The Liquid Land

by Raphaela Edelbauer

  The prospect of seeing her alone for a long period of time had something unsettling about it. I barely managed to hold a private conversation with her while walking a hundred metres along a corridor, and the few moments when evading her wasn’t possible were pure torture. Nevertheless, the Countess had repeatedly made attempts to invite me to certain occasions — and I did not understand whether she simply did not notice the unpleasantness of it or whether there was a deeper motive tied to it, of which I had no idea. In my moments of paranoia, I feared that she was trying to find something out about me, as she was always doing with others. In those moments, I would respond to her advances as taciturnly as possible and withdrew as quickly as I could. Unfortunately, when a meeting had fallen through the previous afternoon, the inescapable occasion arose when she announced that the two of us, since neither of us had anything to do now, would spend the afternoon together. We would have to go hunting, she had concluded, and I didn’t argue.

  ‘You’re firm in the saddle, I hear,’ she said, which left me speechless.

  When the horse, which apparently didn’t need my assistance, trotted into the forest after the Countess, I once more wondered how she had found out that I’d had riding lessons for a few years as a child. Getting hold of this information was completely impossible, and yet, as always, she had managed to do so with ease. Behind the already spring-green paddocks, a forest path led between the trees. The Countess, too, wore her hair in a braid so tight that her scalp rose up from the base of it, and the riding jacket, worn high, came up to the nape of her hairline.

  ‘This is where the trail begins,’ she said, without turning around.

  To my surprise a pack of dogs shot forward through the legs of the horses. I realised that I’d assumed that the term ‘hunt’ was being used metaphorically — but a small knife was actually hanging from the Countess’s saddle.

  ‘These lands have been used by the Knapp-Korb-Weidenheims for hunting for over four hundred years,’ she said, unprompted, as if she were trying to practise a long-prepared speech for later.

  I had trouble understanding her from behind, but she seemed to grasp this and whistled, causing my horse to quicken its pace to catch up with hers. ‘We are tied to this landscape like the flora itself. People literally say: woven like a wicker basket in one’s home.’ Our horses fell in step, as if they had now smelled the trail themselves. It was incredible how well my body remembered the feeling of riding.

  ‘Frau Schwarz, I want to be honest. I see much of myself in you, and that’s why I wanted to speak at length with you and, so to speak, help you understand why this region and its people mean so much to me.’ She turned in my direction and tried her best to look me in the eye, then turned away nervously.

  ‘For us Knapp-Korb-Weidenheims, it is important to convey to others the merging with nature, that is, the environment that we feel we belong to. This is why we keep all of these beautiful forests privately owned, so they can’t be cleared.’ In all of her gestures there lay an awkward attempt to get close to me that left me half embarrassed, half suspicious.

  ‘It’s a form of protection?’ I asked in a deliberately flattering manner, yet the Countess gave me a reproving look, as if I had asked something so banal it offended her.

  ‘Of course. A patronage, but it is too complicated to explain now. You wouldn’t understand it.’ After this strange reprimand we were silent for a short while, before she turned to me again, struggling with what interpersonal relationships had put in her way.

  ‘Well, what I’m trying to offer you is first-name terms. You may call me Ulrike,’ she said, and suddenly her body was so close to me that I flinched. It was only then that I noticed that she had been riding side-saddle this entire time. This also explained how she had now, in a rash, intimate gesture, leaned over from her horse and grabbed my hand — so that I almost lost my balance and was in danger of falling off. She clasped my right hand and stared steadfastly into my eyes. It was almost comedic, how we dangled like a living bridge between both horses. But she was being deadly serious. We were carried for a few seconds before she rose once more to the vertical.

  ‘We have to go after the pack; the fox should be close by,’ the Countess said, once more business-like. I strained my eyes, but there was nothing in the slightest to see. The horses made their way into the undergrowth as if by themselves, following the alleged fox. Although the whole interaction had been so uncomfortable, something had shifted between us. The distance had decreased significantly, and I decided to take advantage of this semblance of closeness.

  ‘I’ve always wondered who lived in the castle before you, Ulrike. Before your family, I mean.’ The ‘Ulrike’ constricted my throat.

  ‘My father, of course. He was a great lover of the arts. He died too soon in 1966. I was not even twenty and I suddenly had to manage everything all by myself. It wasn’t the done thing for a woman.’

  ‘That means that the whole area has always belonged to you? Your family, I mean?’

  ‘To answer that question, there first needs to be a discussion of what “belongs” actually means and who counts as family. To whom is such a question addressed, to the present or to the past? Depending on what the ownership entails, it must be differentiated. One cannot always formulate questions in a basic way and pose them in the form they come to mind.’

  I forgot what I actually wanted to find out, and was at risk of not keeping up. The horses were entering increasingly rougher terrain.

  ‘You know, I’ve been doing some genealogical research,’ I said, yet it sounded like an apology. ‘And I was wondering who the mine had actually belonged to. It has had a turbulent history, just as much as some of the buildings in the town. I’m asking out of familial interest,’ I assured again.

  The undergrowth didn’t want to end — at times I needed both hands to push away the vines and branches hanging in my field of vision. Finally we came to a small heath, a clearing that I had seen before from the Kastelburg.

  ‘Do you enjoy the hunt? We could participate in one; my friend Baron Rülenwald puts on sublime spectacles,’ she said. ‘Of course, there have constantly been expansions, the Knapp-Korb-Weidenheims have worked hard for their wealth. Under my grandfather, and then also my parents, we purchased some of the land in order to better control the development of the area. But none of this is important, because if one discusses it, one can end up getting carried away and rambling on. I can tell you many things about your parents. You don’t have to look far, I knew them well. Mankind can bear the truth, as Erich Fried said.’

  ‘I’m wondering precisely the following,’ I began. ‘You owned the house I live in, my parents’ house. Which I then bought from you.’ I cleared my throat. ‘But I’ve learned that both houses, that one and the one next to it, which my paternal grandparents lived in, used to be owned by the same person.’ My voice was trembling; the horse was plunging headlong into the forest again.

  ‘Could you formulate the question more precisely? I don’t understand what you’re trying to get at,’ the Countess said after a long pause, and once more waited for me to elaborate on something I had been completely clear about.

  ‘Did my grandparents sell the house?’ I asked.

  ‘We bought it at some point, that is correct, along with a few other properties. I must have still been a child. But as good as the whole town belongs to us. I don’t think that this particular case is of interest to you. If so, you ought to look at the town law, otherwise you won’t be able to understand the explanation.’

  ‘I think it would be of interest to me,’ I said quietly. ‘But it’s not urgent, it just occurred to me. Maybe at some point after the festival.’

  ‘What a pity, the fox seems to have got away,’ the Countess said suddenly and yanked the horse to the left by its bridle, whereupon my own turned off, too. ‘But that’s worked out well, we have to get back to work in any case.’ And with that, th
e line onto which I had hoped to hold was cut. The horses fell into a gallop, and we soon reached the stables.

  ‘Frau Schwarz, come to my office later. I have to rush now to my meeting,’ said the Countess, abruptly switching back to formal terms of address.

  Confused and disorientated, I stood off to the side while the groom put the animal in its box. I followed after the Countess, walking cradle step in my strangely stiff riding trousers towards the castle and up the stairs, where Anita was waiting at the door.

  ‘The gentleman is already waiting, I’ve brought him coffee.’ The Countess disappeared into her office — and while she was closing her door, I looked into the room for a moment as I passed. There, grinning at me over his cup, as if he had expected to see me at this very moment, was the mask dealer.

  As the brass band marched and played ‘Must I Leave Without You’ pitifully badly, I considered for the first time whether I could take my leave then but dismissed the idea immediately. I hated the beery musical brunches: suckling pig on a spit, and beer mugs that had been refilled several times before it was even ten. That morning we had observed the christening of the new fire engine by the priest and a number of dignitaries, and when a selection of après-ski hits were put on, I longed for nothing more than to escape.

  On the other hand, however, I had become part of the fabric of this society, and, while the Comradeship Alliance rose for an encore of ‘Prince Eugen, the Noble Knight’, I was stuck in the middle of a group of familiar faces, which made it impossible for me to escape. One could only wonder at the clientele of these beer mornings or the other beer-tent events: academics, who did not otherwise deign to socialise outside of their so-called circles, and who subscribed to three German newspapers for the sake of the features section, suddenly had a light infantry rifle slung over their shoulders to shoot plastic roses for their wives for two euros.

  Among the firefighters and farmers’ sons, patriots and screaming drunks, the more pretentious attendees clung to one another tightly, distraught at the idea of being alone; so in the end everyone had to stay for an arduous stretch of time, even though everyone essentially wanted to go home. Anita and Philipp were there, too, and every time I announced I wanted to be on my way, they kept me there with stories and schnapps.

  It was already noon when we sat together watching grown people laugh while shooting Jägermeister bottles from the tops of their heads. Anita was drunk and was hanging off my shoulder, a little too tightly for my taste, while I made notes about everything I observed. I had no idea what was being celebrated, but probably no one did: a wine queen was chosen, but it was a bright June day, and the next vintage was still months away. The Countess did not appear at such events, which is why I had to, in order to be able to respond to her questions the following Monday: who had spoken and what had been said, how many dignitaries had been present and what they had eaten. Nearby, the whole gang from the Pumpkin was set up open-air to do the same thing they would have otherwise done in the same bar anyway. Even Glottersaat, with his flat cap pushed back and the same plaid lumberjack shirt as always, was sitting silently on the periphery of the table. Sister Elfriede, who was incessantly seeking to be included by everyone, winked at me.

  ‘Three barrels of young wine have been given to the revellers free of charge in the name of the Count and Countess!’ was announced from the stage. The crowd cheered, and the majority of people immediately jumped to their feet to fetch themselves a glass of the noble donation.

  ‘Ruth, you grew up completely in the city, is all this very strange to you?’ Philipp asked, and I shook my head, without looking up from my notes.

  ‘No more than anything else. For example, last month,’ I said to him, ‘Anita and I had to go to the anniversary party for the Men’s Choir. They’ve never performed, but they’ve been rehearsing since 1983! Isn’t that unusual?’

  ‘Last month?’ asked Anita, laughing. ‘That was the day before yesterday. You’ve been so all over the place lately.’ I had to tense my facial muscles for a moment in order to verify that she was right. Greater Einland was like a loop; everything passed you by, confusingly similar, like a carousel, and what difference did it make? Then I quickly looked back at my list, concerned I might have forgotten to note down someone.

  ‘But you’re right, everything is strange here,’ Anita said. ‘That’s why I can hardly wait to see more of the world.’

  ‘Everyone has to live in America at least once in their life,’ said Philipp arbitrarily, knocking back a schnapps.

  ‘No, I want to go to Italy, gioia di vivere,’ Anita interrupted. ‘And the food, pizza in Venice.’

  ‘Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge in cowboy boots, buy a small farm in Texas and shoot geese. Bang bang —’ he fired fantasy shots from his fingers.

  ‘Can you swim with dolphins there, too?’ Anita asked. Fortunately I only heard this discussion in passing. The two spoke endlessly about travelling even though they’d never left the neighbourhood they lived in unless it was for work.

  ‘Listen, I have a question,’ I said, lost in thought. ‘Have either of you ever actually seen the Count? Does he actually exist?’ When I didn’t get an answer to my question after a few seconds, I looked up and saw that Anita and Philipp, who had just been messing around, were looking at me in panic. ‘Don’t ask things like that, Ruth,’ Philipp said, looking around, as if we were about to be arrested any second.

  ‘What? Why not?’ I asked, genuinely confused.

  ‘You’re still new here.’ Philipp managed a nervous laugh, while Anita, who was much more uninhibited, leaned over the table towards me.

  ‘You get a lot from hearsay,’ Anita said, ‘but I don’t know anything for sure. My mother once told me that the Count is long dead. Someone told her in the pharmacy, and the pharmacist supposedly got it from’ — she whispered almost inaudibly — ‘the butler at the castle. The Count had multiple sclerosis, and the Countess had him shipped off to a sanatorium in Switzerland.’

  ‘God, you two, you’re going to get us in trouble,’ Philipp interjected. ‘There are a lot of people here.’

  ‘Is it forbidden to talk about it?’ I asked.

  ‘Alright, fine,’ he said. ‘I once heard from Erna that the Count, who, by the way, was an Italian —’

  ‘Never!’ Anita shouted.

  ‘Quiet! The Count fell in love with one of the staff and ran off with her to the Maldives ten years ago. Gave up his aristocratic title and everything. Gave all the land to the Countess because of it, but she’s never got over it. Don’t talk to anyone about this, otherwise you’ll be actionable —’

  ‘Actionable?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course, I’ve never seen him. So, it’s all hearsay, Ruth. Maybe there never was a Count,’ said Anita, whose mouth Philipp was now covering with his hand.

  ‘I’m going to get something to eat,’ I said, annoyed that my question had remained unanswered, and stood up to get myself a slice of suckling pig. For breakfast, I thought, vexed. Generally speaking, I didn’t give a damn about the Count, and even if that hadn’t been the case, it was clear it would have been difficult to find out anything definitive about him.

  While I was waiting for my food, which I paid for with a coupon, I watched the mayor, who was sitting in the middle of the action and was greeted as automatically as he was impersonally by those passing him by.

  ‘Good morning, Mayor,’ the people said, and he nodded at everyone with the same gesture, his shoulders sagging, rounded as ever; his greasy antler buttons that threatened to burst open on his portly belly, but, taking into account the mediocrity of his whole existence, they failed to even do that.

  He was just sitting there alone, and I was overcome by a sudden urge. With the idea that this would be an opportune moment, I sat down opposite him. Had he even realised who I was? We’d never spoken before.

  ‘A wonderful party,’ he said straightaway,
and I smelled the booze on his breath. He was a strange sight that became completely perplexing close up: his hands waved effusively to everyone, but his face exuded a desperation that I’d never seen before. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes, which were combined with this lukewarm, fake smile, for which he apparently had to use all of his remaining muscles.

  ‘Yes, a wonderful party,’ I echoed. ‘But it must be tiring if you know everyone, like you do.’ In fact, he seemed so exhausted that he was about to fall asleep.

  ‘It comes with the job. The two of us haven’t really had the chance to talk, but I knew your parents well,’ he said. ‘We met every week, almost every time they came. For dinner. They talked about you and about how hardworking you are.’

  My parents had eaten with him — with an opportunistic, boring person, who hung over his roux soup like a damp flannel. Time and again with stories like these I got the feeling I was being told about strangers instead of the people who had raised me.

  ‘Yes, we were good friends. Peter, they always said, we’re so glad that you’re here so we can discuss these things with you that no one else wants to discuss with us. Thank you, Peter, for standing by us. There were certain sceptics.’ My ears perked up.

  ‘Sorry, but what were your conversations about?’ A bare tree trunk was carried in over the heads of some men in lederhosen into the large square. A May Pole, I thought, confused, but May was long gone.

  ‘About certain developments that certain other people didn’t want to see. I’m not talking about progress as such, which is advisable for people, but we are bound by a continuum of history, at least as a community.’

  I had no idea what he was getting at.

  ‘What developments were my parents interested in?’ I asked again, and he replied after a hearty gulp, this time from a Roman-style wine glass: