Mother doesn’t sense that her child is yanking at her fetters, because she won’t see or sense the child yanking at her fetters for another half hour. Erika and Klemmer are busy trying to fathom who loves whom more and is therefore the weaker. Erika cites her age, pretending that she’s the one who loves less because she has loved too often. Hence, Klemmer is the one who loves more. On the other hand, Erika has to be loved more. Klemmer has cornered Erika, she’s got only one loophole, and it leads straight into the hornets’ nest on the second landing; they can already see the appropriate door. The old hornet is buzzing around inside with pots and pans. She can be heard and seen, a silhouette, through the lighted kitchen window that faces the hallway.
Klemmer issues an order. Erika obeys. She seems to be deliberately racing toward her own destruction; it is her final, her friendliest destination. Erika gives up her will. Her mother has always possessed Erika’s will, and now Erika hands it, like a runner’s staff, to Walter Klemmer. She leans back, waiting to hear his decision. But, though giving up her freedom, she stipulates one condition: Erika Kohut is using her love to make this boy her master. The more power he attains over her, the more he will become Erika’s pliant creature. Klemmer will be her slave completely when, say, they go strolling in the mountains. Yet Klemmer will think of himself as Erika’s master. That is the goal of Erika’s love. That is the only way that love won’t be consumed prematurely. He has to be convinced: This woman has put herself entirely in my hands. And yet he will become Erika’s property. That’s the way she pictures it. Things can go awry only if Klemmer reads the letter and disapproves. Out of disgust, embarrassment, fear—it all depends on which feeling gets the upper hand. After all, we’re only human and therefore imperfect. Erika comforts the male face confronting her; she wants to kiss that face, which grows softer, almost melting under her teacher eyes. Sometimes we really do fail, and I almost believe that this inevitable failure is our ultimate goal, concludes Erika. Instead of kissing, she rings the doorbell. Behind the door, Mother’s face, in a mixture of expectation and annoyance, wondering who can dare be bothering her, almost instantly flowers—and then withers when she realizes her daugher has an attachment. The attachment promptly indicates its destination: here, c/o Kohut, sr. and jr. We’ve just arrived. Mother is rigid. She has been brutally yanked out from under her dreamy quilt, and now she’s standing in her nightgown, facing a gigantic mob of howling people. Using her well-rehearsed eye language, Mother asks Erika what this young man is doing here. Mother’s eyes demand that this young man leave immediately. After all, he’s neither the plumber nor the meter reader. Erika replies that she has to discuss something with the student; it would be best if the two of them went to her room. Mother points out that her daughter has no room of her own, because what Erika in her megalomania refers to as her room actually belongs to her mother. As long as this apartment is mine, we’ll decide everything together, and Mother then puts the decision into words. Erika Kohut advises her mother not to follow her and the student into the room, otherwise there’ll be trouble! The ladies screech at each other. Klemmer exults, Mother balks. Mother relents, almost voicelessly pointing out how little food there is, only enough for two light eaters, but not for two light eaters and a voracious one. Klemmer begs off: No thanks. I’ve already eaten. Mother loses her cool; she simply stands on the ground of unpleasant facts and she gazes. Anyone could now carry Mother away. A puff of wind could topple this feisty, crusty lady, who usually shakes her fist at any squall and resists any downpour, with the help of sensible clothing. Mother stands there, and her layers peel away.
The procession consisting of the daughter and the strange man, whom Mother knows only casually but lastingly, moves past the old woman and into the daughter’s room. Erika murmurs something by way of goodbye, which doesn’t alter the fact that this is goodbye for Mother. She is not dismissing the student who has invaded this home. It is obviously a plot to weaken the holy name of Mother. That is why Mother murmurs a prayer to Jesus; the prayer is heard by no one, including the addressee. The door closes relentlessly.
Mother hasn’t a clue as to what is about to happen between the two people in Erika’s room; but she can easily find out because, thanks to wise maternal precaution, the door cannot be locked. Mother inaudibly tiptoes toward the child’s room in order to hear what instrument is being played. Not a piano, for the piano stands resplendent in the parlor. Mother believed that her daughter was innocence personified; and now, suddenly, someone is paying to rent her child. Mother will indignantly reject such a fee. She can do without such income. This boy will probably pay with fleeting, misty amorousness, something that won’t last.
As Mother reaches for the doorknob, she clearly hears a heavy object being yanked from its place—probably Grandmother’s bureau, which is stuffed with replacement parts and new accessories for Erika’s newly bought, albeit superfluous clothing. The bureau is violently detached from its location of many years’ standing and dragged across the floor. Outside her daughter’s door, which is being deliberately blockaded before her very eyes, stands a disappointed mother. She manages to marshal some final vestige of strength in order to bang senselessly on the door. She uses the tip of her right foot, which is covered by a camel’s-hair slipper that is much too soft for kicking. Mother feels pain in her toes; but the pain doesn’t sink in because she is much too agitated. Food begins to give off a stench in the kitchen. No hand takes pity and stirs it. Mother is not even considered worthy of formal address. No explanations have been offered her, even though this is Mother’s home too, and even though she keeps a beautiful home for her daughter. In fact, this is even more Mother’s home than Erika’s, because Mother almost never goes out. The apartment does not belong to the child alone; Mother is still alive and intends to go on kicking. This very evening, when the unpleasant visit is over, Mother will tell her daughter, purely for show, that she intends to move out. To the old-age home. If Erika then probes a little, she’ll find that Mother isn’t really serious, for where should she go? In the guise of a shift of power and a changing of the guard, disagreeable insights invade Mother’s disagreeable mind. Going into the kitchen, she throws half-cooked food around. Her action is one of fury rather than despair. Sooner or later, old age must hand over the staff. Mother spots the poisonous seeds of conflict in her daughter, but the conflict will pass once the child recalls how much she owes her mother. When Mother reached Erika’s present age, she no longer planned to abdicate. She imagined she would hold out until death do them part. Until the big gong clanged. Perhaps she won’t outlive her child; but as long as she lives, she’ll stay in charge. Her daughter is past the age at which unpleasant surprises from a man can be expected. But now he’s here, the man, whom, one would have thought, the daughter had expelled from her mind. Mother talked the child out of thinking about him, and now he resurfaces, unscathed, brand-new—and in their very own home!
Out of breath, Mother sinks into a kitchen chair, surrounded by the ruins of the meal. No lesser person than she must now pick everything up. At least it’ll take her mind off her problems. Tonight, when they’re watching TV, she’ll give Erika the silent treatment. And if Mother does break the silence, she’ll tell Erika that everything Mother does is motivated by Love. Mother will declare her love for Erika, which should excuse any possible mistakes that Mother might make. Mother will cite God and other superiors, who also uphold Love, but never the egotistical love that is budding in this young man. To punish her daughter, Mother will not waste a single word on the movie. There will be no customary exchange of ideas tonight, because Mother has decided to omit it. Tonight, the daughter will have to accede to Mother’s wishes. The daughter can’t talk to herself.
Mother goes into the living room without food and switches on the everlasting lure of the color TV, turning the volume up extra loud so her sulking daughter will regret choosing the more vapid of two pleasures. Mother seeks desperately, and she eventually finds some comfort: After all, the daughte
r has brought the man here, rather than going somewhere else with him. Mother is afraid that the flesh is now speaking behind the closed door. She is also afraid that the young man is after money. Mother can imagine that someone might want money even if he cleverly disguises his intention by pretending to want the daughter. He can have anything he likes, but not money. Such is the decision of the family’s minister of finances, who is going to change the computer code for the bankbook tomorrow. It will no longer be: ERIKA. The girl is going to be terribly embarrassed when she goes to the bank tomorrow and tries to give the young man her savings.
Mother is terrified that her daughter, behind the door, is listening only to her body, which may now be blossoming under someone’s touch. Mother turns the volume up so high that the neighbors are sure to complain. The apartment quakes under the blaring fanfare of the Last Judgment, announcing the evening news. Any moment now, the neighbors will be banging with broomsticks or knocking at the door to lodge a personal complaint. Serves Erika right, for she will be named as the reason for the acoustic transgression, and from now on she won’t be able to look any of the neighbors in the eye.
Not a peep comes from the daughter’s room, where cells unhealthily run riot. Not a bird shriek, not a toad croak, not a thundering. No matter how hard Mother might try, she couldn’t possibly hear her daughter now, even if the daughter screamed. Mother lowers the volume of the TV, which is raging over bad news; Mother wants to hear what’s happening in her daughter’s room. She still hears nothing, because the bureau also muffles noise, not just deeds and steps. Mother turns off the sound, but nothing stirs beyond the door. Mother turns up the volume, in order to camouflage her action: She tiptoes to the door in order to eavesdrop. What kind of sounds will Mother catch: pleasure, pain, or both? Mother puts her ear to the door. Too bad she doesn’t own a stethoscope. Luckily they’re only talking. But what are they talking about? Are they talking about Mother? Mother has lost all interest in watching TV, even though she always tells her daughter that there’s nothing like TV at the end of a long, hard day. The daughter does the work, but the mother can always watch TV with her. For Mother, togetherness with her daughter is the spice of TV watching. But now the spice has been cooked away, and the TV is insipid. Mother’s lost her taste for it.
Mother goes over to the poison cabinet in the parlor. She drinks a liqueur, then several more. The liqueur makes her feel weary and heavy. She lies down on the sofa and drinks some more. Behind the door, something is proliferating like a cancer that keeps growing even after its owner has long since died. Mother keeps drinking.
Walter Klemmer readily yields to his wish to pounce on Erika now that the preparatory work is done and the door is closed. No one can get in, and also no one can get out without his express manual assistance. The bureau is blocking the door with the help of his strength; the woman is with him, and the bureau protects them both against the outside. Klemmer paints a Utopian partnership with Erika, spiced with loving emotions. How beautiful love can be when enjoyed with the right Thou. Erika indicates that she wants to be loved only after trials and tribulations. She spins herself into the cocoon of her status as an object and locks out her feelings. She convulsively holds the bureau of her shame, the chest of her malaise, in front of her, and Klemmer is to shove this furniture aside violently in order to get to Erika. She only wants to be an instrument on which she will teach him to play. He should be free, and she in fetters. But Erika will choose the fetters herself. She makes up her mind to become an object, a tool; Klemmer will have to make up his mind to use this object. Erika forces Klemmer to read the letter; she mentally begs him to transcend the contents of the letter once he has read it. If only because what he feels is truly love and not just a flimsy mirage shining on the meadows. Erika will withdraw entirely from Klemmer if he refuses to expect violence from her. But she will always be happy about his affection, which excludes violence against the creature of his choice. He can take on Erika only under the condition of violence. He is to love Erika to the point of self-surrender; she will then love him to the point of self-denial. They will continually hand each other notarized evidence of their affection and devotion. Erika waits for Klemmer to abjure violence for the sake of love. Erika will refuse for the sake of love, and she will demand that he do to her what she has detailed in the letter, whereby she ardently hopes that she will be spared what is required in the letter.
Klemmer gazes at Erika in love and veneration as if someone were gazing at him gazing at Erika in love and veneration. The invisible spectator peers over Klemmer’s shoulder. She commends herself into Klemmer’s hands, hoping for redemption through absolute trust. She desires obedience from herself and commands from Klemmer in order to complete her obedience. She laughs: It takes two! Klemmer joins in the laughter. Then he says we don’t need an exchange of letters, a simple exchange of kisses would be enough. Klemmer assures his future beloved that she can tell him anything, anything, she doesn’t have to bother writing it down. The woman who learned to play the piano should be ashamed of herself, honestly! A nice appearance can replace sex appeal that’s been killed off by knowledge. Klemmer finally wants to storm the sky of love and not wait for traffic signals that are set down in writing. He’s got the letter here, why doesn’t he open it? Erika tugs away at her freedom and her willpower, which can finally hand in their resignations; the man doesn’t understand her sacrifice. She feels a numb spell emanating from this lack of willpower; the enchantment excites her violently. Klemmer gaily jokes: I’m starting to lose my desire. He threatens: this soft, fleshy, oh-so-passive body, this mobility narrowly focused on the piano, will not arouse any great longing in him if such obstructions pile up. Now that we’re alone, let’s get the show on the road! There’s no going back and there’s no mercy. Taking many circuitous routes, he has finally managed to arrive here. He eats up his portion and wants more, he shovels up some of the trimmings. Klemmer vehemently shoves away the letter, telling Erika that she has to be forced to enjoy her good fortune. He describes the happiness she will enjoy with him, his assets and merits, and also imperfections—as opposed to the dead paper. After all, Klemmer is alive! And she’ll soon feel how alive, considering how alive she is! Walter Klemmer hints ominously at how quickly some men get fed up with some women. A woman simply has to serve herself with great variety. Erika, one step ahead of him, is already well informed. That is why she pushes the letter at Klemmer, the letter that explains how one can lengthen the hem of the relationship under certain circumstances. Erika speaks: Yes, but first the letter. Klemmer has no choice but to take it; otherwise he’d have to drop it on the ground, thus insulting the woman. He showers Erika with vehement kisses, delighted that she has finally become sensible and amorously cooperative. In exchange, she will receive ineffable amorous favors, all from him, Klemmer. Erika orders him: Read the letter. Klemmer reluctantly releases Erika from his open hand and starts tearing the envelope open. He peruses the letter in amazement, even reading some parts aloud. If what the letter says is true, things will go badly for him, but even worse for this woman, which he can guarantee. However hard he now tries, he can no longer see her as a human being; you’ve got to wear gloves to touch something like that. Erika produces an old shoebox and unpacks what she has saved up inside it. She wavers: Let him decide, she would like to be made utterly immobile. She would like to cede all responsibility to external aids. She wants to entrust herself to someone else, but on her terms. She challenges him!
Klemmer explains that it often takes courage to reject a challenge and opt for the norm. Klemmer is the norm. Klemmer reads and wonders who this woman thinks she is. He racks his brain: Is she serious? He is very serious; he has learned to be serious in wild waters, where one often faces grave dangers and overcomes them.
Erika asks Herr Klemmer to come closer while she will be dressed only in a black nylon slip and stockings! She’d like that. Her most haunting wish—the adored Herr Klemmer reads—is for you to punish me. She would like Klemmer as
a punishment. And in such a way that he ties her up with the ropes I’ve collected, and also the leather straps and even the chains! Hogtie her, bind her up as thoroughly as he can—solidly, intensely, artfully, cruelly, tormentingly, cunningly. He should bore his knees into her abdomen, if you’ll be so kind.
Klemmer has a good, hard laugh. What a joke—she wants him to smash his fists in her stomach and sit down so hard on her that she’ll lie there like a plank, unable to stir in his cruel, sweet bonds. Klemmer snorts because she can’t be serious, it’s all make-believe. Erika is showing a different side of herself, thereby chaining the man to her all the more securely. She’s looking for entertainment, anything goes. For example, her letter says, I will writhe like a worm in your cruel bonds, in which you will have me lie for hours on end, and you’ll keep me in all sorts of different positions, hitting or kicking me, even whipping me! Erika’s letter says she wants to be dimmed out under him, snuffed out. Her well-rooted displays of obedience require greater degrees of intensity! And a mother is not everything, even though you usually have only one. She is and remains primarily a mother, but a man wants even greater achievements. Klemmer asks her just what she means, anyway. He wants to know who she is. He has the impression that she’s not even ashamed of herself.
Klemmer would like to get out of this apartment, which has become a trap. He didn’t realize what he was letting himself in for. He was hoping for something better. The paddler is investigating unsafe waters. He won’t quite admit to himself what he’s maneuvered himself into. And he’ll never admit it to others. He’s afraid: What does this woman want from me? Did he get it right: By becoming her master, he can never become her master? So long as she dictates what he should do to her, some final remnant of Erika will remain unfathomable. How easily a lover imagines he has advanced into the deepest regions, where no secret is left to reveal. Erika believes she’s still got a choice at her age, whereas he is so much younger and therefore has first choice and is the first to be chosen. Erika demands in writing that he take her on as his slave and assign her things to do. He thinks to himself: If that’s all it is . . . But he will never punish her, the generous young man, it would be too hard for him. There’s a certain point that he never exceeds in his cherished habits. You have to know your limits, and the limits begin where pain is felt. Not that he wouldn’t have the nerve. He just doesn’t want to. Her letter says she will always apply to him in writing or by telephone, never personally. She doesn’t even have the nerve to say it out loud! Not when peering into his blue eyes.