Luise came in and ordered two specials for the customs officials. “Just be quiet now,” said Mother and went into the dining room, little Anselm on her hip, to wish the two customs officials bon appétit.
Johann and Tell ran upstairs. Johann took his school bag with him. He pulled out his composition notebook and read: “Man is a pitiful thing without a homeland, actually just a dry leaf in the wind. He can’t defend himself. Anything can happen to him. He’s fair game. One can never have enough homeland. There is always too little homeland, never too much. But everyone should know they are not alone in needing a homeland. Other people do, too. The worst crime, comparable to murder, is to rob others of their homeland or drive them from it. As Winnetou’s noble father Inchu Chuna says: The white man steals the red man’s land, kills off the buffalo that provide the red man food and clothing, destroys the mustang herds, and ruins the prairies with railroad tracks, thus destroying the red man’s homeland and, consequently, the red man himself. The white race acts superior. As long as it destroys other races, it is inferior, worse than any other race. And besides that, it is Christian in name only.”
In the notebook, there was also a half-page of text and music. One sharp, four-four time. Text: Georg Schmitt. Music: Ernst Heller. That was their teacher. And Georg Schmitt was Schmitt the tinsmith. Johann read and hummed:
How oft on a flowering hillside
or at rest by a freshet’s flow
have I gazed upon northern beauty
or felt the southland’s glow.
But nothing has stilled my longing,
not mountains or meadows or streams,
till you, dear German homeland,
fulfilled all my fondest dreams.
He would be able to play it more precisely later on the piano, but now he was too excited. Was he excited? Muddled is what he was. Lying on his bed, he could look directly at the picture of the guardian angel that hung at an angle from the wall. Tell lay next to him, and he hugged him tight. Beneath the picture of the angel, primroses—a bit faded—and a burning candle. He jumped up, went over to the picture, and for the first time looked closely at the guardian angel. But the angel was concentrating entirely on the child beneath his protective hand, crossing the abyss on the bridge without a railing. Johann knocked on the glass. The guardian angel did not react. Tell sat next to Johann and looked up at the guardian angel, too.
“Come,” said Johann, and he and Tell went downstairs and outside. First in the direction of the linden tree. Between the houses: trees in bloom, bushes in bloom, and the sun shining on everything. He had a solemn feeling. He turned off, went straight on until the Schorers’, then turned left and continued downhill toward the firehouse. Of course, he said hello to Herr and Frau Schorer. They wanted no fruit trees or bushes in front of their house, only roses, small bush roses they spent all their time tending. Herr and Frau Schorer always said hello to Tell, too. When Johann got to the Hagens’, he saw Helmut on his knees in the grass. Lichtensteiger’s Helmut was pulling up grass from the meadow in front his uncle’s house and barnyard—grass for his rabbits. On the other side of the street, Frommknecht’s Hermann was trying to crank the motor of his modified Brennabor. When he saw Tell, he called over, “Hello, namesake!”
Johann said to Tell, “Yes, boy, look over there. That’s what the real Tell looks like.”
When he was finally allowed to have a dog, Johann knew he had to call him Tell. Frommknecht’s Hermann had just played Wilhelm Tell in the gymnasium. Josef played the son from whose head the apple gets shot. The heavy green curtain had barely risen when Josef sang,
The lake is laughing, inviting us in,
The boy is asleep on the shore’s green rim . . .
How Johann wished he could have been Josef.
“Hi, Helmut,” said Johann, and began to pull up grass blades, too. Beneath the wooden stairs on the outside of the house leading up to the second floor where the Lichtensteigers lived, Helmut kept a whole wall full of rabbit hutches. Johann sent Tell home. It was his favorite trick. Tell’s face got very sad whenever he was sent home. Johann had to repeat his command, had to say, Go home! three times before Tell slowly turned and set off for home at a morose trot.
Frau Schorer was digging in her rose bed while Herr Schorer applied his clippers to the tops of the bushes like Häfele the barber his scissors and comb to your hair. Frau Schorer straightened up and called to Tell sympathetically in her high, penetrating voice, “He has to obey, poor thing!”
“Go home,” Johann said again. Tell obeyed.
Helmut’s rabbits would get restless if Tell was nearby with Johann. And there was nothing Johann liked better than to fill the twenty feed troughs with fresh dandelions and then take some of the big rabbits out of their hutches, one after the other. How soft and heavy they were, lying in his arms! He liked the white ones best. They had had white rabbits, too, before he’d started school. Unexpectedly, Father had brought home some angoras. They had to be combed every day, and Father collected the wool picked up by the combs and took it to Lindau-Reutin. It was supposed to bring in some money. It didn’t. After half a year, they took the white rabbits with the red eyes back to where they had gotten them. They didn’t even try to start that business with the silver foxes once they had taken a look at the silver fox farm in the Allgäu. When Father and Johann got back from Ellhofen and reported that raising silver foxes was not going to work out, Mother had uttered a fairly loud: Thank God. The last attempt had been with silk worms. A room on the top floor was cleared out, the worms were fed, but then they died instead of producing cocoons from which the silk was supposed to be made.
Helmut thought Johann’s clash with the teacher had been really great.
“What do you mean?” asked Johann. “What was so great about it?” he persisted. Helmut said that when Johann read his composition out loud about how much homeland people needed, the longer he read, the more the teacher shook his head. But then when he started to give Johann a lecture about homeland and race, he didn’t have much to say. And the teacher’s last sentence was really really great.
“Which last sentence was that?” asked Johann. Helmut said the teacher had said: You’re wrong, of course, but you’re a very good speaker.
“Oh, you mean that,” said Johann.
“And you can forget the thing with Adolf,” said Helmut. Adolf just had a grudge against Johann because Johann had defended his composition in such a really great way and Adolf hadn’t even gotten a chance to read his.
“You think so?” said Johann.
“Yeah, I’m telling you,” said Helmut. Adolf always wrote exactly what the teacher wanted to hear. And then the teacher goes and chooses Johann, has him read his out loud, and there was such a long discussion that Adolf didn’t get to read his. And you better believe that peeved Adolf.
When all the troughs were full and the only sound coming from all the hutches was munching—the quiet crunch of dandelion greens between the teeth of the rabbits—Johann said that he’d just remembered something he had to do at home.
“So long, Helmut.”
“Hang on a second,” said Helmut. He just needed to show Johann the postcard that had come from Madeira today. Did Johann think he should bring it to school tomorrow? Johann deciphered what Helmut’s father had written: Madeira, a heaven on earth. Each day more beautiful than the last on his KDF vacation. Still, he was really sorry to have missed Helmut’s First Communion. Heartfelt greetings from your father.
“Whadd’ya think?” asked Helmut.
“Absolutely, bring it along,” said Johann. Then another, So long, Helmut, and So long, Johann, and Johann took off.
“Somebody’s in a hurry,” said Frau Schorer as Johann dashed by, and Herr Schorer also held his hobby gardener’s clippers motionless for a moment.
Luise was washing glasses and Johann, still panting heavily, asked if she was running low on tobacco products. Luise thought about it and then said, “Woll,” and counted up how many packs
of Salems, R6s, Niles, and Khedives and how many stogies and Virginias she needed. Then he went over to the office, where Mother was sitting at Father’s desk but not writing anything. When she sat at the desk like that, she was adding up accounts receivable and debts and then subtracting the former from the latter.
He said he needed her to sign a blank check to buy tobacco products. He got it and ran out. After a quick apology to Tell and a promise to return soon, he ran back down into the village, this time all the way to the linden tree, where all the streets converged. He turned off at the Linden Tree, their competition, and at the firehouse entered the big courtyard behind the Bruggers’ house. Frau Rauh lived on the Bruggers’ second floor and sold tobacco products wholesale, and if you were going to her place, you had to use the back steps. Herr Brugger’s hunting dog, Treff, was sitting right in front of the door. German short-haired pointer. He greeted Johann. Treff probably remembered that Johann had stood next to him a week ago when Herr Brugger delivered his lecture, Adolf to the left of Treff, Johann to the right of Treff, and Treff standing between them. Herr Brugger had whistled them over from where they were playing, each hopping on one foot with their arms crossed and trying to see who could knock the other over by bashing into him. You lost if the foot you were holding up touched the ground first. The battle—or game—was ten to nine in favor of Adolf when they heard Herr Brugger’s whistle. Herr Brugger had a long, drawn-out whistle that ended abruptly with a short, deeper note specially for Adolf. When they were in position to the left and right of Treff, Herr Brugger stood before them with his legs apart and said that Treff had been disobedient and must now be taught a lesson that would stick. That’s why the boys were there to witness it.
And then he started in: “My dear Treff, you are a beautiful beast, a proud representative of your race, lithe and quick. Your fur is shiny, your eye sparkles, and your passion for the hunt leaves nothing to be desired. But more is also expected of such a highly talented dog. If you ever run off into the underbrush again or stray into someone else’s hunting ground, you’ll get a bullet in the head. A good hunting dog is always true to his master, or else there would be an end to any proper hunting. If you can’t learn to control yourself, you’ll get a bullet or never be allowed into the woods again. You can stay at home, lie around, and be lazy, and the next time you disobey, you’ll be sold to a farmer who will chain you up. You won’t get much to eat, your fur will lose its shine, your eye become dull and your voice hoarse. Soon you will be just one more mouth to feed, you’ll be given away to a cottager who has nothing, and you’ll end up in his stewpot. Fate? You have often performed splendidly, Treff. I’m proud of you. But your temperament is both your strength and your weakness. Either you and I are bound together forever, day and night, or it’s the bullet for you or a miserable life on a chain and ending in a stewpot. It’s up to you, Treff. I’m counting on you, Treff. Understood?” And Treff had gone over to Herr Brugger, stretched out his front legs, touched the tips of Herr Brugger’s shoes with his nose, all the while emitting soulful sounds until he felt Herr Brugger’s hand. The hand scratched his neck. His tone got deeper and he sat down, this time next to Herr Brugger. Herr Brugger said, “We understand each other, Treff. I’m glad.” Treff had briefly rubbed his face against Herr Brugger’s calf. “Good dog,” Herr Brugger had said, and to Adolf and Johann: “Remember this, you two. It applies to all of us.”
Johann climbed the stairs. As always, Frau Rauh opened her door at the first ring. Although the packages of tobacco products were stacked to the ceiling in her living room, it smelled of perfume. Frau Rauh was a lady. One time, Cousin Anselm had taken Josef and Johann to a shop in Wangen that carried nothing but perfume. He had bought himself some cologne and the salesman had sprayed Josef and Johann. Both of them had been terrifically fragrant.
Downstairs, Adolf was standing beside Treff. He said that whenever Johann mounted the stairs, he could hear right away that it was him. Nobody climbed stairs as slowly as Johann. Johann was glad Adolf had come out. Johann would not have dared ring at the Bruggers’ glass door. But he didn’t know how he could have gone home if Adolf had not been waiting for him now. Johann put down the bag full of tobacco products by the wall of the house. Then he faced Adolf, raised both hands, and spread his fingers. Adolf understood at once. He laced his spread fingers between Johann’s spread fingers and the contest began. Each tried to bend the other’s hands so far back that he was forced down and ended up kneeling before the winner. It was the kind of contest in which Adolf had almost always proved to be stronger on account of his thicker, more powerful forearms. Adolf was an enthusiastic splitter of wood. With big axes, he split firewood into bright piles. Beneath the overhang over the door to the lower carriage house, Johann also split the wood they needed. The lower carriage house was then stacked to the ceiling with the wood Johann had split. But Adolf split wood not just for the Bruggers, but also for other people who were not—or were no longer—able to do it themselves. Adolf’s mother sent him out to needy, elderly people and admonished him not to accept anything for the work. Johann thought about that as he felt how difficult it was to bend back Adolf’s hands even a quarter inch from the perpendicular. And Treff was also jumping up on Johann and barking. He was on Adolf’s side, of course. But then gradually, Johann managed to bend Adolf’s hands back a little. By standing on tiptoe and using his full weight and pressure from above, Johann now really should have been able to bend Adolf’s hands completely back and force him to his knees. But Adolf simply wouldn’t give in. Although his hands were bent back at an angle, he resisted any further pressure. And suddenly, the counter-pressure came. Adolf regained the perpendicular. They were back where they had started. And Treff barked and barked. In Adolf’s face, Johann saw a sort of certainty or calm or confidence. Johann realized that Adolf thought he was stronger, and Johann remembered the greeting: Tell Adolf hi from me. He should’ve come to see me again, too. Johann felt the power gathering within him for the next, final assault. If Adolf was going to attack, Johann would see it in his eyes before he felt the pressure in his hands. He had learned that from Old Shatterhand in his fight with Metan-akva, the Kiowa they called Lightning Knife. A sudden dilation of the pupils would herald the decision to attack. But then came a jolt and pressure without Adolf’s eyes showing anything beforehand. Johann was forced down until he was on his knees before Adolf. Treff finally stopped barking. Johann stood up.
“Serves you right,” said Adolf, and grinned. And suddenly Johann didn’t really mind that he’d lost to Adolf. Of course, he would have liked to force Adolf to his knees. If anyone, then Adolf. But if anyone was going to force Johann to his knees, then it should be Adolf. And here in the Bruggers’ yard, where Herr Brugger might turn up any minute, Adolf just had to win. Johann would have been embarrassed to beat Adolf before the eyes of his father. And since Adolf had grinned at him like that, it was easier to talk to him. Adolf walked Johann home, just like always.
Adolf said that he hadn’t liked Johann yesterday and this morning. Johann stooped down and picked up a big nail.
“What are all these nails lying around here?” he asked.
“Just rusty ones,” said Adolf. He wouldn’t bother bending over to pick up one like that. Johann dropped the nail.
The teacher hadn’t been happy with Johann, either, said Adolf.
Johann said, “Let’s just drop it.” They walked on without saying anything until they reached the steps to the terrace. Usually Johann would now have gone back down the hill with Adolf and Adolf come back up the hill with him and on and on, back and forth, until either Adolf’s mother or Johann’s mother intervened. But Johann couldn’t go back with Adolf today. Adolf was waiting for him to, he could see that. It gave him a good feeling. He hoped Adolf would think it wasn’t right for Johann to simply not come back with him. He hoped Adolf would be annoyed and get mad. Adolf said he didn’t think Johann’s composition was very good. For the first time, Johann sounded like a show-off to him.<
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All Johann could say was, “Let’s just drop it.”
“So,” said Adolf.
“So,” said Johann.
Adolf turned and walked away. He didn’t just walk: he marched. That was abundantly clear. He swung his arms and his back was exaggeratedly straight. Suddenly, he took off running.
Johann turned, went into the house, and delivered the tobacco products to Luise.
When he saw Johann coming back, Tell had left his place in front of the doghouse and, since Johann did not order him away again, he went with Johann up to his room. They both lay down on the bed. Johann looked over at the guardian angel, who reminded him of Anita. She’d worn wings, too, when she was a dove. When he closed his eyes, he saw Crooked Hat riding away with his droopy, light-colored rucksack. Now he was happy to think about Crooked Hat. Hadn’t he had wings, too? But most of all, he liked to think about La Paloma. The goddess, the dove, the goddess. He got up again, went into the next room where his parents had slept until his father had to be moved to the room on the other side of the hall. From the bookcase he took out the book from which Father had last had him read the passage with the word correspondence. It was the last word about which Father had said: You just have to look at it. It had been in this book, written by someone named Emanuel Swedenborg. Johann wanted to find the pages he had read to his father between Christmas and New Year’s. He found the page where it said that one calls everything in the natural world that arises from the spiritual world a correspondence. And the doctrine of correspondence was a doctrine of the angels. He read that a few times. Each time it was easier to read. Like when you practiced some difficult passage on the piano until it wasn’t difficult anymore. The doctrine of correspondence was a doctrine of the angels. Correspondence. It belonged in the tree next to trepidation, bijoux, curiosity, exuberance, whitecaps, freckles, weeping willow, reincarnation, kingdom of heaven, chattels, memorial, Beatrijs, correspondence. To his surprise, Beatrijs no longer floated among the names, but between memorial and correspondence. So you can look at it, Father would have said.
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