Crossing the Sierra De Gredos (16 page)
Read Crossing the Sierra De Gredos Online
Authors: Peter Handke
And if the man still lacks something, now he is resigned to lacking it; even strengthened by it? Their voices seem to be amplified by the walls of the various little sheds built in a circle around the main structure. And just as she placed her hand on his shoulder in parting the night before, now, for this morning's parting, she strikes him in the throat, making him stagger backward. And so he goes, looking over his shoulder at her, as if a third parting were still in the offing, not right awayâthe culmination of their partings. And then, already on the
carretera
, the highway, the
cesta
,
the
tariq hamm
, he pauses briefly, sets down the suitcase, and tosses a handful of pebbles in her direction, so violently that several skitter all the way to her feet. She has retained the almost unblinking gaze of her childhood. Except that it has nothing childlike about it. Perhaps it did not have that even long ago.
carretera
, the highway, the
cesta
,
the
tariq hamm
, he pauses briefly, sets down the suitcase, and tosses a handful of pebbles in her direction, so violently that several skitter all the way to her feet. She has retained the almost unblinking gaze of her childhood. Except that it has nothing childlike about it. Perhaps it did not have that even long ago.
The man heading toward the Atlantic. And the woman toward the Mediterranean? On this morning the sky above the
meseta
was blue. The highland plain of grass, stone, and sand extending in all directions from the hostel was green, brown, red, and silvery gray (the silvery color from the flecks of argentine mica in the weathered granite sand). By daylight, the hostel, with its gaping chimney, its roof sprouting thistles, its crumbling stucco, and its empty window frames, where black jackdaws with yellow beaks constantly flew in and out, uttering their hoarse cries, now had only the silhouette of a
castillo
, or castle, and was almost as black as the jackdaws, black without the sheen of their feathers. Then the jet contrailsâit was an era of black jet contrailsâeven a shade blacker than a black background as they passed in front of the sun, at which moments it became palpably colder, as during a total eclipse.
meseta
was blue. The highland plain of grass, stone, and sand extending in all directions from the hostel was green, brown, red, and silvery gray (the silvery color from the flecks of argentine mica in the weathered granite sand). By daylight, the hostel, with its gaping chimney, its roof sprouting thistles, its crumbling stucco, and its empty window frames, where black jackdaws with yellow beaks constantly flew in and out, uttering their hoarse cries, now had only the silhouette of a
castillo
, or castle, and was almost as black as the jackdaws, black without the sheen of their feathers. Then the jet contrailsâit was an era of black jet contrailsâeven a shade blacker than a black background as they passed in front of the sun, at which moments it became palpably colder, as during a total eclipse.
All colors seemed to be gathered here, and the objects also revealed a new colorâwhich had existed nowhere in the world until this morningâwhich had never before been seen by a human eyeâand for which there was also no name and never would beâand rightly so. Was the unknown new color purely a wish? A wish awakened at the sight of the slowly wandering line separating sun and shadow, between the area of rigid white hoarfrost and the glistening, seemingly windblown thawing area in the steppe-grass-filled courtyard of the hostel? At the sight of the thawing grass, whose tips stirred not from the wind but rather from the steady melting of the layers of hoarfrost, which accumulated in droplets, causing one stalk after another to sway?
Yes, a wishâa wish that sprang up at the sight of that one dewdrop in the sun which, in contrast to the myriad glass-clear, transparent, white-flashing droplets, stood out from the dewdrop field as a bronze sphere, not glistening and flashing but glowing, shimmering, shining; no mere glittering dot but a sphere, a dome, challenging one to discoverânot some unknown planet but the old familiar one, the earth here, challenging one to engage in unceasing daily discovery that led to no specific outcome, nothing that could be exploited, unless perhaps for keeping possibilities openâdiscovery as a way of keeping possibilities open?
A wish for a new color on, in, with the earth, a wish that became even more intense with the discovery that simply by looking, and without stirring from the spot, without stretching out one's hand, one could generate and also multiply this one bronze-coloredâno, nameless-colored dew-globeâhow monumental it appeared among all the other merely glittering droplets: with nothing but a slight movement of one's head, back and forth, up and down, with one's eyes as wide open as possible: suddenly in the thawing field an entire aisle or loop of new shades scintillating between bronze, ruby, crystal, turquoise, amber, siena, lapis lazuli, and especially the unnamed color.
Why was there no legend, like the legend of the ancient giant whose strength drained away as soon as he lost contact with the earth and returned the moment he touched the earth again, of someone who found his strength, an entirely different kind of gigantic strength, to be sure, by simply looking down at the ground? Wish-color, wish-strength. But didn't a letter from her brother, the enemy of mankind, contain the diametrically opposite wish?: “Were it not for the children, I would wish that the final world war might break out and that those of us here now would be wiped out, one and all.”
No one must know that she wanted to make her way through the Sierra de Gredos. Neither the people at her bank, her banks, nor the author, nor anyone else, not even her old acquaintance here, the hostel-owner and chef. (Only with her daughter would she of course have shared her intention at onceâ) Were anyone to learn of her plan, it would beâso she thoughtâ“as if my secret came to light, and that would mean humiliation, whereas unrevealed it remains a source of riches.”
Where was he, the chef? The chef was out in a corner of the courtyard, busy with his morning preparations for the day's cooking. And without a word she deposited the whole bunch of shelled chestnuts from the forests outside the riverport city among the other ingredients on his work counter. On this morning-between-frost-and-thaw, the chestnuts, too, appeared not merely “light or quince yellow,” but gave hints of that new color.
For that afternoon a wedding party was expected. By then she would be far away, and at the same time she would be present. If the previous evening the hostel had seemed about to close its doors forever, today it was filled with activity, as if this were its usual state and yesterday's deserted atmosphere an illusion. One delivery man after another appeared,
and not only from the nearby yet invisible Tordesillas, but also from Madrid, and from the Galician fishing ports. In between even a refrigerated truck from a distant foreign country, with river crayfish, perch, and pike; where could they possibly come from? and then a little hand-drawn cart with rather wizened mountain apples and potatoes, which had come a long way, from the Sierra de Gredos. At the same time, arriving from all points of the compass, crews of masons, carpenters, and roofers, who promptly went to work.
and not only from the nearby yet invisible Tordesillas, but also from Madrid, and from the Galician fishing ports. In between even a refrigerated truck from a distant foreign country, with river crayfish, perch, and pike; where could they possibly come from? and then a little hand-drawn cart with rather wizened mountain apples and potatoes, which had come a long way, from the Sierra de Gredos. At the same time, arriving from all points of the compass, crews of masons, carpenters, and roofers, who promptly went to work.
She would not be there to see the outcome, and yet she would be: by the time the wedding party arrived, the dive would look more or less like a castle again. In the midst of all this a postman appeared with a stack of mail, for the innkeeper, for the guests, but also for her, a letter from her brother, written while he was still in prison. Almost at the same moment an itinerant knife sharpener turned up and sharpened the innkeeper's knives on his grindstone, driven by a foot pedal, and her scissors, at no charge. And then at one point a soldier came by, in uniform and armed, but without a capâhair flying and face flushedâ, bummed a cigarette and rushed on, searching for his lost unit?
With the change in circumstances on his property, the innkeeper had also become a different person. He had risen at the crack of dawn, while the others were still sleeping, to get to work on his cooking. He felt as if he were doing these things for his many children. Standing on one leg, shifting, while cooking, from one leg to the other. Chefs, the race of one-leg-standers. Even throwing his whole body into it when washing up. His pleasure at the heat rising from the stove. Applying final touches, to the nonedibles as well. Letting the seasonings fly to himâhis elegance an additional seasoning. The chef, a different kind of embodiment. His cooking performance as a performance of the world.
Now it stimulated him to have someone watching. While peeling, grating, slicing, dicing, and turning, he repeatedly stood up and strode back and forth in his courtyard work corner, constantly busy, less a chef than an athlete, gathering strength for the competition. She assisted him, or rather: she was allowed to assist him, if only peripherally, by bringing a bucket of water, for instance, and collecting the trash. In between, the moment arrived when she was finally allowed to hand him her present; he took it matter-of-factly and ran one hand over it, while with the other, his left handâa left-handed chefâhe continued with the preparations for the wedding feast. This was a period in which women were more
likely to give men presents, and what presents, too, andâat least where this woman was concernedâwithout ulterior motives. And meanwhile he was also cooking up a stew, on the side, for a mortally ill neighbor on the
meseta
. The man's child then carried the heavy ceramic pot home to his father.
likely to give men presents, and what presents, too, andâat least where this woman was concernedâwithout ulterior motives. And meanwhile he was also cooking up a stew, on the side, for a mortally ill neighbor on the
meseta
. The man's child then carried the heavy ceramic pot home to his father.
And worthy of describing was also the particular corner of the courtyard where the
ventero
(= innkeeper) was working that morning. There were remnants of the former park surrounding the castle, such as a box hedge and a small almond tree. But the ground already showed less of the gravel spread there long ago than of the reappearing sandy-stony-grassy subsoil of the steppe, yes, desert, along with the polygonal pattern of cracks caused by the dryness. It was indeed “
bel et bien,
” a corner or nook formed not by the
castillo
but by two sheds standing at an angle to one another, nowhere near a right angle, one shed half-finished, evidently left that way for centuries, the other half in ruins.
ventero
(= innkeeper) was working that morning. There were remnants of the former park surrounding the castle, such as a box hedge and a small almond tree. But the ground already showed less of the gravel spread there long ago than of the reappearing sandy-stony-grassy subsoil of the steppe, yes, desert, along with the polygonal pattern of cracks caused by the dryness. It was indeed “
bel et bien,
” a corner or nook formed not by the
castillo
but by two sheds standing at an angle to one another, nowhere near a right angle, one shed half-finished, evidently left that way for centuries, the other half in ruins.
Next to the chef's work counter in this corner, not hidden but clearly visible from the drive, the following items lay about: an old window frame, leaning against a door jamb; a pile of half-broken roof tiles; a rusty wheelbarrow; several large and small balls that had long since deflated; a rabbit coop without rabbits (only tufts of fur caught in the wire); a cement mixer, missing its cord, its drum full of hardened concrete; a stone-lined well with a pulley but no rope; an empty refrigerator missing its door; a child's swing attached to a broken beam, with the seat's single slat sticking up at an angle; a bathtub (the only object that was partly hidden, in the box hedge); a pyramid of animal bonesâseemingly washed clean. A small open fire of knobby broom roots was burning in a pit, and roasting on a spit above it was a lamb, and she was allowed to turn the spit from time to time.
As was usual on the southern plateau, away from the mountains, the biting winter morning air yielded from one moment to the nextâa leap that could be felt in body and soulâto a nonseasonal mild warmth. The chef on his work stool gazed at the woman through an opening in a knife handle, as she had gazed yesterday through the key bow, and said, “I have left the corner like this on purpose, and even arranged it this way. My nickname for it is âthe Balkan courtyard,' and if it were not so bad for business, I would also use that name publicly for the entire complex, with a neon sign up on the roof ridge:
El corte balcánico.
If the name scares off my guests, that's not true of the thing itself, this place, this spot. On the
contrary: you will seeâeven if you are not around to see itâthat along with my cuisine and the name of my
venta
,
El merendero en el desierto
, The Snack Shack in the Desert, it is above all this courtyard that accounts for my popularity. Thanks to it, I was able to pay off the loan you gave me, ahead of schedule. All the tables in the three dining rooms have a view of my Balkan or Lithuanian or Lapp courtyard with its broken ladders, empty cable spools, and sideless baby carriages. Unlike the usual views of a park or the ocean, the nook offers a sense of reality, if perhaps a mournful or painful one, and helps the guests focus, while eating, on the thing at hand, on the important things, and thus makes them value eating here as something out of the ordinary and at the same time enjoy the food both heartily and lightheartedly. The people who seek me out need the view of this courtyard, even if they are not aware of that.
El corte balcánico.
If the name scares off my guests, that's not true of the thing itself, this place, this spot. On the
contrary: you will seeâeven if you are not around to see itâthat along with my cuisine and the name of my
venta
,
El merendero en el desierto
, The Snack Shack in the Desert, it is above all this courtyard that accounts for my popularity. Thanks to it, I was able to pay off the loan you gave me, ahead of schedule. All the tables in the three dining rooms have a view of my Balkan or Lithuanian or Lapp courtyard with its broken ladders, empty cable spools, and sideless baby carriages. Unlike the usual views of a park or the ocean, the nook offers a sense of reality, if perhaps a mournful or painful one, and helps the guests focus, while eating, on the thing at hand, on the important things, and thus makes them value eating here as something out of the ordinary and at the same time enjoy the food both heartily and lightheartedly. The people who seek me out need the view of this courtyard, even if they are not aware of that.
“Andâ” (a transition that was a specialty of the innkeeper's?) “âyou have, so I hear, commissioned someone to write the book about you. You did not want to write it yourself, and not only to avoid the first person. And the author was not to be a woman but a man, absolutely had to be a man, but why this one in particular? And now you want to, no, you must, head farther south, and, worse still, to the almost treeless Mancha, and are counting every hour, even this one here, until you are back home again, or at least over the roof-tile border, away from the curved southern tiles and back with your flat northern tiles! And at the expression âyou must,' you still have that smile.
“Yes, you must continue heading south, for the sake of your book and for something else. And you have never turned back in the face of anything. Ah, and you do not allow anyone to touch you. For you have a plan. And you have almost always had a plan. And at times you have the eyes of a madwoman. Nowadays it is almost only in women that one sees these crazy eyes.
“Why don't you let me write a chapter for your book, too. Or at least a paragraph?
Albanil
, meaning mason, is a word from the time of the Arabs here. Look at the
albaniles
' cigarette butts here in the Balkan courtyard: only masons smoke this way, down to the butt of the butt! And listen to the loud voices of the roofers; they constantly have to shout, from the roof to the ground, and vice versa. And listen to the carpenters: so quiet, almost silent. And when they do speak now and then, while fitting beams and hammering laths in place, it is of something entirely differentâwhatever comes to mind, more like talking to themselves. And are there
really any
carpinteros
left? These here, at least, come from abroad, as do the masons, as do the roofers, all from different countries, and no work crew understands the other. During the last war here, the well shaft was used by the resistance for a radio transmitter. Today the radio operators would be tracked down immediately.”
Albanil
, meaning mason, is a word from the time of the Arabs here. Look at the
albaniles
' cigarette butts here in the Balkan courtyard: only masons smoke this way, down to the butt of the butt! And listen to the loud voices of the roofers; they constantly have to shout, from the roof to the ground, and vice versa. And listen to the carpenters: so quiet, almost silent. And when they do speak now and then, while fitting beams and hammering laths in place, it is of something entirely differentâwhatever comes to mind, more like talking to themselves. And are there
really any
carpinteros
left? These here, at least, come from abroad, as do the masons, as do the roofers, all from different countries, and no work crew understands the other. During the last war here, the well shaft was used by the resistance for a radio transmitter. Today the radio operators would be tracked down immediately.”
On the little almond tree a few blossoms were already opening: from the closed bud a single feathery petal stuck out. She involuntarily began to count: three, four, five ⦠She closed her eyes. She opened her eyes. In the air in front of her floated the afterimage of the trees at home near the northwestern riverport city that had been felled by the storm, along with their upended root masses, the image of a vast shipwreck from olden times, an entire Viking fleet. Was that possible, an afterimage with one's eyes open, and a day and a night later? She closed her eyes, opened them. And above the flat Iberian high plateau floated the jagged peaks and pinnacles, the knife-sharp points and wind gaps of the Sierra de Gredos, along with the sun-bathed fields along the ridges and the pools of shadow in the hundred and twelve gorges. Was that possible, an anticipatory image of something that still lay beyond seven horizons?
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