You know, often when I look at that photograph, I’m tempted to take a peek inside the pile and see who’s dying in there. One day I will. I’ll have to. The only thing holding me back are the women standing nearby, even though I don’t know any of them. Especially the one in the hat with the black roses. I don’t suppose you know what black roses mean? Maybe the meaning of the whole dream could be made clear? I didn’t mention that when she stopped my hand as I was about to take the matches from my pocket, and she looked at me with reproach, one of the roses came loose from her hat and fell at my feet. I was about to bend down and pick it up, but my hat warned me that if I leaned over it would fall off too.
Black roses must mean something, you don’t find roses like that in gardens. One time when I was abroad I went to a rose show. Let me tell you, I was dazzled by all the shapes and colors. There must have been every kind of rose in the world, but there weren’t any black ones.
Do you believe in dreams? I didn’t until I had that one. I never thought twice about them. Whereas now, when I sometimes look at the photograph, I have the impression that I’ve simply dreamed myself from that dream into this world, and I’m here, I have to live here. I wonder if you’ll recognize me. I’m a little younger, but not much. Maybe you’ll recognize some of the women too. You may turn out to know one or another of them well.
What do you say, shall we have some tea? Or maybe you prefer coffee. Do you like green tea or regular? Me, I only drink green tea. Do you take sugar? Hang on, the sugar bowl should be around here somewhere. I don’t use sugar myself. I only drink unsweetened green tea. I rarely have sugar at all. Ah, here it is. I’ll put this stool between us if you’ve no objection, we can put our drinks on it. Yes, the sugar bowl is silver. I bought it in the same shop where I got the candlesticks. That was the time I was best off, it was my golden period. I was playing in a five-star hotel. We wore white tuxedos with green lapels, I remember it clearly. Well, not every evening. We had different outfits. And we’d play different instruments according to the evening and the clientele. Sometimes we’d change outfits in the same evening, depending on what we were playing. But the sax was always there, at most I’d change from an alto to a tenor or a soprano.
Here’s the tea. We can drink it in these teacups. You like them? I’m glad. They were a birthday present from the band. Only two are left from the set. It’s like they knew that one day you’d come and we’d drink tea in them. I never use them when I’m alone. Whether I’m having tea or coffee, I use a mug, like I do for milk. And before now I somehow never had the opportunity to serve tea to anyone. I’ve got two others like these, but smaller, for coffee. If you’d asked for coffee, instead of sugar I’d have given you honey. You could have tried it with honey. Have you ever had coffee with honey? I’ll make some later and you can see what it’s like. I only ever have honey with my coffee. Coffee with honey is totally different than coffee with sugar. You don’t lose the taste of the coffee, but it’s even smoother than with cream. Unfortunately I don’t have any cream even if you’d wanted it. It’s too late now, otherwise I could have gotten some at the store. The store’s a couple of miles away, but in the car it’s a hop and a skip. Like walking from here to the other side of the lake, no longer.
If I’d known you were coming I’d have made sure to have cream. I’d have been prepared. Too bad you didn’t let me know in advance. You called? And what, there was no dial tone? Don’t be offended, but I’ll tell you honestly that it’s a good job you didn’t get through, because over the phone I’d have told you I don’t have any beans. I’d have thought someone was pulling my leg. Or that they were mending my phone and checking to see if it works. Even if you’d introduced yourself, over the phone I wouldn’t have believed you. I’d have thought you were pretending to be someone else. This way, at least when I see you I can be sure of one thing — that we must have met once before. Though where and when? We couldn’t have just gone through life like that and never have met.
16
Maybe we should light candles after all? I could bring in the candlesticks. We’ve been shelling beans so long, we could have gotten to know each other well. The more so because I’m almost certain that once before … And when two people meet after they’ve not seen each other in a long time, it ought to be a special occasion, don’t you think?
I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say that up to more or less halfway through life we know more and more people, so many that it’s sometimes hard to remember them all, then in the second half there start to be fewer, till at the end you’re the only person you know. It’s not only that we outlive everyone else. Rather, it’s life’s way of indicating how much is already behind us, and how much still lies ahead. Almost all of it is behind, there’s just a little bit still to go. So when someone like you comes by, if only to buy beans, and in addition they seem to have been an old acquaintance, it only seems right to at least light a candle. At those moments any person you’ve known stands for all the people you’ve known.
If I still played, I’d play something to mark the occasion. But what can you do. It goes without saying that I’m tempted. I often am. Sometimes I even take the sax out of its case, hang it around my neck, put the mouthpiece in my mouth, place my hands around the body. But I don’t have the courage to run my fingers over the keys. For shelling beans my hands will more or less do, as you see. And for other jobs. But repainting those nameplates is torment. The saxophone is out of the question. My fingers start to feel stiff right away. I’m even afraid to blow into the mouthpiece. But I hear myself. You might not believe me — I don’t play, but I hear myself playing. And those dogs of mine hear me too. I see them lying there all ears. Their skin is calm, neither of them so much as twitches, their muzzles are stretched out, but their ears are sticking up like they don’t want to miss a note. I don’t just imagine it, I play. They hear it, I hear it. I play with my mouth, my breath, with these hands that I’m afraid to place on the keys, with my whole being. Would I not recognize my own playing? I’ve listened to myself so often, my soul has listened, how could I not recognize that it’s me?
And imagine this, it’s only now, after I haven’t played in years, that I’ve come to understand what kind of instrument the saxophone is. With that kind of playing, when only you can hear yourself, you hear more than the music alone. It’s as if you cross some boundary within yourself. Perhaps it’s the same with every instrument, but I played the saxophone and that’s all I can speak about. You supposedly know what it’s capable of, what it’s good for and what it isn’t, you know all of its parts, like you know your own hands, eyes, mouth, nose, you know which part is connected to which. But it turns out you knew almost nothing. It’s only after you stop playing …
When I was picking out a new mouthpiece I’d try endless ones, the clerk would keep bringing them to me, before I found one that satisfied me. So you might think you know everything. Once in one of the stores I even heard someone say, We get people from all kinds of bands, but I’ve never known anybody to be so picky. Though two identical mouthpieces, made from ebonite let’s say, they’ll each sound different. Not because they’re ebonite. They could be brass, silver, gilt. Identical mouthpieces, but the sound is different. And there’s no knowing what causes it. It’s the same with reeds, they have to be made of the right bamboo. But how can you say what the right bamboo is? What does it even mean to say it’s the right kind? Well, it can mean anything. What soil it grew in, what kind of year it was where it grew, whether it had too little sun, too much rain, or vice versa. Whether it was harvested properly, dried evenly on both sides. And above all whether it’s soft or hard. All of that comes out later in the sound. Even the hands of the people that made the reed are probably reflected in its sound. So every reed, I’d rub it down myself afterwards till I felt the sound was the fullest it could possibly be. Because let me tell you, the reed and the mouthpiece are the most important parts of a saxophone. Of course, every part is important, the neck, the keys, especially whether the pads are tight-fitting, the bell, each of them has its role, the cork around the mouthpiece is crucial, also what’s called the tenon that holds the reed so it vibrates along its whole length.