As for Erika, she learned how to do without years ago. Now she wants to change thoroughly. The much-used press of her lust crushes her wishes. The sap runs red. She keeps looking at the door, waiting for the student. All the other students come, but not Klemmer. He remains AWOL.
Klemmer is addicted to learning. He begins many things and completes few, including Japanese martial arts, languages, travel, painting. For some time now the education addict has been attending the clarinet class next door in order to gain some groundwork, which he will eventually apply to the saxophone for jazz and improvisation. He has been avoiding only the piano and its mistress. After learning the basics in a number of fields, Klemmer usually opts out. He lacks perseverance. But now he’d like to become a high-achievement lover—the woman is practically challenging him to do so. But then again, he complains (when he has the time) that the corset of classical music training is much too tight for him. He likes to enjoy a view that’s not marred by any limits. He senses a vast landscape, he suspects there are fields he has never seen, and, of course, that no one else before him has seen. He lifts up corners of cloths and, terrified, drops them; only to raise them again: Did his eyes deceive him? He can scarcely believe them. Kohut keeps trying to bar him from those fields and meadows, yet in private she keeps beckoning with them. The student feels the suck of the limitless. During lessons, the woman is relentless. She can hear the slightest detail, the tiniest particular, from far away. But in real life, she wants to be forced to beg. On the keyboard, she wraps him around her little finger, in an elastic bandage of finger exercises, trill drills, the Czerny School of Velocity. It will be a slap in her face when the clarinet releases him from the constrictions of counterpoint. How thrillingly he’ll be able to improvise someday on the soprano sax! Klemmer practices the clarinet. He resolutely opens new musical horizons and plans to start out in a student jazz band—he knows the members personally. But once he outgrows them, he’ll start his own group. He’ll make his own music, according to his own dictates. He’s already got a name for it, but he’s keeping it secret for the moment. These musical plans will fit in well with his distinct urge for freedom. He’s already registered for the jazz class. He wants to study arranging. First, he wants to adjust, conform. But at the right time, he’ll break out of formation, like a wellspring, with a breathtaking solo. His willpower isn’t easily classified; his desires and abilities aren’t easily pigeonholed in the box containing the score. His elbows row cheerily alongside his body, his breath rolls merrily into the tube, his mind is a blank. He’s happy. He’s training himself in intonation and changing reeds. Wonderful progress is visible way down the road. That’s what his clarinet teacher says, and the teacher is happy to have such a student, who’s got such a good background from Professor Kohut and whom the clarinet teacher can hopefully steal from her, in order to bask in the student’s light at the annual school concert.
Wearing a refined hiking outfit, a woman who is not immediately recognized approaches the door of the clarinet class and waits. She wants to come here, and that’s why she’s here. Erika Kohut is all dolled up for the occasion, as usual.
Didn’t Klemmer promise her nature, nature fresh as a daisy, and doesn’t he know best where nature is to be found? The student comes through the door with a small black instrument case. He is startled. Stammering and stuttering, she proposes a walk along the river. Right now! Her outfit indicates what she is planning. The reason for my coming here, she says: to go across the river and into the trees. This properly outfitted woman triggers a landslide of achievement, thundering, unappetizing moraines. Goal-oriented efforts are to be demonstrated at an uninviting mountain station; banana peels and apple cores on the floor, vomit in the corner, and all the devaluated documents, those dirty scraps of paper in the nooks and crannies, those torn railroad tickets are never swept into the garbage.
Erika, as Klemmer will notice, is sporting new clothes; her clothing matches the occasion, and the occasion matches her clothing. Her clothes, as usual, seem to be the most important thing for her. A woman generally needs adornment for her image, and the forest alone has never adorned any woman. On the contrary, a woman should decorate a forest with her presence; in this way, she resembles an animal observed through the hunter’s binoculars. Erika has purchased solid hiking boots and soaked them in fat, so they won’t rot in the damp. Wearing these boots, she can easily walk for miles, if they want. She’s sporting a sporty checkered blouse, a loden jacket, knickerbockers, and red woolen knee stockings. She’s even got a small knapsack containing gourmet treats! She doesn’t have a rope, because she doesn’t go to extremes. And even if she did go to extremes, she wouldn’t use a net or a rope. She wouldn’t even take along a waist anchor when braving the wilderness of physical wallowing, in which one is dependent entirely on oneself and one’s mate.
Erika is planning to dole herself out to the man in tidbits. He mustn’t overeat, he should always be ravenous for her. That’s what she pictures when she’s alone with Mother. She is thrifty with herself, she spends herself very reluctantly, and only after indulging in all sorts of pros and cons. She makes the most of her pounds of flesh. She will take the small change of her modern body and avariciously count it out on the table for Klemmer, so he’ll think she’s spending twice as much as she really is. After impudently thrusting ahead with her letter, she has gone backward from her forwardness, which wasn’t such an easy thing to do. She’s stuck in the piggybank of her body, in that bluish tumor that she carries around all the time, bursting at the seams. For instance, this hiking outfit: She had to lay a lot of money on the line in the backpacking shop. She buys quality, but beauty is more important to her. Her wishes are far-reaching. Klemmer inspects the woman in peace and quiet—a source of strength. His eyes stroll leisurely across imitation peasant buttons and a small silver watch chain (likewise an imitation) such as hunters wear; studded with stag’s teeth, it runs down Erika’s belly. Erika whimpers at him: She’s been promised a hike today, and she’s come to put in her claim. He asks why exactly here, now, today? She says: Don’t you remember, you said today? Silently, she holds out the coupons of his heedless promises. He expressly promised, and today’s the day. He was the one who suggested: today. The student shouldn’t think a teacher forgets anything. Klemmer says this isn’t the right place or the right time. Erika instantly offers more distant places and better times. Soon, the couple will no longer require circuitous routes through forests and across lakes. But today, the sight of treetops and mountain peaks might increase the man’s desire.
Walter Klemmer reflects. He decides he doesn’t have to go too far in order to try out something new. Given his profound scientific interests, he offers—Erika will be amazed—to do it right on the spot! Why go far afield? Besides, this way he can still make his judo club by three o’clock! However, love means never having to say you’re joking. If she’s serious, then that’s fine and dandy with him. So far he’s been loving and friendly, but, as he will prove, he can also be brutal. As desired. Instead of replying in due form, Erika Kohut drags the student into the cleaning staff’s cabinet, which, as she knows, is always unlocked. Let him show his true grit. The woman exerts the driving force. Let him show what he’s never learned. Detergents emit sharp, biting smells, cleaning utensils are piled up. For openers, Erika begs forgiveness; she didn’t dare write to the young man. She expands this idea. She kneels before Klemmer and drills awkward kisses into his resisting belly. Her hiking knees, which have never genuflected to the higher art of love, are bathed in dust. The cleaning staff’s cabinet is the dirtiest room. Brand-new soles shine in the dark. Student and teacher are each welded to his or her own little love planet, to ice floes, which are inhospitable continents, repelling one another and drifting apart. Klemmer is already embarrassed by her humility and terrified by demands that this humility feels it has the right to make, and make so vociferously because it is so inexperienced.
This humility yells louder than any uncurbed lust could
yell. Klemmer answers: Please stand up immediately! He sees that she has dumped her pride overboard, and now makes it a point of pride never to go overboard. If necessary, he’ll tie himself to the wheel. No sooner has it begun than the two of them can no longer be united; yet they obstinately desire it. The teacher’s feelings, a warm upwind, waft aloft. Klemmer doesn’t want to, but he must, because it is asked of him. He squeezes his knees together—an embarrassed schoolboy. The woman races across his thighs and asks for forbearance and a forward thrust. What a nice time we could have! Bits of her flesh crash down on the floor. Erika Kohut makes a declaration of love, which consists of nothing but boring demands, intricate contracts, and carefully worded guarantees. Klemmer does not give love. He doesn’t say “wow!” that quickly. You mustn’t rush things. Erika describes how far she’d like to go under various circumstances, and the only thing Klemmer has in mind is a leisurely stroll through the park. He asks: Not today, next week! I’ll have more time. When his requests fall on deaf ears, he secretly begins to stroke himself, but his body remains lifeless. This woman drives him into a sucking space in which his instrument is asked for but does not respond to questions. Hysterically, he tugs, knocks, shakes. She hasn’t noticed as yet. She dashes toward him as a love avalanche. Sobbing, she takes back some of the things she said; she promises better things. How relaxed she is: at last! Klemmer works coldly on his nether region; he twists his workpiece, beating it with iron tools. The sparks fly. He is afraid of the piano teacher’s inner worlds, which haven’t been ventilated for such a long time. They want to devour him totally! Already, at the very start, Erika expects everything he’s got, and he hasn’t even pulled out and displayed so much as a tiny tip. She makes love motions as she pictures them. And as she has seen others make. She emits signals of clumsiness, which she confuses with signals of devotion, and she receives signals of helplessness in exchange. He must, therefore he can’t. By way of excuse, he offers: Not with me! Just remember! Erika starts tugging at his fly. She pulls out his shirt and rages as lovers are accustomed to doing. In Klemmer, nothing takes place that could prove anything. After a while, Erika, disappointedly clicking her soles, wanders up and down the room. She offers a completely furnished emotional world as a surrogate. She blames something or other on nervousness and overexcitement, and says how happy she is, nevertheless, about this extreme proof of love. Klemmer can’t because he must. The musts emanate from this woman in magnetic waves. She is the Must per se. Erika squats down, a big hunk of clumsiness, doom awkwardly folding its bones together. She gyrates kisses into the student’s crotch. The young man moans, as if her persistence were releasing something inside him. He groans the ultimate: That’s no way to get me. You’re not getting me. But in theory, he is ready and willing, anytime, to try out something new in love. In his helplessness, he finally throws Erika over and lightly strikes her neck with the edge of his hand. Her head obediently sinks forward and forgets its surroundings, which it can no longer see. All it can see is the floor. The woman easily forgets herself in love because too little of her is there to be remembered. Klemmer listens to the outside world and flinches. He shoves the woman’s mouth upon his genital like an old glove. The glove is too big; his penis is drooping again after almost standing at attention. Nothing happens, and nothing happens in Klemmer, while the teacher’s essence modestly wanes in the distance.
Klemmer wildly thrusts his penis into her mouth, but the proof he wants is wanting. His slack cock floats in her water: an unfeeling cork. Nevertheless, he clutches her hair, for his dick may grow after all. With half an ear, Klemmer listens to the sounds in the corridor, just in case the cleaning woman comes. Otherwise, he is entirely focused on his penis, waiting for it to stir. Tamed by love and taken down a peg or two, the teacher licks Klemmer’s crotch: a cow and her newborn calf. She promises that it will work out and that they have endless time now that their passion can no longer be doubted. Just don’t get nervous! Promises, emitted unclearly, drive the young man crazy: He hears the subliminal command as an intermediate tone. Doesn’t the teacher, his superior, always order him to apply his fingers to the keyboard and his feet to the pedals in certain passages? Her knowledge of music places her above him, and, dissolving under him, she disgusts him more than he can say. She belittles herself in front of his dick, which stays little. Klemmer bangs and hammers into Erika, who feels her gorge rising; but his efforts remain useless. Talking with her mouth full, the woman offers loving comfort and points to the future. There will be future pleasures! No one sees her eyes; she does not issue orders, she is all hair, head, neck—unfathomable. A love robot that does not even respond to kicks. And all the student wants to do is whet his tool on the robot. Basically, his tool has nothing to do with the rest of his body. While love always encompasses the entire woman. The woman has the urge to spend all her love and say: Keep the change. Erika and Walter Klemmer say in unison: It’s not working today. It’s sure to work next time. For Erika, the most profound evidence of love is failure. Klemmer is furious about his incapacity; so he clutches the woman’s hair, clutches it painfully, to keep her from escaping into her usual wishy-washiness. Well, she’s here, so let’s grab the opportunity and yank her hair hard, as agreed. Each of them, in agreement, yells something about love.
But the student’s star is fading. His task does not help him grow. The labyrinth doesn’t open up to him, no matter how hard he tugs and pulls the thread. No straight trail of pleasure appears amid unpruned trees and bushes. The woman rants about forests filled with the craziest fulfillments, but the only things she’s familiar with are blackberries and mushrooms. Still, she claims she deserves the reward because she has waited for so long. The student works hard; a prize beckons. The prize is Erika’s love, which the student now receives. Awkwardly rolling the little white worm between her palate and her tongue, she looks forward to her future pleasure as a sort of hiking path for beginners, a trail lined with neatly labeled plants. The hiker reads a label and is delighted to recognize a long familiar bush. He then sees the snake in the grass and is dismayed because the snake doesn’t wear a label. The woman declares this inhospitable spot their trysting place. Here and now! The student wordlessly thrusts his dick into the soft cavern of her mouth, a toneless horn, in which he vaguely feels teeth that he advises her to conceal. In such a situation, the man fears teeth more than disease. He sweats and gasps, feigning performance. He expels words: He keeps thinking of her letter. How dumb! It’s because of her letter that he can’t perform love, but can only think about love. This woman has put up obstacles.
He excitedly tells her about the renowned and reliable size of his penis, which she has never duly appreciated. Usually it delights him, the way a new erector set delights a boy who’s thirsty for knowledge. The size does not take shape. With the friendly eagerness of pleasure, the teacher, who has never known sexual pleasure, goes along with his detailed description. She goes along with him and looks forward to experiencing that and more, much more! Meanwhile, she tries to spit his dick out inconspicuously. But, ignoring their teacher/student relationship, the student Klemmer orders her to take it right back in. He doesn’t give up that easily! She has to take the bitter medicine without sugar. His first terrors of impotence, which may be her fault, encircle Erika Kohut. Her young student keeps trying to enjoy sex thoughtlessly, which doesn’t work. Inside the woman, who fills such chasms with all her being, the dark ship of fear grows and sets sail. Awakening from her madness, the woman begins to notice details in the tiny room. A low treetop beyond the window. A chestnut tree. The tastelessness of Klemmer’s sourballs inside her oral cavity, as the man, moaning senselessly, presses his all into her face. Peering from the corner of her eye, Erika sees an almost imperceptible swaying of branches down below, as they start to get besieged by raindrops. Leaves are charged unduly and sink down. Next, an inaudible patter, then a downpour. A spring morning goes back on its early promise. Soundlessly, the fresh leaves bend under the attack of the drops. Celestial bullets
hit branches. The man is still stuffing himself into the woman’s mouth, clutching her hair and ears, while on the outside, natural forces rule with overwhelming power. She still wants, and he still can’t. He remains small and loose instead of becoming solid and compact. The student screeches in rage, grinding his teeth, because he can’t give his best today. He has little chance of discharging into her mouth, which is located in her better part, the upper region. Erika thinks nothing, she chokes, although she doesn’t have much in her mouth. But it’s enough for her. Her gorge rises, and she struggles for air. In lieu of sexual hardness the student now rubs his abdomen with its scratchy, wiry hair on her face, cursing his tool. Erika’s gorge keeps rising. She violently pulls away and throws up into an old metal pail, which stands there, pleased to be available. It sounds as if someone is about to come in, but they are spared the bitter cup, the footsteps keep going. In between her vomiting, the teacher reassures the man: It’s not as bad as it looks. She spews gall from her depths. She holds her hands convulsively on her stomach while, half fainting, she depicts later and greater joys. It wasn’t all that much fun today, but soon Joy will burst from the starting gate. After catching her breath, she indefatigably offers far more intense, more honest feelings. She polishes them with a soft cloth and presents them boastfully. I’ve saved all this for you, Walter. Now it’s time! She’s even stopped throwing up. She tries to rinse her mouth with water, for which she is given a light slap. Furiously the man rages: Don’t do that again. You’ve gotten me all mixed up. You couldn’t wait until we reached my snowy peaks. You shouldn’t wash your mouth out after you’ve tasted me. Erika tries to stammer a worn-out word of love, and he laughs in her face. Rain drums steadily. The panes are washed. The woman winds her arms around the man and rambles on. The man tells her she stinks! Does she realize she stinks? He repeats the sentence several times because it sounds so good, and he addresses her in the polite form: Do you realize you stink, Frau Erika? She doesn’t understand and licks him again, weakly. But things aren’t as they should be. Outside, clouds are darkening the world. Klemmer keeps repeating—senselessly, because he was understood the first time—that Erika stinks so horribly that the whole small room reeks of her, it’s disgusting. She wrote him a letter, and now his reply is: He wants nothing from her, and besides, she stinks to high heaven. Klemmer pulls Erika’s hair. She should leave town, so his young, fresh nostrils won’t have to smell that peculiar, repulsive stench, that animal emanation of putrescence. Goddamnit, but you stink, piano teacher, you just can’t imagine how bad you stink.