Greed Read online

  But then again there's no doing without bodies, precisely the most decayed and frail cling surprisingly fiercely to life; this man lets nothing rest, he always wants more without letting go of a thing again, now everything has to turn out for the best. There he stands, steady as a mountain rock (sadly he has less and less time for the mountains, they often come last now. Besides there's no building land up there, only wasteland struck by rocks), stands outside the shops which sell only the cheapest lines, outside the inn, where the teetotaller and sportsman drinks no more than a Fanta or a soda pop, into which he then, under the table, pours his schnapps (which he never pays for either, because he has always entered as a figure of authority). We are dealing with that mysterious continuation of ourselves to which everything falls, because it belongs there, like gravity, at the bus stop, where the car driver doesn't take the bus but prefers to take someone else instead, before darkness falls, which he penetrates with a pocket lamp, but only if it is absolutely necessary. Batteries cost money, too. And here he knows the way at any time, even in the dark, every stone on it and every protected plantation of fir trees, on which he himself need protect nothing and no one, when he sits down in the middle of the spread table of a woman.

  What's coming down from the heights there? It's them, it's always them, the mountaineers, the hikers with their own or other women. But of course it's always a matter of where you're standing. Who touches a meadow full of flowers with his feet, and yet the meadow remains untouched? Unbelievable, that there's such and such a number of women, particularly ever since they've been driving around in cars just as much as men and can also turn up in a different place from where they are at home. They are drawn out into town and country, into the county town and onto the country road, and that they are so different from one another is likewise unbelievable. And then they stoop to this man, they've hardly clapped eyes on him and they're on the ropes, he cuts them down or not, in his hands they soon gleam like polished pieces of furniture. Yes, indeed, and afterwards they are alone and have been taken for a ride, with the itch, but not sewn up, I can already see that from this distance. There have been a good five of them in the last two years. Not all that many, I know, but it takes time to look after them, because nowadays they demand quality in order to be satisfied. It's not enough for them to rub up against the wall of the house, which is badly plastered or turning damp, the house should also belong to them after they've been saving themselves so long for the right man. They don't let their cars do something like that either. That they wipe their dirty tires on someone or that someone takes the liberty of doing such a thing with them. Cars also belong to many women. Many cars belong to women. Thus one becomes a vessel, they probably thought, once they had chosen this car in their favorite color and even had to wait for it. One spreads out the bed for that already there. It's recently been specially acquired, together with an orthopedic mattress, for a very special person, who will lie down where no one has lain down before. And one already knows all that in advance, after talking to him just once on the dusty road, where one showed him the driver's licence and the vehicle documents, and he was such a wonderful, unique man, one never saw one like him before, and one knew: He's the One! And why? asks the shop assistant at Billa, with whom, since moving here to the country a couple of years ago, one occasionally has a bit of a heart to heart, next to toothpaste, soap and detergents. I don't know. That's the answer. The rather stocky, but muscular-looking, dark-blond police officer is considered to be a loner, a reputation which he has never really resisted. A man who hides his feelings behind a robust manner, but who can also show small weaknesses. How sweet of him! He effortlessly overcame the barriers with which I have protected myself until now, says this woman to the supermarket cashier, who doesn't understand her and who would at last like to go home. But hardly has anything so wonderful happened to one than one is immediately buried again, and that is the disadvantage with lonely people, worn by miles of worries and suspicion, as if one were the landscape itself, which is idly waiting for what will be inflicted on it in the shape of mudslides, avalanches, and rockfalls. One finds oneself in the water, instead of being water, which can travel anywhere, but unfortunately on one condition: downhill only! So it's better to stay at home, so as not to miss the telephone ringing, or you just take the telephone with you, which can play Bach's D Minor Organ Toccata, which it's been taught. After that you only have to wait for your number to be called.

  Then miracles happen, an angel enters and with his wings cuts in pieces what divides two people, and it will come, it will come!-the best-loved miracle, which is no miracle at all, for a human being is as if made for love. But that is deceptive, often a human being only looks as if he is. On the contrary, God never does well by the good, and they, although they, too, love and want to stay, fall apart even more quickly than the rest of us with our ordinary joyless life, and later on one doesn't recognize them again, the good people, when the seams of their genitals come apart and the sawdust pours out, which once lent them a bit of shape at least. Even wood would have been affected by such an experience, the glue would have fallen from it. Because no one reassembles these tender lovers who wish only to forget themselves in love, and this time it reinforces them right from the start with some plywood, so that they can at last stand up by themselves and can stay up a little longer in this position. Afterwards, nevertheless, a human being is never the same again, even after just an hour. Take a look, I'll show you: This miracle happened to the woman there, and to the one over there, too, I think, and over there are five together, but the miracle caused that one a lot of trouble, this self-absorbed, retiring, quiet, shy woman, would you recognize her as someone who moved to the country because people in the city who got close to her which she had always invited, hurt her, mostly without wanting to or knowing it? This woman is too sensitive, she's already paralyzed with fear and I've caught it, too. At this moment the man opposite her is devoting himself entirely to his career as a lover. He has already made some progress, and has got just as far as the little cafe, where they know him and so where he doesn't like to go at all. But this time he didn't want to contradict the woman's provincial loneliness, the relationship is still too new, the woman is already touchy enough, so he let her have her way: to show herself in public with the man! At last! She gets a lot out of that. And so there they sit side by side. On the other hand something like that has never ever happened to the man before, but in the daily tabloid he can read up where it leads: to love. In sequence. Until marriage. Until death. The country policeman's wife reads whole novelettes about it, from start to finish. The man holds his own in his hard job, which one can carry out with a dog and/or motor bike, but one can only bring the dog along in the car, or it has to be left behind altogether. The man holds his own in the atmosphere, the climate that goes along with it, and which until recently was purely man's business. Whether it rains or snows or whether the sun shines, it doesn't matter, the men made it, complains one or other woman to no one in particular. The man is quite different in this respect, usually doesn't even know what she's talking about, at this little cafe table, someone who gave up her career, but who had such a good income in the city and out of fear of disappointment again and again avoided close ties, as she declares, as she already declares, because again and again she was abandoned, abandoned like a stone in the road. That's how the sad Carinthian song goes, but I don't know the rest of the words. I should know them, because soon the whole world will be Carinthia, and then there will be terrible punishments for anyone who doesn't know these beautiful songs by heart. Well, why does she come here, the woman, where no one needs her. He needs her so! He's not interested in what she says. He's interested in what she has. He goes to open up the millionairess, but no, it's not millions, let's make a rough calculation back and forward: it never works out. What one needs is only her property, but she's still using it herself, and even if only to start out from it, to explore the area, its rare Alpine flora and fauna through books and then
to cuddle up all the more cosily on the couch with a glass of wine and a book. No, Kurt, today I don't need you, today I want to be quite alone for once, but call me, definitely. If he doesn't call, she goes off the deep end. While we're on its beauty, this area would never get adequate attention if it were not beautiful. Otherwise no one would bother about it, apart from the scantily dressed tourists who get everywhere, and to whom the woman for her part feels superior (among the tourists there are also some who are overloaded with clothing, they just have no sense of proportion). In the man's cheerful disposition there is in principle no room for any woman, which he doesn't say. But for a house of course, always, even though in the nature of things it would be much larger: A house of one's own, somewhere to feel at home. Charm is already lying ready on the plate, today it has to stand in for butter. It'll manage that. This woman would be much smaller and manageable than the house, she could prove that if the country policeman would only take a proper look at her from top to bottom. And in the house there would at last be enough room for his expansiveness, his mountain bike and his hobbies, which are a waste of time. He should rather spend his time with her: Yes, take a look at that, I would describe him like that, too, before allowing myself to be hit. He isn't capacious, but expansive, not in the sense that there is truly anything cheerful about him, but clean and empty. The furniture has been pushed against the walls, so that his body can more easily be encouraged to carry out the much, thank you, practiced movements, which should cause the furnishings no more damage than absolutely necessary. When things have got that far, one wants to have them along with the house. At most the bed will collapse at some point. One sees a person standing in front of one, and then suddenly it's a woman. One sees her waving her arms about, shouting, weeping, saying please please, because he wants to leave so early again today. One can see her performing tricks in order to seduce him, now she's even getting up on her hind legs. She threatens him. Funny, we're already at home with her again. Earlier she calmly made coffee, although earlier we already drank some in the cafe and are now eagerly waiting for the sniffing course in matters of tenderness and trust, which had been promised us and for which we have already put down a payment: Two people who can't stand one another, but don't let go of one another either. For various reasons. In time they will learn to fly and take flight, because there's no other way they can get away from one another. One of them at least has to go so that the other can stay. But why all the work at the stove if the woman in the end-she doesn't quite know how to offer herself up completely yet, she would rather offer food and drink-throws a hot cupful in his face, why all the cooking and raging about so little? Why such a devil of a temper? And now she has to wipe up the coffee again alone and spoon up the soup alone. It really wasn't necessary to throw things around with people who haven't done anything at all. After this noisy scene, the woman, unappeased, but well brought up, is allowed to cook a less solid meal, this time something exotic with pineapple slices and spices, which were brought here specially from the Naschmarkt in Vienna, would you like that, Kurt?, no he doesn't know it and doesn't want to know it. Now this time he doesn't want to, he would rather practice his power of attraction. Please please, eat something, then there's dessert, then I personally will get carried away with you!

  Stop, now she has a good idea, she will offer the man, who has already rejected her offer and who preferred to consume his nourishment in the disguise of sausages and fried egg at lunchtime at home with mama, his meal in a completely new, unprecedented way. He will be so happy that he will be unable to control himself, like a spring which would be worthy of control, but meanwhile still has to wait for such a thing. And so she's going to serve his food, you won't believe it, well, then again it's not so original either: wearing exclusively the new, expensive lingerie she bought just for him at Palmer's in town. Is that not a brilliant idea for her brilliant appearance? Is that not a change for his eyes, which on the gray roads have had to see much worse things, often also stirred, beaten or whisked with blood? What else can I serve up? Her entrance, which she should have rehearsed earlier so as not to have induced this dreadful laughter in the man, which will appear here from now on at irregular intervals, would have persuaded him if he had wanted to believe his eyes. After one had listened to one's inner voice, one could spread a little of the food on one's own body, with its juices, so that it can be licked off. For no other reason. A woman doesn't dream of anything like that, she's read something like it on some enclosed instruction sheet, and ever since she believes in the ability of her body, modern, confident, financially independent as she is, to stand up to all physical demands (others have to unreel many miles of threads of fate every day for that), no matter what else one sticks in her mouth, sometimes even a clenched fist, ouch.