At last the knock came and cautiously and formally he entered.
“Ah, Herr Duke,” she said, “good evening. You’re visiting late, but it’s a pleasure to see you.”
He bowed, still in his vest, with arms red, and straightened stiffly.
“Madame Snow, I realize the hour, but,” he smiled slightly, “I have come on a most important mission.”
She clutched the robe, the Queen Mother’s before her, close to her chest.
“I would be most happy,” continued the tall man, “if you would give me the pleasure of dining with me, full courses and wine, at ten o’clock this morning that is to come. I have been most fortunate, and the meal is now being prepared.”
“It is an honor, Herr Duke.”
With one more bow, sleeves still rolled, the Chancellor climbed the stairs. He was the bearer of good tidings.
Balamir was startled to see, only a few moments after the Chancellor took his leave, Madame Snow stoop to seize a piece of paper that had been thrust beneath the door. They heard the messenger, Fegelein, cantering off down the greying street, heard the slamming of several doors. Madame Snow squinted by the window, her long hair shaking with excitement. She read and disbelieved, then read again. This joy was too much to bear, too great, too proud. Tears of joy and long waiting ran down her cheeks, the pamphlet fluttered from her hands, she clutched at the sill. Suddenly, with the energy of her youth, she flung open the window and screamed towards the upper stories of the boarding house.
“Sister, Sister, the news has come, the liberation has arrived. Sister, thank your countrymen, the land is free, free of want, free to re-build, Sister, the news, it’s truly here.” She wept as she had never wept when a girl.
Only silence greeted her cries. Then the child called fearfully down, “Mother is asleep.” A bright excited day was beginning to dawn and a few harassed and jubilant cries, no more, echoed up and down the drying streets.
Even though the print was smeared quite badly, and some of the pamphlets were unreadable, the decree spread quickly and most people, except the Station-Master who didn’t see the white paper, heard the news and whispered about it in the early morning light, trying to understand this new salvation, readjusting themselves to the strange day. The decree was carried, faithfully, by Stumpfegle and Fegelein who walked in ever widening circles about the countryside. They walked farther and farther, growing tired, until even the spire, struck with sunlight, was no longer visible.
In Winter Death steals through the doorway searching for both young and old and plays for them in his court of law. But when Spring’s men are beating their fingers on the cold earth and bringing the news, Death travels away and becomes only a passer-by. The two criers passed him on his way and were lost in an unbounded field.
The Census-Taker slept by the bottles in the newspaper office, his hands and face still grey with soot.
Madame Snow hummed while she tied up her hair.
Her son finally slept.
The hatches on the tank were closed.
The decree worked, was carried remarkably well, and before the day had begun the Nation was restored, its great operations and institutions were once more in order, the sun was frozen and clear. At precisely ten o’clock, when the Queen Mother went to dine, the dark man with the papers walked down the street and stopped at the boarding house. As Balamir left the castle with the shabby man, he heard the faraway scraping of knives and forks. At the top of the hill he saw the long lines that were already filing back into the institution, revived already with the public spirit. They started down the slope and passed, without noticing, the pool of trodden thistles where the carrion lay.
I was surprised to hear all the laughter on the second floor, but was too tired to stop and receive their gratitude. Beside the bed in Jutta’s room I stripped off my shirt and trousers and with an effort eased myself under the sheets. I lay still for a moment and then touched her gently, until she opened her eyes. The lips that had waited all evening for a second kiss touched my own, and from the open window the sharp sun cut across the bed, shining on the whiteness of her face who was waking and on the whiteness of my face who had returned to doze. We shut our eyes against the sun.
Selvaggia opened the door and crept into the room. She looked more thin than ever in the light of day, wild-eyed from watching the night and the birth of the Nation.
“What’s the matter, Mother? Has anything happened?”
I answered instead of Jutta, without looking up, and my voice was vague and harsh; “Nothing. Draw those blinds and go back to sleep…”
She did as she was told.
BY JOHN HAWKES
THE BEETLE LEG
THE GOOSE ON THE GRAVE & THE OWL
THE LIME TWIG
THE OWL
SECOND SKIN
THE INNOCENT PARTY (plays)
LUNAR LANDSCAPES
THE BLOOD ORANGES
DEATH, SLEEP & THE TRAVELER
TRAVESTY
VIRGINIE: HER TWO LIVES
HUMORS OF BLOOD & SKIN: A JOHN HAWKES READER