The Brooke-Rose Omnibus

by Brooke-Rose, Christine

  The visitor’s attention turns immediately to higher things such as Kalbsschnitzel natur mit Reis, gemischter Salat, Käsekuchen, Kompott, Kaffee over the modern capital that recedes as the plane rises swiftly above the mountains to an outside temperature of minus what, thirty-four, forty-three? Between the zest of youth and the enlightenment of old age comes an immense period called The Middle Ages. You look not quite yourself mein Liebes.

  The hands lie quite still on the blue table-cloth over the domes the palaces in darker blue rows, the two thumbs pressing towards the body the fingers touching away from it forming a roof with a squat diamond space between. Yes I notice you always sit like that, even in an armchair, your ankles crossed your hands joined on your lap.

  — Well it closes the circuit you see, so that you’re self-contained, relaxed, and no-one can get at you.

  — But who do you suppose wants to get at you mein Liebes?

  You must excuse these questions Fräulein but in view of your French upbringing we must make sure of your undivided loyalty let us see now until the age of Herr Oberstleutnant at that age one has no loyalties. Ja-ja ich verstehe. So you, born and bred a Catholic, decided in advance, Madame, to divorce if it did not work, thus nullifying the contract in the eyes of God? Plus ou moins. My child you must use words more precisely. Did you or did you not? Oui mon père. Please declare if you have any love loyalty lust intellect belief of any kind or even simple enthusiasm for which you must pay duty to the Customs and Excise.

  The hands lie quite still on the table, forming a squat diamond space with the thumbs pressed together towards the body and all the fingers touching like a cathedral roof. It closes the circuit you see so that no one can get at you. Come down into one world Liebes, decide between belief and disbelief, between loving and not loving, you have passed the age of adventure now, what, thirty-four, forty-three?

  A woman of uncertain age uncertain loyalties holding her hands quite still with all the fingers touching to keep the résistivité électrique en Ohms and battericamente pura within and not give out too generously with a flow of rash enthusiasm above the blue tablecloth full of darker blue towers cathedrals domes palaces in rows and WIEN repeated at intervals with the plump prancing Carolus der VII in il piccolo chalet which remains a pied-à-terre for half the feet of that four-legged creature called an entity of bodies made one by the Sacrament of Marriage one foot à terre the other in the grave perhaps. Oh come off it, come down into one world und so weiter weiter gehen, immer geradeaus dann links in the smattering of the mouthpiece ears hands and eyes suddenly confronted however with TARTSD A PÉNZED A TAKARÉKPÉNZTÁRBAN in bright neon lights beyond the nylon curtain that floats behind the head down the shoulders to the floor. Of course some people may suffer while we build a new society but would you rather not have the new society? The delegates have registered their formal protests about the cardinal or the five writers still imprisoned in among the junketings, the congressional banquet and the sight-seeing tour around Lake Balaton. Down in the dimlit and deserted street footsteps walk in Hungarian slowly along the dark façade still pockmarked by machine-gun fire below the sign ELÖNYÖS! KÉNYELMES! BIZTONSÁGOS! Do you agree? Or did you want to test by means of engagement? Push. Tirez. Pchnąć. Ziehen. Have you Greek dialogues? Have you tea? I should like some milk together. I prefer it double-breasted. With two buttons. Without folding-up. I want narrow trousers. When shall I come for the rehearsal? In six days I go away.

  Ici on parle français.

  Zut alors says Siegfried grown slightly bald somewhere between New York and Reykjavik with a paunch pahr dessue le marshy. Pupate? Pupate? Que cherchez-vous madame, ah, l’ascenseur. Oh mademoiselle, they have not blossomed yet, the season has not yet come. Achten Sie auf den Original-verschluss. Heil-und-Tafelwasser. Das österreichische PREBLAUER. Sauerbrunn. Please do not throw into W.C. because one day the man will come and lift you out of your self-containment or absorption rising into the night above the wing par à quelle aile j’vois pas d’aile moi only a red light winking on and off in the blackness below but not passing away as the body of the plane bumps on the steps of air for the descent into bright lights and twinkling signals, roar and whistle of jets with undercarriage down, strong tension of brakes to a tame taxying up the tarmac until you come to a standstill somewhere beneath a Regency piece of London, on the Piccadilly Line alone in a crowd of Evening Standards lowered here and there as the long silent stop creates a slight anxiety in eyes that stare at advertisements to avoid each other in the bowels of the earth or vanish again behind a crinkle of sporting page loud in the lit up silence. Katina says Favourable day for whatever you want to do. In the evening you will have the opportunity to meet someone whose influence may further your interests. Then at last a distant rumble grows more distant and a clank lurches the carriage forward to a slow start, producing a faint sensation of relief that spreads through the body of the train slightly animating the chromosomes as if inside a long long centipede.

  Emerging from Avernus made easy with escalators. They also go down. Saying ΠAPAKAΛΩ ANAMENETE, the button lighting up when pressed to call the lift, inside which incomprehensibly below come blank white buttons with IΣOΓEION and ΣTON and KINΔYNOΣ in red meaning perhaps alarm? Na says the old porter at the rez-de-chaussée not fortunately sous-sol, shaking his head vigorously to mean yes, as ohi and a nod means no in Greek. Gut-gut, kalo-kalo?

  — Nai. Kalo-kalo. Adio, efharisto.

  — Parakalo. Bye-bye Frau, welgohome.

  — Man denkt in Deutsch wann man in Deutschland lebt.

  — Auf Deutsch darling.

  — Und since man spricht sehr little Deutsch unlike my clever sweet half born and bred on Pumpernickel, man denkt in eine kind of erronish Deutsch das springt zu life feel besser than echt Deutsch. Und even wenn man thinks AUF Deutsch wann man in Deutschland lives, then acquires it a broken up quality, die hat der charm of my clever sweet, meine deutsche mädchen-goddess, the gestures and the actions all postponed while first die Dinge und die Personen kommen. As if languages loved each other behind their own façades, despite alles was man denkt darüber davon dazu. As if words fraternised silently beneath the syntax, finding each other funny and delicious in a Misch-Masch of tender fornication, inside the bombed out hallowed structures and the rigid steel glass modern edifices of the brain. Du, do you love me? Du, dein Bein dein Brust dein belly oh Christ in Rothenburg gem-city between the sheet and the tumbled sheeted eiderdown amid the central heating and the wooden panelling. Man works with hands light brush-stroke size over the rectangles of agriculture bearing plants or parts of plants forest blobs metallic lakes thin white lines man feels as an abstract study in seduction man performs with the precision of the mouthpiece eyes voice hands over limbs that find each other delicious on a creaking bed somewhere along the Romantische Strasse in a Misch-Masch of swift fornication between a hallowed structure and the rigid virginal edifice crashing down the runway with a scream of jets and strong tension of brakes to a tame taxying up the tarmac guided by some other distant brain in a glass booth and small white frogs with yellow discs for eyes and a splash of blood until it comes to a standstill du, do you love me, du? Do si la sol fa mi ré do, do la fa ré, si sol mi do peals in crash-permutations through the belfry of the distant brain way up from across the greenish drizzle and Great Scott du, my sweet, my fleissige, for God’s sake make us coffee we’ve had enough of fornication on this late Sunday morning. Tout de suite and the tooter the sweeter.

  Man sagt, man banters man makes love, rising to the occasion at all hours, man never says man loves except dein Bein dein Brust und dein damn medal of St. Christopher between ’em, or at most did you like it hat’s geschmeckt despite the lil’ ole Dutch cap or hats geschmeckt oh du my clever sweet my fleissige my deutsche mädchen-goddess for Chrissake make us some coffee what, a Ding no Dea does? Ah, du witzige sweet SCREAM why what’s the matter?

  — Spinne! Eine Spinne! Im Bad!

  — What?

  �
�� Please! Come quickly!

  — Oh hell. Now what?

  — What you call it? Take it away, please, take it away.

  — My dear good girl. Only a spider. A beneficent spider. There, gone, out of the window.

  — Oh. Oh, thank-you.

  — Why, you look pale as a sheet. For heaven’s sake, screaming at a spider, the spinner of fates, a Ding no Dea does, did Athene scream at Arachne? Well, yes she did I suppose but not from fear, from jealousy and anger. There there, calm down my sweet, it brings luck you know.

  — Araignée du matin, chagrin.

  — But araignée du soir, espoir. Come let’s pretend the evening has returned, ah du, dein Brust und so weiter or else don’t you think lechería for milk-shop opening the shutters on la Calle de San Antonio in Madrid looks exquisite to an English eye? Unless in Cordova don’t you think these plaster images all round in shrines and this monstrous Renaissance chapel plonked in the middle of the mosque with its calm forest of columns look positively obscene? E allora, what methods did you use?

  — Comment? Ah. Hé bien mon père, d’abord une—je ne sais pas comment ça s’appelle en français.

  — Dites en allemand mon enfant, ou en anglais.

  — A sheath, at first, then a Dutch hat, er, cap.

  — Non capisco.

  — Vous voulez dire, madame, une capote anglaise?

  — Non mon père. Je crois que capote anglaise veut dire ce que les anglais appellent French letter.

  — Una cosa di gomma?

  — Si.

  — E l’altra cosa, più tardi?

  — Je ne sais pas monsignor.

  — Dessinez, s’il vous plaît. Ah si, si, la conosco. Va bene. Scusi, grazie tanto. E allora signora beneath the painting of St. Andrew Bobola.

  E allora the languages fraternise behind their own façades finding each other exquisite in Beirut Copenhagen Bonn Regency London and Wiltshire with swift frequent fornication that leaves a lot to the imagination becomes swifter less frequent with Great Scott do you always feel tired which later turns into yes you do look pale why don’t you go to bed until it comes to a standstill. Man sagt das nicht however man does not speak of love nor of une absence qui signifie nothing more than a natural process une absence par retranchement from the feminine marked to the masculine unmarked except by a mental shrug signifying nothing that retrospectively deserves a flow of rash enthusiasm true friendship and affection remaining. Madame désire encore quelque chose? Bon alors ça fera neuf cent francs quarante au revoir madame merci.

  And yet man once looked straight across and eyes met eyes limbs limbs in the freedom of the night and the precision of the mouthpiece at twenty-two or twenty-five even, with hands light brush-stroke size over rectangles forest blobs metallic lakes white curving roads which at first make up an abstract study in desire watched with curiosity as man works with hands eyes mouth hallowed structure into the rigid steel glass vessel of conception recommended for relaxation and calm crashing down on hard beds in Hanover Rothenburg Wien Hamburg Stuttgart and hats geschmeckt? The tannoy voice fills the large wooden hut calling out ranks with names attached and even faces over uniforms grey-blue dark olive khaki that wear a listening look for the Dakota about to take off from Frankfurt to Berlin. He stands in grey-blue with three stripes or two and a half around his sleeve and eyes meet eyes saying how splendid of Siegfried to have brought you to me, how come so young to work for us for them for him or else perhaps how come he sits so close on the long metal bench fixed to the curved metallic wall inside the fuselage the round ribs all exposed as if inside the skeleton of a giant cocoon, like paratroopers about to jump float down descending with white wings towards the rectangles of agriculture brush-stroke size the forest blobs the straight white lines that make up an abstract study of earth in green and brown. Yes well, every solution creates new problems and I can’t pretend that as an Englishman I feel proud of what the so-called Allies have done. Why, and he talks, discusses things ideas the state of Europe and the zones of occupation spheres of influence not one of which in the nonexistent future deserves a flow of rash enthusiasm as to administration re-education tact resentment humiliation revenge understanding distribution black-market fraternisation sex. Or do you know the definition of a titbit. Titbit? What does that mean? A mosquito-raid on Brest. No? I thought it rather good. Ah, Dieu vous blesse ma chère. You should get rid of a cold at this height not catch one. Things have changed however since the early days and I will take you under my wing. Great Scott! But English tall dark and handsome poised bantering affectionate what more can one desire in the imprecision of feelings at nineteen or thirty-seven even as the plane leaps up and down the holes of air-wind-storm that lurch into the mouthpiece, the passengers in grey-blue dark olive-green or khaki holding on to the metal bench or each other not to get thrown across the fuselage on to the opposite metal bench and its passengers in khaki grey-blue dark olive-green the round ribs all exposed. My dear have you not flown before there there his arm right round a little storm only a little storm soon landing at Tempelhof have you the time? How strange I never carry a watch either don’t believe in them one finds clocks everywhere even if they all disagree according to locality you see we have much in common. Or as the man said to the prostitute who asked have you the time yes my dear but not the inclination as the plane lurches down the steps of air above the squares of grey façades so much less squat than the rubble behind them. Und haben Sie noch einen Wunsch? Ah, un piccolo chalet! Oh you mean a biddy! Did you want it for eating, love? Un piccolo chalet, va bene così?

  Un piccolo chalet in la dolce Inghilterra dai prati smeraldini scattered with castles lampoons and rhododendrons, pettinated gardens, fiery lanes and sweet evening conversations appropriate to the narratives of Dickens und so weiter weiter gehen where explodes the divorce between man and God, liberty and redemption and the effects do not mature in the twilight of the soul through which the bells peal concatenations from the belfry in the distant brain way off beyond the greyish drizzle and behind the little door. You must imagine the time the place the kind of life led by the petitioner between the enormous wings ensconced next to Erich von Irgendetwas or Signor Ingegnere Battista di Qualcosa tall among the hundred and sixty seats but for a few head-tops bald fluffy blond curly black grey between the port and starboard engines all the stimaţi pasageri looked after cradled in their needs who talk eat smoke doze dream. Or else inside the whale three hours three days of what do you mean my sweet? Or yes you do look pale why don’t you go to bed?

  Unless he says but now we have moved out of the hard bed area into the softness of the east come live with me and join my harem here in Istanbul in heavy heat dein Brust like a mosque domed on the night sky my hallowed structure like a minaret piercing the Milky Way and hats geschmeckt? He turns the Turkish lire over and over as if roubles pennia forints in the hollow of his left hand with the thumb and forefinger of his right as the waiter waits in the hotel bar with the bill for his whisky and Mineralwasser. Mineralwasser? Ah, Maden Suyu! Maden Suyu. Kein Eis bitte. Teşekkür ederim. Bitteschön Madame. Well of course I too prefer the Suleymaniye mosque, splendid proportions of stone and space in white and orange, and all that gorgeous calligraphy, so much easier to contemplate than images because devoid of sense, to us at least, and indeed to most Turks you know, they have to have the Koran all expounded, can’t read a word of Arabic. But then all truths get institutionalised sooner or later and die.

  The grey-lined bus stops in a wide bosphorus of huge American cars with Turkish number-plates but or or on their bottoms all hooting poop pip pop hoo between the red and white bus on the left and the dusty demolition of a crumbling façade on the right that clouds a beautiful of course Japanese girl in a kimono against lake and pagoda under red lettering ZETINA. Dikiş makina radiolan. Beyond the clouded beauty of the Japanese girl an almost triangular red wolf-head sticks out his neck sticks out his tongue unless perhaps breathes fire above PETROL OFİSİ—Yüksek kaliteli motor yağlan and t
hen GÜLE-GÜLE as the grey-lined bus stretches its armchairs endlessly towards the pip-poop-popping driver and moves on in the wide bosphorus of traffic turning right on to the bridge over the Golden Horn and up a sharp steep hill of shops to the hotel where the reception waits with sparkling Talaj for the infidels and Maden Suyu and fruit-juice for the more faithful hosts.

  — Actually they all drink raki on the quiet, the Prophet didn’t happen to mention it you know. Very strong, not bad at all you should try it my sweet.

  The speeches have begun hands across the frontiers on floating stomachs over the murmur of unlistening delegates who move about in close national groups and token-clap until the dancers come in, fierce little men in blue silk and red and silver, one beating a big drum one playing a clarinet a third clicking long sticks extended from his fingers. In the adjoining room the pretty girl in green silk puffed trousers with green and orange bands coming down from the shoulders cries under her orange hat and headscarf among other girls in crimson trousers or green. Mademoiselle! Pourquoi pleurez-vous? Les hommes. Pas danser. Nous invitées. Mais les hommes pas permission kadın, kadın, er, femmes danser en public.

  — Attendez.

  The male dancers bow to the tumultuous applause and exeunt as the clarinet player gets a tap on the shoulder. Kadın? He shrugs, nods vigorously with Yok for no and exit. Yok we have none. Yok kadın.

  — Kadın! Kadın! Kadın!

  — What’s got into you?

  — It means women. The men won’t let the girls dance. Look they weep. Please shout with me, all of you. Monsieur! On ne veut pas laisser danser les jeunes filles. Ah ça! Mais quelles beautés! Criez avec moi kadın, ça veut dire femmes. Herr Doktor, Entschuldigung. Dankeschön. Ka-dın, ka-dın, ka-dın, ka-dın!