Café Europa was the only place in Wandernburg, where, besides the skimpy pages of the Thunderer, one could read above all the French press, as well as the broadsheets from Berlin, Munich, Dresden and Hamburg. On his first visit there, Hans was surprised to discover among the magazine racks the cultural supplement of the Morning News and even an issue of the Jena Literary Review. As occasional out-of-date issues of the Gazette or the Daily Bulletin would arrive from Madrid, Álvaro was in the habit of going there to do his weekly business accounts. The moment he opened a newspaper from his native country he would begin railing against King Ferdinand or censorship. Even so he would continue to devour them with an avidity Hans found strange and moving in equal measure — his friend couldn’t leave Wandernburg, yet he had never left Spain either. During the afternoons they spent reading in the café, Álvaro would bring Hans cuttings from Spanish Pastimes and other publications written by exiles in London that he received. He passed the time comparing news items and gesticulating furiously while his coffee grew cold.
That Saturday, they were sitting at one of Café Europa’s round marble tables conversing in the soft glow of the oil lamps. At the other end of the room two billiard tables shone dimly beneath a halo of smoke. Álvaro had folded his newspaper and was once again telling Hans that he was behaving oddly, by turns elated and anxious. The fact is he was right. Apart from the organ grinder, Hans had spoken to no one about what had happened at the Gottliebs’ house on Wednesday afternoon. Not even to Sophie herself. Nor had he spoken of her most recent letters, replete with double entendres and insinuations. Hans sensed he had no need to explain his excitement to Álvaro, and that somehow he had known what was happening from the start. As for what was making him anxious, Hans decided to be frank.
I’m embarrassed to tell you this, Hans admitted, but the fact is I’m running out of money. (Really? Álvaro was surprised. Why didn’t you say so?) I told you, I was embarrassed, and I didn’t want to think too much about it either, I suppose I was hoping for a stroke of luck. Up until now I always did things in the same way — I worked, saved and travelled until I ran out of funds, then I started all over again. But things changed since I came here, I stayed longer than I should, I’ve been careless with money, and now I can’t expect that (of course you can, dear fellow! Álvaro protested, dropping his cup into its saucer. How much do you need?) No, truly, I’m grateful, but a loan won’t solve my problem. (What will then?) A piece of good news. Yes, don’t pull that face, I’ve been waiting for it for days. If it arrives, all will be well. If not, then, within eight or ten days at most I’ll positively have to go to Dessau, talk to Herr Lyotard and look for work there. (At least let me tide you over! What are friends for!) Friends, my dear Urquijo, are there to listen, which is what you’ve been doing and, believe me, that’s enough of a help. I’m relieved to have got it off my chest. But now I beg you let’s not talk about it any more, and don’t insist on lending me money — if my situation doesn’t change, I shan’t be able to pay you back, and if it does then I won’t need it.) Cabrón, muttered Álvaro, patting him on the back, how well you pronounce my Basque surname! Rather better, Hans grinned, than your pronunciation of our German names. Álvaro gave one of his booming laughs. Then he straightened up in his chair and said with a solemn air: Just let me ask you one question, how much do you have left? How much? Hans sighed, gazed up at the ceiling, appeared to calculate among the rafters, and quoted a sum. Not one thaler more? exclaimed Álvaro, alarmed. Are you sure? What about the inn? Don’t worry, said Hans, next week is paid for, we’ll see if it’s my last. And changing the subject: Do you dare to beat me at billiards again?
That evening, while they were dining together at the Central Tavern, two big lemon-scented hands alighted on their backs. They turned to discover Rudi Wilderhaus’s closely shaven chin. Forgive me, gentlemen, he said, if I didn’t greet you before. On the contrary, said Hans stiffly, we are the ones who apologise for not having seen you. That’s only natural, replied Rudi, my table is at the back. I always reserve that one because it’s the quietest, why do people always crowd around the entrance? There isn’t a learned man in all Germany who can tell you, but there it is, gentlemen, they won’t walk more than a few paces!
With this, Rudi began to laugh, closing one eye and watching Hans and Álvaro through the other to see if they were joining in. The two men exchanged glances, gave a few forced sniggers, and then, on seeing Rudi’s ludicrous expression, suffered a genuine fit of laughter. In any case, gentlemen, Rudi said gesturing towards the table at the other end of the tavern, I’d be pleased if you’d agree to join us. They turned around and could make out the glowing cigars of Herr Gelding and his partners.
What a pleasant surprise, Herr Gelding said in greeting. Gentlemen, I believe you already know Herr Urquiho, who represents our distributors in London. Herr Urquiho, I can’t remember if I’ve introduced you to Herr Klinsman, ah yes, I pointed him out to you, I thought as much, and what about Herr Voeller? But do have a seat, please, have a seat, our distinguished Herr Wilderhaus here has just been telling us that you and he attend the same salon, who would have thought it! By Jove, a literary salon, why, Herr Urquiho, you really are a dark horse.
In the middle of the table was roast chicken on a platter, together with a dish of seasoned endives and a bowl of strawberries. Prost! Herr Gelding belched, picking up a strawberry between thumb and forefinger and dipping it in his tankard of beer. Herr Gelding’s remarks seemed to amuse Rudi, although he wrinkled his brow with each belch. Soon the others at the table, including Álvaro, began talking business. Rudi and Hans remained silent, sizing each other up like opponents across a chessboard. (Bah! one of Herr Gelding’s partners suddenly exclaimed. Don’t talk to me about Varnhagen, he’s only good for charging in advance and paying late!) The more affable Rudi was towards him, the more uneasy Hans became — why did he insist on smiling at him when they had never liked each other? Why did Rudi refresh his tankard as soon as it was half-empty? Was he trying to make him drunk? Did he know something, did he want to know something? (Don’t go all charitable on me Herr Urquiho, please! Herr Gelding chuckled. At this rate the labourers will be better off than us, mark my words, my grandfather was a labourer so I know what I’m talking about, things were far tougher in those days! So don’t come to me with that, we need men, do you hear, men, but all their sons have trades now, they learn to read and write!) In spite of everything, from a sense of male pride of which Hans deep down felt ashamed, he drank all the beer he was served, as though refusing would not only be churlish but would give Rudi a reason to mistrust him. As the alcohol began slowly to permeate his consciousness, Hans had the impression that his memories were also liquid sloshing round in a tankard, a frothy substance splashing at the rim, and that his secrets could be viewed through a glass. (Let’s be clear, said one of Herr Gelding’s partners, everyone deserves respect, just so long as we the management are respected, everyone wants their say without even having an income of a hundred ducats.) Now Rudi was speaking to him, speaking to him earnestly, too earnestly, and his hand was creeping over his shoulder, like a spider, thought Hans. (That’s a good one! Herr Gelding belched as he brought his hand down on the table.) Rudi placed his hand on Hans’s shoulder and began talking to him about horses and hunting. (Don’t even think about it! one of Herr Gelding’s partners declared. While prices continue to go down it’s best not to raise one’s expectations.) He spoke in a soft voice and told him he was also a traveller and how much he appreciated men of the world, that he already knew half of Europe and soon he would see the rest, God and my health permitting, said Rudi, soon I’ll see the other half with my wife Sophie, and it’ll give us great pleasure to write to you, she tells me that as well as being a good friend you are an excellent letter writer, an admirable quality, I like men who appreciate the value of words.