Cleaver
Page 29
Alex didn’t reply. After a few moments he shouted: If you had married, you’d be able to get divorced now. Think of the relief.
Good point! Cleaver came downstairs. Or you could stay here with me, he said.
Here?
In Rosenkranzhof, for a while.
Alex smiled. Dad, nobody can live outside of everything, which is what you’re trying to do. I have to deal with this stuff.
Cleaver sighed. There are places on the margins, he said, outposts. You can take a break.
And you’re really inviting me to stay?
Why not? For a while. Live on the edge. Get some perspective.
We’d kill each other.
Quite probably. Cleaver laughed. Bet your mother would be out here in less than a week, though, if you decided to stay. We’d be the holy family all over again.
Alex looked puzzled.
You and I were supposed to argue, Cleaver explained. She wanted me to take you to court over the book, you know. That’s what she wanted to happen when she asked you to come out here. For us to fight. She’d be jealous if she thought we were getting on, and her all on her own. She’d be on a plane in twenty-four hours.
No, that’s unfair, Alex said. And please, don’t tell her this stuff I’ve told you. It would only upset her.
Suddenly, Cleaver was moved. He went over to where his son was sitting and opened his arms. Alex stood up and they embraced, faces in each other’s shoulders.
Friends, Cleaver said.
Friends.
Alex – Cleaver spoke in a low voice – Alex, find yourself a nice girl and make me a grandfather. Then I’ll come back. Promise.
Dad …
Sorry, only joking.
Dad, no, there’s one crazy thing I didn’t tell you. The boy laughed nervously.
Fire away. Cleaver squeezed his son’s shoulders. He was looking into the fire.
One day, like, when … I don’t know why, I was really mad, I started going to bed with her mother.
Cleaver disengaged. You did what?
Alex lifted his hand to his mouth. With Letty’s mother. She’s staying in Bruneck.
She’s in Bruneck, now? Your wife’s mother?
Alex nodded. She’s called Clara. We’re going to do some skiing. There was a facile grin on his face, but his eyes were troubled. She’s a fan of yours, actually. She says she’d like to meet you.
No, Cleaver said. He shook his head. No, no and no.
Dad …
And you should get out of it, Alex. Run.
But, Dad, she’s …
I’m not criticising you, I’m just saying, cut loose. Don’t even go back to Bruneck.
I knew you wouldn’t understand, Alex said. He tried to smile. Clara’s a wonderful person.
Without waiting for Hermann, they shut the house and had crossed the clearing and started dragging the suitcase up the track when a jingle of harness announced the arrival of the horse. Hermann was braking the sleigh on the steep slope and Rosl, in a red woollen hat and gloves, was striding behind in snowshoes. Uli barked excitedly and launched herself from the sleigh into the snow. You must come with us to do the Klöckler, Hermann began at once. Yes, Englishman? Cleaver wanted to hit the man. No, wait, Hermann said, die Ziehharmonika. He hurried across to the house to retrieve the accordion.
Cleaver put his suitcase on the sleigh and sat down with Uli’s big paws on his lap. His mind was quite empty. Hermann walked ahead, talking and clucking all the way to the fat Haflinger, while Rosl and Alex trudged behind in the snow. Cleaver didn’t listen to their conversation. He stroked the dog. The creature seemed grateful. When the others spoke to him, Cleaver didn’t respond.
Later, he said he was too tired to go down to Luttach and knock on people’s doors. I’m too tired to have fun. My foot is aching. My fingers hurt. He pulled a face. The silent sadness of the long winter nights is fine by me. I wouldn’t want anyone to knock.
Rosl laughed. Hermann and Jürgen had dressed up in smart black baggy trousers, blue aprons and black trilby hats with red ribbons round the crowns. Now the masks! Hermann announced. He had a grotesquely large, white, dog-like mask covered with sheep’s wool but with a red nose. The thing had obviously been made years ago and smelled. Jürgen’s mask was dark blue. He put it on and roared and knocked his cowman’s staff on the panelling on the wall.
You go, Cleaver told his son. The cows had been milked. The men were in a hurry to set off before dark. There were various farms to go knocking at on the way down. You go, Cleaver insisted. And can you ask your mother, he turned to Rosl, if I could sleep here and help with the milking in the morning? That way Jürgen can stay in Luttach. I’m happy to help. You said she wanted a man. Rosl spoke to Frau Stolberg for rather longer than seemed necessary. The older woman hesitated, then nodded stiffly.
Just outside the front door, Alex said goodbye.
Remember what I said, Cleaver told him. Run.
I’ll think about it.
Oh, and tell Amanda I’d be happy if she came to see me. Really. We could live together in Rosenkranzhof. Tell her I’ve become a handyman at last. She can have her trellis.
Alex laughed: You’re clutching at straws, Dad. Anyway, I thought I wasn’t supposed to carry messages. He seems cheerful, Cleaver thought. Perhaps I’m the first person he’s told. He feels relieved. It wouldn’t last.
Tell her, if she comes to live with me in Rosenkranzhof, I’ll marry her. I promise. Upon my word, he added, grinning.
Alex laughed even louder. He was almost in giggles. Rosl watched him with an indulgent smile.
He’s been drinking already, Cleaver told her. Don’t let him have too much this evening. He’s a delicate creature.
Oh, I look after him, Rosl said.
The party set off as the light was failing. Hermann was on the sleigh to brake and steer down the slope. He held the reins in one hand and a flask of schnapps in the other. Or perhaps it was Gebirgsgeist. He was whistling. Rosl and Alex sat behind, a blanket on their laps. Jürgen walked beside with the accordion strapped to his shoulders. He squeezed out a few notes. Only at the last moment, when he noticed Rosl’s pale blue suitcase on the sleigh, did Cleaver realise that she wouldn’t be coming back. She was escaping to Bozen. He hopped out of the house and hurried over the frozen track in his socks. Rosl! She turned. I have to work tomorrow, she said. I have my car in the village. Cleaver gave her his hand. Auf wiedersehen, he said.
In the parlour, Frau Stolberg served soup. The ancient mother dunked her bread. The baby was nagging. Seffa walked her back and forth. The girl looked calm and thoughtful. She is intelligent after all, Cleaver decided. While he ate, the conversation was desultory and completely incomprehensible. There was goat’s meat now, in a stew. It tasted good. The old radios need dusting, Cleaver noticed. They’ve been silent so long. Then it occurred to him that he hadn’t asked Alex about Iraq, about Blair or British politics. The fire crackled. Occasionally his eyes met Frau Stolberg’s. They glitter with reticence, he thought. I like that. Ich bin sehr müde, Cleaver told her. Ich will schlafen.
Carrying a torch, she showed him to a panelled room two doors down from where there had been the drama the previous night. They must have fobbed Jürgen off with some story about the father, Cleaver thought. They’ll have invented some tourist just passing through. Frau Stolberg lit the lamp and left at once. Gute Nacht, she said.
Cleaver sat on a high bed. There was a fireplace that hadn’t been used for years and he guessed at once that the sheets would be damp. He studied an arrangement of dry flowers on the dresser. He was tired. These people love dry flowers. A Madonna looked down over the bed. Perhaps it was better to die in a road accident, in the fullness of life, after being wildly applauded on stage, he decided, than to be gutted forever by a lingering disease. Small mercies. He opened a cupboard and found extra blankets. Or perhaps all lives are the same life: the ancient lady sleeping away her senility by the fire and the bellicose President beginning his second te
rm. Faintly, from downstairs, he heard Seffa crooning to her baby. In which case it was futile to dwell on old sores or conjure up Gothic tales.
Undressed, Cleaver went to the window. There was no moon, just a very faint luminosity from the snow. I shall stay here and reopen the old Nazi’s Stube, he said out loud. Yes. He shivered. It wasn’t thawing at all. We could get some English guests perhaps. An ad in the Spectator would do it. Some posh young women. Then I could teach Seffa a few words so she could serve beer and Knödel and schnapps. You’re clutching at straws, Alex had laughed. It was because of Angela, he said. How was I supposed to take that? How was my son supposed to take the suggestion that I would marry Amanda if she came to live with me in Rosenkranzhof? The window had misted now. She’ll never come, and I don’t want her to. Our games are over, Cleaver muttered. He rubbed the glass with the sleeve of his pyjama and peered out into the night. What if I saw a sign? For a moment he remembered the pleasure of holding the tiny child in his arms. A shooting star, for example. But was he facing north, south, east or west? Cleaver frowned and went to find the bathroom.
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