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Authors: Ferdinand von Schirach
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diverted.’
The porn producer’s voice was softer now.
‘I suspect,’ he said, ‘that the migratory system may soon come to an end. Even today, starlings are overwintering in European cities. Perhaps I’ll make that film yet some day.’
They sat in the living room for a little longer. The porn producer told them about his daughter who wanted to study archaeology. Then he suddenly got to his feet, went to the door without a word, and put his leather jacket on again. There was a splinter left from his wood-cutting on its woollen collar. He took Sofia and Eschburg back to their car, and said they could come back any time they liked. He shot a film every week.
They drove back through the forest. It was cooler now, and the trees were reflected in the painted finish of the car bonnet. Eschburg said that the birds on the walls had been arranged by colour, not by the tributaries of the Amazon. Sofia had tears in her eyes.
He wanted to show her the old house beside the lake. The village had changed: the pharmacist had gone, to be replaced by two street cafés and a modern metal fountain. The street had been given a new layer of asphalt. The crooked box hedge and the drive up to the house had gone as well. There was now a car park, full of expensive-looking cars with number plates from Munich and Starnberg. Wooden holiday chalets stood in the park. They were painted white, had verandas overlooking the lake, and were all the same size.
The old house had been renovated and re-roofed, and the first-floor windows had been enlarged. There was a notice beside the flight of steps up to the entrance: ‘Golf Club members only.’
They went down to the lake. The landing stage, the boathouse and the stables had been torn down, and golf buggies were left in what had been the chapel. There were new white gravel paths between the holiday chalets, and new flowerbeds, and weatherproof plastic benches stood on the grass. A new teak terrace stood behind the house, with people sitting on it under sun umbrellas, wearing yellow and red tank tops and check trousers and skirts.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sofia.
Eschburg wanted to tell her about the rusty weathervane on the roof. He wanted to tell her that the colours here had been bronze, lemon and cadmium yellow, cyan blue, olive and chromium oxide green, burnt sienna and sand. He wanted to tell her that reality moved faster than he did, that he couldn’t keep up. Things passed on, and he was only watching.
All he actually said was, ‘That’s where the boathouse used to stand.’
A man in a blue jacket came over the grass. ‘Excuse me, please, are you members?’ he asked. He was young and polite, and he had very white teeth.
‘No,’ said Eschburg.
‘Then I’m afraid I must ask you to leave the club premises.’
Only the lake hadn’t changed. The reeds were still there, and the dark green trees, and the pollen drifting on the water.
‘I understand,’ said Eschburg.
On the way to the airport they stopped at a fuel station. While Eschburg was waiting for Sofia after paying, he leafed through the newspapers and magazines on the shelves above the sweets and crisps. The headline of one tabloid announced that mankind was bankrupt, was fifty trillion euros in debt. In debt to whom, Eschburg wondered. He bought cigarettes and a new plastic lighter. On the way to the car he felt sick. He threw up between the petrol pumps.
A few hours later they were back on the plane to Berlin. She’s the first woman I can imagine being with, he thought. I can be alone and silent with her. He put his hand on hers and held it tightly.
Sofia looked at him as if he were a stranger.
From above, they could see the neat and tidy fields, geometrically marked out strips, squares of maize and clover. The tidiness soothed Eschburg.
18
Eschburg worked on the pictures for two months. He entitled them
The Maja’s Men
. Sofia was shown lying on a sofa copied by a set designer from the one
The porn producer’s voice was softer now.
‘I suspect,’ he said, ‘that the migratory system may soon come to an end. Even today, starlings are overwintering in European cities. Perhaps I’ll make that film yet some day.’
They sat in the living room for a little longer. The porn producer told them about his daughter who wanted to study archaeology. Then he suddenly got to his feet, went to the door without a word, and put his leather jacket on again. There was a splinter left from his wood-cutting on its woollen collar. He took Sofia and Eschburg back to their car, and said they could come back any time they liked. He shot a film every week.
They drove back through the forest. It was cooler now, and the trees were reflected in the painted finish of the car bonnet. Eschburg said that the birds on the walls had been arranged by colour, not by the tributaries of the Amazon. Sofia had tears in her eyes.
He wanted to show her the old house beside the lake. The village had changed: the pharmacist had gone, to be replaced by two street cafés and a modern metal fountain. The street had been given a new layer of asphalt. The crooked box hedge and the drive up to the house had gone as well. There was now a car park, full of expensive-looking cars with number plates from Munich and Starnberg. Wooden holiday chalets stood in the park. They were painted white, had verandas overlooking the lake, and were all the same size.
The old house had been renovated and re-roofed, and the first-floor windows had been enlarged. There was a notice beside the flight of steps up to the entrance: ‘Golf Club members only.’
They went down to the lake. The landing stage, the boathouse and the stables had been torn down, and golf buggies were left in what had been the chapel. There were new white gravel paths between the holiday chalets, and new flowerbeds, and weatherproof plastic benches stood on the grass. A new teak terrace stood behind the house, with people sitting on it under sun umbrellas, wearing yellow and red tank tops and check trousers and skirts.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sofia.
Eschburg wanted to tell her about the rusty weathervane on the roof. He wanted to tell her that the colours here had been bronze, lemon and cadmium yellow, cyan blue, olive and chromium oxide green, burnt sienna and sand. He wanted to tell her that reality moved faster than he did, that he couldn’t keep up. Things passed on, and he was only watching.
All he actually said was, ‘That’s where the boathouse used to stand.’
A man in a blue jacket came over the grass. ‘Excuse me, please, are you members?’ he asked. He was young and polite, and he had very white teeth.
‘No,’ said Eschburg.
‘Then I’m afraid I must ask you to leave the club premises.’
Only the lake hadn’t changed. The reeds were still there, and the dark green trees, and the pollen drifting on the water.
‘I understand,’ said Eschburg.
On the way to the airport they stopped at a fuel station. While Eschburg was waiting for Sofia after paying, he leafed through the newspapers and magazines on the shelves above the sweets and crisps. The headline of one tabloid announced that mankind was bankrupt, was fifty trillion euros in debt. In debt to whom, Eschburg wondered. He bought cigarettes and a new plastic lighter. On the way to the car he felt sick. He threw up between the petrol pumps.
A few hours later they were back on the plane to Berlin. She’s the first woman I can imagine being with, he thought. I can be alone and silent with her. He put his hand on hers and held it tightly.
Sofia looked at him as if he were a stranger.
From above, they could see the neat and tidy fields, geometrically marked out strips, squares of maize and clover. The tidiness soothed Eschburg.
18
Eschburg worked on the pictures for two months. He entitled them
The Maja’s Men
. Sofia was shown lying on a sofa copied by a set designer from the one
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