paralyze them. They were not knocked off balance, they were not paralyzed. They not only had retained their composure, as they say, but were fully alert when I entered the drawing room. It did not occur to them to ask me about my journey or the reason for my late arrival, whether I had come by rail or by air, as it was absolutely self-evident that I should arrive at that very moment and no other. They haven’t asked one question, I thought, and they haven’t offered me anything. They expect me to take over, to take charge of everything, to be strong. It did not seem to occur to them that I might be incapable of taking on the task that had suddenly fallen to me. Without a moment’s hesitation they’ve loaded it all on me, I thought, yet at the time they knew more than I did. Possibly they had witnessed the accident; at least they were the first to learn of it. On the way to the Orangery I did not even know how it had happened, and I was inhibited from asking; I did not feel up to questioning them about it. But it can only have been a road accident, I thought. It had not occurred to my sisters to tell me about the nature of the accident; they spared themselves this ordeal in the first few minutes after my arrival, as neither of them wished to be the first to tell me the actual cause of my parents’ and my brother’s death. They behaved as if they were sworn to silence, having reached a prior agreement on this delicate and painful matter. As they said nothing, I spoke first, saying that it had been impossible for me to come earlier. This was a lie, but they obviously believed it. They know about Italian conditions, which are always chaotic where travel is concerned. The unions see to it that there are almost daily strikes and daily chaos throughout Italy. My sisters are well aware of these chaotic conditions, as I have told them about them often enough and they read about them in the newspapers. I therefore had no qualms about saying I had been unable to come earlier, because they were bound to put it down at once to these chaotic conditions and not suspect me of lying. To my family the word Italy has always been synonymous with chaos; Italy is the land of chaos. They have often asked me why I choose to live in Italy of all countries, where these chaotic conditions have prevailed for decades, and I have always replied that it is precisely because of these chaotic conditions that I choose to live in Italy, and in Rome, where they are at their most chaotic, where everything is unpredictable and impossible. I used to tell them that I chose to live in Rome precisely because Italy was the most chaotic country in Europe, probably in the whole world, and because Rome was the center of this chaos. They did not understand, and I never felt inclined to go into further explanations of my interest in Italy. A big city as such is not enough for me, I would tell them: it has to be a chaotic big city, a chaotic world city. But they could make no sense of such notions, or of any other notions of mine. They haven’t even asked me if I’d like a cup of tea or a glass of water, I thought, but then I relented, as I felt sorry for them in their present situation. When someone has come straight from Rome to Wolfsegg, which is after all a strenuous journey, it is usual to ask him whether he is hungry or thirsty, but they did not ask me. They were having coffee when I arrived, but they did not offer me any. I should have poured myself a cup, I thought, but I did not do so, as I wanted to go down to the Orangery as soon as possible to see my dead parents and Johannes. I did not want to put off the ordeal any longer. When we arrived at the Orangery Caecilia was surprised that I did not shake hands with the gardeners or even address them. Not knowing that I had already spoken to them and inquired about their well-being half an hour or more earlier, she found it odd that I should behave like this to the gardeners, who were still bringing large wreaths across from the Farm and stood aside to allow us, the master and mistress, as it were, to enter the Orangery. I went in while Caecilia remained by the door. I was alarmed to find that the bodies were placed at different heights, my father’s higher than my mother’s, and that while my father and brother lay in open coffins, my mother’s was closed. I turned around to Caecilia, as if for an explanation, before approaching the coffins, but the reason dawned on me at once: my mother’s body was not in a fit state to lie in an open coffin. I learned later that her body had been so mutilated in the road accident—beyond recognition, the papers said — that her coffin had to be sealed at once. She had been virtually decapitated, whereas there were no signs of injury on the bodies of my father and Johannes, whose necks had been broken when they were thrown against the windshield. The car had collided with a truck coming from Linz, and an iron bar from the truck had struck my mother’s head, almost severing it. She had been sitting in the middle of the car, as she always did when the three of them were driving together, and the iron bar had pierced the frame and killed her. They had all died painlessly, I was told. Having seen my mother’s closed coffin, I turned around and saw that there were tears in Caecilia’s eyes. Behind her stood the gardeners. I stood for two or three minutes in front of the coffins, then turned and left the Orangery. Standing by the dead, I had caught the unmistakable smell of bodies lying in state and decided to leave the Orangery before I was nauseated by it. I also felt it better not to linger by the bodies, which seemed to have nothing to do with me. I was sickened by the sight but far from moved, as they say. I felt only nausea and disgust. Any links I had were with my living parents and my living brother, I thought, not with these malodorous corpses. I naturally took care not to betray these feelings to my sisters or anyone else. I did not even recognize the faces as those of my father and brother; they were so changed that they seemed to belong to strangers who had nothing to do with them. Let’s go, I said to Caecilia. As we walked back to the house my eye was caught by the black banner hanging shamelessly from the central balcony. I was irritated to note that it was somewhat off center and pointed this out to my sister. I have always disliked sloppiness of this sort. Earlier, when I had just arrived and looked across at the house from the gateway, I had not noticed the irregularity, but now it disturbed me more than anything else. My sister beckoned one of the gardeners over and told him to move the banner to the middle of the balcony. It shouldn’t be too difficult, she said. By way of an excuse she explained to me that everything had had to be done in great haste. The gardener went up and moved the banner, while I gave instructions from below, telling him exactly where the middle of the balcony was and where the banner should hang. As I did so I began to feel nervous and at once tried to conceal this by telling Caecilia how good she looked in her black dress. Black suits you best, I said. It was not meant maliciously, but she instantly assumed that it was. She could not credit me with an honest observation that was not prompted by some ulterior motive; she at once thought it malicious and chose not to respond to my compliment. No, honestly, I said, that black dress suits you perfectly. Ignoring me, she locked up at the pigeons sitting on the windowsills, which this year were so caked with droppings that they looked quite disgusting. The pigeons were a big problem at Wolfsegg; year in, year out, they sat on the buildings in their hundreds and ruined them with their droppings. I have always detested pigeons. Looking up at the pigeons on the windowsills, I told Caecilia that I had a good mind to poison them, as these filthy creatures were ruining the buildings, and moreover there was hardly anything I found as unpleasant as their cooing. Even as a child I had hated the cooing of pigeons. The pigeon problem had been with us for centuries and never been solved; it had been discussed at length and the pigeons had constantly been cursed, but no solution had been found.