Anarchistbanjo's World

Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

His mother observed him–she knew his smallest gesture, the
slightest movement of his smooth, sun tanned features. She read in the
slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that it was something
important.
“What is it?” she asked, and her voice trembled.
“Nothing big,” he answered easily. “You know of course that
Uncle Jakob is dead.”
“Yes, I know that,” she said. “It was sad enough.”
“Well then,” he nodded, “the Legal Councilor has sent me a copy
of the will. I am the executor and to become the girl’s guardian as
well. To do that I must go to Lendenich.”
“When will you leave?” she asked quickly.
“Well,” he said. “I think–this evening.”
“Don’t go,” she begged. “Don’t go! You’ve only been back with
me for three days and now you want to leave again.”
“But mother,” he turned to face her. “It’s only for a few days,
just to put things in order.”
She said, “That’s what you always say, only a few days–and then
you stay away for years.”
“You must be able to see it, dear mother!” he insisted. “Here is
the will. Uncle has left you a right decent sum of money and me as
well–Something I certainly was not expecting from him. We could
certainly use it, both of us.”
She shook her head, “What should I do with the money if you are
not with me, my boy?”
He stood up and kissed her gray hair.
“Mother dear, by the end of the week I will be back here with
you. It is scarcely two hours by train.”
She sighed deeply, stroked his hands, “Two hours–or two
hundred hours, what is the difference?–You are gone either way!”
“Adieu, dear mother,” he said, went upstairs, packed only a small
suitcase and came back out to the balcony.
“There, you see! Scarcely enough for two days–Auf
Wiedersehen!”
“Auf Wiedersehen, dear boy,” she said quietly.
She heard how he bounded down the stairs, heard the latch click
as the door shut. She laid her hand on the intelligent head of her little
hound that looked at her with faithful trusting eyes.
“Dear animal,” she spoke. “Now we are alone again–Oh, only to
go again, does he come here–when will we see him again?”
Heavy tears fell from her gentle eyes, rolled over the wrinkles on
her cheeks, fell down onto the long brown ears of the little hound. He
licked at them with his red tongue.
Then down below she heard the bell, heard voices and steps
coming up the stairs. She quickly wiped the tears out of her eyes,
pushed her black lace scarf into place and straightened out her hair.
She stood up, leaned over the railing and called down into the
courtyard for the cook to prepare fresh tea for the guests that had
come.
Oh, it was good that so many came to visit her, Ladies and
Gentlemen–today and always. She could chat with them, tell them
about her boy.
Legal Councilor Gontram, whom he had wired about his arrival,
awaited him at the train station, took him with to the garden terraces
of the Royal Court, where he explained everything to him that was
important. He begged him to go at once out to Lendenich, speak with
the Fräulein and then early the next morning come back into the
office.
He couldn’t really say the Fräulein would make trouble for him,
but he had a strange, uncomfortable feeling about her that made every
meeting with her intolerable. It was funny in a way, he had worked
with so many criminals–murderers, assassins, burglars, abortionists,
and once he really got to know them he always found that they were
really pretty decent people–with the exception of their crimes.
But with the Fräulein, whom you could not reproach for
anything, he always had the same feeling that other people had toward
the criminals he worked with. It must lie completely in him–
Frank Braun requested that he telephone ahead and announce his
arrival to the Fräulein. Then he excused himself, strolled through the
park until he hit the road to Lendenich.
He walked through the old village, past the statue of St.
Nepomuk and nodded to him, stood in front of the Iron Gate and rang,
looking into the courtyard. There was a large gas candelabra burning
in the entrance where once a paltry little lantern had glowed. That was
the only change that he saw.
Above, from her window the Fräulein looked down, searched the
features of the stranger, and tried to recognize him in the flickering
light. She saw how Aloys sped up, how he put the key in the lock
more quickly than usual.
“Good evening young Master!” cried the servant and the stranger
shook hands with him, called him by name, as if he had just come
back to his own house after a little trip.
“How goes it, Aloys?”
Then the old coachman hobbled over the stones as quickly as his
crippled leg would carry him.
“Young Master,” he crowed. “Young Master! Welcome to
Brinken!”
Frank Braun exclaimed, “Froitsheim! Still here? Glad to see you
again!”
He shook both hands vigorously. Then the cook came and the
wide hipped house keeper. With them came Paul, the valet. The entire
servant’s quarters emptied itself into the courtyard. Two old maids
pressed to the front, stretching their hands out to him, but first,
carefully wiping their hands on their aprons.
“Jesus Christ be praised!” the gardener greeted him and he
laughed.
“To eternity, Amen!”
“The young Master is here!” cried the gray haired cook and gave
Frank Braun’s suitcase to the valet.
Everyone stood around him, everyone demanded a personal
greeting, a handshake, a friendly word, and the younger ones, those
that didn’t know him, stood nearby, staring at him with open eyes and
awkward smiles, off to the side stood the chauffeur, smoking his short
pipe. Even his indolent features showed a friendly smile.
Fräulein ten Brinken snapped her fingers.
“My guardian appears well liked here,” she said half out loud
and she called down:
“Bring the Gentleman’s things up to his room–and you, Aloys,
show him the way.”
Some frost fell on the fresh spring of his welcome. They let their
heads drop, didn’t speak any more. Only Froitsheim shook his hand
one last time, walked with him to the master staircase.
“It is good you are here, young Master.”
Frank Braun went up to his room, washed himself, and then
followed the butler who announced that dinner was served. He
stepped into the dining room and was left alone for a moment. He
looked around, there, like always, stood the giant buffet, ostentatious
as ever with the heavy golden plates that bore the crest of the
Brinkens.
But no fruit lay on them today.
“It is still too early in the season,” he murmured, “or perhaps my
cousin has no interest in the first fruits.”
Then the Fräulein came in from the other side, adorned in a black
silk gown, richly set with lace down to her feet. She stood in the door
a moment, then stepped in and greeted him.
“Good evening, Herr Cousin.”
She reached out her hand to him, but only the two fingertips. He
pretended not to notice, taking her entire hand and shaking it
vigorously. With a gesture she invited him to take his place and sat
down across from him.
“May we be informal with each other?” she began.
“Certainly,” he nodded. “That has long been the custom with the
Brinkens.”
He raised his glass, “To your health, little cousin.”
“Little cousin,” she thought. “He calls me little cousin, thinks of
me as a doll.”
But she replied, “Prosit, big cousin.”
She emptied her glass, waved for the servant to refill it and drank
once more, “To your health, Herr Guardian!”
That made him laugh, Guardian–guardian? It sounded so
dignified–”Am I really that old?” he thought.
He answered, “And to you, little ward.”
She got angry–little ward, again; little?–Oh, it would soon be
shown which of them was the superior.
“How is you mother?” she asked.
“Thank you,” he nodded. “Very well, thank you–haven’t you met
her yet?–You could have visited her at least once.”
“She never visited us either,” she retorted.
Then when she saw his smile, she quickly added, “Really cousin,
we never thought of it.”
“I can just imagine,” he said dryly.
“Papa scarcely spoke of her and not of you at all.”
She spoke a little too quickly, rushing herself. “I was really
surprised, you know, when he made you–”
“Me too!” he interrupted her, “and he certainly had some reason
for doing it.”
“A reason?” she asked. “What reason?”
He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know yet–but it will soon
come out.”
The conversation never faltered. It was like a ball game; the short
sentences flew back and forth. They remained polite, amiable and
obliging, but they watched each other, were completely on their
guards, and never came together. A taut net stretched itself between
them.
After dinner she led him into the music room.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked.
But he requested whiskey and soda. They sat down, chatted some
more. Then she stood up, went to the Grand piano.
“Should I sing something?” she asked.
“Please,” he said politely.
She raised the lid, sat down, then she turned around and asked:
“Any special request cousin?”
“No,” he replied. “I don’t know your repertoire, little cousin.”
She pressed her lips together. That is becoming a habit, she
thought.
She struck a couple of notes, sang half a stanza, broke off, began
another song, and broke that off as well. Then she sang a couple of
measures of Offenbach, then a line from Grieg.
“You don’t appear to be in the right mood,” he observed calmly.
She laid her hands on her lap, remained quiet awhile, drummed
nervously on her knees. Then she raised her hands, sank them quickly
onto the keys and began:
There once was a shepherdess
And ron, ron and small patapon
There once was a shepherdess
Who kept her sheep
Ron, ron who kept her sheep
She turned toward him, pouting. Oh, yes, that little face
surrounded by short curls could very well belong to a graceful
shepherdess–
She made a cheese
And ron, ron and small patapon
She made a cheese
While milking her sheep
Ron, ron, while milking her sheep
Pretty shepherdess, he thought, and poor–little sheep. She moved
her head, stretched her left foot sideways, tapped out a beat on the
floor with a dainty shoe.
The naughty cat watched
And ron, ron and small patapon
The naughty cat watched
From a small distance away
Ron, ron, from a small distance away
If you touch it with your paws
And ron, ron, and small patapon
If you touch it with your paws
I will hit you with a stick
Ron, ron, I will hit you with a stick!