The young man, thinking of the countless friends whom he will make the repositories of his adventure, steps under the too needling waterjet of the shower. His senses are all present and stretch out on the floor like dogs lying down to sleep on their appointed blankets. Perhaps his girlfriend will stop by later on, while outside the oppressed take by force what has been granted them. Thus long he has deigned to watch a woman advancing in years, and thus long will he rest, a child of the world. I think he will even still be asleep tomorrow morning when the people who live in these houses trample each other to death in the bus and riotously batter each other about the head with their belongings.
As if by changing cars they had changed lives, the Direktor and his wife drive home together, one under the protection of the other, tossing from one position in life to the next. These people can fuck fearlessly anywhere at all, whatever they do is always put right again by love and their dear cleaning ladies. The employees are at rest, presently the jangle of their alarms will raise them aloft. Silently the car sweeps the flatland clean. The mountains stand in silence, till tomorrow the sun is again portioned out by the tourist office rep, to delight the sporting folk. And so the directorial couple return home on their great raft, along the federal highway in accordance with all the regulations and at a moderate speed. For a brief while the two of them took hold on their bodies to fill up with fuel, the springs were bubbling up all around them, right, the rich tank up new energy as often as they wish. In the little houses silence reigns, because the people there have to count out the money for petrol first. At most it's violence that reigns, till tomorrow they are under someone else's control again at the factory, these sons from petty homes, and their wives wade by day through the puddles of the powerful sex. Love comes fruity and fresh in its carton, but what does it become inside us?
The toil of the sexes, accomplished today by the Direktor and the Frau Direktor, has made them blossom with a shudder, only to wipe their mouths afterwards as if after a meal wolfed greedily down; and it may be but is not definitely finished for today. Till we meet again tomorrow in the radiant light from the mail van's headlamps, so early, when it's still dark, not to mention the years ahead! Nothing but those lights caresses the wretched bodies shamelessly confronting us in all their morning stench and exhaust fumes. But just think of the lottery tickets their thoughts are always dwelling on! One has to be able to take it as well as deal it out.
The Direktor stammers managerial, loving words, he announces himself and his programme, this private individual. Already he is in his element again: money. What would he be without his wife, as he insists on calling her. Jovially he embraces her with the arm he's not steering with, taking her body and doing some steering there at least. Like a warm tame animal the mountains lounge above him, he has already sheered them quite bald. They have left the superfluous car standing, put to sleep and locked up like their child. Let's face it, all they were thinking of was jolly sex. The woman can now go shopping for the kind of commodities that suit a woman. Now speculations are made concerning the next day and what it might bring. The Direktor describes the many and various ways in which he is going to screw his wife later and in the days ahead. He needs trouble up top, in the office, if his prick down below is to be satisfied and taken captive by the woman. Perhaps the woman will like something special which she will follow blindly on her shopping spree tomorrow? This man: the unwavering star of his wife will shine above him till tomorrow morning, he nuzzles tenderly at her throat, keep your eyes on the road, don't look away! The droplets fly from the man, sweat and sperm, which makes him no less, no slighter, no smaller. Smilingly he prays to his wife, whom he has held under his jet. His fleshy testicles sit still on their stringy stalk. What a relief, to go out into the spell of night, if one doesn't have to hurry out into the morning dark, one amongst many, dazzled by the kitchen light. If the fire is burning within one, and another, larger one is burning in the engine. Cleansed and renewed, the Direktor will presently be getting into bed again with his Gerti and making his territorial mark on her bush, no one cocks a leg faster than he does. Maybe the two of them will once again be flooded by the muted cry of their bodies wanting food, who knows? The woman tries to fasten her dress at her breast, the cold is scourging her. But the man demands that she provide a little more entertainment for him and the people who live in those parts in their little domestic limbos, please, Brigitte, I mean, Gerti. The dress, which is covering her now, he parts wide open again, she hasn't quite gone out yet, hasn't Gerti, I'm pretty sure there's still a glimmer in the ashes. The heating hasn't properly warmed up yet, but the man has. He is fast off the mark, on his chin he has a fingernail scratch dealt by Gerti. Not a single walker comes their way, to flower a little with an acquaintance outside the house. No one is out and about any more to witness the brand of power on the forehead of the factory Direktor. And so he at least has to stamp his mark on his wife, to show that she has paid to go in and really did bravely go out in the open from the warmth of her sex. In the kitchens of the poor, only the stove is kept alight.
The man calls the woman his darling, and yes, even the child is included. They live in the centre, the happy medium, the gusset of the village. And the government shrewdly ladles out the special offers to people. So that the owners of companies can take their decisions and come up with excuses for squandering subsidies and human bodies. They can be happy forever amid their possessions, and the rest tell of worries on their towel-sized patches of ground where they promptly plant out fences, despite the fact that their seed is scarcely enough for more than two. Already they have to be thinking of yet another person!
We are there, the child is asleep in his private parts and memories.
Meekly the son slumbers on the lead of Linz Chemicals Ltd. Now let us go to sleep as well, for a foretaste of what comes before death. To do this one first has to lie down, as the poor have long known, they die sooner too, and still the time till they die seems too long to them. The Man nuzzles up once more to the cosmetically caked skin of his wife, presently he will follow her into bed with a bang, like a shot from a gun. In the bathroom there is already a busy noise of waters and movements. Mercilessly a heavy body is thrown into the hot water to make it fit for consumption. The soap and brushes lie on his chest. The mirrors steam up. The Frau Direktor is expected to give her husband's back a good scrubbing, to dip her hand acquiescently into the lather and go on massaging his massive sex, it is entirely in her hands. Beyond the window, the moon slithers. He is already calling for her, the Man and the half kilo of flesh (or, if need be, less) which is his master. Already it is swelling again in the warm water and arising to lord it over the lavish cold buffet of his body. Afterwards he will bathe the woman after the troubles of the day, not at all, his pleasure entirely. All around, mortals are living on wages and work, they do not live for ever and they do not live well. But now they have exchanged their tribulations for rest, the sting is asleep in their breast because they do not have their own bathroom. The Direktor's body just goes in the water, but he still has enough cubic metres of solid flesh left. Once again he calls for his wife, louder this time, it is an order. She does not come. He will have to soften up all by himself in the water. Placidly he slides across to the other side of the tub, should he yell for her to come? How pleasant that water does not change one, and that one does not have to learn to walk on it. Such a pleasure, and so cheap. Anyone can afford it. Let the woman stay where she is, oh take me with you, swathes of heat! He runs the hot tap, massages it and feels peaceful, serene. The waters rush about his heavy body, the hard jaw muscles grinding life up small and swallowing companies. The poor too fall like water from the cliffs, but at least they stay where they are, in their little beds, and don't go begging constantly, these tedious people wanting danger money paid. One moment all's well, and the next, complete with all the sacred strings their wives have laboriously stretched on their bodily frames, they're blindly getting caught in the machines! All that blood! And all for nothing, including in the end the massive whiplash beating of their hearts, since there is no more blood left to keep them going. And I gather the children are sometimes still out and about at four in the morning. One or two of them, at least, still come home drunk from the disco.