Extinction (53 page)

Caecilia naturally insisted on being supported by her husband, not me, as we left the church. Amalia walked with me. Observing her, it struck me that during this period of mourning she had taken to walking with her head lowered. My sisters’ mocking faces first became embittered, I thought, and now they’ve become mournful. Caecilia was naturally more composed than her sister. Amalia looks much younger than she is, I thought, but not at all attractive. That’s why she’s still single, I thought. No man has ever been attracted to her, not even a man like the wine cork manufacturer. Momentarily I felt sorry for her, but then I could not help remembering how clownishly she had always behaved in any company. Amalia will never be happy, or even contented, I thought. Nor will Caecilia, who’s walking arm in arm with her unhappiness, I thought, looking at the wine cork manufacturer’s profile. I could not help thinking that it was the profile of a subaverage individual who had managed to insinuate himself into Wolfsegg. The village band played the Haydn piece again, better than before, I thought, and the cortege moved even more slowly toward the cemetery than it had previously moved toward the church. I have always hated processions and parades, especially accompanied by music. All the world’s disasters have been inaugurated by processions and parades, I thought. I was revolted by the thought that not far behind me were the former Gauleiters of the Upper Danube and the Lower Danube, the very people who had desecrated the Children’s Villa and permanently ruined it for me. Behind them were the veterans of the League of Comrades, some of them on crutches—men who had fought for their abominable Nazi ideals and been awarded the Blood Order for doing so. And behind them—so Caecilia had whispered to me just before the procession moved off—was my student friend Eisenberg, my
soul mate
, the Viennese rabbi, whom I was determined to speak to as soon as the ceremony was over. A funeral procession like this is grotesque, I thought. Unspeakable. Such an endless funeral procession is not only an imposition on everybody but utterly tasteless, I thought, though I knew that my view was shared by none of the participants. They wouldn’t dream of thinking such a thing. Indeed, had they been privy to my thoughts, they would have concluded that
I
was utterly tasteless. Maybe I am, I thought. But I felt no shame until I stood by the open grave. I had once said to Gambetti that when we stood by an open grave we had only treachery inside us. The perversity
of this ceremony was borne in on me when the archbishop of Salzburg stepped up to the graveside to make a speech. He began by calling my father
a brave warrior on the field of honor
. He spoke only of my father and never once mentioned my mother, or even Johannes. This was not deliberate, I thought; it could be attributed to forgetfulness and conceit, to male selfishness and arrogance. There were twelve graveside speeches, all delivered by men who pretended to have been my father’s best friends, though this was naturally untrue. The archbishop of Salzburg and the bishop of Innsbruck claimed they had been, the former Gauleiters claimed they had been, two SS officers claimed they had been, and so did the commander of the League of Comrades and the president of the Huntsmen’s Association. For a whole hour they repeatedly spoke of Father as their best friend, and this quite outrageous presumption went unchallenged, as was to be expected at a funeral. The coffins had already been lowered into the grave. Finally Spadolini stepped forward. I thought he was about to speak, but that would have been out of character. He at once stepped back, as if wishing to melt into the background again, but this was a feint, as he had been the central figure throughout the ceremony. He did not compromise himself by uttering a single platitude but rejoined the ranks of the mourners crowded around the grave. I very nearly misjudged Spadolini, I thought. The commander of the League of Comrades said that Father had
lived only for the aims of the League
. At first I found this assertion contemptible, but a few minutes later I changed my mind, as I had to acknowledge that it was
to some extent true
. The president of the Huntsmen’s Association also spoke the truth, I had to tell myself, and so did the two former Gauleiters. Father, as a
party member
, had been one of them, and this was how everyone saw him. I continued to think how embarrassing it was that none of them remembered to say anything about Mother. Still at the graveside, I remarked to Caecilia that none of them thought it worth their while to say a word about Mother. The speeches were made by the menfolk, I thought, and the menfolk took no cognizance of Mother. And Johannes too was a thoroughly unimportant figure in the whole business, having forfeited any claim to importance by dying too soon. Aside from carrying his coffin and laying him to rest, no one had paid him any attention. Father was the great personality they could exploit at the graveside, and they exploited him for all he was worth. Father was still useful to them,
but no one else was, I thought. The archbishop of Salzburg and the bishops looked once more into the open grave and then withdrew. Whereupon everyone filed past my sisters and me, as is customary. A hundred twenty-two woodworkers and now only twenty, two dozen gardeners and now only seven, I thought, standing by the open grave. Huge forest damage in the north, right down to Gallspach, I thought. Thirty-two first-class acres lost through
land consolidation
—that had angered Father for weeks. On the other hand, I thought of the immense tax evasion devised by our accountant in Wels. This man’s pronunciation of the name
Wolfsegg
never fails to revolt me, and the way it is pronounced by other people from Wels, Linz, Vöcklabruck, and Ebensee is no less revolting. I’ve always detested the name
Wolfsegg
, I thought, standing by the open grave, I’ve always abominated everything associated with the name. Ever since I was a child I’ve detested everything to do with Wolfsegg—that’s the truth, I thought. Hypocrites going down from Wolfsegg to the village and the surrounding country, and hypocrites coming up to Wolfsegg from the village and the surrounding country. I was soon repelled by all these people and withdrew
into myself
, standing by the open grave. It’s all a gigantic deception, I thought, a criminal conspiracy that’s lasted for centuries. At first I feared the Church, and then I hated it, with increasing intensity. After all, the Church still dominates everything in this country and this state, I thought, standing by the open grave. Catholicism still holds the reins in this country and this state, no matter who is in power. Catholics, charlatans, I thought, mendacious curers of souls. We want no more to do with it, we tell ourselves, we’re sickened by it all. In this country and this state nothing escapes the Catholic clergy, even today. Withdraw from it all, I thought—I no longer had any other thought. I must go through with this ceremony and then I’ll withdraw forever, I thought. I could see how they all hated me, and not even covertly. Philosophical interests on the one hand, a total absence of such interests on the other. And devotion to art—even more offensive, I thought. And people are no different in Rome. They’re even more hypocritical there, but vastly more intelligent! There can’t be just a few hundred of them, I thought—there must be millions. There must be millions of hypocrites, not just hundreds—millions of such revolting people, not just hundreds. Take an intellectual bath, as it were, in a city like Rome, then disappear beneath the surface,
I thought. The footsteps of people I hate, the voices of people I hate, I thought, standing by the open grave, the utter repulsiveness of these hateful people. This funeral really is the end, I thought. They’ve not only desecrated the Children’s Villa, they’ve desecrated everything. At first I was afraid of life, and then I hated it, I thought, standing by the open grave. And if we imagine that Rome is the solution, that’s also an error. We cling to someone like Gambetti, whom I may already have destroyed, or to somebody like Maria, but even they can’t save us, I thought, standing by the open grave. I recalled how one day, in front of the Hotel Hassler, I had said to Gambetti, You know, Gambetti, if we’re honest we have to admit that the universal process of stultification is now so far advanced that it can’t be reversed. This process of stultification was inaugurated well over a hundred years ago by the invention of photography, and since then the mental condition of the human race has been in permanent decline. This worldwide stultification was set in motion by photographic images and attained its present deadly momentum when the images began to move. Humanity has for decades been staring brainlessly at these deadly photographic images and become more or less paralyzed. Come the millennium, Gambetti, human beings will no longer be capable of thinking, and the process of stultification, inaugurated by the photograph and universalized by motion pictures, will have reached its apogee. It will scarcely be possible to exist in a world dominated by brainlessness, I said, and we’d do well to kill ourselves before this process of stultification has engulfed the whole world. To this extent it’s only logical, Gambetti, that by the millennium those who exist by thinking and through thinking should already have killed themselves. The only advice I can offer to any thinking person is to kill himself before
the millennium
, Gambetti—that’s my genuine conviction, I had said, as I now recalled, standing by the open grave. All day it had looked like rain, but the rain had held off. I had made up my mind not to shake hands with any of the people who filed past me. Nor did I. Some held out their hands, but I did not shake them. I had deliberately imposed this embarrassment on myself. I recalled that only a few days before this unbearably tasteless funeral I had said to Gambetti, Just to think of Austria, a country that’s disfigured, degenerate, and done for, is enough to make you vomit, to say nothing of the utterly degenerate state, whose vulgarity and
baseness are unparalleled not only in Europe but in the rest of the world—a state that has for decades been run by unprincipled, degenerate, brainless governments, and a people that’s been mutilated beyond recognition by these unprincipled, degenerate, brainless governments. First by the vulgar, vicious
National Socialist
regime, then by the no less vulgar, vicious, and criminal
pseudosocialism
that succeeded it, I had told Gambetti on the Pincio, as I now recalled, standing by the open grave. The destruction and annihilation of our country has been encompassed by
National Socialism
and
pseudosocialism
, aided and abetted by Austrian
Catholicism
, which has always cast its blight upon Austria. Today Austria is a country governed by unscrupulous profiteers belonging to parties devoid of all conscience. In the last few centuries, Gambetti, Austria has been cheated of everything and had all its sense knocked out of it by Catholicism, National Socialism, and pseudosocialism. In the Austria of today, Gambetti, vulgarity is the watchword, baseness the motive, and mendacity the key. Every morning when we wake up we ought to be utterly ashamed of today’s Austria. Time and again I tell myself that we love Austria but hate the Austrian state, Gambetti. Whether we’re in Rome or anywhere else in the world, Austria no longer concerns us. Wherever you go in Austria today you’re surrounded by lies. Wherever you look, you find only mendacity. Whoever you talk to, you’re talking to a liar, Gambetti, I said, as I now recalled, standing by the open grave. This ridiculous country and this ridiculous state are basically not worth talking about, and to think about them is just a waste of time. But woe betide anyone in this country who isn’t blind, I said, who isn’t deaf, and still has his wits about him! To be an Austrian today is a death sentence, and all Austrians are subject to this death sentence, I had said, as I now recalled, standing by the open grave. Everything Austrian is characterless, I said. Whenever one comes back to Austria, one feels dirty, I thought, standing by the open grave. The men wearing the insignia of the Blood Order, the SS officers supporting themselves on their crutches and their sticks, the National Socialist
heroes
, did not spare me a glance, as they say. The mourners, except for the archbishops, the bishops, and our closest relatives, were invited to the Brandl and the Gesswagner, where musical entertainment was provided by the band, which Caecilia had instructed to visit both inns. The archbishops, the bishops, and the
family mourners were invited to lunch at the house. Most stayed until late afternoon. Spadolini left for Rome in the evening. At first I thought of traveling with him, but this was a stupid idea, as I saw at once. We’ll see each other in Rome in a few days, I told him. He left very quietly. I took Alexander to my room and locked the door, as I wanted to talk to him undisturbed. Alexander was again obsessed by one of his
great ideas
. He wanted to ask the president of Chile to release all political prisoners in Chile, that cruelest of all dictatorships; he was not put out when I told him that his request would meet with no success. He left an hour after Spadolini, to return to Brussels. I stayed locked in my room until after nightfall and left it only when I was sure of not coming upon any of the funeral guests. During this time I thought about what I was going to do with Wolfsegg, which, as had meanwhile been established beyond peradventure, belonged exclusively to me,
with all rights and obligations
, as legal parlance has it. I already had in mind a plan for the future of Wolfsegg and all its dependencies in Lower Austria, the Burgenland, and Vienna, and I sat up till two in the morning talking the matter over with my sisters, in the absence of my brother-in-law, whom I refused to have in on the discussion. At the end of it I still could not tell them what was to happen to Wolfsegg, although I already knew. Throughout our conversation they had nothing to say but only showed me their mocking, embittered faces. I told them that I did not know what was going to happen to Wolfsegg, that I had not the slightest idea, when in fact I had firmly resolved to make an appointment to meet Eisenberg in Vienna, intending to offer the whole of Wolfsegg, just as it stood, with