by Walter Abish
Embarrassed, he asked: Do you want me to close the door?
It’ll be just the three of us this evening, said Egon. You don’t mind do you? Gisela doesn’t feel in the mood to see anyone. She has these periodic spells of … Here he searched for an appropriate word … doubt.
Is she all right?
Absolutely.
At dinner it was Gisela not Egon who asked him outright if he disliked Helmuth.
Dislike? Hardly.
Hardly yes, hardly no?
That’s not a fair question, said Egon.
Then Gisela wanted to know about Helmuth’s affairs.
Egon leaned toward her. Gisela, Ulrich may not wish to …
Of course he does, she said. Did he ever sleep with Rita Tropf?
Egon corrected her. Tropf-Ulmwehrt.
Did he, did he?
When told that he had, she then wanted to know if Helmuth had also slept with the schoolteacher, Anna Heller.
As a matter of fact, yes, said Ulrich.
And the mayor’s wife? What’s her name.
It’s Vin, dear, said Egon.
Yes, also, said Ulrich.
Looking pleased, she said: And he’s supposed to be a good architect to boot. Wouldn’t you say? she challenged Egon.
You know he is.
Aren’t you ever jealous of him? she asked Ulrich.
Should I be?
I believe he’s equivocating, she said.
How different could everything be?
Two more weeks minus two days, Ulrich said to himself. He had planned to do some reading. A dip after breakfast, an occasional long walk on the beach. Instead he remained on their terrace vacuously staring into the blue. He resisted all invitations until Gisela almost forcibly made him accompany her to one of the demolished fortifications at the end of the beach, a two-mile walk from their beachhouse.
I thought they’re all destroyed, he said as he reluctantly joined her.
Well, you can still see bits and pieces.
If you insist …
What you need is a new perspective, she said.
Are you sure that’s what you mean?
How different?
In the afternoon Gisela introduced him to Dietrich Mertz, who like him was a guest in one of the newly built beachhouses. Haven’t we met, Dietrich said. They shook hands as if it was the most natural thing to do. No feeling of animosity on his part. To tell the truth, he felt too numb. Too numb to say anything but “Thank you” when Dietrich complimented him on his recent book. Particularly that section in Paris … Excellent.
Thank you.
I couldn’t put it down. I think it’s your best one yet.
Thank you.
How could everything have been different?
For one thing, he could have punched Dietrich in the nose. He could have kneed him in the groin. Spit in his face. At the very least he could have walked away without shaking hands.
Wasn’t he one of the lawyers at the Einzieh trial? Egon later asked. Yes.
I don’t care for him, said Egon. But he said it without conviction.
Where’s he staying?
Nearby. At the Bär’s. We’ll probably see more of him. We’re going there tonight for dinner.
How different would it have been had he not gone?
Dietrich in a dinner jacket, expansive, cordial, offering him a drink. Aren’t you back in Würtenburg?
Yes.
Ever been here before?
On the islands? Yes.
On this island?
No.
My first time as well. Bending slightly forward, in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, Dietrich’s comment: Rather sleazy, if you ask me, New money—established the intimacy of their relationship.
When Mrs. Bär, a stout woman in her late forties, joined them, Dietrich taking hold of Ulrich’s arm loudly commented: I’ve been telling everyone how much I enjoyed your latest novel. Isn’t that so Mrs. Bar?
Do you prefer to write in the morning or at night? she asked Ulrich in an unnaturally high-pitched voice.
At night.
Late at night?
No. About now would be a good time.
I think, she said to Dietrich, that your friend is making fun of me.
Writers are unpredictable, replied Dietrich, flashing Ulrich a triumphant look of complicity.
He’s a turd, said Egon when the three of them left the Bär’s house.
Who? asked Gisela.
The lawyer Mertz. Really slippery. You don’t mind, do you, he said to Ulrich, running into him twice on one day?
Should I?
I was simply referring to someone who tried to have you put behind bars for twenty years, said Egon stiffly.
That’s why he was on their team. He was good at his job.
Sometimes you baffle me, said Egon.
Everything that fails to conform to Egon’s expectations, said Gisela, baffles him.
Well, you don’t baffle me, said Egon.
At breakfast Egon mentioned that on his way to pick up a newspaper he saw Dietrich drive to the landing. Could he be leaving? asked Gisela. I doubt it, said Egon.
You really don’t like him, remarked Ulrich. I thought that I was the one who should dislike him, but it’s you.
He works too hard at being likable.
And I fall for it, is that what you are saying?
Yes. Almost eagerly. You work at it just as hard as he. Only, in your case you try to like everyone.
Could it have been any different?
One uneventful day after another. Each day enshrined what was essentially a pleasant mindless state of inactivity.
Gisela: You know, you never really relax. I’ve watched you.
Wide beaches. People in the water, some up to their chests. Here and there a determined jogger running back and forth. Egon and the people from the adjacent beachhouse playing volley ball. Here and there, women with great dexterity remove the top of their bikinis as they stretch out on the sand. An occasional dog, panting, with a protruding pink tongue, obediently enters the water to retrieve a stick or a soggy tennis ball.
Mrs. Bär, visiting Gisela, joined him on the terrace. I would expect to find you with a notebook … or a book. Turning to Gisela for confirmation. Am I not right?
You must read his last book, said Gisela.
Do you ever use real people in your books, asked Mrs. Bar, or do you make everything up?
Ulrich looked at her, a short stout woman in a bright red bathing suit, deciding that her comical gestures, her high-pitched voice, were intended to make her seem less plain in appearance, less likely to be characterized as a dumpy lady to be avoided.
A bit of both, he said. As one writes, things sort of come together.
Are you fond of your characters? She asked. Her small round eyes focused on him, but their inquiry he decided was not related to her questions or to any of his replies.
No, he said. I’m not as fond of them as I feel I should be.
Why?
Perhaps, because they are so familiar.
Are you saying that you can only be intrigued by what you don’t fully grasp?
Bettina, said Gisela, won’t you stay for lunch. It’s so stimulating listening to the two of you.
No, dear. You’ve just reminded me that I have several guests coming. We must continue our talk some other time, she said to Ulrich.
You don’t like her, said Gisela after Bettina Bär had left.
She walks funny, she talks funny, she dresses funny, but she has a heart of gold.
Could it have been any different?
Why are you laughing? Egon asked.
Ulrich was being funny, said Gisela.
For a change, said Ulrich.
Bettina kept asking him about his work. If his characters were based on real people.
I dread reading his next book, said Egon moodily, I might not like Ulrich’s depiction of me.
Isn’t he vain, said Gisela. He has nothing else
on his mind.
What do you have on your mind, little Gisela, Egon asked softly.
Only the summer. The sun, the sand, the sea. And Egon … witty …
Athletic, Ulrich suggested.
Athletic, she said, and handsome … and?
Domineering, said Egon.
No. Not domineering. Cruel, unreliable, deceitful …
And a liar, said Egon.
Yes … and?
And how about lunch, suggested Ulrich.
We haven’t seen Dietrich since yesterday, said Egon as they entered the beachhouse.
Perhaps he has left. Her head cocked to one side as she looked at Ulrich.
No, said Egon, I asked.
You would have been disappointed if he had, she said laughing. Egon needs something or someone to dislike. Isn’t that right?
Yes, admitted Egon. I need shits like Dietrich.
As long as it isn’t me, she murmured.
Egon looking at Ulrich, as if only now seeing him properly: My God. He’s as red as a lobster. You better watch out.
Yes, said Ulrich, I burn easily.
When Ulrich accepted Egon’s invitation, he expected to spend two lazy weeks in the sun. Two weeks doing nothing. Reading a few mysteries. Meeting other summer people he would never see again. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Letting the sun peel away every thought of the past. Beach games, tennis, cards at night. By now he had met all the guests staying at the Bär’s. Dr. and Mrs. Arnold Reif, Karl-Ernst Lampe, and Renata Jonke, who was Mrs. Bär’s secretary.
I hadn’t realized, Ulrich had said to her, that Mrs. Bär would require a secretary.
But she does.
He looked at her inquiringly. Correspondence, and that sort of thing?
Her “yes” revealed nothing.
Egon was not much more helpful. Mrs. Bär is active in all kinds of causes.
Helping her husband?
Oh no, he doesn’t require her help. No, helping other people. She develops a fondness for some …
For instance, for Dietrich?
Could be.
A sexual attraction?
Absolutely not. What I mean, Egon corrected himself, is that her assistance, or help, however you wish to put it, is not predicated on an actual involvement. Clearly, she likes Dietrich.
And Dietrich?
I assume that he will not do anything to impede her wish to be helpful, to further his career …
How long have you known her? Ulrich asked.
My God, he does have many questions today, doesn’t he, said Egon. What will he want to know next?
Well, said Gisela. Just to show you that I’m still your friend. You can ask me anything.
Could it have been any different?
When he passed the Bär’s place, he could see Mrs. Bär dictating to her secretary.
Seagulls, shells, driftwood, charred logs from a fire someone had built on the beach. Dunes. Several swimmers. A man with goggles and flippers, wearing a snorkel, walks away from the sea. Footprints. Tiny crabs. Boats out at sea.
On his return, when he saw Renata on the Bär’s terrace by herself, he walked over. He saw that she was working on a list. Still at work? Don’t they give you any time off?
But they do.
When?
Whenever I want it.
Then you don’t want it very often.
When I want it, I take it.
A day off, as well?
When I want it.
He was about to turn away, not feeling welcome, when she said: I believe you’ve met my brother recently.
Jonke? Not the bookstore owner?
She smiled. Yes.
Nice bookstore. How did he come to mention me?
Oh, in a recent letter.
How is he?
He’s well. In fact he’s planning to get married soon.
Oh yes. To Anna Heller. Well, I’ll be off.
See you tonight, she said.
He stopped. Having forgotten that they would be eating at the Bär’s again. Has Dietrich returned?
She looked at him shrewdly. No. He seems to have found a lady friend on the mainland.
Why doesn’t he bring her over?
That’s exactly what we said.
Why did he ask: Is she far away?
What?
His friend.
She laughed. Not too far. I believe she lives in Gänzlich.
On the coast?
Yes.
Ah, meadows, cows, old farms, windmills … Here and there a cluster of small houses …
You know it?
No. But I am sure it looks that way.
Perhaps you should have a look at it.
You mean to confirm that it does have cows, fields, and windmills.
Well, it seems to have something more for Dietrich.
Absolutely. I can see her quite clearly. A teacher or a librarian. Fiercely independent, but moody. Right?
Could be. He didn’t say.
He was being secretive?
Renata Jonke looked amused. Secretive? She was beginning to enjoy this exchange. Hardly. It was someone he had known in Würtenburg. A former student of Brumhold. And then, remembering: You’re from Würtenburg. You might know her.
I might, if I knew her name.
He didn’t mention it. At least not in my presence. She looked at Ulrich sharply, as if suddenly aware that his questions might not be as innocuous and playful as they first appeared.
It wasn’t Daphne, was it? He asked. I know someone named Daphne who moved out here.
She looked down at the list of names in front of her. You’ll just have to ask him yourself—won’t you?
Have you ever been to Brumholdstein?
But she wasn’t to be drawn into any further conversation.
Where’s Gänzlich, Ulrich asked Gisela. It was the eighth or ninth day of his stay. He had lost track of time.
It’s near here, somewhere.
North, south?
You know, you ought to stay out of the sun, she said. You’re awfully sunburnt.
I will. But where’s Gänzlich?
Isn’t that where what’s his name has gone in pursuit of some woman?
Dietrich Mertz.
Yes.
Where is it?
I don’t know. Ask Egon. Then, more amused than astonished, she asked: You’re not thinking of following him, are you?
Follow Dietrich? Of course not.
Egon put it more succinctly. The people of Gänzlich detest summer people. They throw rocks at them when they drive through the town. It’s a place to avoid. If you go there, you’ll be taking your life in your hands.
I assure you, I have no intention of going there, said Ulrich, mildly exasperated. I simply wanted to know where the place is.
You know, said Egon, placing his arm around Ulrich’s shoulder, if your brother wasn’t such a terrible shit, I would have invited him as well.
He might not have come, Gisela reminded Egon.
Our architect, said Egon archly, would not have let us down.
We’re going to sell the house, said Gisela. Egon wants to be closer to his office …
I hate to give it up now that it’s become our trademark. When he said trademark, Gisela obligingly assumed the posture she held on the cover for Treue, bending slightly as if to attach a leash to a dog.
Where is Dumas?
Oh, it was dreadful. He killed a small dachshund and, would you believe it, devoured him. The dachshund’s name was Chopin … he belonged to our neighbors … Simply to stay on good terms with them we had to have him put away.
But how different could everything have been?
We’ll have a farewell dinner for you before you leave, said Egon.
On the beach Dietrich Mertz was standing on his head in front of a small group that included Mrs. Bär and her secretary, Renata Jonke.
I wish he would do it in one foot of water, said Egon.
As Dietrich began to waver and was about to lose hi
s balance, he jumped to his feet.
Scattered applause. Egon yelling: Encore. But as soon as he saw Dietrich coming toward them he walked away.
I ran into an admirer of yours on the mainland, Dietrich announced by way of a greeting.
Ulrich continued to look expectantly at Dietrich.
She’s read all your books.
And she wants to meet me?
The subject wasn’t brought up.
I knew it was too good to be true. Do I know her?
Exaggerated look of concentration on Dietrich’s face. I think she may have known your wife.
Yes.
I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Don’t remember her name. Serious face. Medium height.
Yes, said Ulrich encouragingly.
Maybe a teacher …
From Würtenburg?
Yes, she would have to be from Würtenburg, wouldn’t she. I think she was a student at the university.
Law?
No.
Philosophy, by any chance?
I believe so. In fact I think she studied under Brumhold.
Well, it must be nice to run into old friends.
Hardly a friend. I don’t even remember her name.
And my name came up.
I mentioned having read your last book, and how much I liked it … and she agreed …
How different could it be?
Afternoon. Dietrich came over to Egon and Gisela’s house asking for Ulrich.
I suddenly remembered her name, he said when Ulrich joined them.
Whose name?
The name of the woman who admires your writing. Her first name was Daphne.
Daphne? No. Doesn’t ring a bell.
She mentioned that she moved to Gänzlich. To get away from everything.
Did she have a reason to get away? asked Gisela.
I don’t know. Pleasant life in Gänzlich.
Exactly, said Ulrich.
Is she your friend, asked Gisela. The one you were visiting?
Oh no, she’s a woman I happened to meet. In a store.
A bookstore? asked Egon.
No, a stationary store. Smiling at Egon.
And she lives in Gänzlich, asked Ulrich.
Yes …
Nice village?