The Tanners

Autumn came. Simon had walked so many more times though the nocturnal warmth of the alley, and he walked there still, but now the season was no longer mild. You could tell the trees out in the meadows must be losing their leaves even if you didn’t go there yourself to watch the leaves falling. Even in the alleyway you could feel it. One sunny autumn day Klaus had arrived, a scholarly project and plans had brought him to the region for a day. Lured by the beautiful sunshine, the two of them walked out into the high hilly fields, not saying much and carefully avoiding all-too-intimate topics of conversation. The path led them through a forest and then out again past wide expanses of meadow whose late, succulent grass Klaus admired along with the brown-spotted cows grazing there. Simon had found it lovely, a bit pensive but nonetheless lovely, to be walking there beside Klaus without much fuss or conversation through the autumnal lowlands, listening to the cowbells, speaking a few words but more often gazing off into the distance than speaking. Then they ascended a wooded hill at a comfortable, leisurely pace, for Klaus wished not to leave behind a single twig or berry without lovingly observing it; then they arrived at the top beside a lovely forest’s edge where the unspeakably mild, caressing, autumnal evening sun received them, and where once more an open vista lay before them, a view down into a valley in which a glimmering white river snaked along between yellow treetops and the little woods sticking out, passing a charming red-roofed village amid the brown slopes of the vineyards that couldn’t help but bring joy to all who saw them. Here they’d thrown themselves down upon the meadow and for a long time lay there quietly, without speaking, letting their eyes feast on the vast expanses of land and their ears on the sound of the bells, both of them thinking that somehow, somewhere sounds can be heard in every landscape even when no bells are ringing, and then they’d had one of those silent conversations, more felt than spoken, that cannot be written down and have no other purpose than establishing goodwill, conversations that aren’t trying to say anything at all but whose scents and sounds and intentions nonetheless remain unforgettable. Klaus had said: “Certainly if I can be allowed to imagine things might still turn out well with you, I’d be of better cheer. The thought of you becoming a useful, purposeful, fulfilled human being has always filled my heart with the loveliest chiming and pealing. You’re as well equipped as anyone to enjoy people’s respect, and on top of this you have qualities others lack, though in you they’re too ardent and avid. You’ve just got to dampen your avidness and stop making demands on yourself so testily. This harms a person, it wears you down and eventually turns you cold, take my word for it. If you happen not to find every last little thing in this world to your liking, this is not by a long shot grounds for feeling resentment. Others’ opinions and dispositions must prevail as well, and overly good intentions are far more likely to poison a man’s heart than their opposite, though that too is a malaise. You possess, it seems to me, too much desire to leap about. Running yourself breathless while chasing after some goal gives you pleasure. That won’t do. Let every day take its calm, natural, rounded-off course, and be a bit more proud of having made things comfortable for yourself, as after all is fitting for a human being. It’s our duty to set an example for others of how to live a life of ease with dignity and a certain gravitas, for we live surrounded by quiet pensive cultural worries that are far removed from the hot resentful breath of the scufflers and brawlers. You have — I must say this to you — something savage about you, and then, in the blink of an eye, you can change course and display a tenderness that then requires too much tenderness on the part of others to survive. Many things that should hurt you don’t offend you in the least, while you allow yourself to be wounded by quite ordinary things, natural products of the world and of life. You must try to become one of a multitude, then things will surely go well for you, as you know no weariness when it comes to fulfilling demands, and once you’ve won people’s love, you’ll feel the urge to prove to them that you deserve it. The way you are now, you’re just slinking around corners and expiring in sentimental longings not truly worthy of a citizen, human being and above all a man. So many things occur to me that you might undertake and do to solidify your standing, but in the end I must leave to you the labor of giving shape to your own life, for advice is rarely worth a fig.”—Simon said then: “Why are you filled with worries on so beautiful a day when looking out into the distance can make a person dissolve in happiness?” —

Then the two of them chatted about nature and forgot all serious matters.