The Brooke-Rose Omnibus

by Brooke-Rose, Christine

  Leider haben wir keins. Die Apotheke, geradeaus dann links. Und haben Sie noch einen Wunsch?

  So that the bells in endless crash-permutations on eight unimaginative manipulated notes endlessly permutate over the greenish drizzle from the distant belfry way off beyond the little door. Un cottage? Que voulez-vous dire, un cottage? In Wiltshire where stones talk to themselves and the greengrocer says of an old cauliflower did you want it for eating love? And anything else love instead of Madame désire encore quelque chose or Haben Sie noch einen Wunsch. What do you mean, for eating? Oh just my little joke sweetheart. An old lady she wanted mushrooms once and I said did you want them for eating and she said no for frying. So the phrase stuck love not to worry it’ll all look the same in a hundred years as I always say it’ll all come out in the wash. Do you want to create our own home? Do you like children? Saith the book, the phrase-book saith. And the shadow of the yellow pelmet cuts across the top of two vertical parallel lines themselves cut through by two horizontal lines thrown on the white-washed wall from the small criss-crossed window under the thatched roof, forming a large dièze the key of G for example on a non-existent stave but bent by the wall that slopes at that point up to the oakbeam ceiling in the master-bedroom or vessel of conception empty of master-music or conception or whatever wing means under which he has taken her auburn blonde svelte and dark to their conferences, commissions, congresses, conventions, walking down the airplane steps blue yellow orange white. It all depends on the theme the time the place the climate, whether Pernod for instance, Jerez-Quina Cinzano slivovitz turning his money endlessly over and over before paying as the waiter waits, the guilder francs pesetas zlotys krone half-crowns clinking or crinkling quietly, the only music endlessly permutating on eight unimaginatively manipulated notes over the greenish drizzle. Do si la sol fa mi ré do, do la fa ré, si sol mi do, do si la sol fa mi ré do, do la fa ré, si sol mi do crash permutating through the distant brain way up beyond the yellow curtain and behind no doubt a little door.

  Vicariatus Urbis Tribunal—Romana (seu West Monasterien). Nullitatis Matrimonii. The copy of the petition printed on thick paper lies on the blue table-cloth where darker blue towers cathedrals domes and palaces form rows with WIEN repeated at intervals under each row and a plump prancing knight CAROLUS der VII in the alternate row beneath the crumbs of toast the buttery marmalady plate the empty yellow cup the yellow Melita coffee-pot. The hands lie quite still over the blue table-cloth, forming a squat diamond-space with the thumbs pressing towards the body the other fingers touching like a cathedral roof. Under the table the ankles cross over each other to close the circuit. Ci troviamo di fronte ad un autentico dramma dell’ agnosticismo con tutti gli ingredienti storici filosofici e sociali di siffatto lieber Gott get the dictionary elemento determinante la involuzione in atto nella nostra civiltà.

  The petition flowered by the Avvocato to the Sacra Rota lies on the blue table cloth with darker blue towers cathedrals domes and palaces and Carolus VII plump and prancing on a horse a little bit beyond the smattering acquired with scallopine di vitello campari soda dove la toeletta in fondo a sinistra between the enormous wings and the bells endlessly permutating on do si la sol fa mi ré do do la fa ré und so weiter weiter gehen over the greenish drizzle distantly beyond the little door.

  1. I luoghi. Slowly now. The places: La Francia, la Germania, e soprattutto la Britannia, la dolce Inghilterra dai prati prati? smeraldini emerald or greenish drizzle cosparsi sparse, no scattered di case e di castelli con lamponi lampoons? e rododendri nei ben pettinati giardini pettinated gardens con i caminetti al cui fuoco fire? in the lanes? che dolci conversazioni serali what sweet evening conversations? proprio come nelle scene appropriate scene a noi familiari della narrativa da Dickens a Somerset Maugham: Lirrechur, eh? Tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty luogo dove esplose il divorzio tra uomo e Dio, tra libertà e Redenzione, e dove pertanto gli effetti ne maturavano the effects do not mature, prima che da noi, nel crepuscolo delle anime in the twilight of the soul.

  Well on one level one hardly listens. On another one has to understand immediately because the thing understood slips away together with the need to understand. Well on one level one would not understand at all, the standards of simultaneous interpretation crashed in the mere smattering acquired with San Pellegrino acqua litinica alcalina battericamente pura which no doubt should lavare ancora più bianco.

  2. Il tempo: tra hello ducks.

  — Oh hello Mrs. Jones. Framed in wistaria and the kitchen window above the sink and OMO cleaner than clean brighter than white you look pale.

  — Yes I do look pale. I mean without me face. You know what I mean like. I have to put on a bit of rouge. I always did look pale even as a little girl and I still do. Until I put on me face.

  3. Le persone finalmente folded away with the authentic drama of agnosticism and the breakfast remains ingredients historical philosophical and social performed in ancient times a little higher up beyond the Temple of Apollo to celebrate his victory over Python the legendary monster which hasn’t put on its face framed in wistaria and accepts an offered cup of warmed-up coffee that’ll bring colour to my cheeks did you say something love?

  — Ouvre les jambes, Véronique, ouvre les jambes.

  Below the kitchen window of the small flat in the rue St. André a gangling girl in pigtails deftly skips over two parallel lines of white elastic that form a long rectangle held apart at one end by the two ankles of another girl with a dark fringe who stands on the edge of the pavement, and at the other end by the two short legs of a blond child sitting on the steps. The gangling girl with pigtails has her back to the house and deftly skips over the two parallel lines not quite parallel enough, her right foot carrying the right line three times across the left and back, then both across each other in a diamond shape with a complete turn of the body to face the house, turning again to reform the parallel straight lines, her left foot carrying the right line twice and Faute! Tu prends ma place.

  — Non, j’prends celle de Véronique. T’as eu ton tour avant moi.

  — Alors vas-y Véronique.

  — J’veux pas.

  — Là, tu vois!

  — Ta gueule. Véronique, saute.

  — J’veux pas. J’veux m’asseoir.

  — Mais tu vas embrouiller les points grosse bête.

  — J’ m’ en fous. J’veux m’asseoir.

  — Oh bon alors. Mais assieds-toi bien, ouvre les jambes pour qu’les lignes fassent parallèles.

  — Par à quelle aile? j’vois pas d’aile moi.

  — Imbécile. Alors Janine tu y vas?

  — Vieille poire!

  — Crapaude!

  — Crétine!

  Paris as Headquarters of simultaneous interpreters and international organisations for the advancement of peace common markets intercontinental missiles agricultural aid economical social cultural irrigation for refugees or the provision of two paper-making engineers for Korea one sericulturist one reeling expert one spinning expert for Burma one rolling mill technician one fertilizer one chemist works manager one acidulator in superphosphate manufacture and other such air-conditioning has husbands lovers wives mistresses of many nationalities who help to abolish the frontiers of misunderstanding with frequent changes of partners loyalties convictions, free and easily stepping over the old boundaries of conventions, congresses, commissions, conferences to which welcome back Liebes.

  — So you wish to return to work madame?

  To the freedom of the air and the precision of the mouthpiece at nineteen or twenty-eight. But how long, madame, have you stayed away, worked in other fields, lost touch got out of practice forgotten how to understand immediately because the thing understood slips away together with the need to understand. Well, on one level one hardly listens. Gee. Things have changed madame, says Prince Boris de Czarevitch or Somesuchovitch Directorovitch of all interpreters for Europe during all those years our techniques have improved, let me see how long, oh lord, h
ow long? We could arrange a test for you, to see if you have lost or as yet ungained your confidence your speed your voice your heart your faith your memory your mind until it comes to a standstill and if it proves satisfactory we could arrange a period of retraining. Your husband has left us of course and I gather yes I know Siegfried told me. Siegfried? Ah yes, he recommended you. But he has gone to New York and you will find madame if you rejoin us that things have changed. We have many more interpreters now so that they remain more based on Headquarters where most of the conferences take place these days apart from fringe activities like the Leonardo Centenary for example and more cultural interchange with Eastern Europe or demographic irrigation for the underdeveloped areas and other such conditions of pressurised emptiness. We would base you in Rome or here which you should simultaneously translate as less gallivanting my girl real hard work at last at last an idea that actually means something and most of your old friends have left you know madame for higher things such as the masculine unmarked and situated on five terraces of ambition change love desire marriage. And have you considered madame what the life entails between the enormous wings losing height slowly bumping down the steps of air in this bedroom or that always away from home for example have you any children?

  Away from the road a path leads into the deep cleft between the two masses of the Phaidriades where lies the famous Kastalia spring. And so you, born and bred a Catholic, entered into a marriage with a joint decision to frustrate its natural end? What methods did you use, signora?

  Surrounded by the saddle of Koznitsa to the west, the Balkan Range to the north, and the undulating heights of the Sredna Gora Mountains to the south, the Valley of the Roses, unique in Europe and visited by thousands of tourists each year, drops gradually down to the east until it reaches the transverse ridge which locks both ranges. The gardens of this sunny valley, second home of the oil-bearing rose brought here from Persia in the seventeenth century, have since that day gradually crept westwards from Kazanluk and now climb up the eastern slopes of Koznitsa. The sun pours its light down on the blessed earth, and in its pleasant warmth the roses blossom, the rectangles of agriculture brush-stroke size, the forest blobs the scattering of smudges and the thin white lines that cross and curve make up an abstract study of the blessed earth in brown and green way down below the window-seat through the oblong pane of double glass with slightly rounded corners. Known in the Near East for its fine copper and iron articles, the town has a fine museum, and a monument of ancient art, the Thracian Tomb, now famous all over the world for its exquisite frescoes. Somewhere north of the town another monument rises, outlined against the sky on a mountain summit—a monument to the brave Russian soldiers.

  The concrete path along the concrete landing-ground across which the passengers have walked leads into the concrete building where concrete men search every suitcase not for liquor jewels drugs but ideas, in dangerous print und das? Les Insignes de l’Université de Cracovie a gift as yet unread und das? A list of Italian irregular verbs do you mind? Ah. Und das? The Valley of the Roses. And a Bulgarian phrase-book gut. Gut-gut. Und WECHSEL bitte? Links. Dankeschön into the white-lined bus towards the mountains against which the city rears its sky-scraper hotels office buildings palaces of culture.

  Where to stop. The village of Rosino. Its very name symbolises roses in full bloom, pretty girls picking the blossoms, and the scent of attar of roses.

  They praise, yes mademoiselle, also.

  They praise presumably the portraits on the concrete buildings in rows bearded with hair or bearded bald or totally unfamiliar concrete faces all turning to their right westwards perhaps unless east, depending on the viewpoint or the side of the street, depending on the theme the place the climate of opinion and whether the surrounding mountains create great holes of air into which the mind sinks utterly baffled by the words in white on red across the concrete building 30 mup u gpyжбa.

  Away from the road a path leads into the deep cleft between the florid Monsignor and the recording priest on his left who writes all the proceedings down in longhand most unsimultaneously beneath the dark brown painting of some saint or other while the pale fat priest-interpreter to the right of the Monsignor further lengthens the proceedings by translating every utterance from Italian in fact half-understood into French and from French back into Italian thus creating a time to think of some answer truthful according to the requirements of a faith half-held in that climate language sub specie aeternitatis the Vicariato di Roma. We do not have a German interpreter to hand signora scusi, il Monsignor has got engaged in another court. But you say you speak French. Va bene così? Va bene. Well, one way or the other. But what difference does it make? Une différence non-marquée dérivant du marqué par une absence qui signifie eine Abwesenheit die etwas bedeutet, etwas anderes als bestellt. Do you agree? Did you want to test by means of engagement? Was suchen Sie, die Toilette? Nein den Aufzug. Ascenseur. Ach so, immer geradeaus dann links past the TOAΛETHA to the ACAHCbOP or else a change in the expected person for parter presumably towards the banquet-hall БAHKETHA ƷAΛA where the president and his sub-presidents from this zone and that toast each other in progress mutual understanding hands across the frontiers on full stomachs underneath words in white on red 30 mup u gpyжбa.

  They praise, yes mademoiselle, also.

  Soon some sluttish chambermaid will enter with a breakfast-tray or else a dark and sullen boy nodding vigorously for no, unless bending his neck quickly towards the left shoulder then towards the right and back towards the left for yes as if to say the last straw or what-the-hell. Mineralwasser? What-the-hell. Bending his head vigorously from left to right and bringing MYHEPAΛHA BOΔA. Oh that. I can’t think why you bother. Well, on one level one hardly listens to the autentico dramma dell’ agnosticismo with all ingredients historical philosophical and social determining the involution of this our civilisation in la Francia la Germania e soprattutto la dolce Inghilterra, its emerald meadows scattered with houses castles lampoons rhododendrons pettinated lanes in which fires burn with sweet evening conversations surrounded by the Saddle of Koznitsa to the west and the undulating heights of the Sredna Gora mountains to the south along the Valley of the Roses. The very name symbolises pretty girls picking the blossoms among concrete faces looking to the right or wrong according to the viewpoint where to stop. The sun pours its light down on the blessed earth unless some desolate moon-goddess aghast at her son’s death and the catastrophe she has provoked saying but where have all the flowers gone? Ah mademoiselle, they have not blossomed yet, the season has not yet come.

  The plane has landed on the edge of a black promontory, its long nose-tip jutting out over the darkening gulf beyond which one horizontal line of light forms a T with a vertical line of light and a great clanging noise that stripes the blackness. Stimaţi pasageri. Welcome aboard this vessel of conception floating upon a pinpoint and kindly sit quietly ensconced in your armchairs, the women to the left of the aisle the men less numerous to the right, strapped to their seats that stretch interminably towards the distant brain way up in the long nose-tip beyond the tabernacle curtain and behind no doubt the secret door so heavy that the whole vehicle may topple over the edge into the dark invisible gulf beyond which one white line of light forms a right angle with another from the corridor of the hotel, behind the door of the black room in which the body lies inside the narrow bed, strapped by the swaddling sheet and blanket at a speed of total immobility in the night of Brussels Belgrade Barcelona Bonn, what difference does it make? A difference unmarked deriving from the marked by an absence which signifies eine Abwesenheit die etwas bedeutet, etwas anderes als bestellt, a change in the expected person aghast at the death of love or maybe merely of language and fingering a medal between breasts in blackness. In the tram-ridden night of Sofia.

  The decorative metal locks on each door of the cupboard shine in the shaft of bright light coming through from the left where the wooden shutters meet. They have Napoleonic hats and look like Civil G
uards, the one on the right door carrying the vertical latch that hangs down in relief like a rifle at rest. Next to the cupboard the smaller doors of the dressing-table repeat the motif darkly and unreflecting. On the two drawers of the dressing-table, above the smaller doors, the Civil Guards lie down. Beyond the wooden shutters and way down below the layered floors of stunned consciousnesses and waking dreams the cars hoot faintly and rev up in Spanish unless Catalan streaked with a tinkling tram narrowly through the shaft of light where the wooden shutters meet. The dark shape of the cupboard unrounds in the filtered noise. On the bedside-table stands the bottle of mineral water, its label still illegible. The visitor’s attention turns immediately to higher things such as the dot of bright light thrown by the round hole in the shutter further up the cupboard imitating the sun above the Civil Guards. A voice calls out continuous flight-numbers and the murmur of the talking delegates as they wait in rows like a giant class fills the great Catalan evening in the bulging theatre with tumultuous applause for the boy-star with his guitar who pours La Nit, llarga la Nit and El poble que no vol morir full of Catalan passion down into the microphone and out in simultaneous passion. Di-guem no! Di-guem no! the bulging theatre demands in the tumultuous applause but the boy stretches out the palm of his left hand his right hand holding the guitar in a no-puc gesture half-indicating the police that lines the theatre and repeats instead La Nit, llarga la Nit with Catalan passion down into the microphone and out in simultaneous passion. The chairman knocks his hammer on the dais table. The congress members dutifully don their listening-caps and the murmur still continuing now comes through the earphones in the glass booth, picked up by the microphones the engineer has just switched on. The eyes close, the thumb and fingers join as communication begins.