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Elisabeth Wandeler-Deck 
Maria Schoenhammer, Translator
From To Sing of a Ship
Translated from the German by Maria Schoenhammer
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Yves Netzhammer - computer graphic |
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It may very well start with a sandwich and on high sea, Rias Hollywood, already, he describes wide circles around the entrance to the store, Bread´n´tapes, N.M. records each channel, it is her business, while looking after the tapes the sound of the skateboard on the asphalt, hollowed out from below, leaves her restless. Rias Hollywood, already, on his way to where what for, at his age, at his size, with his hair standing up, dyed blue dyed blue, N.M. files away, or are there customers coming already, you will talk about it today, Rias traces a smaller curve, a tiny loop very quickly, he brakes, misses the step, jumps off, N.M. rearranges tapes, that increases sales, she does not yet increase the rental fee, she will have to look out, look around at what others are offering, wants to know that precisely, she pushes the pack of blank tapes to the other side of the counter, she folds the daily newspapers in such a way that she sees at a glance today´s offering of movies that she is able to receive on 23 channels over 23 receivers, she also offers versions pirated from TV or elsewhere, she loves to be secretive, specializes in rarities, a service among many, she cultivates her contacts with small distributors. Rumor About Flying and Hearing, details already now, N.M. files video tapes, it is early morning, returned, that is, dropped off female names other than Marie: Louise Sophie Susanna Anna Lilith for how do they name women.
A day can run through the seasons, through the years, the largest chunks of time get muddled up, straightening up is of no use, that has to be left alone, N.M. says towards the high shelves, three Luises or Susannas came with Lilith over the sea, they say, from the south they marched into this town with splendor and color, with high shrieks, three M and gloomy Sara queen or woman wading from the ship to the northern shore, as far as the eye can see, three Maries wading with Sara, they have been welcomed by her, did she arrive with them, towards the harbor gate, as far as the eye can see grasses are surging against protecting walls, of today, of long ago, wet hems dragging over pavement stones, asphalt, over meadows. For centuries there has been low tide, gray silt no longer slows down their steps when three Susannas or Luises are waiting out there on a Saturday and look over there, no one remembers the legend. Sea gulls in the grass. N.M. lies on the city wall with the man. The July sun burns. She thinks of going away and if she left him. You, she says to him, you, she says out loud, not for him to wake but for her to stay, to stop thinking up routes where leaving could take place, you, didn´t anyone think of shooting in the mussel beds, let´s go back, out on the oyster banks, as far as they go, there too, she says, to the Maries from the sea, starting point of their story, of their imagination.
Finding words in the crate of daily arriving newspapers, whoever brings them needs a vacation, from time to time an edition is missing, The New, The Daily, The Daily News, subtle when I look, of love, murder, robbery, whoever delivers that, line by line definitions in a very general way, what has to be, what to call a No, a look can not lie, columns of reproaches, when I look I see the man. I leave the place on the wall coping, I follow the headlines and enter the bar, For You, that had been closed, for entire days, because of renovations, a coat on the floor, at least, a bar is a bar, for you, freshly done up, a trace of blood can be made out, several people are standing around, that can also mean a woman, are confused, for two days, the trophies, the posters aren´t where they used to be, a glass case is missing, I ask for the new owner, whom I suppose, at least, the bar is the bar. A similar carefree spirit takes over in other areas as well, he closes the door. He washes his feet, that´s taken from a different scene. He brushes his teeth. He puts his jacket on the bed spread. He does not take off his sweater. He puts on his shoes, takes them off. He takes off his sweater. How, I lean against the wall, the table consists of a top, stained red, the grain shimmers through the coat of varnish a small shadow on each side, his, mine, she tries to make it out, the light is so diffuse, today, sharp-edged referring not to observations but to the observer, N.M. says two steps at an angle from bottom to top vertically at an angle both at the same time, I lean against the side of a wall. Stones are pressing into the shoulder blades, calling small dents at head level a smooth plaster wall. In the absence of pain, what can serve her to orient herself, naming him is fresh, white, he looks done-up. He takes off his underwear. As usual, it has stripes. Puts on pajama pants, where do they come from now, takes off his pajama pants, in another time, of another man, he didn´t wash. Death is short, it proceeds, grammatically, in its feminine form, N.M. notices humming in her ears, doubly from the inside, from the outside, her head throbbing, whatever splits her up. The clouds bare her brain. Someone else might say it this way or that way, a collapse of the rampart, N.M. notices that she talks of the demons of being right and of succeeding through force, she lacks a you-figure, Rias Hollywood is really still too young, her place is to keep it in her heart, she operates the recorder. Video, audio, Merri Klages might have said it differently, might have jotted a small sketch on her note pad, rubbed a bit of lipstick into the paper, and might have made two creases. The man shows himself angry and unwashed. He smiles. The woman she was reports and observes, she hits him in the face and falls asleep. Breaking words from the plaster of the newspaper delivered in the morning, the phrase just so occurred to N.M., she pronounces it over the recording machines that are set out. I have been listening to you, for the longest time, Rias Hollywood says through the cracked door, will you let me? Yes, what is it, the sirens at noon time. Where she is now there is no wind in the world at all. Her life is known. Almost that of a famous person, so very generalized, surrounded by data, other people´s memories, canned sounds and images, N.M. an empty spot, by herself, put up in tin words, the path leading to the coast, to the mountains, she doesn´t know, Rias Hollywood circles along, did she want to send him ahead, is he her pretext. Sara is it you, every ten minutes nothing happened, meanwhile the wind sets in again, the voice yells more softly, drifts away in the snow, two to three Marie, Mary, the one, Mary McDala succeeded between the fat moons, beams of light and clouds to overstep no one´s land, to land past buildings on the shore that would have been an arena or a guard station, she succeeded in reaching the basement room, N.M. adjusts the recording level, fog lifts a speech, are you saved, one steps over someone the area the grass. What else, say those who have a say, now, who is that, rejected, he and he and she and she, she, three, one, several, N.M hears voices brushing through the high grass, from the coffee bar downstairs in the house, or notices the echo if you´re lucky, bathed deloused transferred, where she came from. A broken heart, she, one N.M. listening with two pairs of ears, of a native and of an expellee, inside and outside, she exists for herself presently a home town to hear with two pairs of eyes, as long as she has lived there has always been war, talking differently or not. Then they were many, starting point for ramblings, N.M. points the video camera at herself, starts to move, walks slowly among the shelves with the video tapes until she has the distance, to slip away, to arrive, Rias practices his leaps across the cracks in the asphalt, the cherry tree, three times grafted, on the top of the slope, at the foot the railroad track North-South, N.M. lights a cigarette, a girl sits in the tree, the woman, the Marie, Michelemma, the fisher woman, mathematician and architect. She keeps lookout and reads. She builds a tree house for herself. She builds a hut a ship in the tree. She keeps lookout along the railroad track. She looks over a sprawling hospital building towards the other shore, she listens behind her where the house is in a flat garden. She smells the scent that rises from the thuja hedge separating the steep land from the flat land. I climb the tree. I climb up the tree. It is the cherry tree. She smells the scent of cherry wood. In early July the cherry tree bears small wild fruits from which in this region they distill kirsch. Some of the grafted species mature earlier, some later. N.M. turns towards the shop window. Directs her voice, her face, she turns her back to the camera, she doesn´t speak. She speaks, she turns back, she looks across the machines, the shelves, the three M, N.M. says, came over the sea where the divided town is. They talk nautical, praise the empty galley, they talk of Michelemma you ivory tower, you heaven´s gate, you morning star, consoler of the distressed, courageous captain, where N.M. looks, in Rias Hollywood´s aquarium that she recently moved into the shadier one of the shop windows, the water snails are multiplying, only rarely one of the fish dies. Only rarely does a plant rot, the finger rarely creeps in the case, will you tell me that today when I come back? A sandwich in each hand, Rias rides off. On the counter there are Rias Hollywood´s things compass drawing pen Walkman. Dancing fish move very, extremely slowly through the aquarium. N.M. presses the button: stop. A small sound may be opened for examination purposes.
1 Sara. Prelude.
Slowly very slowly panning masses of water flow clatter incessantly words words cut slowly very slowly cut, you see, what is within reach incessantly throwing evaluating listen,
Sara H., I remember, it could have taken a turn. It would have been a legend. Reading. It would have delighted me. I remember, she, Sara K., hands. That´s the way she is. Yes, hands. Yes, Kaelin, Sara Kolin. Listen, it could have taken a turn. The hands, yes. A hearkening. Nothing. Not Sara H., would she have been a talk, turning into a tale, don´t you hear. Yes, talking of it. Is it relevant to the present. Could have become, yes, could have become, I remember. This basement, listen, this voice, a voice, a turn,
I remember, was it in the town, was it. It was in the town of Bethany where the resurrected Lazarus was still living with his sisters Maria and Martha.
Was there There was a huge persecution. And all of the disciples and apostles had to go into hiding or they had to flee to avoid getting killed. Yes, talking, yes, Sara H., listen, The apostle Jacob was living there as well with his mother Mary Jacobee, and the apostle Jacob with his mother Mary Salomee. And both women had one servant in common, this basement, listen, orders, the voices, listen, wanted to flee to another country, had an opportunity, I remember, this haste, this fear, They bought a ship and climbed into it to go over the sea. But as they were about to depart, the women´s servant came running in haste and she implored them: "Allow me, you holy women to come with you and serve you on the way." They didn´t want that. They said: "Nothing will happen to you in this country. But we are already so many on the boat that it might even sink." But she didn´t stop begging. So she was allowed to get in. The boat, however, had no oars, no sail and no helm. Because those who sold it to them, this haste, listen, a hearkening, yes, talking, three women, I remember. The sea. You see the sea. You do not yet see the sea. The plain. The short grass. The wind. You see the wind. They do not yet feel the wind. The wind. Now it is here. You taste the salt of the wind. A street, asphalted, a long time ago. You walk against the wind, against the light. You see. You know the light, the wind. Three women, you see them. You see the basement, I remember, whereto. Did one go further. Did she go, maybe into the hills, a mountainous countryside, her brother. Maybe her brother. What a tenderness. Feet. See the feet, what a desire. Time. You hear the wind, It is still early. Listen. Singing. This could have happened to any of them. Recently, you see, a truck. Garbage, hands. Sara K., Kaehler maybe, she wore that white dress. Was it marble dust. Did she climb that loading bridge. Sara K., you see. Yes, some ashes on her sleeve. Just on one of the sleeves. Was it ashes. What are they saying. This time, this music. This dripping. Yes, I remember, from the loading bridge. Yes, I was too late, it was too late, you said it was too late. Yes, she wore that dress. Which doesn´t mean anything, yes, an arm, these hands,
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