Chapter 14 Chapter Thirteen

Dreyer was sleepy and still blinking, his yellow pajamas unbuttoned, revealing his pink belly.He walked out of the room and onto the balcony.The wet leaves shone brightly.The sea is white and blue, sparkling.His wife's swimsuit was drying on the balcony next door.He returned to his dark bedroom, hurriedly dressed, and set off for Berlin.There is a bus at eight o'clock, and it takes forty minutes to reach Svestok and its railway station; if you take a taxi, you can catch the earlier train in less than half an hour.In the shower, he refrains from singing so as not to disturb the neighbors next door.He happily shaved on the balcony in front of a new, absolutely stable and unbreakable mirror screwed to the railing.He ran back to the dark bedroom and put on his coat briskly.

Very quietly he opened the door to the adjoining bedroom.From the bed came Martha's fast-talking voice; "We're going to play somersaults on the gondola. Hurry up, please." In her sleep, she often babbled about Franz, Frieda, oriental stunts. Dreyer patted his sides to see if everything necessary was in the proper pockets; he smiled and said, "Good-bye, my dear, I'm off, back to town." She muttered in a waking voice, and then said clearly, "Give me some water." "I'm in a hurry," said he. "You can do it yourself, won't you? It's time for you to go swimming with Franz, what a clear morning!"

He bent over the bed, sniffed her hair, and then walked through his own bedroom and into the long hallway that led to the elevator. He drank coffee and ate two butter-and-honey buns on the Coolhouse Terrace; he looked at his watch and ate a third.On the beach, you can spot early swimmers in bright bathrobes.The sea became more and more sparkling.He lit a cigarette and hopped into a taxi called by the doorman. The sea was left behind.At this moment, there are more sea bathers dotted on the green and blue sea.From every balcony comes the crisp tinkle of breakfast.Franz mechanically caught a nasty water balloon in his arm, and walked along the corridor to Martha's door. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer.The door is locked.He knocked on Dreyer's door, pushed the door in, and found that his uncle's room was in a mess.He was right: Dreyer had left the hotel for Berlin.A dreadful day awaited him.The door to Martha's room was ajar.It was dark in the room.Just let her sleep.That's fine.He began to tiptoe away, but Martha's voice came from the darkness: "Why didn't you give me water?" she insisted listlessly.

Franz found a decanter and a glass, and made his way to the bed.Martha got up slowly, stretched out a bare arm, and drank eagerly.He put the water bottle back on the dresser, trying to sneak away again. "Franz, come here!" she called in the same languid voice. He sat down on the edge of her bed, resentfully reckoning she would order him to perform a task he'd been trying to avoid since they'd been here. "I think I'm very ill," she said worryingly, her head not lifted from the pillow. "I'll ring for coffee from the hotel," said Franz. "It's Sunday, and it's very dark in here."

She started talking again: "He's used up all his aspirin. Go to the pharmacy and get me some. Tell them to take that paddle off—it's been hurting me." "Oars? That's your thermos. What's the matter with you?" "Please, Franz, I can't talk. I'm cold and need lots of blankets." He fetched a blanket from Dreyer's room and draped it over her clumsily and carelessly, feeling troubled that it was a woman's whim. "I don't know where the pharmacy is," he said. Martha asked, "You bought it? What did you buy?"

He shrugged and went out. He had no trouble finding the pharmacy.In addition to the aspirin, he also bought a can of shaving cream and a postcard with a view of the bay.The mail arrived safely, but Amy was worried last time: Is his head all right?He remembered that he replied to the letter, telling her not to worry, just rest assured and so on.On the way back to the hotel along the sunny seaside promenade, he stopped to overlook the entire seashore.He separated the aspirin packet from the shaving cream, which he put in his pocket.Suddenly, a breeze blew away the small paper bag containing two things.At this time, a bewildering foreign couple overtook him.Both of them walked fast in their bathing suits, chatting rapidly in their mysterious tongues as they went.He thought they gave him a look, and then stopped talking for a moment.After passing him, the conversation resumed; he felt that they were talking about him, even by his name.It embarrasses him, makes him furious: the damned happy foreigner rushes to the beach with his lovely tan and fair-haired girlfriend, knowing all too well about his embarrassing situation, maybe Very pitiful, and not without a certain mocking tone: an honest youth seduced and appropriated by an old woman who, in spite of her rich clothes and face, looks like a big white toad.Usually, in these top-notch trendy resorts, tourists are inquisitive, taunting, mean people.He was ashamed, his hairy body was almost exposed, and the bathrobe was also fake.He cursed the sea breeze, cursed the sea, and walked into the hotel lobby clutching the pill box.His wind-blown tissue paper bag floated up, down, up and down the boardwalk, past the happy couple, and then toward a bench in the perforation of the patio railing where he sat. An old man basking in the sun, he is pricking the end of his cane thoughtfully.What will happen to the paper bag next is unknown.Its fate was not traced by those who hurried to the beach.Wooden steps lead to the beach.People are eager to plunge into the slow, crystal-clear waves of the sea.The white sand sang underfoot.Among hundreds of identical colored striped huts, one can easily identify one's own hut - not only by the number printed on the hut: those rental items have become accustomed to casual renters who quickly become familiar with them, and they become the tourist life. Part of it, simple and reliable.Three or four sheds away was the Dreyer family's rented shed, now empty and closed--Dreyer, his wife, and his nephew were not there.The hut is surrounded by a high defensive earthen wall.A little boy in red shorts was climbing the earthen wall. The sand flowed down slowly and glistened. Soon, a whole piece of the sandy wall collapsed.Mrs. Dreyer did not like to see strange children destroy her fort.The restless fellows in and around the fort have had their chance to leave a mess of barefoot footprints.No one could distinguish Dreyer's stout footprints from Franz's narrow ones.When Schwartz and Weiss arrived shortly afterwards, they were surprised to find no one in the shed. "Interesting, lovely woman," said one of them, and the other, looking across the beach, at the promenade, at the hotel beyond the promenade, replied, "Oh, I'm sure they'll be down in a few minutes. Let's go Swim and come back later." The hut and its moat were still deserted.The little boy had run back to his sister, who had brought in a bucket of blue toy water; after some magical manipulation and tapping, a perfectly formed chocolate sand was carefully shaken out of the bucket Cone.A white butterfly flew by in the wind.Colorful flags flutter in the wind.The photographer's shouts are getting closer.Swimmers enter shallow water and move their feet like skiers without ski poles.

Meanwhile, the train was heading south at fifty miles an hour, and Dreyer's mind was comfortable recalling these seaside scenes--the cascading green waves shimmering as his Berlin Express departed. The farther the sea went, the more continually these sights called his attention.The foretaste of what awaited him in the city became a little dull at the thought that he was being transformed again into a merchant with cunning and fantasies; On the white sand, he is leaving freedom behind.The closer he got to the metropolis, the more alluring to him was the glittering plage, which looked like a mirage from Rock Point.

Back home, the gardener told him Tom was dead: he thought the dog had been hit by a truck, found it unconscious, and said it had died in his arms.Dreyer gave him fifty marks as a consolation, thinking sadly that no one really loved that poor dog but the big, thick soldier.At the office, he learned that Mr. Ritter was not planning to meet him in the lobby of the Adlerhof Hotel, but at the "Royal" bar instead.Before going there, he hung up on Isolda, who was at her mother's in Spandau.He flattered her and begged her for a quick one-night date, but Isolda said she was busy and suggested that he call her again tomorrow or the day after, take her to the first screening of the movie, and then see.

His American guest was an affable, well-bred man with iron-gray hair and a triple-jowl.He greeted Martha, whom he had met two years ago.Dreyer was disappointed to find that the English he had learned since that delightful meeting was insufficient for Mr. Ritter's nasal pronunciation - Mr. Ritter was so polite that he switched to old-fashioned German for conversation.Another disappointment that awaits Dreyer is that "laboratory."He was promised three robotic mannequins, but now there are only two available for the show — a replica of the original old gentleman in Dreyer's blue blazer; A lady with high cheekbones and a manly chin in a green dress.

"Should you fill her boobs up a little more?" Dreyer suggested reproachfully. "Scandinavian," said the inventor. "Scandinavian," says Dreyer, "it's kind of like drag!" "Fill with plastic compound if you like. We've had some trouble with a rib that didn't work properly. After all, I need more time than God gives, Mr. Manager. But, I bet , you'll love the wiggle of her ass." "One more thing," said Dreyer, "I don't really like that old guy's tie. You must have bought it from Croatia or Liechtenstein. Anyway, ties are not sold in my shop. In fact, I remember That tie he had on last time; it's very nice, light blue, like this one you have on."

Moritz and Max giggled. "I confess," said the inventor calmly, "that the tie was borrowed for this momentous occasion." He began to worry about the studs of the high collar beneath his rustling beard, but before the studs snapped, Dreyer Has swished off his own blue-gray tie and left his collar open, a stance he has maintained for the remainder of his known presence. Mr. Ritter dozed off in his "theatre" chair.Dreyer coughed so loudly that his guest woke up, rubbing his eyes like a child.The show begins. The robot woman crossed the stage writhing her pointy ass, more like a soliciting whore than a sleepwalker.She was followed by a drunken libertine.A moment later, she was twitching past again in her mink coat, staggering, and returning to normal, completing her excruciating stretch, when there was a loud bang in the wing.Her potential client didn't show up.There was a long pause. "The meal you gave me was really good," Mr. Ritter said, "and I will repay your hospitality when you and your wife visit me in Miami next spring. I have a Spanish cook who works in a French restaurant in London." It's been a few years, so you're sure to have a good meal of cosmopolitan cuisine." This time, the robot woman floated slowly on four-wheeled roller skates.She wore a black evening gown with stiff legs and a skeleton-like profile; her off-the-shoulder top betrayed smudges on the ribbed fabric underneath, left behind by a hastily made fabricator.Her two co-stars behind the scenes failed to catch her, and with an ominous bang, her brief career was over.Another pause.Dreyer wondered how he could have gotten so carried away with accepting, let alone admiring, such crooked, wobbly mechanical mannequins.He hoped that the climax of the performance would come, but neither Mr. Ritter nor he saw the best performance. Here comes the old guy, in his tuxedo and white gloves, with one hand raised to the brim of his top black top hat, looking cheerful and in good spirits.He stopped in front of the audience and began to take off his hat in a complicated, overly complicated salute.There was a creaking sound from some kind of mechanism. "Stop!" the inventor howled calmly, and hurried towards the mechanical madman. "It's too late!" The hat fell off in a ostentatious wave, and so did the arm. A photographer benevolently presses the black shutter. "How have you liked?" Dreyer said in English. "Very interesting," said Mr. Ritter, rising to leave. "I'll get back to you in a few days. I've got to make a decision, understand? Which of the two projects to fund." "Is there another project identical to this one?" "Oh no. Gosh no! Another one about running water in a luxury hotel. Making the water play a tune people can understand. Literally 'the music of the water'. Symphony of taps. Wash your hands to Venetian gondoliers, listen to Showering with Lohengrin, rinsing laundry while listening to Debussy." "Or drown in a Bach," Dreyer said with a pun. He spent most of the evening at home, trying to read an English play called Candide, but his mind was bogged down by languid thoughts.The machine mannequin has done its best.Gosh, they were pushed so hard.Bluebeard had wasted his hypnotic powers, and now they had lost all meaning, all vitality and charm.He was grateful to them, vaguely grateful, for the magic they had accomplished, the excitement, the anticipation.But now they just turned him off. He laboriously read another play, and whenever he came across a new word, he tried to consult the dictionary as much as possible.Tomorrow he would call Isolda.He was going to hire a pretty English girl to teach him Shaw and Galsworthy English.He would sell the invention to Bluebeard again.Ah, brilliant idea!Just a nominal ten dollars! How quiet the house is!No Tom, no Martha.She won't give up easily, poor girl!Suddenly, he understood why the house seemed so lifeless and so elusively quiet: all the clocks in the house had stopped! Just after eleven o'clock, he got up from his comfortable chair and was just about to go upstairs to the bedroom when the phone rang and it grabbed his shoulder like a cold hand. At this time, he was driving on the road in a luxury high-class taxi. The driver was back and forth, and he was driving through the vast forests, fields and small northern towns in the dark night. The anxious night confused all their place names Already—Nausak, Usterbeek, Prittsburgh, Nebko.The faint lights of these places flashed indistinctly in front of him as the car drove by, the car jerked and swayed, and they had promised him it would be five hours away, but they hadn't.It was a gray morning and the bicycle was noisily weaving among the lumbering trucks by the time he reached Swystok; from Swystok to Grewitz was still twenty miles away. The desk clerk, a dark-haired young man with a thin cheek and large glasses, told Dreyer that one of the guests at the hotel happened to be the internationally renowned Professor Lister, who had visited Mrs. be with her. Dreyer walked toward his suite.The doctor, a tall, balding old man in a plain dressing gown with a brown packet under his arm, came out of Martha's room. "That's unheard of!" he murmured to Dreyer in a low voice, not even bothering to shake his hand. "A woman with pneumonia, with a fever of 106 degrees, and no one cares about her! Her husband Let her stay here like this, and travel alone! Her nephew is a fool. If the maid hadn't called me last night, you might still be having fun in Berlin!" "Is it serious?" Dreyer asked. "Is it serious? Fifty breaths. Irregular heartbeat. It's not normal for a twenty-nine-year-old woman's heart to look like this." "Thirty-four," said Dreyer, "there's a mistake in her passport." "Thirty-four as well. In any case, she should be taken to the Svestock Infirmary at once, where I can give her proper medical treatment." "Okay, send it right away." Dreyer said. The old doctor nodded angrily, then walked away.One of three maids Martha hated, who stole at least three handkerchiefs in three days, and now dressed as a nurse (she had worked in the clinic in the winter). Wearing a brown jersey or a mélange tweed?Franz was sitting on the terrace of the café, yawning.The doctor rushed past, wanting to take another quick swim before returning to Svestok.Jersey in brown.Grove Lister couldn't help feeling a little sad at the young man's dismay, and shouted to Franz on the promenade, "Your uncle is here!" Franz went upstairs to Dreyer's room, where he stood listening to the groans and inarticulate murmurs in the next room.Will fate let her reveal the secret between them?He knocked very softly on the door.Dreyer came out of Martha's room, and when he saw Franz's upset look, he felt pity.After a while, they saw the ambulance drive into the special driveway of the hotel from the balcony. Martha was in the white boat, floating on the waves, small sharp waves that rolled up and down with her breath; Dreyer and Franz at the helm.Franz smiled at her over Dreyer's drooping head, and she saw her brightly colored parasol gleaming happily in his spectacles.Franz was in his nightshirt, a nightgown that had belonged to his father; he continued to smile expectantly at her as the boat creaked as it rested on springs as it fell back with the waves.Martha said: "The time has come. We can begin." Dreyer stood up, Franz also stood up, both of them stood still, laughed heartily together, and embraced involuntarily.Franz's long pajamas fluttered gently in the sea breeze. At this moment, he stood alone, still laughing, still shaking, and suddenly stretched out a hand from the sea. "Hit him with an oar!" cried Martha, choking with laughter.Franz stood firmly on the blue glass of the sea, raised the oar, and the hand disappeared.At this moment, there were only the two of them in the boat, which was no longer a boat, but a cafe with only a large marble table.Franz was sitting opposite her, and his strange attire was no longer a problem.They drank beer (how thirsty she was!), and Franz shared her wobbly beer, while Dreyer kept tapping his wallet on the table for the waiters. "Now," she said, Franz said something into Dreyer's ear, and Dreyer got up, laughed, and they both left.Martha waited for the chairs to rise and fall back, it was a floating cafe.Franz returned alone, her late husband's blue jacket slung over his arm; he nodded meaningfully at her and threw the jacket on the empty chair.Martha wanted to kiss Franz, but the marble edge hurt her chest as the table separated them.The coffee arrived—three pots of coffee, three cups—and it took her a while to realize that there was an extra serving.The coffee was too hot, she figured since it was starting to drizzle and it would be better to let the rain dilute the coffee, but the rain was too hot; Franz kept urging her to go home, pointing to their villa across the road, Dre Paul, pale and sweaty, began to put on his blue jacket.It made her uneasy.It's dishonest and it's illegal!She silently made an angry gesture.Franz understood, and he rebuked Dreyer firmly, and began to lead Dreyer away; Dreyer wobbled for the armholes of his coat.Franz returned alone.But no sooner had he sat down than Dreyer appeared from the other direction, slinking back, his face so horrific that it was almost impossible to recognize.He glanced sideways at her, shook his head, and sat down in silence at the helm of the bed.Martha could stand it no longer, and she screamed as soon as the bed started to move.The new ship moves along the long corridor.She tried to stand up, but an oar blocked her way.Some hunch told her that not everything was going well.She remembered—that jacket!The blue jacket, which was left on the bottom of the boat, had apparently hollow sleeves, but the back was uneven and, in fact, bulging like a hump, which was suspicious.Now, both sleeves are billowing.She saw the thing try to get up on all fours, and she grabbed it, and Franz and she swung it back and forth a few times, and threw it out of the boat.But the thing didn't sink, it slid through the waves as if alive.She gave it a little nudge with an oar and it seized the oar and tried to climb aboard.Franz reminded her that it still had a watch, and that the dress, now a blue raincoat because of the sea water, began to sink slowly, moving its tired sleeves feebly.They watched it fade away.Well now, it was done, and she was in a great disordered joy.Breathing easy now, the drink they gave her was a magic poison, benedict and bile, and her husband was already dressed and said, "Come on, I'll take you to the ball," but Franz did not know where she had put her jewelry. Before taking Martha to the hospital, Dreyer asked Franz to manage the affairs on his behalf, and they would be back in a few days.Perhaps Martha's delirium was not so different from her lover's state of mind.Once, on the eve of a school exam, in order to avoid repeating a grade, Franz desperately wanted to pass.A clever and cunning boy said to him, there is a trick, if you know how to use it, it will never fail.You have to be very clear, use all your brain power, clench your fists, imagine not what you want, not that passing grade, not her death, not freedom, but other possibilities: failure, not having your name on the passing list , and a healthy, lustful, ruthless Martha returns to her seaside hell of pleasure-seeking, forcing him to carry out their postponed murderous plans.But, according to the boy, that wasn't enough: the hardest part of the trick was to ignore success, and to do it so completely and naturally, as if it didn't even exist in the mind.Franz could not remember whether he had successfully used the trick in that school exam (he had passed it in the end), but he knew he was not capable of using it now.However clearly he pictured the three of them sitting on the terrace of the Marmora Hotel again, regatting the bet, tricking Dreyer into the boat again, he could tell out of the corner of his eye that the boat had drifted away without them, Dreyer was calling from the hospital to say: She's dead. He went to the other extreme, allowing himself to dream dangerously of that freedom, to exult in the freedom that awaited him.Then, after that dreadful and voluptuous fancy, he divined his uncertain fate in other ways.He counted the charter boats and added the number of boats to the number of people in the beach cafés, telling himself that an odd number meant death, he told himself.The total was odd, but he wondered if anyone left or came while he was counting? The day before yesterday he had decided to take advantage of his solitude and buy things that Dreyer would have laughed at him humorously on an ordinary day; Martha considered it frivolous at such a critical moment in their lives. of.He has always dreamed of buying a pair of sweatpants.He wandered through several stores for hours, came close to buying one, and then, on second thought, decided on what he wanted: a tweed top in brown or purple.Now, back at the store, he tried on the plain brown trousers, which seemed a little too big at the waist.He said if they could get a better price before closing time, he'd buy it.They said yes.He also bought two pairs of brown wool stockings.Then he went for a swim in the sea; when he was done, he went to the bar and drank three or four brandies, waiting in vain for the pretty blonde to get rid of the clumsy and obscene teasing of two old men.Suddenly, it occurred to him that his choice of more conservative tones meant that he was imagining death, not life, and that the colorful spots on his clothes were reminiscent of life.When he got back to the tailor, though, the sweatpants were ready and he didn't have the nerve to change what he ordered. The next morning, Franz put on his brand new sweatpants and a turtleneck sweater, and watched the rain splatter outside as he drank his second cup of coffee after lunch.At this time, the receptionist at the service desk—according to Uncle Clown, the receptionist looked a lot like him—brought him a message.Dreyer called to say that Madame needed her emerald earrings—and Franz immediately thought, Does Martha want to dance?It doesn't look like he's about to die!The receptionist explained that Mr. Dreyer, the manager, told his nephew to fetch jewelry from his aunt's dresser, and immediately took a taxi to Svestoke.Apparently, she recovered quickly from a mild cold and doctors allowed her to go out that night.Franz thought bitterly that he had foreseen so many different contingencies, but he hadn't thought of this one in particular.The message was a telegram, listened to by phone and translated by the multilingual helpdesk staff: Wisch Tu Clynch Deel Muss Have That Drunk Stop Hundred Oakey Ritter.Can't understand what it means, but who cares!Cursing Lister, the miracle worker, he took the elevator upstairs with False Franz, a fat locksmith with a hoarse voice and a taste of beer.The locksmith started to unlock the dresser.He wiped his nose and got down on one knee, then on both knees.The fake Franz and the more or less real Franz stood side by side, staring at the dirty soles of the locksmith's shoes. The drawer finally opened.Franz opened a black jewelry box and showed the emerald to the dismayed hotel staff. Half an hour later, he arrived at the hospital—a new white building in a pine forest on the outskirts of town.Franz shook his head when the taxi driver demanded a tip, and the driver slammed the door angrily.A cheery nurse handed him another message.She said with a happy smile that his uncle was waiting for him at the inn—the inn was about a mile off the highway.Franz pressed his left hand on the left side of his body, where the bulging jewelry box was placed, and walked to the inn. The jewelry box and his hand rubbed slightly between his thighs.As he approached the inn, he saw Martha come briskly out of the shop; she rested a finger on the pull of her umbrella and looked up at the sky.She cast a quick glance at Franz, and walked down the road he had just come.She was younger than Martha and had a different mouth, but her eyes and the way she walked were exactly like Martha's.That meant they would be happily reunited in an inn in Svestock.Uncle, nephew and two aunts. He found Dreyer in the inn lobby.Dreyer was admiring a pewter vessel, continuing to look at it even when Franz thrust the black casket and telegram in front of him.Dreyer stuffed the two items into his pocket without looking, and put the pewter back on the hook. He turned to Franz, who saw clearly that it was not Dreyer, but a deranged stranger in a crumpled shirt with the front open; his eyes were swollen, The tawny beard was unshaven and the jaw trembled. "It's too late," he said, "too late to wear it to the dance, but it's not too late to wear it—" He tugged on Franz's sleeve with such force that Franz nearly lost his balance, but Dreyer just wanted to lead him to the service desk. "Take him upstairs," he said to the innkeeper's widow.Then he turned to Franz: "We have to stay here until tomorrow. After a while, the most annoying routine will begin. Now go to your room. Hilda just came from Hamburg. In two hours she I'll come and take you back." "Is it—" asked Franz, in great astonishment, "is it—?" "Is it all over?" New Dreyer asked, weeping. "My God, it's all over! Let's go now." Franz tried to seize his benefactor's hand, and shook it violently in deep mourning; but Dreyer mistook this vaguely suggested handshake for the beginning of an embrace, and his stubby, tear-stained beard gently brushed Rubbed Franz's hot cheek. Her last words (in a tone of sweet detachment he had never heard before) were: "Honey, where did you put my emerald slippers—no, I mean earrings? I need them. We will Dance together, and we shall die together." And then—in her usual harsh, sharp tone: "Frieda, why is that dog here again? It was killed. It can't be here again." Fools say there is no insight. Franz followed the old lady upstairs.She led him into a dark room.She flung open the shutters, opened the shelf under the bedside table to see if the chamber pot was there, and left the room. Franz went to the open window.Dreyer crossed the road and sat down on a bench under a tree.Franz closed the window.At this time, he was alone.Through the thin walls he heard a woman in the next room, a poor bum, a lover who had been jilted by a traveling salesman, and it sounded like several pleasure-seekers talking, laughing and flirting at the same time. Cursing; the joy of youth, laughing like mad again.