The Other Side (25 page)

People mourned the loss of the fabulous treasures that had disappeared beneath the waves. I did especially, since I had never had the opportunity to see them with my own eyes.

By now the larger animals had all disappeared. That had one disadvantage we hadn’t considered. What were we going to eat? The herds of beasts and swarms of insects had ravaged the fields and gardens. All our supplies were rotting; even eggs, salt beef and smoked pork were going bad. We were facing starvation.

It was at this point that two sisters from north Germany made a practical suggestion. One had studied chemistry and carried out an ingenious piece of research which she believed had been successful. The pair proposed to gather the dead fish, which were washed up on the banks of the Negro in huge quantities, detoxify them and turn them into edible food. Despite their noble intentions, all the sisters got was pure ingratitude: they were lynched by the outraged mob.

X

It was no longer possible to distinguish night from day, and the uniform grey of the permanent twilight made if difficult to find one’s way around. All the clocks had rusted and stopped, so that we had no idea of time. This also makes it impossible for me to say how long the state of dissolution lasted. Now and then we still occasionally saw emaciated beasts of prey, but as soon as a human being approached, they would put their tails between their scraggy legs and flee. The shrivelled remains of snakes were pulled out of dusty corners.

To prevent the outbreak of disease, the Dreamlanders were ordered to throw all carcases into the river, a directive which could only be carried out to a minimal extent, since the houses were unsafe and no one dared enter them any longer. The city air was polluted by broods of dead snakes and rabbits in their hidden graves. The entrances to buildings gave off the stench of rotting corpses.

The upper part of Lampenbogen’s apartment block had collapsed. A tall chimney and the rear wall were left towering up into the air so that you could see the apartments in cross section. There were still a few pictures hanging on the floral wallpaper of our former bedroom. Through a large, triangular hole the dirty ceiling of the princess’s reception room could be seen. The dairy had fallen victim to dry rot. Its rampant growth covered doors and windows, causing the whole building to distort. Great white sheets of it hung out of the skylights. The wooden house of the river warden collapsed under the weight of moss on its roof.

The coffee house died like a coquette who tries to preserve her outward appearance right up to the end and beyond. Externally it looked well preserved, but inside it was filled with the ruins of the upper storey and the attic. One bizarre touch was a single unbroken window-pane through which two tall ant-hills could be seen. A few small white bones were visible and between them stood a chess table on which a perfect checkmate was set out.

Through the deserted streets I followed my favourite walk down towards the river-bank. Here too was the same scene of desolation. At the knacker’s yard there was such an unholy stench I had to cover my mouth and nose with the rag that served as a handkerchief. On the side towards the river the surrounding wall had collapsed and behind the rubble were mounds of piled-up animal carcases. The air was filled with buzzing and every step disturbed millions of blowflies. I went down to the river to get some fresh air, it was more bearable there than anywhere else. There was not much of the swimming pool left, just a few planks and posts, covered with a thick layer of green slime and snails, sticking out of the water. All at once it became bright. With a violent start, I turned round to see the mill on fire. The windows were filled with the blinding glare of the flames, the rotten beams were sizzling and crackling. Smoke was coming out of the steep shingle roof, a huge tongue of flame blazed up and with a crash the front wall caved in. The machinery, illuminated from within, was still working, it was like looking into a human body that had been cut open. The wheel creaked, the millstone turned, the hopper trembled, clouds of flour spread a light mist over the glow. Greedily the flames engulfed the rotten stairs and ladders, and slowly, almost reluctantly, like the organs of a dying man, one part of the machinery- after another stopped.

The large bolting hutch was the last to succumb to the flames. Where it had stood I saw an old-fashioned pair of top-boots with half-decayed legs stuck in them, burning beams hid the rest from view. Behind me I heard a hollow voice:

‘I did it! I’ve done it four times already and I’ll keep on doing it again and again.’

It was the miller. He took a pinch of snuff, drew out a razor, tested the edge on his thumb and cut his throat. He fell to the ground and the blood gushed out over his chest, like water from a spring. His face was twisted in a fiendish grimace.

Sacrilegious thieves crept into the convent church, broke open the tabernacle and stole the bejewelled relics. The nuns could do nothing to stop the burglary, since they were in a sorry plight themselves. A pack of crippled and deformed men, well acquainted with all corners of the convent from their visits to the soup-kitchens, had stormed the hospice. The sisters, who had nothing, even for themselves, rejected their menacing demands for food. With coarse laughter they demanded something else in compensation. The vile horde hobbled and crept closer and closer to the desperate nuns. It was like a witches sabbath. One girl, still young and beautiful, resisted, attacked a fellow with a double goitre and knocked one of his eyes out. As punishment she was tied to an iron bedstead. Creatures lousy with vermin, with noses eaten away, suppurating eyes, chancres the size of a fist, itchy scabs bent over the bound girl and raped her. She first went mad, then died. The rest of the nuns submitted obediently to the unfathomable dictates of providence; only the eighty-year-old mother superior was spared this fate, presumably as a result of her fervent prayers.

XI

The American now went round openly as lord of the city, and yet he almost came to a sticky end himself. He turned up outside the bank with his acolytes, intending to fulfil his promise to pay his followers. Everyone was surprised to see the massive door of the large, though admittedly now somewhat ruinous building wide open. An exhaustive search revealed that the main strong-room contained the sum of eighty-three kreuzers; there were no deposit boxes. Jacques, de Nemi and the other pack-leaders gave the American some sceptical looks. ‘Just as I thought’, he cried, furious. ‘Off we go to see Herr Blumenstich.’ They found Blumenstich–the banker–surrounded by rotten flowers in his conservatory. He received the gentlemen with complete calm and a livid complexion: he was dead. He had fled here to escape a swarm of hornets that was pursuing him. As he screamed for all he was worth, one of the insects had stung him on the tongue and he choked to death. Again everyone looked at the American, who this time only said, ‘Damn!’

‘You promised to pay us! Give us our gold!’ his angry followers shouted at him.

‘Go and get it yourselves from the ruins of the hotel’, the American replied, angry and disappointed.

Exchanging sinister looks with the others, Jacques, concealing his knife, stepped towards Bell. The American, who had kept a sharp eye on every movement, felled the would-be assassin with one blow of his club. Then, coolly positioning himself with his back against the wall of the conservatory, a Browning in each hand, he asked in ringing tones, ‘Which of you want to be the first sixteen?’

The gang had expected easier pickings. Those in front ducked and tried to retreat but were pushed forward again by the screaming mob behind. With a sharp crack the shots rang out in quick succession, leaving a wall of corpses round the American, far more than sixteen, each bullet going through several bodies. He stood there, bare-headed, in evening dress, broad-shouldered, erect, his short pipe clenched between his teeth. The massive dome of his forehead with its two bumps gave his face a satanic look and his fixed, masterful gaze quelled the raging throng. But there was still pushing from the back. The front ranks gave way under the pressure and fell on top of their dead comrades, creating a tangle of bodies which made it impossible for Bell to move. Only a foot or so in front of him he could see their pale faces, like twisted masks, parodies of the human countenance. His chest was heaving, his lungs working like a steam-engine. Ominous cries of ‘Down with him! Down with him!’ were filling his ears when chance came to his assistance. The sound of vile oaths could be heard approaching, getting louder and louder.

Shouts of ‘Who is it?’ went up. ‘Who is it?’

‘Gotthelf Flattich. Gotthelf the Giant. Watch out!’

A colossal figure, stripped to the waist, was pushing its way through the crowd. The men muttered but stood aside for the negro, who was a good head and a half taller than anyone else. He had been drawn by the shouting and one glance had told him the danger threatening the American.

‘Don’t lay a finger on him!’ he bellowed in a voice that could be heard far and wide, at the same time brandishing an iron crowbar in his huge hands. His pupils were rolling angrily in his black face. He knocked those closest to him to the ground and thus saved the life of his former benefactor.

XII

People had gathered outside the Archive. Both doors of the main gates opened and out came the President, accompanied by a small retinue. His Excellency was in gala dress, covered in gold braid, with all his medals and a beplumed helmet. From a distance he looked like a bird of paradise. The splendid uniform mounted a small dais that had been quickly erected. The Dreamlanders around fell silent.

‘Gentlemen, you will all have noticed by now that we live in exceptional times. This must come to an end, there must be a return to normality. The happiness of the subjects of the Realm is our highest priority. Our most noble Lord has decided to declare an amnesty for all those convicted of crimes and other offences. I have therefore given the order for the state prison, the Wasserburg, to be thrown open today.’

‘Done already!’ came the scornful cry. ‘We freed them ourselves’, the mob shouted, roaring with laughter.

The Wasserburg was about one day’s journey downstream, on a rocky outcrop in the middle of the Negro, not far from the small town of Bellamonte.