As Rudi’s shooting brake sped north through the countryside along dirt roads Hans had never before been on, dawn burst on the scene, lighting everything as if catapulted into the air. Rudi appeared calm, or at least sure of himself. He spoke little and only about trivial matters. Occasionally, he would stare fixedly at Hans with an ominously friendly expression. Isn’t it beautiful? he said, pointing at the woods. Then he would become absorbed in the landscape and inhale deeply. Only when he noticed Rudi’s burly chest rising and falling did Hans realise he was scarcely breathing himself.
They descended from the vehicle and Rudi ordered the driver and the footman to wait there until they returned. Hans, who had been interpreting Rudi’s every gesture since their first greeting, was even more alarmed by this command — what did until they returned mean exactly? That they’d be a long time, that he didn’t know how long they’d be, or that the driver and the servant weren’t to go looking for them however long they took? Rudi slung his gun over his shoulder. He offered Hans another and quickly nodded his head.
They made their way into the wood. The dogs followed, sniffing the damp ground. Rudi walked forward, shoulders hunched, back straight. The weight of the gun clearly didn’t hinder him in the slightest. Hans, on the other hand, was not sure which shoulder to carry it on. He had only handled a gun three or four times in his life, and on each occasion he had felt an awkward mixture of power and guilt. They walked in virtual silence for fifteen or twenty minutes. They came to a place that to Hans seemed identical to all the others. Rudi halted, lifted a finger to his lips and began noiselessly loading his gun. He did this with ceremonial slowness or with almost rehearsed precision, as though he were giving a demonstration. Each of Rudi’s fingers moved with a dexterity that could not fail to produce admiration or panic. His expression was relaxed, almost indifferent to the weapon he was caressing. And yet, as soon as he took aim with his gun, Rudi was transformed. His features hardened. His jaw tensed. His gaze was that of a predator. The dogs shot forward like barking missiles as the gunpowder exploded. While the bloodhounds went to retrieve the prey, Rudi recovered his graceful indolence, smiled amiably, and said: Now your turn, my friend. Hans refused the invitation as politely as possible, and said that he was quite happy simply to accompany Rudi. In order to learn? Rudi enquired. Just as an observer, Hans explained. Ah, I see, Rudi replied, reloading his gun, but remember that by watching you are also taking part in the shoot.
Rudi hunted partridge, quail and rabbit. His quarry plummeted from the sky, crumpled as it attempted to flee, was blown from its hole. The dogs scurried back and forth excitedly. A string of dead animals hung upside down from Rudi’s belt. He was an undeniably excellent marksman — he rarely missed and when he did it was out of carelessness rather than incompetence. As the morning went on, he kept insisting Hans try a shot, but Hans would refuse with a nervous gesture that seemed to bolster Rudi’s confidence. Rudi’s real ammunition, reflected Hans, was not the deafening cartridges flying through the air before falling to the ground, but his knowledge that he wasn’t the fearful one. Rudi gradually fired less and laughed more — it seemed what he liked about hunting was not shooting but being able to shoot.
Yes, more than likely Rudi had brought him shooting to impress him, to assert his authority on his own territory. But precisely because this territory was not his, Hans preferred to relinquish any claim to it from the outset rather than entering into a futile contest. He thought that by leaving Rudi to shoot on his own, to show off unrivalled, his fervour would burn itself out and his eagerness to triumph would gradually subside until he realised no one but the partridge, quail and rabbit had been defeated, because, when all the shots had been fired, Hans would still be looking him in the eye without having pulled the trigger. Hans was fully aware that his pacifism was an attempt to match up to Rudi. And, like Rudi, he was trying to do so on his own territory.
Hans was prepared to keep up his passive resistance at all costs in order not to give up an iota of rage to Rudi. This was his strategy, and he intended to follow it calmly and with complete cynicism to the end. What Hans hadn’t foreseen was what actually happened — as the sun rose high above the thicket, Rudi’s strength began to wane forlornly. Without uttering a word his shots became spaced out, his pace slowed, his reflexes slackened. Finally, he stopped shooting altogether, his shoulders drooped and he sat down on a rock, leaning on his gun butt as if it were a cane. The barking stopped. The air grew calm. Strings of birds sailed across the sky once more. Ill at ease, Hans sat down opposite him at a prudent distance. Rudi raised his head, and for the first time Hans was able to look into his eyes — his gaze was one of firm memories and uncertain future. Rudi sighed. He let his head drop, and sat examining the furrows in the ground. Then he smiled with a disarming tenderness that (against his will) Hans found touching. Do you think, said Rudi, that Sophie loves me as much as I love her?
And suddenly Rudi began to talk openly and at length about his feelings. His broad back seemed to hunch slightly. Hans had the impression Rudi was talking to him in a beseeching tone. That he was speaking about Sophie as if Hans were his confidant, or Rudi wished he were. In a few gushing moments, which to Hans felt like hours, Rudi told him how he had met Sophie, confessed how long he had waited for her, how often he had refused to take no for an answer. He felt inside the folds of his garments, unfastened two horsehair buttons and showed Hans his treasure — an oval medallion containing a miniature of Sophie. Hans read the inscription engraved on the back, too affectionate to have been mere pretence. He felt a tightening in his chest as he contemplated Sophie’s smile. Her portrait was painted on ivory (Ivory, Hans thought, more from jealousy than political conviction, imported by the British colonists in India, the imperialist pig!) and the glass was domed, like the mirror opposite the fireplace at the Gottlieb residence. Hans noticed that because of a defect in the glass, a tiny air bubble, one of Sophie’s eyes looked slightly bigger than the other, wider open, as if in warning. Rudi carried on talking excitedly about the wedding in October, about the dowry agreed on by the two families, the forthcoming preparations. Unsure of how to respond to such directness, Hans softened and was on the point of lowering his guard. Had he misjudged his rival? But then Rudi made an ambiguous remark in passing, which put him back on the defensive: Besides, Rudi said, you’re a close friend of hers, you must understand my feelings and be aware of hers.
You must understand my feelings and be aware of hers, Rudi had said. (What exactly did he mean by this? Hans wondered, was he referring to Hans’s conversations with Sophie? Did he want to know what she had told him, was he asking him to be disloyal? Or was he insinuating that Hans had become too close to his fiancée?) I’m being completely honest with you, Rudi continued, because I know I can trust you in this matter. (Was Rudi a master of irony? Was he capable of subjecting him to such subtle torture? Was he speaking out of deliberate malice or with the innocence of the cuckold?) Sometimes, you see, I worry that Sophie might be too sophisticated for a man such as me. Let’s be honest, I haven’t had much time for study due to my obligations (what was this — a fit of humility or a defiant display of mockery?) In short, I needn’t describe her to you (why needn’t he, why?) but for me one of her attractions is that way she has of remaining slightly aloof (she might well be aloof with you, you fool!) and, how should I say, just a little wild (well, we agree on that) not to mention her beauty, I don’t know what you think. (And now what should he do — agree or turn a deaf ear? What would rouse a jealous man’s suspicions more — another man praising his fiancée or maintaining a stubborn silence?) And do you know what else I like about her? The way she smiles. That’s what I most like about her. Knowing a woman’s smile is important, isn’t it? Because a man aspires to make his wife happy, and when people are happy they smile a lot. And if Sophie and I are going to be very happy together, it’s important for me to like her smile.