No sooner has Klemmer disappeared from the piano classroom, no sooner has the next pupil, a girl, begun the bumpy contrary motion of her scale, than the teacher tells her we’ll have to stop for today, alas, because I’ve got an awful headache. The pupil soars aloft like a lark and flies away.
Erika squirms because of her unrequited and disquieting fears and anxieties. She is now suspended from the infusion tube of Klemmer’s good graces. Can he really climb over high fences and wade through raging torrents? Is he prepared to risk anything for his love? Erika doesn’t know whether she can rely on Klemmer’s constant protests that he has never shied away from any risk—the bigger, the better. This is the first time in all these years that Erika has dismissed a pupil untaught. Mother always warns Erika about precipitous paths. If Mother is not beckoning with the ladder of success, which goes upward, then she depicts the horror of the primrose path, which leads downward. Better the peak of art than the slough of sex. Contrary to the popular notion of his wantonness, the artist, Mother believes, must forget about sex. If he can’t, then he’s a mere mortal; but he shouldn’t be a mere mortal. He should be divine! Unfortunately, biographies of artists, which are the most important things about artists, teem all too often with the sexual ruses and abuses of their protagonists. They inveigle the reader into thinking that the cucumber bed of pure harmony grows upon the compost heap of sex.
Whenever they fight, Mother reproaches the child for having once stumbled artistically. But once doesn’t count—you’ll see.
Erika dashes home from the conservatory.
Rot between her legs, an unfeeling soft mass. Decay, putrescent lumps of organic material. No spring breezes awaken anything. It is a dull pile of petty wishes and mediocre desires, afraid of coming true. Her two chosen mates will encompass her like crab claws: Mother and Klemmer. Erika can’t have both, and she can’t have just one, because then she would miss the other dreadfully. She can tell her mother not to let Klemmer in if the doorbell rings. Mother will be delighted to comply. Is this why Erika has always led such a quiet life—for this wretched disquiet? Let’s hope he doesn’t come tonight. He can come tomorrow, but not tonight, because Erika wants to catch an old Lubitsch film. Mother and daughter have been looking forward to it since last Friday when the TV schedule came out. The program listings are awaited more longingly by the Kohut family than True Love, which is not supposed to show up at all!
Erika took a step by writing a letter. Mother had no say in the matter; indeed, Mother mustn’t even find out about this step forward, toward the feeding trough of the forbidden. Erika has always confessed every infringement to that maternal eye, the eye of the law, which then claimed it knew about each one anyway.
Striding along, Erika hates that porous, rancid fruit that marks the bottom of her abdomen. Only art promises endless sweetness. Soon the decay will progress, encroaching upon larger parts of her body. Then she will die in torment. Dismayed, Erika pictures herself as a numb hole, six feet of space, disintegrating in the earth. The hole that she despised and neglected has now taken full possession of her. She is nothing. And there is nothing left for her.
Erika doesn’t realize that Walter Klemmer is dashing along behind her. He pulled himself together after an initial, powerful urge. He decided not to open the letter for now; he wants to have a serious talk with a warm, live Erika before he reads her lifeless letter. This living woman is dearer to him than a dead scrap of paper for which trees had to die. I can read the letter later on, at home, in peace and quiet, Klemmer thinks, preferring to keep his eye on the ball. The ball rolls, hops, jumps along, stopping at traffic lights, leaving reflections in store windows. This woman is not going to tell him when to read letters and when to make a personal advance. The woman isn’t used to the role of quarry, she doesn’t look around. Yet she’s got to be taught that she is the prey and man the hunter. Start teaching her right now, there’s no time like the present. It never occurs to Erika that her superior willpower might someday not dictate everything, even though she is constantly dictated to by her mother. However, this situation has become so much a part of Erika that she no longer notices. Trust is fine, but control is better.
A delightful home beckons with its entrance. Warm light beams embrace the teacher. Erika surfaces as a swift dot of light on Mother’s radar screen. She flutters along—a butterfly, an insect, on the pin of the stronger creature. Erika will not want to find out how Klemmer reacted to her letter, for she will not pick up her receiver. She will immediately tell her mother to tell the man that she is not home. Erika actually believes she can tell Mother something that Mother has not already told Erika. Mother wishes Erika good luck for taking the step of closing herself off on the outside and confiding only in her. Mother lies obsessively, with an internal fire that belies her age: My daughter is not at home. I do not know when she will return. Do come again. Thank you. At such moments, the daughter belongs to her more completely than ever. To Mother and no one else. For everyone else, the child is absent.
The man, completely buried by the refuse of Erika’s thoughts, follows the object of his feelings. Once, the biggest and most modern movie theater in Vienna stood right here, on Josefstádterstrasse; but now it’s been replaced by a bank. Erika sometimes went to the movies here with her mama to celebrate some holiday or other. But usually, in order to economize, the women went to a small, cheap neighborhood house. To economize even more, they left Father at home. In this way, he could also save the final vestige of his mind, which he didn’t want to waste at the movies. Erika never turns around. Her senses feel nothing; they do not even feel the nearby beloved. Yet all her thoughts are focused on one point, the beloved, growing gigantically: Walter Klemmer.
So they hurry along, one after the other. The piano teacher, Erika Kohut, is driven along by something behind her back; it is a man, who pulls the angel or the devil out of her. It’s all in her hands now: She can teach the man tender consideration. Erika begins to lift a tiny corner of sensual power and everything that this power can imply; but Klemmer, so fully in possession of all his senses, is behind her, and she doesn’t even notice him. On the way home, she has not bought a new foreign fashion journal or a gown depicted inside it or a dress copied from a gown depicted inside it. She has not so much as glanced at the brand-new spring models in the shop windows. In her confusion over the male ardor she has kindled, she’s got only one glance left. And she devoted that glance, casually and ab-sentmindedly, to the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper: today’s photo, looking slightly the worse for wear, of a bank robber—a wedding picture of the adorable criminal. Evidently, he had someone snap his portrait, for the last time, at his respectable wedding. Now, everyone knows him only because he got married. Erika imagines Klemmer as a bridegroom and herself as a bride and Mother as the mother of the bride, who will live with them. But Erika does not see the student, whom she thinks about incessantly and who is pursuing her.
Mother knows that her child can show up in half an hour at the earliest, if circumstances are favorable; yet she already waits for Erika yearningly. Mother doesn’t know that a lesson has been canceled; yet she awaits her punctual daughter, who always arrives home. Erika’s will shall be the lamb that nestles down with the lion of maternal will. This gesture of humility will prevent the maternal will from shredding the soft, unformed filial will and munching on its bloody limbs. Suddenly, the door to the building is yanked open. Darkness shoots out. The staircase, that heavenly ladder to the evening news and subsequent programs, stretches upward. A mild, gentle glow wafts down from the second floor after Erika switches on the stair light. The apartment door is not opened; today no footsteps are recognized, because the daughter is not expected for another half hour. Mother is still absorbed in the final preparations, which will have their crowning glory in a meatloaf.
For half an hour now, Walter Klemmer has been viewing his teacher only from behind. This may not be Erika’s favorite side, but he could identify it among a thousand others! He k
nows women, knows them from all sides, inside and out. He sees the soft, slightly squooshy pillow of her behind, which rests upon solid leg columns. He thinks about how he will handle this body; he, the expert, is not so easily put off by malfunctions. An anticipatory joy, mingling with horror, takes hold of Klemmer. Erika is still striding along peacefully, but soon she’ll howl in pleasure! He, Klemmer, will produce that pleasure all by himself. Her body is still harmlessly occupied with various gearshifts; soon Klemmer will make it shift into overdrive! Klemmer doesn’t truly desire this woman, she doesn’t actually attract him; and he doesn’t know whether his lack of desire is due to her age. But Klemmer is single-minded, he is thoroughly focused on exposing her pure flesh. So far, he knows her only in one function: that of teacher. Now he’ll squeeze another function out of her, he’ll see whether he can get anywhere with the other function: that of lover. If not, then too bad. He resolutely wants to tear off the meticulously accumulated strata of modish and sometimes outmoded convictions and those hulls and shells held together by a feeble sense of form, those colorful disguises of rags and skins that stick to her. She doesn’t have a clue, but soon she will. She’ll learn how a woman ought to decorate herself: nicely, but, above all, practically, so as not to interfere with her movements. He, Klemmer, does not wish so much to possess Erika as to unwrap this package of skin and bones, which is carefully dolled up in a patchwork of fabrics and colors! He’ll scrunch the paper up and throw it away. This woman, inaccessible for such a long time in her colorful skirts and scarves—Klemmer wants to make her accessible to himself before she crosses over into decay. Why does she buy that stuff, anyway? She could find clothes that are attractive, practical, and not even expensive! That’s what he’ll tell her, while she tells him how to handle a suspension in Bach. Klemmer wants the flesh to appear before him, no matter how much effort is required. He simply wants to possess what’s underneath. Once he strips away this woman’s husk, then Erika the human being will come to the fore, with all her failings, the person he’s been interested in for so long. Such are Klemmer’s thoughts. Each of her textile layers is always harder and more washed-out than the next. And Klemmer only wants the best from Erika, only that small, innermost kernel, which may taste good: He wants to use the body. Use it for his own benefit. If necessary by force. He knows her mind sufficiently. Yes, indeed, in case of doubt, Klemmer always listens only to his own body, which is never wrong, and which speaks in the language of the body. In addicts or invalids, the body may often fail to tell the truth because of weakness and misuse. But Klemmer’s body is healthy, thank you very much. Knock on wood! During a workout, Klemmer’s body always tells him when it’s had enough or when there’s still something left in the reserve tank. Until he’s given his all. Afterward, Klemmer simply feels wonderful! It’s indescribable! That’s how Walter Klemmer joyously describes his state. He wants to realize his own flesh at last under the humbled eyes of his teacher. He’s been waiting far too long. Months have worn by, and he’s been holding out long enough to stake his claim. The signs were interpreted correctly. Recently, Erika has conspicuously adorned herself for Klemmer’s sake: chains, cuffs, belts, cordings, high-heeled pumps, kerchiefs, scents, removable fur collars, and a new plastic armband that rubs against the keyboard. This woman has made herself attractive for one man. However, this man wants to smash all the feeble, unhealthy ornaments, shake the woman’s final vestige of originality out of the wrappings. He wants to have everything! But without really desiring her. These adornments make Klemmer, who is straight as an arrow, lose his irrational temper. After all, Nature doesn’t get all gussied up when it starts mating. Only a few birds, mostly male, have enticing plumage, but that’s part of their normal appearance.
Klemmer, tooling along after his future beloved, still believes that his naked rage is aimed purely at her meticulous, albeit clumsily applied, grooming. This finery, this frippery, which Klemmer feels disfigures her, must be discarded at once! For his sake! He will make it clear to Erika that, it anything, precise cleanliness is the only embellishment he can accept in a pleasant, not unappealing face. Erika makes herself ridiculous, which is something she doesn’t need. Two showers a day, that’s what personal grooming means to Klemmer, and it’s enough. Klemmer demands a clean coiffure because unwashed hair is anathema to him. Lately, Erika has been bridling herself like a circus horse. She’s been plundering her long-unused clothing reserves in order to look even more appealing to the student. This has to knock him for a loop, and this too! Everyone, everywhere, gapes and gawks at her for gilding the lily and reaching too deep into her makeup kit. She’s going through changes. She not only produces clothes from her rich treasure trove, she also buys pounds and pounds of matching accessories: belts, bags, shoes, gloves, fashionable adornments. She wants to fascinate the man, she captivates his evil desires. She should have let the sleeping tiger sleep on so he won’t eat her up. That’s Klemmer’s advice to her in regard to his own worthy self. Erika tramples about like a drunken figurine, in boots and spurs, in harness and armor, spruced up and smartened up. Why didn’t she break her closets open earlier in order to speed up this complicated love affair? More and more splendors burst out! She has finally dared to break into her silky, colorful reserves, and she looks forward to unabashed glances of courtship, which she does not receive. She fails to notice the unabashed mockery from people who have known Erika for such a long time and are giving serious thought to the changes in her appearance. Erika looks ridiculous, but she’s solid, well developed. Every salesman knows: packaging is everything! Ten layers, protective and alluring, one on top of the other. And all fitting together if possible! No minor achievement. Mother scolds Erika, who has bought a new, cowboyish hat for her suit; the hat’s got a band and tiny strap for mooring the hat under her chin so it won’t be carried off by a puff of air. Mother laments noisily about the expenditure and her suspicions about her child’s ultrafashionable ways, which are, no doubt, carefully aimed: to hurt Mother and to catch men. If it’s a specific man, then he’ll get to know Mother all right! And from her least pleasant side. Mother pokes fun at a tasteful combination. She envenoms hulls and hides, cloaks and covers, which the daughter thoughtfully dons; Mother poisons them with the pale venom of her scorn. Her derision is such that the daughter is bound to realize that her mockery is due to jealousy.
Behind this splendidly caparisoned creature, which cannot find its like in nature, Walter Klemmer, the creature’s natural enemy, dashes along. His goal is to break the teacher of her unnatural clothing habit as soon as possible. Jeans and T-shirts are enough for Klemmer, no matter how high his standards. The building entrance indicates a gloomy interior—in which a rare plant grew, despite everything, unnoticed, for a long time. All the colors that manage to blossom outside die here. Halfway up the stairs to the next landing, a furious Klemmer catches up with Erika. Ineluctably. There’s no garage, no coach house, no parking lot.
Man and woman meet, but not by chance. And the invisible third party, in the guise of maternal supervision, is upstairs, waiting for her cue. Erika advises the student to get away from here. She is majestic. The student resists, although he wouldn’t care to run into Mother. He demands that the two of them go somewhere, so they can finally be alone and talk. He wants to have a conversation! Erika panics, she stamps and kicks; the man wants to invade her seclusion. Mother is intimately beckoning with her dinner for two—what will she say? The meal is scheduled for mother and child alone.
Klemmer makes a grab for Erika, who tests him to see whether he has read the letter. Have you read my letter, Herr Klemmer? Why do we need letters? Klemmer interrogates the beloved woman, who heaves a sigh of relief because he hasn’t read the letter. On the other hand, she’s afraid he won’t go along with the demands she has voiced in her letter. Even before the fighting begins, the two amorously interlocked people misunderstand what each wants from the other. The misunderstandings solidify into granite. They are not mistaken about Mother, who is going to tak
e drastic measures and send away the superfluous part (Klemmer) immediately. She will keep the part that constitutes her entire property, her heart’s delight (Erika). The woman, indecisive, flinches now in one direction, now in the other. Klemmer understands her; he is proud to be the cause of this indecisiveness. He will help Erika give birth to decisions. He would like to remove the cowboy hat from the head of his prey. What ingratitude toward this hat, which, like a friendly signpost, always loomed up in the tumult: a morning star for the Three Magi, a hat that no one passes without paying it the homage of derision. People notice this hat, and they are annoyed even if they don’t always blame their annoyance on the hat, which triggers the annoyance in the first place.
There are only the two of us here on the stairs, and we’re playing with fire, Klemmer cautions the woman. He warns her not to keep teasing his desire and then playing hard to get. Erika stares at the man, who should go because he has to stay. Under her gift wrapping, the woman blossoms darkly. This blossom is not made for the raw climate of lust, it is not meant for a long sojourn in the staircase, for the plant needs light, sunshine. The most suitable place for her is next to Mother, in front of the TV. Erika looms obscenely from under her new hat, which is then removed. Hers is the unhealthily reddened face of a creature that has found its master. Klemmer feels incapable of desiring this woman, but for some time now he has wanted to penetrate her. Whatever it may cost him—words of love at least. Erika loves the young man and is waiting for him to redeem her. She reveals no sign of love, so she won’t have to endure defeat. Erika would like to show weakness, but determine the form of her submission herself. She has written everything down. She wants to be simply sucked up by the man until she is no longer present. Her cowboy hat has to cover both untouchability and passionate touching. The woman wants to soften petrifications that are many years old, and if she is devoured by the man, that’s fine with her. She wants to lose herself completely in this man, but without his noticing it. Do you realize we’re alone in the world? she voicelessly asks the man. Mother is waiting upstairs. She’s going to open the door any moment. The door is not yet opened because Mother does not yet expect her daughter.