Death In Venice by Thomas Mann Page A

curiosity, but could make out nothing more than two melodic syllables: "Adgio" or, more often, "Adgiu," with a final u they lengthened as they called. He liked the sound of it: he found its euphony appropriate to the object in question and, having repeated it to himself, turned back, contented, to his letters and papers. With his portable writing case on his knees, he began attending to this or that item of correspondence with his fountain pen. But after no more than a quarter of an hour he decided it was a pity to divert his mind from the situation at hand, the most enjoyable he knew, to let it slip past for the sake of an indifferent pursuit. He tossed his writing utensils aside and gazed back at the sea, but before long, distracted by the voices of the youngsters building the sand castle, he placidly turned his head to the right along the back of the chair the better to follow once more the doings of the exquisite Adgio. He located him at once: the red bow on his chest was unmistakable. Engaged with the others in laying an old plank as a bridge across the sand castle's water-filled moat, he gave directions by shouts and head signals. He had ten or so companions, boys and girls-some his own age, some younger-chattering higgledy-piggledy in tongues: Polish, French, and even some Balkan languages. But his name was the most often heard. He was clearly sought after, courted, admired. One boy in particular, a Pole like him-a stocky fellow who was addressed as something like Jasiu and who had black, slicked-down hair and was wearing a belted linen suit-appeared to be his closest vassal and friend. When the current stage of work on the castle came to an end, they walked along the beach with their arms around each other, and the fellow addressed as Jasiu kissed the beautiful youth. Aschenbach was tempted to shake a finger at them. "I advise you, Critobulus," he thought with a smile, "to travel for a year. For you will need at least that long to recover." Then he breakfasted on some large, fully ripe strawberries he had purchased from a peddler. It had grown very hot, though the sun was unable to pierce the layer of haze in the sky. Lethargy fettered the mind even as the senses enjoyed the vast, benumbing pleasure of the ocean's calm. The serious Aschenbach found it a suitable, perfectly satisfying use of his time to guess at or postulate on the name that sounded like Adgio, and with the aid of some Polish reminiscences he determined that it must be Tadzio, the pet name for Tadeusz, which becomes Tadziu in direct address.* Tadzio was bathing. Aschenbach, who had lost sight of him, spotted his head, then his arm rising paddlelike from the water far out at sea, the sea being most likely shallow for quite a distance. But already he seemed a cause for concern; already women's voices were calling out to him from the cabanas, once more shouting the * Likewise, Jasju is the direct-address form of the name of Tadzio's friend jag, which is the pet name for Jan (Translator's note) name that dominated the beach almost like a catchword, its soft consonants and long-drawn-out final u making it at once sweet and wild: "Tadziu! Tadziu!" Back he came, running through the waves, his legs beating the resistant water into foam, his head flung back, and to see so vibrant a figure, with the grace and austerity of early manhood, locks dripping, fair as a gentle god, emerging from the depths of sea and sky, escaping the watery element-it was enough to inspire mythical associations, like the lay of a bard about times primeval, about the origin of form and the birth of the gods. His eyes closed, Aschenbach harkened to the chant welling up within him and thought again that being here was good and he would stay. Later Tadzio lay in the sand resting from his swim, wrapped in a white sheet drawn up under his right shoulder, his head reposing on a bare arm, and Aschenbacheven when not observing him, when reading a few pages in his book-hardly ever forgot that he