and give us this. . what I mean is,
let everything be according to, er,
whatever you want.. in earth as
it is on earth. . in heaven. .
or in hell, amen..
III. The Distance, as Approached from the Other Side
Quietly, continually, the rain fell and the inconsolable wind that died then was forever resurrected ruffled the still surfaces of puddles so lightly it failed to disturb the delicate dead skin that had covered them during the night so that instead of recovering the previous day’s tired glitter they increasingly and remorselessly absorbed the light that swam slowly out of the east. The trunks of the trees, the occasionally creaking branches, the sticky festering weeds, and even the “manor” — everything was sheathed in a refined but slimy gauze as though the elusive agents of darkness had marked them all out so that they might continue their work of corrosive, continual destruction the next night. When, far above the unbroken layers of cloud, the moon rolled unobserved down the western horizon and they peered blinking into the gaping hole that had once been the main entrance or through the high window cavities into the frozen light they slowly understood that something had changed, that something was not quite where it had been before dawn, and having understood this, they quickly realized that the thing they had secretly most feared had actually happened: that the dreams that had driven them forward the previous day were over, and it was time for the bitter awakening. . Their first feelings of confusion gave way to a frightened acknowledgment of how stupid they had been to rush into “thing’; their departure having been the result not of sober calculation but of an evil impulse, and that because they had, in effect, burnt their bridges, there was no chance now of taking the sensible course and returning home. It was dawn, the most miserable of hours: their stiff limbs were still sore and there they were, shivering in the cold, their lips almost blue, foul smelling and hungry, struggling to their feet among the scraps of their possessions, forced to face the fact that the “manor” that only yesterday had seemed the fulfillment of their dreams, was today — in this pitiless light — simply a cold, relentless prison. Grumbling and ever more embittered, they roamed through the deserted halls of the moribund building, exploring in somber chaotic fashion the dismantled parts of rusted machinery and in the funereal silence the suspicion grew in them that they had been lured into a trap, that they were, all of them, naïve victims of a low plot to dump them there, homeless, deceived, robbed and humiliated. Mrs. Schmidt was the first that dawn to return to the miserable prospect of their makeshift beds; she sat down shivering on the crude bundles of their belongings and stared in disappointment at the light as it grew brighter. The eye make-up she had received from “him” as a present had smeared across her puffy face, her mouth was turned down in bitterness, her throat was dry, her stomach ached and she felt too weak even to attend to her tousled hair and crumpled clothes. Because it was all in vain: the memory of the few magical hours spent with “him” was not enough to allay her fear — especially now that it was plain that Irimiás had simply reneged on his promise — that all was lost now. . It wasn’t easy, but what else could she do: she tried to resign herself to the fact that Irimiás (“. . until this matter is finally closed. . ’) would not be taking her away, and that her dream of disentangling herself from Schmidt’s “filthy paws” and taking her leave of this “stinking hole of a place” would have to be postponed for months, perhaps years (‘Good heavens, years! More years!’) but the terrible thought that even that might be a lie, that he was now over the fields and far away in search of new conquests, made her clench her fists. True, if she thought back to the previous night when she gave herself to Irimiás at the back of the storeroom, she had to admit that even now, at this most dreadful hour, it was no disappointment: those magnificent moments, those moments of extraordinary blissful satisfaction had to compensate for everything else; it was only the “betrayed love” and the crushing and besmirching of her “pure burning passion” that could never be forgiven! For after all, what could one expect when, despite the words whispered in secret at the moment of parting (‘Before dawn, for certain!. . ’) it finally became clear that everything was “a filthy lie’!.. Without hope but still stubbornly longing, she gazed at the rain through the enormous gap where the main entrance had been, and her heart contracted, her entire body doubled up, and her tangled hair fell forward to cover her tortured face. But however she tried to concentrate on the thirst for revenge rather than on the agonizing sadness of resignation, it was the tender murmuring of Irimiás she kept hearing; it was his tall, broad, respect-demanding, solid body she kept seeing; the strong self-confident curve of his nose, the narrowing of his soft lips, the irresistible glow of his eyes, and time and again she felt his delicate fingers half-consciously playing with her hair, the warmth of his palms against her breasts and thighs, and every time she heard the slightest noise she imagined it might be him, so — when the others had returned and she saw the same bitter funereal expression on their faces as she felt on her own — the last weak barriers of her proud resistance were swept away by despair. “What will happen to me without him?!. . For the love of God, . leave me if you must, but. . but not now! Not yet!. . Not just at this time!. . An hour more!. . A minute!. . What do I care what he does to them, but. . Me! Not to me!. . If nothing else make him allow me to be his lover! His handmaid!. . His servant! What do I care! Let him kick me, beat me like a dog, just. . this one time, let him come back just this one time!. .” They sat by the wall, depressed, with humble packed meals in their laps, chewing away in the cold draft of ever brighter dawn. Outside, the shaggy pile that had once formed the bell tower of the chapel to the right of the “manor” — that’s when it still had a bell — gave a great creak and from within it came a suppressed rumbling sound, as if yet another floor had collapsed. . There was no doubt about it now, they had to admit it was pointless to hang about any longer since Irimiás had promised to come “before daylight” and dawn was practically over. But not one of them dared break the silence or pronounce the appropriately grave words “We’ve been properly screwed over” because it was extraordinarily difficult to regard “our savior Irimiás” as “a filthy liar” and “a low thief’, not to mention the fact that what had happened was still something of a mystery. . What if something unexpected had delayed him?. . Maybe he was late because of the bad roads, because of the rain, or because. . Kráner got up, went over to the gate, leaned against the damp wall, lit a cigarette and nervously scanned the path leading down from the metalled road, before furiously standing up and swiping at the air. He sat back in his place and spoke in an unexpectedly trembling voice. “Listen. . I have a feeling. . that. . we’ve been conned!. .” Hearing this, even those who had been staring vacantly into space lowered their eyes. “I tell you, we’ve been conned!” Kráner repeated, raising his voice. Still nobody moved and his harsh words echoed menacingly in the frightened silence. “What’s the matter with you, are you all deaf?” screamed Kráner, quite beside himself, and leapt to his feet. “Nothing to say? Not a word?!” “I told you,” Schmidt cried out with a dark expression. “I told you right from the start!” His lips were trembling and he pointed an accusing finger at Futaki. “He promised,” Kráner ranted on, “he promised to build a new Eden! There! Have a good look! There’s our Eden! That’s what we’ve come to, damn the miserable scoundrel! He enticed us here, here to this waste land, while we. .! Fucking sheep!. .” “While he,” Schmidt picked up the thread, “gleefully scuttles off in the opposite direction! Who knows where he is now? We could be looking for him the rest of our lives!. .” “And who knows in which bar he’s gambling away our money?!” “A whole year’s work!” Schmidt continued, his voice shaking. “A whole year of miserable scrimping and saving! I’m back where I was, without a penny again!” Kráner started stalking up and down like an animal in a cage, his fists clenched, giving more occasional swipes in the air. “But he’ll regret it! He’ll be damn sorry, the bastard! Kráner is not the sort of man to let such things go! I’ll find him if I have to look in every nook and cranny! And I swear I’ll strangle him with my bare hands. With these!” He held his hands up. Futaki raised a nervous hand. “Not so fast! Not so fast with that threat! What if he appears in a couple of minutes! Where’s all this ranting going to get you then? Eh?!!” Schmidt sprang to his feet. “You dare to open your mouth?! You dare to say a word?! Where’s that going to get us?! It’s you I have to thank for being robbed! Who else but you?!” Kráner went up to Futaki and looked deep into his eyes. “Wait!” said Futaki and took a deep breath. “All right! We’ll wait two minutes! Two entire minutes! And then we’ll see. . what will be will be!” Kráner pulled Schmidt along with him and they stood together at the threshold of the main entrance, Kráner spreading his feet and swaying back and forth. “Well! So now we’re ready! And there he is, just coming,” Schmidt mocked, turning to Futaki. “You hear?! Here comes your savior! You poor bastard!” “Shut up!” Kráner interrupted him and squeezed Schmidt’s arm. “Let’s wait the full two minutes! Then we’ll see what he has to say, him and his big mouth!” Futaki rested his head on his knees. There was absolute silence. Mrs. Schmidt sat huddled in the corner, terrified. Halics gave a great gulp then, because he had some vague idea of what might happen, almost inaudibly said, “It’s really awful. . that even at a time. . like this. . I mean, each other. .!” The headmaster rose. “Gentlemen,” he addressed Kráner, trying to calm him: “What’s all this?! This is no solution! Think it over and — ” “Shut up, you ass!” Kráner hissed at him and seeing his threatening look the headmaster quickly sat down again. “So, friend?” Schmidt asked dully with his back to Futaki, gazing down the path. “Is the two minutes up yet?” Futaki raised his head and hugged his knees. “Tell me, what’s the point of this performance. Do you really think I can do anything about it?” Schmidt grew beetroot red. “So who convinced me in the bar? Huh?” and he slowly moved towards Futaki: “Who kept telling me I should take it easy because this and that and the other will be all right, eh?” “Are you out of your mind, buddy?” Futaki replied raising his own voice, beginning to twitch nervously. “Have you gone mad?” But Schmidt was in front of him by then so he couldn’t get up. “Give me my money back,” Schmidt snarled, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “You heard what I said!? Give me back my money!” Futaki pressed his back against the wall. “There’s no point in asking me for your money! Come to your senses!” Schmidt closed his eyes. “I’m asking you for the last time, give me my money!” “Listen everyone,” Futaki cried. “Get him away from me, he’s really gone —!” but he couldn’t finish what he was saying because Schmidt, with all his strength, kicked him in the face. Futaki’s head snapped back and for a second he sat absolutely still, the blood starting to gush from his nose, then slowly slipped to one side. By that time the women, Halics, and the headmaster had leapt over, twisted Schmidt’s arm behind his back, and then with great difficulty, not without a violent struggle, dragged him away. Kráner grinned nervously in the entrance, his arms crossed, then started moving towards Schmidt. Mrs. Schmidt, Mrs. Kráner and Mrs. Halics were screaming and fussing in terror around the unconscious Futaki, until Mrs. Schmidt pulled herself together, took a rag, ran out to the terrace, dipped it in a puddle and ran back with it. She knelt down by Futaki and started wiping his face, then turned on the weeping Mrs. Halics, shouting, “Instead of blubbering you could do something useful like fetching another rag, a bigger one, to soak up the blood!”. . Futaki was slowly regaining consciousness and opened his eyes to stare blankly first at the sky, then at Mrs. Schmidt’s anxious face as she leaned over him. Feeling a sharp pain, he tried to sit up. “For heaven’s sake, don’t do anything, just lie still!” Mrs. Kráner shouted at him. “You’re still bleeding!” They laid him down again on the blanket and Mrs. Kráner tried to wash the blood off his clothes while Mrs. Halics knelt beside Futaki, quietly praying. “Get that witch away from me!” groaned Futaki. “I’m still alive. .” Schmidt was gasping for breath in another corner, clearly confused, pressing his fists into his groin as if that were the only way he could keep himself from moving. “Really!” the headmaster shook his head as he stood together with Halics with his back to Schmidt to block his way in case he tried to attack Futaki again. “Really, I can’t believe what I’m seeing! You’re a grown man! What are you thinking of? You just go and assault someone? You know what I call it? I call it bullying, that’s what I call it!” “Leave me alone,” Schmidt answered through gritted teeth. “That’s right!” Kráner said, stepping closer: “This has nothing to do with you! Why are you so determined to poke your nose in everywhere? In any case the clown deserved it!. .” “You shut up, you low life!” the headmaster snapped back: “You. . you were the one who encouraged him to do it! You think I can’t hear? You’d better keep quiet!” “What I suggest, pal. .,” hissed Kráner with a dark look, seizing the headmaster, “What I suggest is that you get out of here while the going is good!. . I don’t advise you to pick a quarrel with — ” At that moment a resonant, severe, self-confident voice cut across them: “What’s going on here?!” Everyone turned around to the threshold. Mrs. Halics gave a fearful cry, Schmidt leapt to his feet and Kráner took an involuntary step back. Irimiás stood there. His seal-gray raincoat was buttoned up to the chin, his hat drawn far down his brow. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and surveyed the scene with piercing eyes. A cigarette dangled from his lips. There was stony silence. Even Futaki sat up, then tried to stand, swaying a little, but hid the rag behind his back, the blood still dribbling from his nose. Mrs. Halics crossed herself in astonishment then quickly lowered her hands because Halics was signaling to her to stop it immediately. “I asked what’s going on?” Irimiás repeated threateningly. He spat out the cigarette and stuck a new one in the corner of his mouth. The estate stood before him, their heads hung low. “We thought you weren’t coming. .” Mrs. Kráner wavered and gave a forced smile. Irimiás looked at his watch and angrily tapped the glass. “It says six-forty-three. The watch is accurate.” Barely audible Mrs. Kráner replied, “Yes, but. . but you said you’d come at night. .” Irimiás furrowed his brow. “What do you think I am, a taxi driver? I work my fingers to the bone for you, I don’t sleep for three days, I walk for hours in the rain, I rush from one meeting to another to overcome various obstacles, while you. .?!” He took a step toward them, cast an eye at their makeshift beds then stopped in front of Futaki. “What happened to you?” Futaki hung his head in shame. “I got a nosebleed.” “I can see that. But how?” Futaki made no answer. “See here, . ” Irimiás gave a sigh, “this isn’t what I expected of you, friends. From any of you!” he continued, turning to the others. “If this is how you start what