by Sjón
The girl glanced round nervously.
— What do you know about that?
— You were with him last night. Is there anything else I should know?
— How do you know I didn’t just read my book and go to bed as usual? I’ve nothing to hide.
— I didn’t see a light in your window.
— Were you spying on me; were you in the square to spy on me?
— I was keeping an eye on you; you’re the woman I love.
— For all I know you might have been with some other girl and shown yourself in the square this morning so I wouldn’t suspect.
— Bah!
— So how come you got piss-drunk, then?
— Drunk? I caught a chill.
— I bet!
— Bah!
— If you two mean to go on quarrelling like this you can do it in your room!
An obese man stormed out of the flat opposite and brandished a pen under Karl’s nose.
— The stairwell is a communal area and its primary purpose is for entering and leaving the building.
— Call this a building?
Karl shrieked, clutching his head in agony.
The man hastily withdrew the pen and made an expert aerial sketch of Karl’s features.
— Good, good!
The illustrator rushed back into his room and slammed the door.
— You can find me in the zoo on Sunday if you can be bothered.
Marie-Sophie set off down the stairs.
— Jew!
The girl froze in her tracks as the word reached her ears.
— He’s a Jew.
She looked up. Karl had disappeared from the landing but his door stood ajar.’
13
‘Close your eyes, point to the east, point to the west, point to the one you think is the worst.’
‘Maus, Karl Maus, Marie-Sophie’s boyfriend.’
‘You’re shaking…’
* * *
‘Das Kabinett Des Herrn Maus
(The girl looks hesitantly at the half-open door, shivers, then plucks up the courage to approach.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: Karl?
(The landing rears up behind the girl, tipping her in through the door.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: Talk to me …
(The room lies in darkness apart from the steel-grey daylight seeping in through the grimy little window above the unmade bed. The girl recoils from the shadow of a wardrobe on the wall facing her; the shadow falls slanting from the wardrobe, through the light, across the window and along the ceiling, to loom over the girl like a clenched fist.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: Karl? Are you there?’
‘Get out of there, girl!’
‘(The door slams shut. The girl whirls round. Herr Maus is standing by the door. He spreads himself out until his body fills the wall and his head is framed by the doorposts and ceiling. She’s afraid but smiles at him.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: God, I didn’t know where you’d got to …
(Herr Maus laughs hoarsely, the darkness playing ugly tricks with his face: his lips appear blue-black, his nose like the barrel of a gun, his eyes sunken. The girl fumbles nervously for the silver cross that she wears round her neck. Herr Maus spits from between tobacco-stained teeth.)
KARL: Have you any idea what you’ve got yourself mixed up in?
MARIE-SOPHIE: Mixed up in? I’m nursing a sick man; you should see him, then maybe you’d understand that there’s nothing fishy going on.
(Herr Maus lowers his voice until it’s no more than a whisper but the words pierce the girl’s ears.)
KARL: You naïve little fool! Why do you think they make you stay with the hook-nose? So they themselves will get off scot-free if anything happens.
(Herr Maus tries to laugh but chokes. He hawks into his palm, shoves his hand quickly into his pocket and deposits the disgusting gobbet of phlegm there.)
KARL: And you can bet your life they’ll find out that it’s no ordinary vermin problem you’ve got at Gasthof Vrieslander.
(The girl glances round for an escape route. Herr Maus emits something between a spasm of laughter and a cough. The girl backs away from the man’s bodily noises, moving further into the room, towards the window – the shadow following her.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: Excuse me, but how do you know we’ve got a guest if no one knows about him? You haven’t visited me for a week. What if I say you’ve made the whole thing up – that it’s nothing but delirious raving?
(Herr Maus takes a step towards the girl. The floorboards creak, the walls of the room close in, the window narrows.)
KARL: You say I haven’t been at the guesthouse for a week?
MARIE-SOPHIE: Yes.
KARL: What do you mean?
MARIE-SOPHIE: I mean no …
(Herr Maus thrusts forward his unshaven chops, whining.)
KARL: I mean no …
(The girl walks boldly towards Herr Maus.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: I haven’t got time for this, Karl; you know perfectly well what I mean.
KARL: Herr Maus, you mean. I keep Karl’s body in the wardrobe over there – do you want to see it?
(Herr Maus seizes the girl brutally by the shoulders, drags her hard against him and rolls his bloodshot eyes – the shadow above them takes on a human shape.)
KARL: But of course you haven’t time to say hello to your deceased boyfriend, you’ve got to hurry back to work to screw that Jew!’
‘The disgusting bastard!’
‘(The girl tries to tear herself free but Herr Maus tightens his grip, his knuckles whitening, shoulder-blades cracking.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: How could you think such a thing? The man’s desperately ill …
KARL: Ha! That was then. He can hardly be ill if you can fuck like rabbits in that priest’s hole.
(Herr Maus grinds his teeth with fury, shaking the girl violently to emphasise his words.)
KARL: Perhaps you don’t make much noise; no, you know how to do it quietly – Karl told me that. Didn’t you, Karl?
(Herr Maus yells over the girl’s shoulder. From inside the wardrobe there’s a bumping, the sound of coughing and a weary voice.)
VOICE IN THE WARDROBE: Yes.
KARL: You see, Karl was at the guesthouse yesterday.
MARIE-SOPHIE: Rubbish!
KARL: (Smugly.) Tell her!
VOICE IN THE WARDROBE: I was in old Tomas’s room; you almost deafened me when you banged on the wall …
(The girl gasps.)
KARL: See! Karl and I tell each other everything. He’s told me all about you and how good it is to fuck you. Sometimes you cry afterwards – Karl likes that.
MARIE-SOPHIE: Karl dearest, let me go.
(The girl begins to cry.)
KARL: See, what did I say? Do you believe me now? Mmm? Do you believe me when I tell you I know what you’re doing with the degenerate they’re hiding at the guesthouse?
MARIE-SOPHIE: Yes.
KARL: I can’t hear you.
MARIE-SOPHIE: Yes!
KARL: What?
(The girl looks up at Herr Maus with tear-stained eyes.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: YES!
(Herr Maus stares at the girl with an unhinged look in his eye. An uncontrollable spasm distorts his face and the girl’s terror changes to amazement when the upper part of his head begins to elongate. It stretches from the eyebrows and ears, like a thick sinew, and twists in an arc round the room until the crown of his head touches a teaspoon that is lying among the handwritten drafts of a heroic poem on the rickety table by the wall facing the window.)
* * *
Little Karl is amusing himself by turning over palm-sized granite paving stones in front of a well-to-do house. He grubs around in the dirt under them, finding pebbles or stumps of root that he rolls between his fingers before tossing them on to the neat lawn.
The small boy turns over one stone after another, finding a pebble, a root stump.
He comes to a stone that won’t budge. After making several vain attempts to shift it with
his bare hands he runs into the house.
Little Karl sneaks into the whitewashed kitchen, goes straight to a cupboard containing gleaming silverware and takes out a teaspoon, slips it into his pocket and slinks out.
He pushes the spoon into the soil beside the stone, levers it up, turns it over, then puts his hands to his mouth.
In the dirt lies a sparrow, teeming with maggots.
— MUMMY!
* * *
(Herr Maus’s head shrinks back to its former shape with a snap, he flings the girl away and she lands on the bed under the little window.)
KARL: You fucking whore!
(Herr Maus storms round the room in a frenzy that seems likely to tear him apart limb from limb. The girl casts despairing glances at the window and door – which narrow before her eyes to crusted sphincters.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: (Cries out.) Karl!
(Herr Maus gets a grip on his thoughts, stops by the girl on the bed and bends over her.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: (Whispers.) Let me out …
KARL: (Kindly.) I’m sure Karl would let you out, my dear, if he wasn’t locked in the wardrobe.
(From inside the wardrobe comes a pitiful mumbling: “It’s true, Marie-Sophie, I’d let you go.”)
KARL: But I’m not Karl, I’m Herr Maus and Herr Maus demands that people show him respect. Herr Maus likes people to say: “Your Excellency!” when they’re pestering him for favours – then he’s generally quite amenable.
MARIE-SOPHIE: Your Excellency, please can I go? I’ve been here far too long, the Inhaberin will kill me, the owner will lynch me, the cook will murder me, and the two men will wring my neck if I’m late back to the guesthouse. I’ve got to get back …
KARL: Of course, dear Fräulein, of course. Nothing would seem more absurd to us than to keep your ladyship here against your will!
(Herr Maus holds out his hand to the girl and she takes it hesitantly. He raises her to her feet and leads her to the door.)
KARL: Herr Maus has manners, Herr Maus is a gentleman in his dealings with virtuous young girls but hard and ruthless in his dealings with the wicked. There’s no question that you belong to the former category, is there?
(Herr Maus twists the girl’s arm behind her back until they’re standing close together; the pretence of gentleness vanishes from his face. He begins to cackle.)
KARL: Is there? (Fighting back laughter.) You’re unquestionably pure in body and soul? Isn’t that so?
MARIE-SOPHIE: (Hesitantly.) Your Excellency knows that perfectly well.
KARL: So perhaps we might ask the Fräulein one final question? (The laughter rattles in his throat.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: Stop it!
(Herr Maus grips the back of the girl’s neck, forces her head forwards, presses his mouth against her right ear and howls with laughter.)
KARL: Ha, ha, ha! How did you do it? You and the Jew? Ha, ha, ha!
(Herr Maus forces the girl to her knees.)
KARL: Bloody hell, girl! Ha, ha, ha! Can’t you answer a simple question?
(The girl can’t speak for the pain.)
KARL: Tell me how you did it or I’ll show you! Ha, ha, ha! That’s a good one. Ha, ha, ha! As if I knew anything about how those circumcised hogs mount their sows.’
‘Why on earth doesn’t she just tell the swine some lie and get shot of him?’
‘(Herr Maus releases the girl’s arm but tightens his hold on her neck. He is no longer laughing.)
KARL: (Wearily.) Then you leave me no alternative but to show you what I mean …
(Herr Maus drags the girl on her knees further into the room, forces her head down to the floor, squats behind her, lifts up her dress, jerks her knickers down to her knees and holds her in an iron grip while he gropes one-handed on the rickety table.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: (In a muffled voice.) Karl, I’ll scream, I can’t breathe.
KARL: Our name is Herr Maus; scream all you like – it’s a great pleasure for us to scream with a contemptible little sow like you!
(The girl cries out. Herr Maus bellows. The shadow rages round the room like fire in a storm, the wardrobe shivers and shakes.)
VOICE IN THE WARDROBE: For God’s sake, leave her alone!
KARL: Shut your mouth! We made a deal and it stands!
(Herr Maus gives a low whistle, he’s found what he was looking for – it glitters in his hand as he bends forwards and brandishes it in front of the girl’s eyes.)
KARL: It’s shaped something like this, isn’t it?
(The girl’s dilated pupils reflect a corkscrew jutting from Herr Maus’s powerful fist.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: NO!’
‘No! To hell with you and your sickening story! I’m off!’
‘Don’t go, please? Don’t leave me alone with Karl Maus and my mother. Please. Stay with me until the horror is over; I can’t bear it alone.’
‘Promise me you’ll get it over with as quickly as possible and you won’t wallow in the gory details, and I’ll stay. Do you promise?’
‘Yes. My God, I’m not doing this for fun. I have to describe everything as it happened or the story won’t be true and the follow-up will be absurd.’
‘Give me the truth, then. I’m listening.’
‘(Herr Maus looks from the girl to the corkscrew with an expression of astonishment.)
KARL: What are you saying? I was always given to understand that pig’s pricks were twisted like their tails. Perhaps you couldn’t feel it properly when the hook-nose stuck it up you; perhaps this will help refresh your memory.
(Herr Maus raises the corkscrew aloft behind the girl – she faints and slumps to the floor. Herr Maus loosens his grip on the girl’s neck, examines her deathly pale face and listens for her breathing. After a long interval the girl regains consciousness.)
MARIE-SOPHIE: (In a cold, neutral voice.) Yes, it was twisted like a corkscrew, a pig’s tail, a narwhal’s tusk.
(Herr Maus flings the corkscrew away with an expression of disgust. The girl is momentarily relieved. Herr Maus looks at her and is moved to tears.)
KARL: My child! Your mother’s lap – your most holy shrine – has been defiled and you can’t even see it. As it is written in verse twenty-three: “Beware of those who, abetted by the urging of the flesh, promise you a share in the Father, for they are liars and fornicators, spawn of the serpent Leviathan, who begot them upon himself in the outermost darkness. With the snares of lust they will strike the eyes from your souls: you shall not see, nor shall you be seen”.
(Crazed with fear, the girl struggles to rise to her feet but Herr Maus presses a fist between her shoulder blades and leans all his weight on it.)
KARL: But despair not, for there is a chance of salvation for those who have been defiled.
(Herr Maus unbuttons his flies with his free hand.)
KARL: If a just man steps forth and touches the soul-blinded in the same manner as the tempter, but with the word of God on his lips, he will be able to direct the Father’s eye towards the defiled one; and His divine gaze will raise up the sinner.
(Herr Maus sighs and pulls out his penis.)
KARL: And here comes the one who is prepared to sacrifice himself for you, my child.
(Herr Maus stiffens the penis in his hand.)
KARL: He is dumb, this poor wretch, so I’ll have to twitter his prayers for him. (Panting.) Our Father, which art in heaven …
(Herr Maus pushes his penis against the girl’s dry crotch.)
KARL:… hallowed be thy name …
(He hesitates, lowers his head and addresses his penis solicitously.)
KARL: No, damn it if I’ll soil you in that pig’s outpourings.
(Herr Maus moves his penis up an inch and jabs it into the girl.)
(The girl screams.)’
14
Up from the road starts Coal-black John
Calls to young Lily so fair:
O, come my dear, let us be joined
Together in my black lair!
My maidenhead y
ou never will get.
Tra-la lalla-la.
A mantle will cover it when I am dead.
Tra-la lalla-la.
But the churl he had two heavy hands,
He caught Lily fast, said he:
Coal-black gets what Coal-black wants,
My wench. Not a word said she.
My maidenhead you never will get.
Tra-la lalla-la.
Darkness will swallow it when I am dead.
Tra-la lalla-la.
She’s turned into a nimble hind
Fled to the woods away,
He’s taken the shape of a cruel hound
And snatched her as his prey.
My maidenhead you never will get.
Tra-la lalla-la.
The soil will sully it when I am dead.
Tra-la lalla-la.
In coal-grey boots to his forest tower
Strides John at a furious pace,
Blackened with blood, with a lily flower
Fading in his embrace.
My maidenhead you never will get.
Tra-la lalla-la.
’Twill glut the worms when I am dead.
Tra-la lalla-la.
‘Tra-la lalla-la, tra-la lalla-la. Marie-Sophie pulled down her dress and held the skirt tight against her lap.
She wanted to get out, out, out, she’s turned into a nimble hind. Karl had got to his feet but though she was looking right at him, meeting his eye as he stood with a glazed expression struggling to pull his damned trousers up his hairless legs, she didn’t see him, tra-la lalla-la; where he should have been there was nothing but a dark stain, and when he cleared his throat with a low rattle she didn’t wait for more but tore open the door and fled out on to the landing. The man must be crazy if he thought she was going to listen to his bloody whining after he had raped her.
Marie-Sophie raced down the stairs, trying to tidy her hair, button her cardigan, keep her footing and wipe the sweat from her neck as she went; there was muttering behind every door: We told you so, yes, you should have listened to us. When she reached the front door she turned round and yelled back: Why didn’t you do something? The chorus of mutterers retreated from the doors and scattered to their former occupations: one listened to a speech on the wireless, another checked on the dough on the kitchen worktop, the third continued his shaving; so it goes. In a corner by the staircase four children were engrossed in playing with a mouse in a chocolate box, turning it over and over so wall became floor, became ceiling, became wall, and listening absorbed to the rodent’s pathetic squeaking as it scrabbled around in the darkness. At Marie-Sophie’s yell, the children glanced up quickly from their game and looked her carefully up and down. Tears welled in Marie-Sophie’s eyes and she groped behind her for the door-handle; she wasn’t going to cry in front of these children. The eldest, a fair-haired girl with a hare-lip and dark brows, left the group and came over with her hand outstretched: Why are you crying? Marie-Sophie: I’m not crying. A lisping boy at mouse-play: Yes, you are crying! Marie-Sophie: (in a choked voice) I’m not! Lisping boy: You are, my sister says so! Marie-Sophie began to weep. The girl hushed the boy, stood on tiptoe and patted her cheek: You’ve only yourself to blame for going up to his room. Her tone was cold; Marie-Sophie recognised in it the voice of the old lady who lived on the floor below Karl. She gripped the girl’s arm hard, twisted it and whispered so the other children wouldn’t hear: Your time will come, little girl! She raised her free hand to strike: And give your granny this from me! The girl parried the blow before it struck her pale cheek: (low) It’s already come. Marie-Sophie lowered her hand: I’m sorry? But the girl tore herself away and darted back to her playmates. The children stuck out their tongues and pulled faces: Coal-black gets what Coal-black wants, tra-la lalla-la, Coal-black gets what Coal-black wants, tra-la lalla-la. The mouse in the chocolate box squeaked.