Elsa left Hans with the impression she hadn’t managed to say everything she wanted, or hadn’t wished to tell him everything she should have. She had been inscrutable yet polite, avoiding his questions without refusing to answer them. After poring over Sophie’s letter, Hans felt none the wiser — in evasive, flawless grammar, Sophie expressed her delight at the news of his attendance the following afternoon; she mentioned some trivial detail about the meeting; above all (and this was almost the only thing he noticed in her letter) she seemed to have tempered the tone of her previous communication, rebuffing his flattery with cautious irony. Reluctantly, Hans realised he could spend the entire day trying to decipher hidden meanings, but no amount of effort would put an end to the waiting nor to the feverish turmoil he was beginning to fear would accompany his every movement from now on.
As the light began to fade, Hans, the organ grinder and Franz crossed the city together. The little orange-and-green cart juddered over the cobblestones and the beaten earth. Hans marvelled at the way the old man calmly pushed his instrument almost two miles every day to and from the square. It also amazed him that the organ grinder never wavered when he reached a bend or crossing or fork in the road. Hans had been there for at least a month and a half and had so far failed to take the same route more than twice in a row — he would always reach his destination, but never without some modification along the way. Hans now suspected that rather than secretly shifting position, Wandernburg rotated suddenly like a sunflower turning to follow the sun.
The mud from the day before had begun to dry. Patches of melting frost gave off a slight mist. A stench of churned earth and urine wafted up from the ground. The grey city walls were stained with moisture and the remains of the day. Hans contemplated the age-old grime, the clotted neglect of Wandernburg to which he was still unaccustomed. The organ grinder sighed, and, placing a skinny hand on his shoulder, declared: Isn’t Wandernburg pretty! Hans looked at him with astonishment. Pretty? he said. Don’t you find it a little dirty, gloomy, small? Of course, said the organ grinder, but also very pretty! Don’t you like it? That’s a shame. No, please don’t apologise, there’s no need be so formal! I understand, it’s normal. Perhaps you’ll like it better when you get to know it. What I like about Wandernburg is you. You, Álvaro, Sophie. It’s the people, don’t you think, who make a place beautiful? You’re right, said the organ grinder, but for me it’s also, how can I explain? These alleyways never cease to amaze me, I never tire of looking at them because, Franz! Leave those horses alone! Come here you rascal! When that dog is hungry he thinks everyone’s his friend and is going to give him a bone instead of a kick. Where was I? Ah yes, to me these streets are, how can I put it, they’re so old that they seem new. What nonsense I talk! They fascinate me. Tell me, said Hans, what fascinates you? What exactly do you like about them? Nothing, everything, the organ grinder said, the square for instance, even though I’ve been playing there for years, every day I find it more interesting. I used to be afraid I’d grow bored with it, you know, that I’d have had enough of the square, but now the more I look at it, the less I seem to know it. If you could see the tower in summer compared to when it snows! It looks as if, as if it’s made of a different substance. And the market, the fruit, the colours, you never know what each new crop will bring, this winter, for instance, Franz! Watch out! Come here! Or what can I say, I like it when they start lighting the street lamps, have you noticed? I like watching the way people change without realising it, they keep walking by, the men’s hair thins, the women grow stout, the children grow up, new ones appear. It saddens me to hear young people say they don’t like this city, it’s good they are curious and think of other places, but wouldn’t it be good if they were also curious about where they are from, because perhaps they haven’t looked closely enough. They’re young. They still see things as either beautiful or ugly. Do you know I enjoy talking to you, Hans. I never talk this much to anyone.
Far away in the meadows, sheep were finishing giving suck to their lambs, who clung to their teats as to a last ray of light. The wool of night was quickly being woven.
Reichardt and Lamberg had been the first to arrive, and were now sharing a bottle of wine and some stale bread. Álvaro had turned up a little later. At Hans’s request he had begun to drop by the cave from time to time, and, also at Hans’s request, on these occasions would bring with him a generous helping of food that his cook had prepared. Since he had been widowed, Álvaro lived alone in his house on the edge of the city, not far from the textile mill. He usually went everywhere on horseback. Once he was in the city he would leave his mount at a stable and either take carriages or walk. Álvaro sat bolt upright on his horse, heels flush with the animal’s flank, arms relaxed, almost down by his side. Seeing him ride one had the impression that his lively steed was at one with him, rather than obeying the tug of the reins. Álvaro never stayed very late at the cave. At a given hour, he would glance at his pocket watch, bid the others good night, and climb back on his horse.
Unusually for him, Álvaro arrived at the cave looking dishevelled. His hair was tousled and his cheeks flushed, as if he had washed his face after some strenuous effort. Sorry I’m late, he muttered, sitting down in front of the fire, I had a disastrous tilbury ride. First we almost turned over, then one of the wheels got stuck and I had to get out and push while the driver whipped the horse. The brute beat him so hard I feared the poor creature might not make it! It seemed to Hans his friend was explaining too much for the informality of the cave. He recalled his walk there earlier with the organ grinder, the state of the road, and remarked casually: How odd your tilbury should get stuck in the mud, it was almost dry this afternoon. That’s as may be, Álvaro replied abruptly, but the part we went along was muddy!
Their appetites sated and sharing the warmth of the fire, they struck up a friendly banter. Álvaro appeared to have regained his composure, and began joining in, having a laugh with Hans whenever he could, nudging him and patting him on the back. Their conversations gradually grew muddled. But before making them inebriated, the wine had granted them a couple of hours of clear-headedness. Then Álvaro had asked Hans something no one had ever asked him before: You’re always threatening to go to Dessau, he said, what exactly is it you have to do there? Herr Lyotard is expecting me, Hans replied solemnly. And who might he be? Álvaro enquired. I’ll tell you another time, said Hans, winking at him. Hey, Álvaro asked, and what about Berlin, don’t you ever think of going back there? No, said Hans, what would be the point? I may have good memories of it, but can I go back and find them? I may go there again but I could never go back. Going back is impossible. That’s why I prefer new places. And before Berlin, the organ grinder said curiously, where were you? A long way away, replied Hans. But, my dear boy, the old man said, folding one of Franz’s ears as if it were a handkerchief, why do you travel so much? Let’s just say, Hans replied, that I’m unable to live any other way. I think if you know where you’re going and what you’re going to do, you’re likely to end up not knowing who you are. My work is to translate, and I can do that anywhere. I try not to make plans, and to let fate decide. For instance, a few weeks ago I left Berlin. I was thinking of going to Dessau and decided to stop off here for the night, and now look — by chance I am still here, enjoying talking to you. Things don’t happen by chance, said the organ grinder, we help them along, and if they turn out badly we blame chance. I’m sure you know why you’re still here, and I’m delighted you are! And when you leave you’ll know why you did so as well. Hey, you two professors! Reichardt groaned. If you carry on philosophising I’m going to fall asleep!