The man calls the woman his darling, and yes, even the child is included. They live in the centre, the happy medium, the gusset of the village. And the government shrewdly ladles out the special offers to people. So that the owners of companies can take their decisions and come up with excuses for squandering subsidies and human bodies. They can be happy forever amid their possessions, and the rest tell of worries on their towel-sized patches of ground where they promptly plant out fences, despite the fact that their seed is scarcely enough for more than two. Already they have to be thinking of yet another person!
We are there, the child is asleep in his private parts and memories.
Meekly the son slumbers on the lead of Linz Chemicals Ltd. Now let us go to sleep as well, for a foretaste of what comes before death. To do this one first has to lie down, as the poor have long known, they die sooner too, and still the time till they die seems too long to them. The Man nuzzles up once more to the cosmetically caked skin of his wife, presently he will follow her into bed with a bang, like a shot from a gun. In the bathroom there is already a busy noise of waters and movements. Mercilessly a heavy body is thrown into the hot water to make it fit for consumption. The soap and brushes lie on his chest. The mirrors steam up. The Frau Direktor is expected to give her husband's back a good scrubbing, to dip her hand acquiescently into the lather and go on massaging his massive sex, it is entirely in her hands. Beyond the window, the moon slithers. He is already calling for her, the Man and the half kilo of flesh (or, if need be, less) which is his master. Already it is swelling again in the warm water and arising to lord it over the lavish cold buffet of his body. Afterwards he will bathe the woman after the troubles of the day, not at all, his pleasure entirely. All around, mortals are living on wages and work, they do not live for ever and they do not live well. But now they have exchanged their tribulations for rest, the sting is asleep in their breast because they do not have their own bathroom. The Direktor's body just goes in the water, but he still has enough cubic metres of solid flesh left. Once again he calls for his wife, louder this time, it is an order. She does not come. He will have to soften up all by himself in the water. Placidly he slides across to the other side of the tub, should he yell for her to come? How pleasant that water does not change one, and that one does not have to learn to walk on it. Such a pleasure, and so cheap. Anyone can afford it. Let the woman stay where she is, oh take me with you, swathes of heat! He runs the hot tap, massages it and feels peaceful, serene. The waters rush about his heavy body, the hard jaw muscles grinding life up small and swallowing companies. The poor too fall like water from the cliffs, but at least they stay where they are, in their little beds, and don't go begging constantly, these tedious people wanting danger money paid. One moment all's well, and the next, complete with all the sacred strings their wives have laboriously stretched on their bodily frames, they're blindly getting caught in the machines! All that blood! And all for nothing, including in the end the massive whiplash beating of their hearts, since there is no more blood left to keep them going. And I gather the children are sometimes still out and about at four in the morning. One or two of them, at least, still come home drunk from the disco.
But his son, unpopular here for so many years already, is lying in bed, and the placid moon passes on. He is breathing heavily, the boy, and is bathed in a cold sweat. With tablets of that kind in his juice, his sleep is altogether different. Comfortless he lies there under the eye of his mother, who comes to his bed and smooths the covers. The boy is flaccid and yet he is her whole world: he is silent, and so is her world. He is no doubt looking forward to growing up, like his father's member. Tenderly Mother kisses her little boat sailing around the world. Then she takes a plastic bag, slips it over the boy's head, and draws it tight at the bottom so that the child's breath will perish in peace. Under the tent of the back, on which is printed the address of a boutique, the boy's life force burgeons richly one more time, this boy to whom not long ago growing-up and sports gear were promised. That's how it goes when on.e tries to improve on Nature with mechanical implements! But no, the child still wants to live. Then the son drifts out into the open waters where he is immediately quite in his element (Mummy!) and uses the snorkel mask through which his fellows learn to see the world, as if through goo, from the very start: so utterly was he their boss, a little god of war, at work, rest and play. They see everything, yet they do not see much. Mother leaves the house. She is carrying her son in her arms like a budding cutting that has to be planted. From the mountaintops where the boy went sledging today and was planning to go again tomorrow (to be exact, the next day has already been impatiently begun on!), the earth bids its farewell. Outrageous imprints in the blanket of snow. Sure, go wandering about near the fire if you wilclass="underline" quite an experience, eh?
The mother carries the child, and then, when she grows tired, drags him along behind her. Discreetly clad in moonlight. Now the woman is at the stream, and the next moment her son sinks in, contented. Perfect peace is beckoning, and sporting people beckon and wave to each other at every opportunity too, if there's an audience. Now, contrary to expectation, it has turned out to be the youngest of the family who will be permitted to see the stupid face of eternity first, behind all the money that runs about at liberty on the earth, for purchases, if no one puts it on a lead. People compete in races, the events are thunderous but they don't want rain. And skiers go into the mountains, never mind who else lives there and might like to win themselves.
The water has taken hold of the child, and bears him on and away, a good deal will remain of him for a long time in this cold. The mother is alive, her time is wreathed and limited, with fetters she has twined in it. Women age early, and their mistake is not knowing where to hide all the time that lies behind them so that no one sees it. What are they to do, devour it like the umbilical cords of their children? Hell and damnation!
But now rest a while!