*
While Ludwig waited for the computer to start, he went around August´s study. He stopped in front of the window and looked out over the village below the castle.
The lights were on in three of the four wooden houses. On routine he looked after the police but he didn´t see anything as usual. The house closest to the castle, which he thought was Laura, still had the garden lamps turned on. A car drove by on the main road beyond the village. In a small grove near the window light reflected from some street lights through the branches.
He opened a web browser. He surfed around randomly on blogs, technology, gossip, comics. He typed in www.dn.se in the address bar. He scrolled down, saw the Minister of Social Affairs in a picture and a quote from an article published in the paper´s op-ed with the headline:
”We want to introduce a law of moral courage.”
He clicked on the headline. The preamble stated that the government intended to introduce a law concerning moral courage. A law that was demonstrably needed after several incidents, such as those on Kungsgatan, Nybrokajen and the terrible events outside the 7-Eleven on Götgatan in Stockholm on January 22 last year.
Reluctantly the article made Ludwig return to Sweden and Stockholm. His memory bounced like a pinball: He saw himself screaming against the cobbles, his head pressed against the street by someone or some that were much stronger than he was, he saw himself in the courtroom calm as a general anesthetic patient, in front of him he saw the judge watch him with his glasses on the tip of his nose, like a snake behind grass, he saw Ella, he fought back but she came into the tanks. She always won. The Seiko clock given to him by her as a gift tightened around the wrist like an electric fence.
He could control the worst but the straitjacket burst. He ended up on bus 4 on Ringvägen in Stockholm. The bus driver didn´t greet them when they said hello.
A lady in glasses sat with one hand on a cage. A Goth-girl stared out the window, sucking on her lower lip piercings. A man in his 30s was talking loud on her cell phone. Everybody heard. All were annoyed. Everyone wanted to tell him to shut up but no one said anything. Ella, as usual, clapped the guy on the shoulder. He turned. She smiled. She whispered so as not to interfere in his important phone call.
”You, you could not keep it down a little, we cannot get a word out when you talk like that loud. It would be nice ... ”
The man snorted and just turned around.
Ella clapped again. Continued to whisper. Smiled.
”But... remember that we all here in the bus are sitting and wondering if it's mouth or genital herpes you caught from that girl at Level 22.”
He turned around. Ella continued to smile. The guy laughed. Tough and red as a Soviet propaganda poster. He apologized. Ella sat.
Ludwig had seen that before, Ella´s ability. But he still did not understand. The few times he interfered and tried to tell someone, he almost got into fights. But she could. Some people had that ability he thought.
Ludwig bounced back. The memory flowed out of him.
He logged in to his email. The inbox had some spam mail, newsletters, a mail from his mother. He deleted all but the mail from the mother. He opened it.
Ludwig, dear child,
The police were here today and asked me if I knew where you were. Where are you and why did you ran away??
Promise me that you do not do anything stupid with yourself, you have to understand, we are many here who love you!
Please come home, I'm so worried about you.
KISSES AND HUGS, mom and dad
Ludwig pressed Reply. Looked at the blinking cursor.
Pressed enter a few times. Ella pushed again into the tanks. He began to write.
Mom,
she was the only one who understood me.
He stopped. He hit the index finger against the desk. Felt the familiar lump in the throat. The thickened throat. Jitter. That fucking hopeless.
He wrote.
I do not expect anyone to understand, which she did. But there is something I want to tell you, mom, and try for once to get it. Think more about me than what you think about your own concerns, you could at least try!
How do you think I feel, how the hell do you think I feel when I remember everything we've talked about, every single fucking sentence, every word, every facial expression and laughter. Don´t you understand that it is impossible for me to remain in Stockholm when I tormented by her voice, her presence, her smooth skin, always two feet away reading a book in the striped armchair.
You don´t understand, but that damn ape, I'm no fucking criminal. I don´t care what everyone thinks, but that's it.
The tears ran down Ludwig´s cheeks. He couldn´t see what he wrote. His chest jumped when he breathed, as if he did not get enough air. He wiped his eyes. He marked all the text and pressed the delete and then wrote.
Don´t worry, Mom. I'll be home soon.
hugs, ludwig.
Although he knew it was stupid, he sent it anyway.
He surfed to the homepage of Swedish tabloid Aftonbladet to see what clues the police had about his escape. In the normal course of EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! - Style a bit down on the website were a few items collected that was about his escape and the police's difficulty in finding him.
They still had not figured out how he had escaped, although some details have emerged. The police still believed he was in Sweden. Probably in a cabin in a forest somewhere.
He surfed for a while and found about the same information on other news channels.
A few minutes later he was lying in his bed. The memory of bus 4 and the email he wrote to his mother remained in the body. He squeezed his hands. Held his breath. Pressed his fingers all he could against the top of his hands.
He heard music. August had started his evening ritual that Ludwig knew well after hearing it for several nights.
From the hallway he heard dark classical music. August played the same every night. It always began with the Moonlight Sonata, continued with Kindertotenlieder by Mahler. Eventually a really indigestible thing of Rachmaninov played in the castle. If August had not been low before the music, he most definitely became low when the last note was played.
The opening routine was always the same. Then it was somewhat more varied. It could be Berlioz, Brahms, Bach and Donizetti.
Common to all the music was that it was never in major, always in a minor key.
Ludwig's heart was pounding. He felt as if someone was standing and struck him with a sledgehammer on the chest. I remember one time when he said his heart was beating fast, he sat on the bed and said it went 600 km / h and he did not know why, just that he was afraid. I looked at him and I could see how shallow it was, in the chest, I saw the shirt suddenly bolted.
Ludwig tried to do some relaxation exercises a warder had taught him but he could not handle it more than one second. Couldn´t take lying in bed anymore. Stood up. Went back and forth.
His breath became shorter and shorter.
He knew what was building up. Like the vomit from the stomach into the throat. He tried to fend it off but it was like fighting a tsunami.
After a while, he was certain.
He threw himself into the corridor. Ran with just underpants along the closed doors. He fell and banged up a knee. He quickly came back on its feet. Snatched up the toilet door. Locked. He stuffed a towel in his mouth.
Now it was here. He screamed through the towel from the stomach. From the toes.
His face began to boil.
Veins in the arms popped up.
Suddenly something grabbed his body.
A large hand turned and twisted his torso. Sank him underwater.
He could not breathe.
Pictures of Ella came on the retina.
With the first breath waves of pain swept through him. It was like electric eels scalded each nerve fiber. The body shaked. The teeth shook. He threw his arms around and thought that he would never make it.
To escape the pain he clen
ched his right fist. He intended to repeat what he had done many times in the C building. In order to divert the pain in the body, he tried to create more pain elsewhere in the body.
He sat on his knees in front of the toilet. Brought down the lid.
Clenched his fist tighter. Raised his arm and pulled it back as far as he could.
Then he struck.
The fist crashed against the porcelain.
He struck again.
Harder and harder. With all his power.
He beat frantically against the toilet bowl´s hard edge until the hand was covered in blood.
He became numb.
He tied his arms around him again. Slid into a corner.
Rested his head against the cold wall.
[ Notes October 3 ]
The paintings
I´m in Vienna again, but the last days I was back to Rome, then I took the train via Florence and then back to Vienna and Hotel Sacher. During the train ride, I confirmed a few leads concerning the auction house Christie's. In mid-May last year August purchased four paintings by Friedrich, Wilson, Linnell and Turner, which corroborates with what Coetzee has written. It doesn´t have much to do with the main story but it´s important that these little things turn out to be correct which prove the validity of the Manuscript.
Below is the painting by Friedrich that August and Ludwig talked so vividly and passionately about. It´s the same painting that Ludwig sees within himself when he rides past Leipzig with the train: