Malina

Home > Other > Malina > Page 20
Malina Page 20

by Ingeborg Bachmann


  * * *

  My father returned from Russia damaged. He didn’t see the Hermitage but he did study techniques of torture and did bring back the tsarina Melanie. Bardos and I are to make our entrance in a gracious, artistically designed pavilion of ice, applauded by all Vienna and the whole world because the performance is being carried by satellite and is happening the same day the Americans or the Russians or everybody together are flying to the moon. My father’s only concern is that the Vienna Ice Show make the whole planet forget about the moon and the superpowers. He races up and down the First and Third Districts in his fur-lined coach, letting himself be admired with the young tsarina one more time before the grand spectacle commences.

  First the loudspeakers call everyone’s attention to the ingenious details of the palace, the windows with their panes of the thinnest ice, as transparent as the most beautiful glass. Hundreds of ice chandeliers illuminate the entire hall and the furnishings are astounding: sofas, tabourets, cabinets displaying incredibly delicate china, glasses and tea services, everything made of ice and in brilliant colors, painted like Augarten porcelain. Ice logs coated with naphtha seem to burn in the fireplace, and over the magnificent four-poster bed you can see through lace curtains made of ice. The tsaritza, who calls my father her “bear,” teases him, exclaiming what a pleasure it must be to live in this palace, perhaps a trifle too cold for sleeping. My father leans in my direction and remarks indecently: I’m sure you won’t freeze tonight, with your Herr Bardos to warm your bed, after all he’s supposed to make sure the fires of love are never extinguished! I throw myself at my father’s feet and beg not for my own life, but for mercy on young Bardos whom I hardly know, who hardly knows me and who is looking at me uncomprehendingly, already beginning to freeze, he has already lost his senses. I have no idea why he has to be sacrificed at this public circus as well. My father explains to the tsaritza that my accomplice must also undress and together with me be doused with water from the Danube and the Neva for as long as it takes us to become statues of ice. But that’s terrible, answers Melanie in an affected voice, you big big bear, certainly you’ll have the poor souls killed first. No my little bearess, replies my father, because then they wouldn’t have their natural movements, which are essential components of the Law of Beauty, no, I’m going to have them doused alive, how could I possibly amuse myself with just the fear of death! You’re cruel, says Melanie, but my father promises her ecstasy, he knows how closely cruelty is bound with lust. It’s easy to enjoy when you’re wrapped in fur, he assures her and hopes that someday Melanie will exceed all other women in her cruelty. People from off the street, joined by Viennese society, begin to shout: It’s not every day you see something like this!

  * * *

  Standing naked before the palace at 60 degrees below zero, we are ordered to assume our positions, some members of the audience sigh, but since they’ve already begun pouring icy water on us everybody must be convinced that Bardos is guilty as well, even though he really isn’t. I can still hear myself whimpering and uttering one final curse, the last thing I see is my father’s smile of triumph and the last thing I hear is his sigh of satisfaction. No longer can I beg for Bardos’s life. I become ice.

  My mother and sister have sent an international intermediary, wanting to know whether I’d be willing to resume relations with my father “after” this incident. I tell the envoy: Not for anything in the world! The man, who must be an old friend of mine, is baffled by my reply and thinks it’s a real pity. In his opinion I’m being too hard. Afterward I leave my mother and sister standing helpless and mute and go into the next room to discuss this face-to-face with my father. Although my thinking, judgment and entire body have become inflexible, I can’t rid myself of my notion of duty: I will sleep with him again, my body unmoved, my teeth frozen shut. But he has to realize I’m only doing this out of love for the others and in order to prevent an international scandal. My father is extremely dejected, he indicates he’s not feeling well, he’s no longer up to all this, and I can’t get him to discuss matters, he’s getting worked up about a disease he doesn’t have at all just so he won’t have to think about Melanie and me. Suddenly it dawns on me why he’s pleading every possible excuse — he’s living with my sister. I can’t do anything more for Eleonore, she sends me a note: Pray for me, beg for me!

  * * *

  Sitting on my bed, I’m too hot and too cold, I reach for a book — Conversations with the Earth — I had left on the floor before falling asleep. I’ve forgotten which chapter I was on, aimlessly I look through the table of contents, the appendix, glossaries, the subterranean forces and processes, inner dynamics. Malina takes the book out of my hand and puts it away.

  * * *

  Malina:

  * * *

  What’s your sister doing here, who is your sister?

  Me:

  Eleonore? I don’t know, I don’t have a sister named Eleonore. But we all have some sister, don’t we? I’m so sorry. How could I! But you probably want to know something about my real sister. Naturally when we were little we were always together, then for a while in Vienna, Sunday mornings we used to go to concerts at the Musikverein, sometimes we went out with the same men, she also knew how to read, once she wrote three sad pages, which didn’t suit her at all, in the same way many things don’t suit us, and I didn’t take it seriously. I missed something. What will my sister have done by now? I hope she got married soon after.

  Malina:

  You shouldn’t speak that way about your sister, it’s only costing you a lot of stress to keep her concealed. And Eleonore?

  Me:

  I should have taken it seriously, but then I was still so young.

  Malina:

  Eleonore?

  Me:

  She’s a lot older than my sister, she must have lived in another time, even another century, I’ve seen her picture, but I don’t remember, I don’t remember . . . She also read books, once I dreamed she was reading to me, in a voice from beyond the grave. Vivere ardendo e non sentire il male. Where’s that from?

  Malina:

  What happened to her?

  Me:

  She died in a foreign land.

  * * *

  My father is holding my sister captive, not letting his intentions show — he demands that I give her my ring, because my sister is supposed to wear this ring, he pulls it off my finger and says: That should do, that should be enough! you’re all alike, I’ve got something in store for you both. He has “deposed” Melanie, sometimes he says “dismissed,” he saw through her, realized her ambition and her craving to glow in his own light. However, the tirades he uses to explain her craving are peculiar, they frequently mention the word “snow,” she had wanted to ride through my snow with him, also through our common snow from the Alpine foothills, and I ask whether he’s already received my letters, but as it happens they got stuck in the snow. Once more I ask him for the few things I’ll need until the end, the two Augarten coffee cups since I want to drink coffee once again, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to perform my duty, they’re missing you see, that’s the worst thing, I’ll have to tell my sister she should at least return the cups. My father has set off a small avalanche to frighten me and silence this wish of mine, the coffee cups are buried in the snow. But he just wanted to mislead me, he unleashes a second avalanche, slowly I understand that the snow is meant to bury me and no one is supposed to find me anymore. I run toward the trees which offer support and salvation, like a coward I try to scream that I don’t want anything more, he should forget it, I don’t want anything at all, there’s an avalanche threatening, I have to row with my arms, I have to swim in the snow to stay afloat, there’s no choice but to drift on the snow. N
onetheless my father steps out onto a snow slab and unleashes a third avalanche, which tears down all our forests, the oldest and strongest trees are felled by its incredible force, I am no longer able to do my duty, I agree, the battle’s finished, my father treats the search party to a free beer, they might as well go home now, there’s nothing to be done until next spring. I am caught in my father’s avalanche.

  * * *

  In the light snow on the slope behind our house I am skiing for the first time. I have to twist and turn so as not to hit the bare patches and so I’ll stay within a sentence that is written in the snow as I glide down. The sentence could be from my early days, written in a child’s clumsy handwriting stretched out across the snow left from my youth. I recall vaguely that it’s in the brown notebook where on New Year’s Eve I wrote on the first page: He who has a Why to live for will bear almost any How. But the sentence also states I’m still having difficulties with my father and can’t count on being able to escape this misfortune. An older woman, a soothsayer, is teaching me and a nearby group of people how to ski. She makes sure everyone stops at the end of the slope. Where I stop, utterly exhausted, I find a letter, it concerns the 26th of January and has something to do with a child, the letter is folded together very intricately and sealed many times. It must be kept unopened for a while still — it’s completely encrusted with ice — because it contains a prophecy. I start down the path through the great forest, climb out of my skis and leave my poles with them, I continue on foot, toward the city, up to the houses of my Viennese friends. All the men’s names are gone from the name plates. With my last strength I try ringing Lily’s doorbell, I ring although she has never come before, I’m still puzzled as to why, but I keep calm and inform her through the door that my mother and Eleonore are coming today to put me in some reputable institution, I don’t need a place to stay and have to leave immediately for the airport, but suddenly I don’t know whether I have to drive to Schwechat or to Aspern, I can’t be at both airports simultaneously, I no longer know whether my mother and sister really are coming by plane, whether there are any planes today, whether my mother and sister can come at all and whether they have been informed. Lily was the only one who had been informed. I cannot manage the sentence, I’d like to scream: You were the only one who was informed! And what did you do, you didn’t do anything, you only made everything worse!

  * * *

  Since all the men have vanished from Vienna I have to rent a room from a young girl, a room no larger than the one I had as a child, my first bed is standing there as well. I suddenly fall in love with the girl, I embrace her while Frau Breitner, the caretaker from the Ungargasse (or the baroness from the Beatrixgasse), is lying next door, fat and heavy, she notices us embracing, although we’re covered by my big blue blanket. She’s not indignant but she does say that she never would have thought that possible, after all she knows me and also knew my father well, except that she didn’t know until today that my father had gone to America. Frau Breitner is complaining, for she considered me a “saint,” she says repeatedly “some sort of saint” and to prevent her from giving me notice I try to explain that it’s understandable and natural, after all, following the tremendous misfortune with my father, I couldn’t do otherwise. I study the girl more closely, I’ve never met her before, she is very tender and very young and tells me about a promenade at the Wörthersee, I am overwhelmed because she’s talking about the Wörthersee, but don’t trust myself to say “Du” to her, because then she’d find out who I am. She isn’t ever supposed to find out. Some music begins — how softly, gently — and we take turns trying to sing some words to this music, the baroness tries as well, she is the caretaker of my building, Frau Breitner, we keep making mistakes, I sing “Now all my sorrow is dispelled,” the girl sings “Can you see my friends, do you not see it?” But Frau Breitner sings “Beware! Beware! Night soon melts away!”

  On the way to my father’s I meet a group of students who also want to see him, I can show them the way, but I wouldn’t want to arrive at his door at the same time they do. Pressed against the wall, I wait while the students ring the doorbell. Melanie opens, she’s wearing a long housedress, her bust is once again excessively large and there for all to see, she greets the students effusively and pretends to remember each one, she’s seen them at all the lectures, and says effusively that today she is still Fräulein Melanie, but not for long, since she wants to become Frau Melanie. Never, I think to myself. Then she catches sight of me, I have ruined her performance, we greet one another superficially, shaking hands so lightly they barely touch. She leads me down the hall, it’s already the new apartment, and it’s obvious to me that Melanie is pregnant. Inside the apartment my Lina is standing with her head bowed, she hadn’t counted on my coming anymore, in this apartment she is known as Rita so that nothing will ever remind her of me. The apartment is gigantic, consisting solely of one very narrow and one immense room, the layout goes back to my father’s notions of architecture, I know his ideas, they can’t be mistaken for anyone else’s. Among the pieces of furniture I see my blue sofa from the Beatrixgasse, and since my father is busy arranging things I speak to him in the large room. I make some suggestions about the blue sofa and a few other things, but my father isn’t listening, he’s walking back and forth with a yardstick, measuring the windows, walls and doors, as he is once again planning something grand. I ask him if I should now explain to him orally or later in writing which arrangement I desire, what would he prefer. He carries on, occupied and indifferent and only says: Busy, I’m busy! Before I leave the apartment I look at a few things, high up on the wall is a strange feathered decoration, many small dead birds are standing stuffed in a niche which is lit red, and I say to myself, how distasteful, as distasteful as always. It was always taste which separated us, lack of caring and his lack of taste, both get muddled and merge into a single phrase for me, and as Lina, who lets herself be called Rita, sees me out, I say: distasteful, nothing here has any taste, it’s all so uncaring, my father will never change. Lina nods, embarrassed, she gives me her hand in secret, and now I’d like to have the courage, I want to and have to slam the door loudly, like my father always slammed all doors, so that for once he will know what it is like to have someone Slam the Door. But the door clicks shut quietly, I am still unable to slam it. In front of the house I press myself against the wall, I shouldn’t have come here, ever, now that Melanie is here, my father has already had the house rearranged, I can’t go back and I can’t get away, but I could still climb over the fence where the bushes are very thick, and deathly afraid, I run up to the fence and clamber up, it’s salvation, it would be salvation, but once on top I get stuck, it’s barbed wire, the barbs carry 100,000 volts, I receive the 100,000 electric jolts, my father has charged the wires, the countless volts scorch every fiber of my body. I am incinerated and die in my father’s frenzy.

  * * *

  A window opens, revealing a sinister, cloudy landscape with a lake that is growing smaller and smaller. A cemetery surrounds the lake, the graves can be clearly discerned, the earth opens up above the graves, and for a moment the dead daughters stand with blowing hair, their faces remain indistinct, their hair falls down below their hands, each woman is raising her right hand, which can be easily seen in the white light, they spread their waxen fingers, the rings are missing, the ring fingers are missing on every hand. My father has the lake swell beyond its banks so that nothing comes out, so that nothing can be seen, so that the women drown above their graves, so that the graves drown, my father says: It’s a performance — When We Dead Awaken.

  * * *

  When I wake up I know it’s been years since I’ve been in a theater. Performance? What performance, I don’t know any performance, but it has to have been a performance.

  * * *

  Malina:

  * * *

  Your imagination always did overperform.

  Me:

  But back
then my mind couldn’t perform at all. Or else we’re talking about perform and performance and not meaning the same thing.

  Malina:

  I’ll get to the point. Why is your ring missing? Did you ever wear a ring? Of course you didn’t. You told me it was impossible for you to wear anything on your finger, or around your neck or around your wrist or as far as I’m concerned around your ankles.

  Me:

  In the beginning he bought me a small ring, I wanted to leave it in the box but every day he’d ask how I liked the ring and was always reminding me that he had given it to me, for years he talked about this ring incessantly, as if I could live off a ring, and if I didn’t volunteer to mention it each day he would ask, where do you have my ring, child? And I, the child, I said, for heaven’s sake, there’s no way I — no, I’m absolutely certain, I just left it lying in the bathroom, I’ll go get it immediately and put it on my finger or place it next to me on the little dresser near the bed, I can’t fall asleep without this ring nearby. He put on a whole horrible show about this ring, he also told everybody that he had given me a ring, and finally they all thought that, along with the ring, he had given me my life or at least a monthly allowance or a house and a garden and the air to breathe, I could hardly wear the damn ring anymore, and once the ring was said to have lost its validity I would have gladly thrown it in his face, since moreover he hadn’t really given it to me at all, not of his own free will, I had pressured him for some confirmation, because no sign ever came, because I wanted a sign, and in the end I received the ring he kept on talking about. But you can’t really throw a ring in someone’s face, throwing one at someone’s feet would have worked in a pinch, but that’s easier said than done, for if someone is sitting or pacing up and down you can’t very well throw something that small at their feet and achieve your goal. That’s why I first went to the bathroom with the intention of throwing it down the toilet, but then that seemed too easy, too practical and too proper, I wanted my performance, furthermore I now wanted to give the ring some meaning, and I drove to Klosterneuburg, where I stood for hours on the bridge over the Danube, in the first wind of winter, then I took the little ring box out of my coat pocket and took the ring out of the box — I hadn’t worn the ring for weeks — it was the 19th of September and I threw it into the Danube on that cold afternoon, while it was still light.

 

‹ Prev