table? A venture comes into existence in these places, but if it were to remain where it began its existence, then it would be nothing but a luxurious daydream. It must go out into the light of the world. It must show itself, must triumph over the danger of being thought ridiculous or useless, or else it must be crushed by that danger. What use to the world are clever minds if they live out their lives in hiding, what use are the inventions themselves? An invention is work, but it is not a risk—a mere noble thought rattles the edifice of the world not in the slightest. Ideas must be put into practice, thoughts aspire to be embodied. This requires a bold and intrepid man, a healthy, strong arm and a firm and true hand. Requires a foot that, once it at last, after many adversities, succeeds in gaining a foothold, will not so quickly give up the ground it has gained. A heart that can withstand storms—in a word, a manly soul. This is not to say that such a man will be happy as soon as his enterprises are crowned with fragrant and resounding success, it is not personal power he aspires to, he has merely achieved what—had he failed to achieve it—would have smothered him. It is his idea that wishes to achieve something, not he himself; but what his idea wishes to achieve is everything. An idea either dies or is victorious. This is all I have to say.
The quiet, canny Bärenswil gentlemen smiled, their lips pressed tightly together, after hearing this speech with its rather romantic overtones. Frau Tobler had become exceedingly anxious. The young neighbor lady appeared to be embodying the entire ear-pricking, eavesdropping environs: that’s how very open-mouthed she was sitting there. The older lady understood not a word. Joseph shared the sentiments of Frau Tobler, and like her, he was glad when Tobler took his seat again to down yet another full glass of Neuenburger. His speech had exhausted him even more than the wine. But soon everyone was laughing again. The sense of solemnity that had mistakenly wandered into the grotto for a moment flew off again. It was decided they would play a game of Jass. Tobler’s eyes were once more gleaming just as feverishly as they had that long-ago summer night when the firecrackers had flown into the air by the dozens. “Yes, for celebrations of every sort he is exceptionally well-suited,” Joseph thought.
The next morning, there were a number of corks floating about in the pond, along with a few yellow leaves that had been blown there by the storm the day before. It was raining. The entire property looked doleful and abandoned. Joseph was standing in the garden: what a sight! But he refused to allow himself to indulge the mood that was attempting to seize hold of him and forced his thoughts to take a practical-quotidian turn.
There were fewer and fewer business matters in the affirmative, profitable sense to attend to. The main order of business no longer consisted in anything other than fending off the creditors who were beginning to exert pressure from all sides and ever more brusquely, as well as prolonging and postponing the necessity of having to fork out cash. Cash—cash which had to be procured by all the means at their disposal, but the means and measures by which this could be achieved were becoming ever more rare, and the few measures remaining to them were highly dubious and uncertain. One of these still possible methods for obtaining cash consisted in vile, shameful and secretive sponging of a quite personal nature. On his travels, for instance, Tobler might encounter a relation or acquaintance, and to this person he either confessed the naked, unfriendly truth or else lied to him, telling a tale of some momentary quandary, and in this way he managed now and again to come up with something, insignificant sums to be sure. This money was then, as a rule, posted to the private or household account.
In principle, Joseph was to maintain his regular hours in the office, but in truth there was scarcely anything serious to be done there, anything that might further Tobler’s affairs; it was simply a matter of being present. One morning, the assistant left the office door standing open out of forgetfulness when he went down to the post office. When he returned, there was a scene: Tobler said testily that there was no need for disorder to descend upon them just because there was no money left. He would not stand for it. Even if there was no cash to be stolen, someone—the postman or someone else—might come in unannounced through the open door without anyone in the house being any the wiser and rummage about in their books and papers.
Joseph replied that it must have been Pauline who’d left the door standing open. He himself would never do such a thing, maintaining order was a matter of the highest priority for him.
It was Pauline, his superior now blustered, who had brought Tobler’s attention to Joseph’s negligence which he was now, with astonishing impudence, attempting to blame on her. He always blamed everything on Pauline.
What business did she have tattling like that, said the one caught in the snare, the chatterbox. Tobler bid him hold his tongue.
What days these were, wet and stormy, and yet there was still something magical about them. All at once the living room became so melancholy and cozy. The damp and cold out of doors made the rooms more hosp
itable. They had already begun lighting the heating stoves. The yellow and red leaves burned and gleamed feverishly through the foggy gray of the landscape. The red of the cherry tree’s leaves had something incandescent and aching and raw about it, but at the same time it was beautiful and brought peace and cheer to those who saw it. Often the entire countryside of meadows and trees appeared to be wrapped in veils and damp cloths, above and below and in the distance and close at hand everything was gray and wet. You strode through all of this as if through a gloomy dream. And yet even this weather and this particular sort of world expressed a secret gaiety. You could smell the trees you were walking beneath, and hear ripe fruit dropping in the meadows and on the path. Everything seemed to have become doubly and triply quiet. All the sounds seemed to be sleeping, or afraid to ring out. Early in the morning and late in the evening, the slow exhalations of foghorns could be heard across the lake, exchanging warning signals off in the distance and announcing the presence of boats. They sounded like the plaintive cries of helpless animals. Yes, fog was present in abundance. And then, now and again, there would be yet another beautiful day. And there were days, truly autumnal days, neither beautiful nor desolate, neither particularly agreeable nor particularly gloomy, days that were neither sunny nor dark but rather remained consistently light and dark from morning to dusk, so that four in the afternoon presented just the same vision of the world as eleven in the morning, everything was quiet and pale gold and faintly mournful, the colors withdrew into themselves as if dreaming worried dreams. How Joseph adored days like this. Everything appeared to him beautiful, light and familiar. This slight sadness on the part of nature banished all his cares, even his thoughts. Many things then appeared to him no longer dire, no longer burdensome, though they had seemed so burdensome and troublesome not long before. An agreeable forgetfulness sent him drifting through the pretty streets of the village on days like this. The world looked so peaceful, so calm and good and pensive. You could go anywhere you liked, it was always the same pale, full image, the same face, and this face was gazing at you earnestly and with tenderness.
The Assistant Page 15
