The Pegnitz Junction Read Online Free PDF Page A

leaning on Christine. “Read how Bruno bit the other children.”
    “On the contrary, it says on this page that Bruno was an obedient sponge,” said Christine. Raising her head, she looked at Herbert: “But sometimes on those days one feels more. More than just one’s irritation, I mean. Everything opens, like a pomegranate. More things have gone wrong than one imagined. You begin to see that too.”
    “Little Bert has never seen a pomegranate,” said Herbert. There were forms of conversation he simply refused to accept.
    The woman in the corner had sucked up the last drops from the bottom of the can, and now began eating again.
Not
only did I cook thousands of suppers, but they went on diets. Bananas and skimmed milk. The men lasted one day, she lasted two
.
    “The Coca-Cola man,” said little Bert – but no, this time the vendor had powdered coffee and a jug of hot water, which he was selling only to passengers who happened to have cups in their luggage; he had run out of plastic mugs. The woman pulled a pottery stein out of her WINES OF GERMANY bag and bought about an inch of coffee. Drinking it, she fanned herself with her chiffon scarf, complaining, “Too hot, too hot.”
    Half the time they all ate something different – this one rice, that one potatoes, the other one cornflakes and brown sugar. I was the one that stood there dishing it all up. Always on my feet
. After she had finished the coffee she ate grapes, an apple, mint sweets, and raisin cookies.
I never got used to the electric stove. But I had to have it electric. It came from the factory
.
    A smell of rot began to fill the compartment. The grape seeds and stems, the apple core, and the papers the sweets had been in had immediately become garbage. The Norwegian was clearly disturbed – nauseated, in fact. He kept moving in and out to the passage, trying to catch the slightest breath of fresh air. Each time he came back he stared at Christine.
    Christine was conscious of her bare brown arms because she could see the Norwegian eyeing them. She raised them, nervously toying with her scarf. Herbert sat as calm as an incarnation of Buddha, even when their direction changed and the sun fell directly on him; even when the woman beside him shut the window because the hot breeze touched her beehive of hair. He must have been as hot and uncomfortable as the rest of them, but nothing would ever make him say so.
    To escape the Norwegian’s staring, Christine went out to the corridor and stood with her arms resting on the lowered window. She could see a road, a low wall, and a private park filled with shade trees sloping up to a small mock-Gothic castle built of reddish stone. Two cream-coloured cars were drawn up before the gates – the Mercedes belonging to Uncle Ludwig and a Volvo driven by the horrible Jürgen, who was Uncle Ludwig’s contact man. Jürgen was large and strong, weighed more than two hundred pounds, and had a beaked nose and eyes so sunken he looked blind.
    It was like Uncle Ludwig to make everyone get out at the gates instead of driving straight in. He still dressed as he had when he was poor; he had on the trousers of one suit and the jacket of another, a narrow tie bought years ago out of a barrow, and metal-tipped boots. His clothes tended to be loose-fitting because he carried wads of money all over his person, paid everything in cash, kept his records in his head. Uncle Ludwig never carried a gun; Jürgen did. Along with these two, the party included Uncle Bebo, Aunt Barbara, Aunt Eva, Uncle Max, and Uncle Georg with Aunt Milena. These two were father and mother to a little boy who got out last of all and gave his hand to a grandmother. Grandmother was dressed in a long skirt and a blouse of dark blue embroidered with daisies of a lighter blue, so small they looked like dots. Upon the skirt was an apron of yet another blue, with a hem of starched glossy pleats. She was in shades of blue from her chin to her wrists and right down to