One solid spit gob and the fly vanished, didn’t see where, I wasn’t very interested in studying it anymore, either. I stood there with the telephone in my hand. Had a strong hankering to chuck it right down onto the ground, see the cheap, trashy electronics that made it possible to receive such bad news even way out here in the fields shatter in all directions. But I knew that getting a new one would be one hell of a headache. And it would cost money. Besides, it wasn’t for sure that the cell phone would even be damaged; the grass was already tall, as soft as a quilt. So I just stood there, with my hand clutching the phone and a pitchfork in my heart.
Chapter 19
WILLIAM
I was on my way out of the blindness, was eating well and had slowly but surely started to exercise. I bathed every day, asked for freshly laundered clothes often and shaved frequently, up to twice a day. After all of these months spent like a bearded chimpanzee I had come to like the smoothness of my face, feeling the air directly against my skin.
And I read until my eyes smarted. I could stand more all the time, increasingly more words a day, spent entire days at my desk, surrounded by all of my books, opened on the table, on the bed, on the floor.
I reread Swammerdam; his research remained solid. I studied Huber’s hive in detail, his practical framework, and also ordered what I came across in the way of pamphlets and journals on the practice of beekeeping. There were many of them, it turned out. For the upper class beekeeping had become a leisurely pastime in recent years, something with which one filled the long hours between lunch and tea. But most of these small manuals were naturally written for the common man, in a simple language, with simple line drawings. For someone like me it didn’t take long to get through them. Some described experiments with hives made of wood, some even held that they had discovered what would have to be the new standard, but none of them had so far managed to come up with a hive that truly gave the keeper complete access and oversight. Not like the hive I knew I would create.
Dorothea visited me daily now. She showed up with apple-red cheeks and small dishes she had prepared herself. It had to be Thilda who asked her to do so, in the hopes that I would eat more when I knew that my child had prepared the meal with her own hands. An assumption I had to acknowledge she was right about. The food tasted surprisingly good and Dorothea was clearly in the process of evolving into a proper housewife. Georgiana also came now and then. Like a wave she washed in across the room with her penetrating little-girl voice and wiped out everything I was pondering over, until she was suddenly gone again. Charlotte was the least bothersome, stuck her sharp nose in the door and usually asked if she might borrow a book, one I didn’t need myself at the moment. She picked out new books all the time; soon she would certainly have finished everything I had, so quickly did she read.
But Edmund never came. In the afternoons I could hear his voice from below sometimes, or from the garden, or even from the hallway outside my room, but he never gave me the pleasure of his presence.
Finally I went in to see him. It was early evening. Peace and quiet had been restored in the house following afternoon tea. It would soon be shattered by noise when the evening meal was served, but for now all was silent.
I knocked gently on his door. Nobody answered. I lifted my hand towards the latch, but hesitated, wanting to give him time. Instead I put my hand against my face, stroking the smoothly shaved cheek. I had prepared myself before I went in, changed into clean trousers, washed. I so fervently wished that he would see this version of me, and forget the one he had met last.
He still didn’t come to the door and I tried knocking again.
No answer.
Could I walk in all the same? It was his room, his private one. But still, I was his father, and the house, and thus also his room, were mine.
Yes, I could. It was my right.
I carefully pushed the latch down. The door slid open, remained ajar, inviting. The room was in semidarkness, the only light came from the sunset-washed landscape outside. But the room faced east and the rays of the evening sun did not reach here.
I walked in and discovered a key on the inside of the door. Did he usually lock the door? The air was stuffy, with a scent of musk, and something else a bit rank that I was unable to define. Clothes lay carelessly scattered everywhere, a jacket over the chair, a pair of trousers and a shirt on the bed. Above the mirror was a scarf, the same bottle-green scarf he’d been wearing when he’d paid me his visit. On his night table there were dirty cups and dishes and there was a pair of unpolished shoes thrown onto the middle of the floor.
I just stood there. An uneasiness came over me. There was something wrong with this room. Something or other that wasn’t right.
Was it the disorder?
No. He was young. He was a man. Of course his room was like this. I should get one of the younger girls to help him keep it tidy.
It wasn’t the mess, but something else.
I looked around. Clothes, plates, shoes, a mug.
Something was missing.
Suddenly I knew what it was.
His desk. It was empty. The shelf by the wall. Empty.
Where were all of his books? Where were his writing materials? Everything he needed to prepare for his studies.
“Father?”
I spun around. Again he had appeared without my having heard him.
“Edmund.” I hedged. Should I get out? No. Because I had every right to be here. Every right.
“I forgot something.” He was breathing hard and his cheeks were rosy, he had clearly been outdoors. He was handsomely but somewhat haphazardly dressed today, too, with a red velvet vest, open coat and a kerchief draped around his neck. He held a purse in his hand and walked quickly towards the sideboard up against the short wall by the bed. There was a small chest on it, which he opened and began rummaging around in. The sound of coins jingling could be heard. He opened his purse and dropped few coins into it. Then he finally turned towards me.
“Did you want something?”
He was not indignant about my having let myself into his room. It was apparently of no importance whatsoever.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He nodded into space, towards nothing. “Out.”
“Where is this ‘out’?”
“Father.” He smiled, a little resigned, it seemed. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him smile and of course he owed me no explanation.
“You must forgive me.” I smiled back. “I forget that you’re no longer a child.”
He walked towards the door again. I took a step forward. Was he leaving already? Couldn’t he wait a little, so he had the chance to see me, look at me properly, notice how healthy I was, how well groomed, so different from the person I’d been the last time we’d spoken?
He hesitated and stopped. We stood on either side of the door, a darkness opened between us. Two steps and he would be gone.
“Can I ask you about something?” he said.
“Of course. You can ask about anything you might be mulling over.”
I smiled agreeably. Now the good conversation would soon be under way; this could be the beginning for us, of something completely new.
He drew a breath. “Do you have any money?”
I started. “Money?”
He waved his purse and made a face. “Almost empty.”
“I… No. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll have to ask Mother.”
Then he disappeared out the door.
I went into my own room, feeling oddly dejected. Was I merely a provider in his eyes? Was money all he wanted from me?
I sat down by the desk. No, it couldn’t be so. But money—for him perhaps it represented everything we lacked. The poverty the family had lived in during recent months, it was completely understandable that it had an impact on him. For him the lack of money was the clearest indication that his father was ill. That I had gotten out of bed again was all well and good, but I still didn’t manage to procure for him what he really needed. He was young. Of course this simple, precarious need was the most essential for him. But he had to give me time. Because my idea would potentially give him both what he knew he needed immediately and what in the long term he would understand was most important.