could sense that Frau Adamowicz was growing impatient. One last touch, and he detached himself from Jakobâs shadow and came and stood in front of him, passing him the trousers, belt and vest in turn. He stood in front of Jakob, only inches from him, and watched his legs disappear into the black trousers at close range, and while Jakob was buttoning them up he looked into Ernesteâs eyes, and when he smiled Erneste knew that he was lost: that he had gained something and forfeited it at the same timeâthat the profit he had made would be his loss. He had a strange presentiment, a vague sense of something incomprehensible, something that lurked behind his excitement as if concealed by a bright façade and was trying to signal its presence by means of unintelligible signs; something foolish and distressing, some threat he wanted no part of, some foolish, distressing threat that lay behind the happiness and joy that surged through him. Erneste couldnât swim, but he wouldnât have drowned had he jumped into the lake at that moment; he would have swum far out, unafraid of failing to reach the opposite shore. But he also knew that he would be happy only while Jakob washappy too, and that he must make him happy to preserve his own happiness. He had captured Jakobâs attentionâsucceeded in doing what he hadnât dared to hope for. He didnât possess Jakob yet; he was obsessed with him.
But time was passing and they had to be quick. Erneste continued to stand beside Jakob until he was fully dressed. Then he took two paces to the rear. The tails were an almost perfect fit. Frau Adamowicz, who had turned around by this time, took a piece of tailorâs chalk and marked the minor alterations to be made to the trousers. âGermans are always the tallest,â she said, and Jakob grinned. âYes,â Erneste said with a proud smile, âyouâre right.â
Chapter 4
On October 5, 1966, three weeks after Jakobâs first letter, almost to the day, Erneste received some more mail from the States, same sender, same address. Unlike the first letter, however, this one left no room for hope. It merely confirmed Ernesteâs worst fears. He had counted on getting another letter, it was true, but he hadnât expected it so soon. Jakob was hurrying him along.
Although heâd secretly hoped that the problem would go away if only he ignored it, closer inspection proved that it had always existed. It wasnât going away; it was too palpable to be brushed aside. His abiding nightmare, the one from which he never awoke, featured a high wallâone he could neither clear nor skirt around.
Nobody asked why he was looking so overtired. People always practiced restraint where Erneste was concerned, deterred from coming too close by his aura of dignified gentility. His colleagues at the Restaurant am Berg left him in peace, and he never saw anyone else during the day.
He had put Jakobâs first letter away somewhere, hoping that it would get mislaid. No matter where it was,however, Erneste could never have brought himself to destroy it. He waited. Although he had been expecting another letter, he winced when he found it in his mailbox. There was nothing he could have told Jakob, so he hadnât written to him. But Jakob obviously had no time to lose. He didnât trust him. He thought him capable of failing to reply, and he was right.
So Jakob had written again, and if he didnât write back, more letters were bound to follow. Jakob was in a bad way. He was in a hurry because his problem brooked no delay, so he was pestering Erneste. Having taken it into his head to obtain something, he was forcing the pace. Jakobâs future, his wellbeing in America, was at stake. Jakob himself was at stake.
Erneste felt cornered. What he had wrapped up and stowed away in the corner of his mind was threatening to reappear, as fresh and potent as ever. It hadnât been wrapped up
But time was passing and they had to be quick. Erneste continued to stand beside Jakob until he was fully dressed. Then he took two paces to the rear. The tails were an almost perfect fit. Frau Adamowicz, who had turned around by this time, took a piece of tailorâs chalk and marked the minor alterations to be made to the trousers. âGermans are always the tallest,â she said, and Jakob grinned. âYes,â Erneste said with a proud smile, âyouâre right.â
Chapter 4
On October 5, 1966, three weeks after Jakobâs first letter, almost to the day, Erneste received some more mail from the States, same sender, same address. Unlike the first letter, however, this one left no room for hope. It merely confirmed Ernesteâs worst fears. He had counted on getting another letter, it was true, but he hadnât expected it so soon. Jakob was hurrying him along.
Although heâd secretly hoped that the problem would go away if only he ignored it, closer inspection proved that it had always existed. It wasnât going away; it was too palpable to be brushed aside. His abiding nightmare, the one from which he never awoke, featured a high wallâone he could neither clear nor skirt around.
Nobody asked why he was looking so overtired. People always practiced restraint where Erneste was concerned, deterred from coming too close by his aura of dignified gentility. His colleagues at the Restaurant am Berg left him in peace, and he never saw anyone else during the day.
He had put Jakobâs first letter away somewhere, hoping that it would get mislaid. No matter where it was,however, Erneste could never have brought himself to destroy it. He waited. Although he had been expecting another letter, he winced when he found it in his mailbox. There was nothing he could have told Jakob, so he hadnât written to him. But Jakob obviously had no time to lose. He didnât trust him. He thought him capable of failing to reply, and he was right.
So Jakob had written again, and if he didnât write back, more letters were bound to follow. Jakob was in a bad way. He was in a hurry because his problem brooked no delay, so he was pestering Erneste. Having taken it into his head to obtain something, he was forcing the pace. Jakobâs future, his wellbeing in America, was at stake. Jakob himself was at stake.
Erneste felt cornered. What he had wrapped up and stowed away in the corner of his mind was threatening to reappear, as fresh and potent as ever. It hadnât been wrapped up
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