off like a little girl. All the people she met were geniuses, all the books she read were masterpieces, all the music she heard or played was fantastic.
After a while I couldn’t stand any more of her nonsense, and I went down to the lake. On either side of the swimming spot were old trees, which looked like living beings in the flickering light of the torches. I could make out the lights on the opposite side, glinting and multiplying on the surfaces of the water. I lit a cigarette, and heard footsteps behind me. It was the veterinary med student. He was holding a sausage in one hand; with his mouth full, he said, we haven’t met yet, and held out his other hand. His name was Jakob. He had a strong regional accent, and said he was from some place in the Bayerischer Wald, called Oberkashof. Had I come across it? It wouldn’t be anywhere near Unterkashof, I asked, and he laughed deafeningly and smacked me on the back. You’ll do, he said. Then he started raving about Sonia, whom he called an attractive hussy. I don’t know how he got onto the subject of folkloric costume, and how he thought the dirndl was the perfect garment for the female body. It supported the bosom and emphasized the waist, and covered the less pleasing aspect of the hips. Imagine Sonia in a dirndl, he said lasciviously. I had to laugh. Suddenly he was talking about eunuchs. Early and late castrates, family eunuchoidism, reeds and silver tubes and Chinese castration chairs with slanted armrests. A eunuch’s physique was distorted by the absence of male hormones and the disrupted assimilation of protein. I said I would get myself something to drink.
When I passed the table, I heard Alice talking about the death of Karajan. He had managed to conduct one rehearsal of Un ballo in maschera, she said, her voice growing shrill. She shook her head and rolled her eyes like a lunatic.
Lass uns ihn gerettet sehen, ew’ger Gott!
O lass uns ihn, lass uns ihn gerettet sehn!
Er stirbt!—Er stirbt!—
O grauenvolle Nacht!*
I took the subway back into the city with Sonia. As I said good-bye to Rüdiger, he had asked me about Ivona too. I motioned dismissively with my hand, that business was embarrassing to me, not least with Sonia standing next to me. On the train she started asking me about her. Wow, she said, with an ironic smile, a Polish girl, eh. It’s nothing, I said, Ferdy talked to her, and then we couldn’t get rid of her all evening. Poles are spirited women, said Sonia, you should watch yourself. You should see her, I said, she’s not attractive, she’s boring, she doesn’t talk, and if she does say something it’s just a platitude. Sonia looked at me in surprise. Don’t be so defensive. And anyway, she’s a devout Catholic, I added. The woman doesn’t interest me, is that so hard to understand? But you walked her home. That was politeness. The way you talk about her isn’t especially polite. I rolled my eyes. When women get sisterly with each other, it’s best not to say anything. Sonia didn’t speak for a while either. She seemed to be thinking. Then she said she was going to Marseilles the following week, to see Le Corbusier’s Cité Radieuse, and would I like to go with her. She was going to drive there, and we could stay with a friend of hers, a German painter who lived in the city, on account of the light.
I thought a couple of days off would do me good after the stresses of the exam, and the trip wouldn’t cost much. Maybe I would finally be able to shake off Ivona if I went. I wouldn’t have to be thinking about her all the time if I was with Sonia. Sure, I said, I’d like that. Even though it’s not my scene. Sonia laughed. I know you don’t like any other architect except yourself, that’s the presumption of genius. I looked at her with mock condescension. I knew she was making fun of me, but even so I liked it when she called me a genius.
We were going to leave on Monday. If we set off early, Sonia said, then we could do the drive in a day. So I just had Sunday to make my preparations. I got up early and went to the laundromat, which was in the basement of one of the buildings.