Tales of the German Imagination from the Brothers Grimm to Ingeborg Bachmann (Penguin Classics)

by Unknown

  Then the princess made her appearance. She had a short white skirt on, a little wrinkled from sitting but even the wrinkles looked good on her. The church steeple is very tall, you see. The tassel-time of spring dedicated in friendship. Leap restlessly kicking dainty little princess legs. How I love those fickle kicking littleladylegs. Tail wagging sour cream. She placed her inkwell before me and asked clean-as-a-whistle, all white-lacy-spotless: ‘Are you to be slaughtered today?’ Hot fish knives spurt blood. I lowered my purple gaze, enchanted by her greeting. ‘How handsome you are, Alves Baeselstiel!’ she said to me with her red lips blood boiling bon voyage pert little turned-up nose: ‘I bring you the world’s last greeting. Get thee to a nunnery! (Make yourself at home.) (Headless leather.) Fulling leather belly button bound. You must’ve had your hands full these last few days getting everything ready for the big day. (Peace be with you!) How did you ripen so quickly, you’re almost over-ripe! Cast a cheerful eye upon your ripened self! May it always bring you joy! How nice that the weather has stayed so nice on your slaughter day so that the butcher can ride over by bicycle. (Genuine hand-made in Brussels.) Be healthy and happy.’ ‘Allow me, princess, to place a call to the butcher. It’s half past seven and he isn’t here yet.’ ‘Hello! Is this the butcher? The spectators are getting restless, why don’t you come on over?’ (From here to eternity!) ‘Go ahead and start the festivities! I’ve just pinioned my sister as a weather-vane on the church steeple. The steeple is very pointy, and spears fish in the whiplash wind. The lightning rod was very rusty and didn’t slide so smoothly through my sister’s stomach. Still naked blade spears fish in whiplash wind. Just begin with the formalities, I’ll be right over!’

  I had them call the king. ‘Your Majesty, I commend to you my beautiful body! My corpse is in your hands!’ (The six-pronged millimetre slicer measure costs only twenty pfennig.) The king winked. (Fortuna sharpeners.) The two attendants, all decked out in black frock coat and black gloves, top hat and a black armband, stationed themselves on either side of the king. A black dog flew by, yapping. The king winked again. The four Russians, and Anna and Emma prepared to lend a hand. The king winked again. The attendants approached me, introduced themselves and asked after my last wish. (The sky’s the limit!/ This is your life, pal!) I requested that the princess sing the great Workers’ Song and then kiss me! (Headless necks, genuine calf’s leather.) A lady in the king’s entourage swooned. They called the doctor. Heart a-racing. The princess sang:

  Comrade Organist

  C-sharp-D

  D-sharp-It

  You your yours yup,

  the whole Workers’ Song. Lamp-post players kissing wide skirts waving lacy kisses. Sling arm in arm wide skirts waving neck lace warm pipes smooth sleek fish karp, karp, karp. (Prier de fermer la porte.) Please, please door shut, you, you, you! I love you so very much! (The world with all its sins.) I’m ready to be slaughtered!

  The king winked again, the butcher stepped forward. The place went silent. Pro patria est, dum ludere videmur. (Blue-red-yellow girls’ brigade.) (No smoking, no fingering unlit cigars.) Two attendants attend to the butcher’s bicycle. (Necessary casualty.) One attendant brings over a club, balloon bulging lemon pale. (Hold on to what you have!) The butcher wears a blue-striped smock fluttering fabric. (Sugar beet girls.) October is conducive to ceremony rival lackeys. Go! Dumdum me! The butcher leans back, head tilted, the club raised ready. (Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home/a slaughterhouse.) The butcher leaps forward (That’s true love!), swings a club down down heavy heavy heavy blow, ardent swing down heavy heavy heavy very very very very—

  My skull cracked open.

  I had no recourse but to collapse; so I collapsed lapsed lapsed, flat. Aaaaa aaaaaaa aaa aaaaa a. (Applause throughout the house.)

  What now? They bound up my arms and legs in, bound bound me up. Lowered slung flat collapse crooked carcass. (General call to all blue- and white-collar operatives.) They speared me in the side. Blood spurted bucket blue spray red thick whip. Whirl girls whirl it up wheels engines roaring whirl Emma Anna. (Today you have given your heart in holy matrimony!) The king asked for a sip. Blue fell flame death very down very down. Hollow burned the belly flame sulphur blood. The king has been missing a beard ever since. Semper fidelis, duty calls. (Transmitted straight from the newsroom.) Everything has its crime and treason. (Amplifiers, Collective League for Capitalist Construction, Ltd, Berlin.)

  They wanted to disembowel me. (New new mocha candies, sweet taste that can’t be beat.) Transfers drive knife slit shivering innards. (Arms for Peace.) It was a very elegant garden restaurant. A thousand pleasures flooded my guts saviours tomorrow twenty. Only three chandeliers had that greenhouse grown socket sprouted. (Storm of applause.) Mooncalf glows soft inside innards drawn fat excruciating ear attack. (Everything for the Red Army.) Clean, clean, be clean girls, wash it clean, don’t let it burn. (God be with you.) (God be with you.)

  Flame scorching, flame scorching! Earthworms make merry in my gut, tickle me quietly. The king craves my eyes. Bring me, daughter, the eyes of the Baptist! (Today you leave your father’s house!) The eyes round balls smooth slime inside spring out softly, melts in your mouth not in your hands. On a plate with knife and fork they served up the eyes. (Deaf and dumb veterans will receive advice and information free of charge.) Smooth slimed oyster eyes sink stomach heavy. Children under twelve will only be admitted under adult supervision, children under eight must also be led by the hand when asked by the management. (Admission price fifty cents, or at least a buck.)

  ‘Poison!’ cried the king and writhed on the ground. (The future depends on the fruit of the womb.) ‘Sweet dreams, darling, I’ve been poisoned.’ (August has thirty-one days, the days are reduced by an hour and fifty-six minutes.) Yes, isn’t it awful! ‘Lord, you are my rock and my salvation!’ Two mushrooms grew stalk-eyed smooth onion bulbs spurting milk and drilled holes a pair into the king’s royal gut. Eyes eyed cross-eyed. Silently shrieked king chalk-like on the collective blackboard. The princess suffered filial heart palpitations. (Acetylene banishes the odour of bodily secretions.) She was so sorry for her father. The doctor was called over and took pains to tend to the holes in the king’s gut. (Veritas vincit, with Anna Blume playing the lead.) The old king swooned. Terror mounts in silver strains stone upon stone. The princess winked and ordered me to be put back together again. (This is how bed feathers get cleaned, dusted, washed, steamed and blown dry.)

  They started to put me back together. First with a delicate jolt my eyes were reinserted in their sockets. (Fear not, faith, love, hope are your guiding lights.) Then they fetched back my inner organs. Fortunately, none of it had yet been cooked or ground into sausage meat. (Vaincu, mais non dompté.) It’d still be nice to have a mild fall. As a consequence of my own magnetic drives, my innards immediately flew back into place and refastened themselves in rapid reverse as soon as they were reinserted. (Marriage is the key to a happy life.) A slight disorder in the arrangement of my reconstituted inner organs gave rise to a few minor organic problems. (St Florian moved into the new German Theatre, enjoying a nightly storm of applause.) But I immediately noticed what was wrong and jiggled my inner magnet power lines AC-DC back and forth a bit, criss-cross, one two one two one two one to rearrange the beam in my eye. I tugged and twisted with a fierce magnetic fury till everything was back in its proper place again. My knowledge of man’s inner workings came in awfully handy here. (A year’s probation, then a permanent position in the Prussian civil service.) Yes, indeed! My solid parts had meanwhile reassembled, only my blood was still lacking. (Bordens sweet milk chocolate.) The scullery maids held the cup of blood beneath the incision in my side and whisked with a backwards motion. The king gave off a loud groan. My inner magnetism worked wonders drawing a thick gush of blood from the rich red cup up into my thirsty wound. (A girl is not allowed to be told what every woman must know.) My arteries slowly swelled, my inner parts pumped blood. But my heart as yet refused to thump, I was st
ill dead. (WET PAINT.) The butcher brought his knife back to the wound in my side, pierced deeply and promptly pulled the blade back out, and – the wound closed shut. (Tear along the dotted line and mail to the above address.) That’s why every woman considering matrimony ought to find out the facts. So I had all my parts back together again with just a few things missing, since shreds of my physical self stayed stuck to the knife. Where there’s a will there’s a way, they say, if the moment is ripe. But a good deal of blood was lacking since the king had drunk it. (All for the Workers’ Cause.) I’ve been a little anaemic ever since. Take the bird home with you and buy yourself a cage. They lowered reel real pulley-like. Then I had to rise, intuitively I felt it, and so I rose; rapidly at first, then ever more slowly till I was standing upright. (My ticker and yapper are out of kilter.) In Burgundy arose a maiden fair; I’m only a woman, sir. Be mindful, child, of where you’re bound! Be pious and good! Have faith and face life without fear! (Vote Socialist!) The two cup-bearers assumed a ceremonial stance beside me and grasped my clumsy paws. (Prescriptions filled for all health plans.) Alas, my childhood days are gone, life’s bitter battle has begun. I was very curious how exactly they intended to bring me back to life. (Isthmus Organizer by Jefim Golycheff.) Touching artworks is strictly forbidden. I felt dizzy. (Strindberg silently undermining Stramm.) Our dear old teacher liked to spice up his lessons with a little humour, and we were glad he did. (A snatch of sunshine.) I believe in absolutely nothing. (Trombone tones.) You guessed it! Arise, oh gentle Sunday school teachers, Germany needs you! (What a man ought to know about pregnancy and birthing!) Your mouth is a semi-circular saw. (Dr Sunshine, D.D.S.) The butcher picked up his cudgel again (The tragedy of becoming human), stood before me (Consider man’s behaviour during pregnancy) and softly laid the brutal instrument against my split skull. (Rudolf Bauer is an artist, after all.) Anna Blume bathed in lilac blue roses shoots barbs blank abed in a Posturepedic mattress. (Ripe for plucking, inwardly composed.) Partial explanation misses the point. Then the butcher took a mighty leap backwards. (The colonel is and will always be a gentleman even if he happens to be an idiot.) The woman must know everything about it. A mighty crash resounded as the cudgel separated from my head. The occasion suggests a book for women only. Table of contents: 1. How to Hook a Man. 2. The Tamed Shrew. 3. What Girls Look for in a Guy. 4. Advice on Kissing. 5. How to Make an Impression. 6. How to Respond to a Bouquet of Flowers. 7. Is Fear of Marriage Justified? 8. Causes of Coyness. 9. Old-fashioned Views. 10. How to Take it Slowly. 11. Some Good Advice. 12. Is Love Blind? 13. How to Recognize True Love. 14. A Prospective Suitor’s Past. 15. The Most Intimate Facts. 16. The Rebirth of Religion. 17. The Dark Star. The butcher leapt backwards to his original position. (He should be your Lord and Master.) She’s the boss’s right hand, no blemish on that girl’s good reputation. (Jamais embrassée.) The severed sections of my skull flew back together, I was more or less my old self again. (A sweet consummation.) You don’t know how to make dumplings, dear, and pickles make my face break out. After all, theatre is only geared to figments of the imagination, artificial people. Delivery upon receipt of payment, the book is lavishly illustrated. It was an uncanny feeling to be alive again. Seltzer sails aloft luminous scent of Maria. I sensed that a little posturing Lazarus-like was expected of me, so I postured. (The king is dead.) With a sweeping gesture I marched over to the princess and silently gave her my hand. (Kiss me!) The princess fell down on her sweet knees before me. (We’re all from the same neighbourhood.) The doctor, meanwhile, gnawed on ham hocks. For a continuation of the help wanted ads, see the Sunday supplement. She begged me with all her heart to save her father. (Heaven Can Wait) I knew that kindness wasn’t called for here, kindness is the sign of a fool. (Be adamant Anna Blume.) (You’re at a dangerous age.) ‘Your father, the king,’ I said, ‘the king stays dead.’ (Whet your blade on a genuine seal skin barber strap.) The doctor swooned. I ordered that two yellow candles be inserted in the holes in his majesty’s royal gut and that they be ceremoniously lit. (Postage stamps are acceptable forms of payment.) When the little flame burned all the way down into the king’s innards, the king exploded. The people called out a rousing hip-hip-hurrah on my behalf. (Socialism means work.)

  A Raw Recruit

  1922

  Klabund*

  Though I’ve long been deceased, I recently received a draft notice ordering me to report for active duty. This surprised me no end, and despite the stir my appearance aroused on the street I dutifully presented myself at the district command post.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ I rattled my teeth and shook the bone dust from my feet, ‘there must be some mistake here. I expired back in 1797 in the Great Revolution – of natural causes, as strange as that may seem: I choked on a chicken bone. And now I’m supposed to serve my country? Isn’t this a contradiction in terms?’

  The Sergeant-Major eyed me suspiciously. ‘Great Revolution? Are you some kind of Red or something?’

  ‘If you please, sir, the point precisely is that I am not. Understand? I was …’

  ‘Don’t you mince words with me, fella! You’re an anarchist! Some gall, to negate God and country, which it is your duty to protect!’

  ‘Sergeant-Major, sir, he who is himself negated can hardly have the energy or the wish to negate anything or anyone else.’

  The Sergeant-Major wrinkled his brow. ‘That’s enough of that! Spare me the philosophy! You have no respect for history and rank! Take it up with my subordinates. When were you born?’

  ‘1747.’

  ‘1747? But for God’s sake, man, that means you belong to the national reserves. We don’t quibble over dates here. You do have a damned narrow chest. Any other notable physical defects?’

  ‘Bone rot!’ I screamed and let yellow dust fall from my ribs.

  ‘You do look a little under-nourished after all! You can go now. Wait for new orders.’

  I stumbled down the stairs and almost fell over a fledgling lieutenant, whom I saluted in proper military fashion, for such are the rules at a district command post. I was struck by his fresh young cheeks, his sparkling eyes, his sprightly gait, and before I could stop myself, I fell against his breast and wept without tears. ‘Brother,’ I cried, ‘you too will one day be reduced to dust. Have pity and give me back a little blood. Your Sergeant-Major over there rattled off regulations. Put some meat on my ribs and I will gladly be your cannon fodder a thousand times over. Oh to breathe again but for an instant! Look, I have no lungs left and cannot rightly be called alive!’

  Brusquely, the lieutenant shoved me away from him and pinched his monocle in his right eye socket. ‘Are you drunk, man, to make so familiar with a Prussian officer? Three days in the guardhouse!’

  He signalled to an adjutant. Before they could catch me I bounded down the steps and made tracks back to the cemetery, where, weary of the day’s events and reluctant to lose my earthly freedom, I stretched myself out in my coffin and pulled the lid shut. Let them look for me. They won’t have an easy time of it. The mailman, who knows my plot number, won’t betray me, he knows for dead certain that he’ll get a handsome tip for every registered letter he delivers.

  The Time Saver

  1914

  Ignaz Wrobel*

  On 27 February 1926, this is how things stood.

  The gentlemen in white coats filled the big hall, moving about uneasily, laughing, gesticulating and exchanging heated words all at the same time. For they had just spent the last two hours positively riveted, alternately pointing at the unwieldy apparatus on display in the middle of the lecture hall and at the deathly pallid little man seated on a stool, listening intently to his explanations delivered in a quiet voice … The German Professor Gottlieb Waltzemüller had invented the Time Saver.

  The apparatus stored time. It was not at all as complicated as you might think, and if you go to the patent office you can see for yourself that I’m right; for there you’ll find the blueprint of that thing that – back then, at least, of cour
se it’s different today – looked like a covered steel-frame bed. You inserted yourself, and the time saved – since no clocks, neither electric, wind-up nor hourglass, worked within – you could re-fasten and -affix to your life wherever needed …

  It caused quite a stir! Dilly-dallying was suddenly a pastime of the past the world over. No one had any time to lose. The expression ‘I have no time’ became a fixed term for oaths of disclosure of temporal bankruptcy, and it was altogether astounding how people rushed to be done with their obligations. They saved! Not a soul still had time for anything else but hastily to wolf down the necessary nourishment and then to load themselves, contented, into the apparatus. In it you saved time, literally laid it away. Who still had time for a leisurely stroll? Who still had eyes for the happenings of this world? People no longer read, people no longer loved, people no longer took pleasure – they saved.

  Carnegie had time for everything. He even squandered it, as if he had plenty to spare. But provision had been made: he bought up time. And thousands of poor devils had to pinch and scrape so that that little white-haired gentleman could take his time peeling a pear or even take a leisurely stroll.

  There was a time stock exchange. Time was traded there – and since it was worth a pretty penny, entire villages thrust themselves, lock, stock and barrel, into that steel contraption, saved and sold to the highest bidder. The price dropped after that – but a time trust succeeded in re-establishing a bull market.