A Greater Music Read Online Free PDF

when you said you were coming I booked us tickets for the Philharmonic’s New Year concert. Lucky there were still some seats left.”
    â€œWasn’t it expensive?”
    â€œA bit. And I wasn’t sure if it’s the kind of thing you like. It’s choral music, you see. Probably Mozart and Beethoven’s masses.”
    â€œI don’t mind.”
    â€œDo you have any dress clothes? If not, you can always call one of your girlfriends and ask to borrow something.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it, I brought something with me.”
    All I’d brought was a jacket with a stiff collar and some woolen trousers that were slightly stretched at the knees, but I figured they would be good enough. We stood there shivering in silence until the tram pulled in. The snow, which had somehow found its way in through our hats and scarves, formed droplets of icy water and trickled down to the napes of our necks. It was a Christmas of freezing temperatures and driving snow. Identical rectangular houses lined both sides of the road, impassive as soldiers on a midwinter battlefield. The tram passed along the tracks between them, between those houses where curtains hung in the windows and Christmas decorations glittered on candlelit balconies. Three years ago I often got lost here, as there was no way to tell the buildings apart unless you checked the house numbers. On top of that, the area was completely devoid of any kind of landmark, even so muchas a shop with a sign. But I didn’t lose heart even when I realized I was lost, just continued to walk along the same road. Turning to the left, there’s a vacant lot that the locals use as a dump. Large iron bins stand beside flowerbeds. Even in that vacant patch of ground, yellow wildflowers bloom in the spring. Continuing on, the quiet road comes to a sudden end and a very different scene unfolds: a large T-junction appears with trams running along the crisscrossing tracks, each going in different directions. On the corner is a Turkish kebab shop; in the summer, when the weather is good, the shop is given a fresh coat of paint, dazzlingly white, and tables and chairs are set out on the tiny patch of grass that forms the yard, and they sell beer and lamb skewers. I’ve never gone into the shop, even though I’ve walked down this road many times from summer to late autumn, but I always notice it standing there, gleaming like something seen in a dream. Of course, now that it’s winter the shop is closed. On the opposite side of the road is the path leading to the lake, where Joachim takes Benny for walks. If you turn right again, white signposts stand in rows, bearing the house numbers of the identical military buildings, themselves a light green color like soldiers in summer uniform. On both sides of the road the scene that presents itself is so orderly, so repetitive, that it’s almost uncanny. Somewhere among this order is a narrow road leading behind the buildings, adorned with small rectangular gardens. Now, the apple trees and western pear trees, the small artificial lotus ponds, and the brick flower beds all lie under a thick covering of snow. If you follow those small gardens the road leads to the cemetery. Joachim lives on the second floor of the corner building. The first time I came to his house it was around dusk, and the darkness had a reddish tinge as if the landscape had rusted. Alighting from the tram, he’d gestured toward the strange, silent, red-tinted road and said “Welcome to the ghetto.”
    When we arrived they were already sitting gathered in front of the television in the living room, with the window open, sipping cappuccinos while watching a Christmas special. Joachim’s mother Agnes and her boyfriend Bjorn, and Joachim’s twin brother Peter. Joachim headed into the living room and slumped down into a spare place on the sofa, without so much as a single word of greeting. As soon he sat down he opened