Who Is Martha? (24 page)

On the second floor the elevator jolts to a halt. The door opens hesitantly. If only the bartender had not pressed all the buttons, Levadski thinks. The rascal … Once more the barman is standing before him. Levadski steps aside. “Sleep well?” The bartender thanks him by giving his mixing glass a short, energetic shake.

“I dreamed about you,” he says, “that you honored me with a visit to the bar.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and then a hatch opened behind my bar that looked exactly like this elevator, and you suddenly wanted to go to your room and I accompanied you downstairs. Have you already pressed?”

“You already pressed them – all the buttons.”

“Nonsense, I only dusted the buttons, but now!” The bartender’s forefinger reaches towards the flat golden buttons. He hastily presses 3 and 4, applies a certain thoroughness to 5.

The bartender gets out on the third floor. “Good luck,” he says to Levadski, rattling his mixing glass. And again the chambermaid walks past the open elevator door. Levadski looks in her basket. What is lying inside, covered by a white napkin, reminds him of raspberries. And again the oscillating motion of her hand. The chambermaid, so it seems to Levadski, turns the corner singing. The door of the elevator closes. There is no mistake, she is singing, she really is singing! Again Levadski presses his ear to the door. Along with the squeaking of the cable and the wheels he can clearly hear the chambermaid singing.

Drunk with fiery rapture

All men become …

Where your gentle wing rests

“Brothers! Brothers, it goes!” Levadski shouts, clasping his forehead. That’s the Ninth. She is singing Beethoven’s Ninth!

All beings drink joy

Both the good and the evil

“Draw joy from nature’s breast,” Levadski softly joins in.

“Be embraced, millions,” the chambermaid replies.

“Take this kiss for all the world,” Levadski sings em-barrassed through the door crack.

On the fourth floor there is not a soul to be seen. Levadski pokes his head out of the elevator. Only the crystal drops of the wall lights are tinkling softly. Powerful singing.

Joyously, as his suns speed

Hasten brothers on your way

It must be coming from the
Musikverein
, thinks Levadski, the singing, I can’t think of any other explanation. Unless there is an entire choir hiding in the hotel … A red feather twirls through the air, while the door of the elevator slowly closes. Or am I mistaken? Perhaps the house is on fire? A blood-bespattered bird feather and a spark of fire are not the same thing. But it is of no importance now whether it is burning.

It has been snowing on the fifth floor. Levadski gets out, his steps crunching across a carpet of feathers. It was most likely the barman who wanted to surprise me, Levadski is amazed. Who else would have emptied so many pillows onto the floor? Only that rascal of a bartender, wanting to give me a special treat up here on the fifth floor. As if it were my birthday! While Levadski makes a pathway for himself through the white splendor, he feels a slight apprehension. Is it really fall? If it really were my birthday today, it would have to be spring. Or, fall? Levadski remains rooted to the spot. A piece of down is stuck to his lower lip. Another piece of down covers his left eye. He wipes his jacket sleeve across his face. The feathers in the corridor have suddenly disappeared, blown away by the wind. Whether summer or winter, the reality is that the fifth floor doesn’t have any windows! How am I to look into the empty nest if there are no windows? His hand pressed to his chest, Levadski walks along the corridor. His dentures are missing. Missing, like the drinking stick he has forgotten in his room. As if he knew he could do without the services of those accessories today. Why take fright then? Not a single window, who would have thought it?

Joyously as his suns speed

Through Heaven’s glorious order

Exulting as a knight in victory

The voice of the chambermaid sounds behind one of the numerous doors. Levadski balls his hand into a fist. But he will not knock. It is joy that spreads through him like a cramp. A muscle ache such as he has never before experienced. Levadski drags himself from door to door with fists clenched in pleasure. Behind every door the chambermaid is singing. Behind every door Levadski hears her song.

Be embraced millions

Brothers above the canopy of stars

He must dwell beyond the stars

Breathing heavily, Levadski comes to a halt at the end of the corridor. There is nowhere to go from here. Or is there? A fire door stands ajar. A small stairway leads upward. The chambermaid’s singing, which seems to be coming from everywhere, blinds him, whips his eyes, his face. He wants to kneel, to fall and disappear into the ground, but he is holding onto the door handle and looking up at the top of the stairs, where in the half-darkness he can make out the oily leaves of a rubber plant and a door, which, as he observes it, slowly begins to open.

Mr. Levadski?

Yes.

Mr. Levadski, what is your first name?

Luka. Luka Stepanovich.

When were you …

Yes.

When were you born?

I don’t know.

What year?

The year that Martha died.

Who is Martha?

Her name was Martha!

Levadski is staring intently. The door slowly opens. The leaves of the rubber plant give a swaying nod.

Her name was Martha.

Who is Martha, Mr. Levadski?

The door opens wider and wider. A beam of light falls onto the floor like a panel of blond linden wood.

I don’t know.

Was Martha your mother’s name?

I don’t know.

When did Martha die?

When I was born.

When was that?

I don’t know.

Mr. Levadski?

Her name was Martha. Levadski screws up his eyes. He wants to see further, deeper, behind the light bursting through the open door. And further still. Further than possible. Further than conceivable.

Mr. Levadski?

Her name was Martha, Martha! Levadski bows in front of the pane of glass separating him from the girl, and throws up. Her name was Martha, Martha. And throws up. Martha, her name was Martha. Levadski throws up in front of Martha, a second before the man with the moustache kisses her hand, in front of the chocolate cake, the cake that remains untouched, in front of the girl’s eyes, eyes that penetrate everything, the window pane, Levadski, hunched over, who can’t stop vomiting, can’t stop turning his insides out.

Mr. Levadski?

Yes.

You were born on?

Yes.

You were born?

Mr. Levadski?

Mr. …

I owe my inspiration and ideas to:

Malcolm Tait, Olive Tayler:
Vögel, Geflügelte Wunder, fantastische Schwärmereien und ordentlichen Ornithologie
. Translated from the English and edited by Arnulf Conradi. With a foreword by Hark Bohm. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe 2008; Pascal Picq:
Die schönste Geschichte der Tiere
.
Von den Geheimnissen des Lebens.
Translated from the French by Friedel Schröder and Marita Kluxen-Schrö-der. Berglisch Gladbach: Lübbe 2001; Peter Hayman, Philip Burton:
Das goldene Kosmos-Vogelbuch. Europas Vö-gel – bestimmen verstehen schützen.
Kosmos Gesellschaft für Naturfreunde 1988;
Das Reader’s Digest Buch der Vo-gelwelt Mitteleuropas
. Stuttgart: Verlag Das Beste 1973; Bernhard Grzimek (Editor)
: Grzimeks Tierleben
. Enzyklo-pädie des Tierreichs. Volumes. 7, 8, 9. Zurich: Kindler 1968ff.; E. Thomas Gilliard, Georg Steinbacher:
Vögel
. Knaurs Tierreich in Farben. München, Zurich: Droemer-sche Verlagsanstalt 1959; Karl von Frisch;
Verständliche Wissenschaft
. Volume 1:
Aus dem Leben der Bienen
. Berlin: Verlag Julius Springer 1927; Karl Krall:
Denkende Tiere. Beiträge zur Tierseelenkunde auf Grund eigener Versuche
. Leipzig: Verlag Friedrich Engelmann 1912; Claus Obalski (Editor):
Taktlosigkeiten, Komponisten als Kritiker
. Mu-nich: Obalski & Astor 1986; Alfred Brendel:
Nachdenken über Musik
. With an interview by Jeremy Siepmann. Mu-nich: Piper 1977
Das groȕe Buch der Musik
. Freiburg i.B.: Herder 1962.

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