And now she's being cleared away, the girl, together with her name and her actions. Tidied up, wrapped up and removed from the earth and dispatched to the water, where she has already arrived. All that needs to be done is to open the cistern and give the float valve a shake, then it'll flow again and flush away everything that we had intended for the water.
THREE
Roses, tulips, carnations, all three wither; but not all at once, because they don't all grow at the same time. Carnations don't grow at all, one can only buy them at the florist. The flowers, how pretty they are, they don't covet property, a little patch of earth is plenty for them, they don't even know that others, less sedentary, covet property that is not their own. They live, and other flowers live next door, for our delight. Shush, they're listening to us! Being quiet, perhaps we, too, can learn new possibilities of existence from them: Is it better to be snapped or to be right away completely broken off? But also how to show off and spread oneself around. All their high spirits: nothing self-important! The front garden blooms and is carefully weeded, as if with a pair of eyebrow tweezers, Mrs. Janisch does that, and she does it on her knees, in order not to fall into the pit, which she doesn't see, but about which she knows: It's over there, somewhere, not far away, dug just for her. Perhaps by her rather selfish husband? No, probably not. She nevertheless seems quite crazy about her beautiful garden, perhaps mat's why she begrudges alien plants any association with her own native ones, which she has so laboriously tamed. An attack of immodesty, that's what one calls weeds. The garden is the kingdom of Mrs. Janisch, whereas her husband is on the lookout for other kingdoms; right now in the kitchen-living room he's bending over an architect's plan, which doesn't belong to him, and neither unfortunately does the house that goes with it. In this plan, as in every plan, including God's, a kitchen is marked in, it's as if people always wanted the same thing and that really means: themselves, except bigger and better please, so that from time to time one can also cook. How on earth did the country policeman get hold of this plan so quickly?, after all, he's not responsible for the land registry but for catastrophes. E.g., when the mountain comes calling, first of all in small amounts, in rockfalls, then later perhaps the whole thing breaks off, is that because of the old mine, of the many very old mines underneath? The whole country is completely hollow inside! And then all the people in the environs of the mountain, which also wants to move, but has no plan for doing it, have to leave their houses, which they built so laboriously with neighborly help, which is what they call the black economy round here. Saved decades for something and now this! The mountain casts an enigmatic glance at us, and whoever he throws a glance at, he follows it up with more, to add some weight to his glance. Who's talking down there? It's only us. So I, the mountain, will make you disappear now. The valley, which was likewise undermined by passages, doesn't want to be left behind and threatens that first there will be one subsidence, and then plugs will certainly soon form, and the water trickling through will become less and less. And then, says the valley bottom, grinning from every crevice, I'll really get going. Because, thanks to the high drop, this plug cannot be expected to hold for long. That is why, says the valley, and it grows ever louder, because it has to be heard above its own howling of subterranean winds, that is why it cannot be concluded, that because the first water and mud subsidence, which will then have occurred, will come to a standstill, that, should one attempt to pump off water underground and put up wooden partitions, that because of that anything would have been effectively sealed off, far from it. Not a trace. You see. That's exactly what will be left of the people down there.
Mr. Janisch would prefer to move into one of the houses that are already there, then he would have two of them, his son would also have his (not quite, the old woman, to whom it belongs, is still alive, please don't forget to bring her no flowers! Not until her funeral will some be handed to her, from the garden naturally, what do we have one for), Mr. Janisch Jr. wants to do some rebuilding then, but that can wait. There's still another person living inside, a person one can't simply take out of it like jam out of the jar. The people here owe the mountain countless unpleasant hours, and as far as dirty tricks are concerned it is in constant competition with the lake. The lake gets something tipped into it which doesn't agree with it, the mountain has thrown off its magic wood and has become a threat to people, settlements, and buildings; it is a wood with an excellent effect on public welfare, so let us set up a welfare committee, not to cut it down, but to keep out the water and the stones and to break off dolomite and other nonsense, but this wood has not kept its promise. It didn't keep the stones to itself, that would certainly have been a feat, since there are so many. And below it, too, there are shocking scenes taking place, a house slips into the depths, and nothing but the balconies with their floral decorations are peeping out, we're enchanted by them, so much beauty in such a small space! It's just being photographed now, before it disappears. Look, the tree up there, it's interesting, too: Its root fibers reach desperately into the air, will they manage to catch hold of the piece of earth that's sledging down to the valley there, but already the whole tree itself is toppling over, and in the air in which its root ropes are waving around it won't even catch a midge, in the air there's no support anymore.