Read Online Death In Venice by Thomas Mann - Free Book Online Page B

spirited back by a quirk of fate, seeing them again within the hour! Spray at the prow, tacking with playful agility between gondolas and vaporetti, the swift little vessel raced towards its destination, its sole passenger concealing beneath a mask of resigned indignation the anxious yet high-spirited agitation of a child who has run away from home. From time to time his breast still shook with laughter at the thought of this mishap, which, he said to himself, could not have befallen even the luckiest of men at a more opportune moment There were explanations to give, astonished faces to confront, but then, he said to himself, everything would be fine again, a disaster averted, a grievous error rectified, and everything he thought he had left behind would once more open up before him, his to enjoy for as long as he so desired... And was it only the speed of the launch or was there actually, on top of it all, a breeze blowing in from the sea? The waves beat against the concrete walls of the narrow canal that runs across the island to the Hotel Excelsior. There a motor omnibus stood waiting to take the returning guest straight to the Hotel des Bains on the road above the rippling sea. The small, mustachioed manager in the frock coat came down the steps to greet him. He deplored the incident in his soft, wheedling way, calling it extremely awkward for him and the establishment, but unconditionally condoned Aschenbach's decision to await the trunk there. His room had of course been occupied, but another, equally suitable, would be ready immediately. Pas de chance, monsieur," said the Swiss lift attendant with a smile as they rode up. And thus the fugitive was lodged once more, and in a room all but identical in situation and furnishing. Exhausted and benumbed by the strange morning's turmoil, he distributed the contents of his bag about the room and settled into a reclining chair at the open window. The sea had turned a pale green: the air seemed thinner and purer, the beach with its boats and cabanas more colorful, though the sky was still gray. Aschenbach gazed out of the window, his hands folded in his lap, pleased to be back, but shaking his head in displeasure at his fickle nature, his ignorance of his own wishes. He sat thus for perhaps an hour in repose and idle reverie. At noon he spotted Tadzio in his striped linen outfit and red bow returning from the sea to the hotel through the beach gate and along the boardwalks. From his lofty vantage point Aschenbach recognized him immediately, even before getting a clear view of him, and was on the point of thinking something like: So you're still here, too, Tadzio. But at that very moment he felt the casual greeting fade and vanish before the truth of his heart, he felt the rapture of his blood, the joy and agony of his soul, and acknowledged to himself that it was Tadzio who had made it so hard for him to leave. He sat there perfectly still, perfectly invisible on his lofty perch, gazing within himself His features were keen, his eyebrows high, his lips drawn into a vigilant, inquisitively intelligent smile. Then he raised his head and with both arms, which had been hanging limply over the back of his chair, made a slow, rising, circular motion that brought the hands forward in such a way as to indicate an opening and spreading of the arms. It was a gesture of willingness, welcome, of calm acceptance.
    FOUR
    Day after day now the god with the flaming cheeks soared upward naked, driving his team of four fire-breathing horses through heaven's acres, his yellow ringlets fluttering wild in the gale of the east wind. A silky white sheen overlay the expanse of slow-swelling Pontos. The sand fairly glowed. Beneath the quivering silvery blue of the ether, rust-colored canvas awnings jutted out before each cabana, and mornings were spent on the sharply outlined patch of shade they created. But evenings were lovely as well, the plants in the park exuding their balm, the heavenly bodies