He went on: ‘You cannot hide from Time. You can hide from kings and emperors, and possibly from God, but you can’t hide from Time. Time follows our every move, because everything around us is immersed in this transient element.’
I nodded seriously, but Dad had only just begun his long lecture on the ravages of time.
‘Time doesn’t pass, Hans Thomas, and Time doesn’t tick. We are the ones who pass, and our watches tick. Time eats its way through history as silently and relentlessly as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It topples great civilisations, gnaws at ancient monuments, and wolfs down generation after generation. That’s why we speak of the “ravages of time.” Time chews and chomps – and we are the ones between its jaws.’
‘Is that what the old philosophers talked about?’ I asked.
He nodded and continued: ‘For a fleeting moment, we are part of a furious swarm. We run around on earth as though it was the most obvious thing of all. You saw how the ants crawled and crept up at the Acropolis! But everything will disappear. It will disappear and be replaced with new multitudes, because people are always standing in line. Shapes and masks come and go, and new ideas are always popping up. Themes are never repeated, and a composition never shows up twice … There is nothing as complicated and precious as a person, my boy – but we are treated like trash.’
I thought this lecture was so pessimistic that at last I dared to make a little comment. ‘Are things really so bleak?’
‘Wait,’ he interrupted, before I’d had a chance to finish what I was going to say. ‘We skip around on earth like characters in a fairy tale. We nod and smile at each other as if to say, “Hi there, we’re living at the same time! We’re in the same reality – or the same fairy tale …” Isn’t that incredible, Hans Thomas? We live on a planet in the universe, but soon we’ll be swept out of orbit again. Abracadabra – and we’re gone.’
I sat looking at him. There was nobody I knew better, and nobody I loved more, but something strange had come over him while he stood here surveying the marble blocks in the old square in Athens. It wasn’t Dad speaking; I thought he had been possessed by Apollo or some kind of demon.
‘If we had lived in another century,’ he went on, ‘we would have shared our lives with different people. Today we can easily nod and smile and say hello to thousands of our contemporaries: “Hi, there! How strange we should be living at exactly the same time.” Or perhaps I bump into someone and open a door and shout: “Hi, soul!”’
He demonstrated with both hands how he could open the door to his soul.
‘We’re alive, you know, but we live this only once. We open our arms and declare that we exist, but then we are swept aside and thrust into the depths of history. Because we are disposable. We are part of an eternal masquerade where the masks come and go. But we deserve more, Hans Thomas. You and I deserve to have our names engraved into something eternal, something that won’t be washed away in the great sandbox.’
He sat on a block of marble catching his breath. Only now did I understand that Dad had spent a long time preparing the speech he would give here in the ancient square in Athens. In this way he had also taken part in the ancient philosophers’ discussions.
He wasn’t really talking to me; everything was directed at the great Greek philosophers. Dad’s speech was addressed to a distant past.
I still wasn’t a fully fledged philosopher, but I thought I was entitled to give my opinion all the same.
‘Don’t you think there might be something which isn’t washed away in the great sandbox?’
He turned around, and for the first time he spoke to me. I think I woke him from a deep trance.
‘Here,’ he said, and pointed to his head. ‘There’s something in here which can’t be washed away.’
For a moment I was worried he’d become a megalomaniac, but he wasn’t really just pointing to his own head.
‘Thoughts don’t flow, Hans Thomas. You see, I have sung only the first verse. The philosophers in Athens believed that there was also something which didn’t run. Plato called this the “world of ideas”. The sandcastle isn’t the most important thing. What is most important is the image of a sandcastle which the child had pictured before it started to build. Why do you think the child knocks the castle down as soon as it is finished?’
I had to admit I understood the first verse better than the second, but then he said, ‘Have you ever wanted to draw or make something but you just haven’t been able to get it right? You try over and over again, without giving up. It is because the image you have in your head is always more complete than the representations you try to form with your hands. It’s the same with everything we see around us. We think everything could be better, and do you know why we do that, Hans Thomas?’
I just shook my head. By now he was so excited that he started to whisper. ‘It’s because all the images inside our heads have come from the world of ideas. That’s where we really belong, you know – not down here in the sandbox, where time snaps at everything we love.’
‘So there is another world, then?’
Dad nodded secretively. ‘It was our soul before it lodged itself in a body, and it will return there when the body succumbs to the ravages of time.’
‘Is that true?’ I said, looking up at him in awe.
‘Well, that’s what Plato thought. Our bodies have the same fate as the sandcastles in the sandbox, nothing can be done about it. But we do have something which time can’t gnaw through. That’s because it doesn’t really belong here. We need to look up from everything flowing around us and see what it is all a representation of.’
I hadn’t understood everything Dad had said, but I did understand that philosophy was an enormous thing and Dad was an enormous philosopher. I also felt as though I had made closer contact with the ancient Greeks. I realised that what I had seen today was more or less all that was left of the Greeks’ worldly goods, but that their thoughts were as resilient as ever.
To conclude, Dad pointed to the place where Socrates had been imprisoned. He had been charged with leading young people astray, and died after being made to drink a vial of deadly poison. Of course, in truth he was the only joker in Athens at that time.
NINE OF DIAMONDS
… we are all part
of the same family …
When we had left the ancient square and the Acropolis behind us, we walked along some shopping streets to Syntagma Square in front of the large parliament building.
Dad bought an interesting pack of cards on the way. He immediately ripped it open, pulled out the joker, and handed me the rest.
We ate dinner at one of the many tavernas on the plaza, and after Dad had gulped down a cup of coffee, he said he was going to make some enquiries to track Mama down. My feet were tired after all that walking in the footsteps of the ancient Greeks, so we agreed I could wait at the café while he made a few telephone calls and visited a model agency nearby.
After Dad had gone, I was left sitting alone in the large square, which was swarming with Greek people. The first thing I did was spread out all the cards on the table. I tried to give each of them a short sentence and make a story out of them. But it was too confusing without a pencil and a piece of paper, so I soon gave up.
Instead, I took out the magnifying glass and the sticky-bun book and read more about the magic island. I was sure I was nearing a decisive point in the story. The Joker was about to put together all the disjointed sentences which the dwarfs had invented, and I might learn more about the connection between myself and all the fascinating stuff Baker Hans had told Albert long, long ago.
The contents of the tiny bottle stimulated my whole body so much that the ground seemed to sway beneath my feet. It was like being at sea again.
I heard Frode say, ‘How could you think of offering him the bottle?’
And I heard the Joker reply, ‘Well, he did sort of ask for a taste.’
I am not really sure if these were his exact wor
ds, because the next minute I fell fast asleep. I was woken by somebody gently kicking me in the side. When I opened my eyes, I saw Frode’s face before me.
‘You must wake up now!’ he said. ‘The Joker is about to solve the great riddle.’
I sat bolt upright. ‘What riddle?’
‘The Joker Game, remember? He’s going to put all the sentences together to form a story.’
As I clambered to my feet, I saw the Joker instructing the dwarfs to stand in a particular order. They were arranged in a circle as before, only now the different colours were mixed up and I quickly noticed that the same numbered dwarfs were standing next to each other.
The Joker climbed back onto his throne, and Frode and I did the same.
‘Jacks!’ shouted the Joker. ‘Stand between the Kings and the Tens. The Queens shall stand between the Kings and the aces.’
He scratched his head a couple of times. Then he continued : ‘Nine of Clubs and Nine of Diamonds, change places!’
A chubby Nine of Clubs padded across the floor and stood beside a nimble Nine of Diamonds, who skipped across the floor and took the club’s place.
The Joker made a few more alterations before he was satisfied.
‘This is called a spread,’ Frode whispered. ‘First, all the cards get a meaning; then they are shuffled together and redealt.’
I could hardly follow what he was saying; a sharp tang of lemon was biting into one of my legs and a blissful scent of lilac was tickling my left ear.
‘Everyone has his own sentence,’ the Joker began, ‘but only when the sections are joined together does the solitaire make sense. For we are all part of the same family.’
A breathless silence fell upon the room. Then the King of Spades spoke: ‘Which one of us starts?’
‘He is just as impatient each time,’ Frode whispered.
The Joker opened his arms wide and declared, ‘Naturally the beginning of the story sets the course for everything to follow, and our story begins with the Jack of Diamonds. Off you go, glass Jack, the floor is yours.’
‘Silver brig drowns in foaming sea’, announced the Jack of Diamonds.
The King of Spades stood to the right of him and followed with: ‘The one who sees through destiny must also live through it.’
‘No, no!’ interrupted the Joker in frustration. ‘This play follows the sun. The King of Spades comes at the very end.’
Frode’s face was tense and serious. ‘It’s as I feared,’ he mumbled.
‘What is?’
‘The King of Spades is last.’
I was unable to reply, as an overwhelming taste of eggnog was flowing like a waterfall through my head, and that wasn’t something we had every day back home in Lübeck.
‘Let’s start from the very beginning,’ said the Joker. ‘First the Jacks then all the Tens and then everyone else in the direction of the sun. Take it away, Jacks!’
Each of the Jacks now reeled off his sentence.
‘Silver brig drowns in foaming sea. Sailor is washed ashore on island which grows and grows. The breast pocket hides a pack of cards which is placed in the sun to dry. Fifty-three pictures are company for the master glassblower’s son for many long years.’
‘That’s better,’ said the Joker. ‘That’s how our story begins. Perhaps not such an unusual beginning, but a beginning nevertheless. Okay, Tens!’
And the Tens continued: ‘Before the colours fade, fifty-three dwarfs are cast in the lonely sailor’s imagination. Peculiar figures dance in the master’s mind. When the master sleeps, the dwarfs live their own lives. One beautiful morning King and Jack climb out of the prison of consciousness.’
‘Bravo! it couldn’t be better put. Nines!’
‘The images jump out of the creative space into the created space. The figures are shaken out of the magician’s sleeve and appear out of thin air bursting with life. The fantasies are beautiful in appearance, but all except one have lost their minds. Only a lonesome Joker sees through the delusion.’
‘That’s true! Because truth is a lonely thing. Eights!’
‘Sparkling drink paralyses Joker’s senses. Joker spits out the sparkling drink. Without the lie-nectar the little fool thinks more clearly. After fifty-two years the shipwrecked grandson comes to the village.’
The Joker gave me a look of acknowledgment.
‘Sevens!’ he commanded.
‘The truth lies in the cards. The truth is that the master glassblower’s son has made fun of his own fantasies. The fantasies lead a fantastic rebellion against the master. Soon the master is dead; the dwarfs have murdered him.’
‘Oh dear! Sixes!’
‘Sun princess finds her way to the ocean. The magic island crumbles from within. The dwarfs become cards again. The baker’s son escapes the fairy tale before it is folded up.’
‘That was better. Fives, it’s your turn now. You must speak clearly and loudly. The slightest error in pronunciation can have dramatic consequences.’
I was so confused by what he said about dramatic consequences that I missed the first sentence.
‘The baker’s son escapes over the mountains and settles in remote village. The baker conceals the treasures from the magic island. The future lies in the cards.’
The Joker now began to applaud eagerly.
‘Everyone gets raked over the coals here,’ he said. ‘The good thing about this play is that not only does it reflect what has happened; it also brings promise of what will happen – and we’re only halfway through the solitaire.’
I turned to Frode, who put his arm around my shoulder and whispered almost inaudibly. ‘He’s right, my boy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t have long to live.’
‘Nonsense!’ I replied agitatedly. ‘You mustn’t take such a silly party game so seriously.’
‘It’s not just a game, son.’
‘You’re not allowed to die!’ I shouted so loudly that several of the figures in the ring turned and looked up at us.
‘All old people have to be allowed to die, my boy, but it’s good to know that there is someone to pick up where the old leave off.’
‘I’ll probably die on this island, too.’
With a gentle voice he replied, ‘But weren’t you listening? “The baker’s son escapes over the mountains and settles in remote village.” Aren’t you the baker’s son?’
The Joker clapped his hands once more, and the whole room was filled with the sound of jingling bells.
‘Silence!’ he ordered. ‘Carry on, Fours!’
I was now so afraid that Frode might die, I heard only the Four of Clubs and the Four of Diamonds.
‘The village shelters neglected boy whose mother has passed away. The baker gives him the sparkling drink and shows him the beautiful fish.’
‘And now it’s the Threes’ turn. Off you go!’
I heard only two of the Threes.
‘The sailor marries beautiful woman who gives birth to a baby boy before she travels to land in the south to find herself. Father and son search for the beautiful woman who can’t find herself.’
When the Threes had recited their sentences, the Joker interrupted again.
‘That was a sure winner!’ he said. ‘Now we sail into the land of tomorrow.’
I turned to Frode and saw he had tears in his eyes.
‘I don’t understand any of this,’ I said despondently.
‘Hssh!’ whispered Frode. ‘You must listen to history, son.’
‘History?’
‘Or the future, my boy, but it is also part of history. This game takes us many, many generations into the future. That’s what the Joker meant by the “land of tomorrow”. We don’t understand everything that lies in the cards, but people will come after us.’
‘Twos!’ cried the Joker.
I tried to remember everything that was said, but I heard only three of the sentences.
‘The dwarf with cold hands points the way to remote village an
d gives the boy from the land in the north a magnifying glass on his journey. The magnifying glass matches chip in goldfish bowl. The goldfish does not reveal the island’s secret, but the sticky bun does.’
‘Elegant!’ declared the Joker. ‘I knew that the magnifying glass and the goldfish bowl were the key to the whole story … And now it’s the Aces’ turn. Take it away, princesses!’
I managed to hear three of the sentences.
‘Destiny is a snake which is so hungry it devours itself. The inner box unpacks the outer box at the same time as the outer box unpacks the inner. Destiny is a cauliflower head which grows equally in all directions.’
‘Queens!’
I was so groggy I caught only two sentences.
‘The sticky-bun man shouts down a magic funnel, so his voice carries hundreds of miles. The sailor spits out strong drink.’
‘Now the Kings will conclude the solitaire with some wise words,’ announced the Joker. ‘Come on, Kings. We’re all ears.’
I heard everyone except for the King of Clubs.
‘The solitaire is a family curse. There is always a Joker to see through the delusion. The one who sees through destiny must also live through it.’
It was the third time the King of Spades had said this about living through destiny. The Joker now clapped his hands, and all the other figures joined in.
‘Bravo!’ cried the Joker. ‘We can all be proud of this solitaire, because everyone has done his bit.’
The dwarfs applauded once more, and now the Joker beat his chest.
‘Praise be Joker on Joker Day,’ he said. ‘For the future belongs to him!’
TEN OF DIAMONDS
… a little figure peeping
out from behind a newspaper stand …
When I looked up from the sticky-bun book, a fierce storm of thoughts raged through my head.
As I sat in the great Syntagma Square – with all the Greeks hurrying past with their newspapers and briefcases – it was even clearer to me that the sticky-bun book was an oracle linking my journey to something which had happened on the magic island 150 years ago.