The Other Side Read online

  A triumphant ‘Hurrah!’ from a thousand throats greeted the heroes’ success.

  To our general amazement it turned out that the ‘monster’ was a balloon that had come down over the Dream Realm and become entangled in the willows on the river-bank.

  VIII

  Nowhere was the decline of the Dream Realm more clearly reflected than in the goings-on in Mme Adrienne’s popular establishment in the French Quarter. So far it had flourished in discreet silence, guided by occasional advice from venerable greybeards. Now the crème de la creme turned up in magnificent gowns for its interesting–and very stringent–entrance examination, though Castringius’s suggestion of handing out PhDs was rejected. It was not a scientific faculty, he was quietly informed, but a cult.

  The disintegration of cloth led to the invention of the famous slit dresses. Even respectable women, in fact they especially, took this fashion to extremes. They are the ones who are supposed to have come up with the idea of the socalled ‘menus’. I will just give a general indication of what they were and leave the rest to the reader’s imagination.

  I ‘could put it briefly and say: they enjoyed themselves and each other’s company, but that would not give a very precise picture. The ‘menus’ were printed invitations to intimate get-togethers. The apparently innocent dishes–sandwiches, for example, haunch of venison, charlotte russe–concealed technical variants of the art of love which I am sure no reader will want me to go into in detail.

  My old café was also the scene of secret orgies. At least I once saw piles of obscene pictures, mirrors, bath-tubs and mattresses being carried in. I asked the owner what it was all in aid of.

  ‘Oh nothing’, he replied with a smirk, ‘just a little montage, that’s all.’ When I went past in the evening the shutters were closed, which had never happened before. There was a notice stuck across the door: ‘Private party tonight’. From inside came the sound of uproar, odd words could be heard and hideous laughter.

  Some priests who had taken refuge in the city revealed the mysteries of the temple. What the hoi polloi made of them you can well imagine. They didn’t revere the organs of fertility as symbols of esoteric joys and powers, but crudely worshipped them as the gods from whom alone they expected succour. But the greatest of all mysteries, the sacrament of blood, had been disclosed and that leads to madness. It may well have been the cause of the destructive unleashing of physical urges that took place. Given the many dangerous animals there were around, it was natural that people should band together for protection. That was the excuse given for groups sleeping together in tents under one blanket, a protective measure that was referred to by the fine-sounding name of the ‘communal sleeping arrangement’.

  The air was like a baker’s oven; in the pools and inlets along the river small pale-blue flames appeared. The Dream Realm was in permanent twilight.

  Walking through the camp one day, I was struck by how quiet it was. The Dreamlanders were lying there, staring at each other, lids half closed. Everybody seemed dejected and apprehensive. These people were expecting something to happen. All at once the whole plain was filled with the sound of humming, growing louder, and muted laughter. I was seized with terror. It was like the sudden outbreak of some mental illness. Then, with the abruptness of a storm-wind sweeping across a still landscape, the sexes fell upon each other.

  There was no mercy. Sickness, youth, family ties, all were ignored. It was a primal urge no human could ignore. Eyes bulging with lust, everyone sought out a body to cling to.

  I dashed into the brick-works and hid. Through a hole in the wall I observed the ghastly happenings.

  All around there was grunting and groaning, interspersed with shrill screams and the occasional deep sigh. It was a quivering, heaving sea of naked flesh. Being completely unaffected myself, I was sensitive to the meaninglessly mechanical nature of this crude act. I couldn’t help seeing something grotesquely insect-like in the convulsive performance. There was a haze of blood over the whole area and the glare of the camp-fires flickered over the tangle of frenzied flesh, picking out this or that group. I still have a vivid picture of a bearded middle-aged a man squatting on the ground staring between the spread thighs of a pregnant woman and muttering mindlessly to himself. It was like a mad prayer.

  Suddenly I heard loud screeching nearby, of both exultation and pain. To my horror I saw that a blonde whore had castrated a drunk with her teeth. I could see his glassy eyes as he writhed in his own blood. Almost in the same moment an axe descended; her victim had found an avenger. Masturbators withdrew to the dark of the tents while from farther away came cheering: our pets, caught up in the frenzy, were mating.

  But what made the deepest impression on me was the half-asleep, rather blank expression on all the faces, whether pale or flushed, which suggested that these poor people were not acting of their own free will. They were automata, machines which, once set in motion, continued to run on their own. Their minds must have been elsewhere.

  De Nemi arrived in uniform with some of the members of Jacques’ gang; the effect was like adding fuel to the fire. A piano was dragged along and de Nemi hammered out the same hackneyed tune again and again and again. Following commands that had a bestial sound, the drunken Dreamlanders attempted to line up in columns and copulate. Children were set on each other. A reddish mist was rising from the river, but it did not conceal the ghostly inferno from my eyes. Blood lust was aroused! An obscene giant of a fellow jumped up, roaring like a bull, and set on another with a long knife. Murder! Then another! The man had gone berserk. All the love-games stopped. Several women, deathly pale, rolled around on the ground in hysterical convulsions.

  Now from everywhere came the howls of those in the grip of blood lust. Animals would never roar like that! Bitter struggles broke out, men foamed at the mouth and were struck down. The gates of the nearby cellars were smashed and large barrels rolled into the camp. Everyone got drunk. One noisy group went into the swimming pool and some joker locked the doors behind them. For hours you could hear terrified cries for help, but the drunken camp just ignored them. Then it was silent. With taut bellies, a pack of crocodiles slid back into the river.

  Some started digging up fresh graves in the nearby cemetery; a rabid dog, attracted by the smell of blood fell upon a cat that had been run over.

  Then I noticed a creature cowering beside me. It was Brendel, staring at me with a vacant smile. ‘What’s the matter, Brendel?’ I said, trying to shake him gently out of his stupor.

  ‘Melitta’, he said slowly, and laughed silently to himself. It was enough to tell me the poor man had gone out of his mind at the death of his beloved.

  Most of the fires had died out, things had quietened down, and I looked to see whether I could risk leaving my hiding place. All that could be heard were the snores of the drunken masses. There was still one big fire blazing; it was kept going by the wood from the piano. In its glow I saw a broad figure: the American.

  He was in evening dress, as if he were going to a ball, and smoking his inevitable short pipe. As he made his way through the sleeping forms a naked woman sat up and tried to stop him. Crack! A whip cut across her back, leaving a fiery red weal on the white skin. Then he plunged back into the darkness, disappearing in the direction of the city where a booming sound was starting up.

  The American’s hour had come.

  IX

  In the city a special edition of the Voice was being distributed with reports of a new disaster. The great temple had disappeared beneath the waters of the lake. It was monks who brought the news. They suspected the foundations had long since been undermined by the water and that the sandy spoil had now given way. Some priests had drowned as they were singing their hymns. They must have been surprised by death, for the trumpets were still sounding when the building was half under water. Everything happened very quickly, the heavy marble walls sank without collapsing. The holy brothers who had escaped had not noticed the danger until they heard the gurgling of the
water as it poured in through the stained-glass windows. Their fat had given them buoyancy and they had managed to swim to safety. The lights had continued to burn deep under the water, making the temple windows glow like the eyes of some mythical sea monster. One after the other they slowly went out, until only the shimmer of the silver and golden domes was left. Then they too were engulfed beneath the waves. The corpse of the venerable high priest was washed ashore, all the rest found a watery grave in the Dream Lake.

  People mourned the loss of the fabulous treasures that had disappeared beneath the waves. I did especially, since I had never had the opportunity to see them with my own eyes.

  By now the larger animals had all disappeared. That had one disadvantage we hadn’t considered. What were we going to eat? The herds of beasts and swarms of insects had ravaged the fields and gardens. All our supplies were rotting; even eggs, salt beef and smoked pork were going bad. We were facing starvation.

  It was at this point that two sisters from north Germany made a practical suggestion. One had studied chemistry and carried out an ingenious piece of research which she believed had been successful. The pair proposed to gather the dead fish, which were washed up on the banks of the Negro in huge quantities, detoxify them and turn them into edible food. Despite their noble intentions, all the sisters got was pure ingratitude: they were lynched by the outraged mob.

  X

  It was no longer possible to distinguish night from day, and the uniform grey of the permanent twilight made if difficult to find one’s way around. All the clocks had rusted and stopped, so that we had no idea of time. This also makes it impossible for me to say how long the state of dissolution lasted. Now and then we still occasionally saw emaciated beasts of prey, but as soon as a human being approached, they would put their tails between their scraggy legs and flee. The shrivelled remains of snakes were pulled out of dusty corners.

  To prevent the outbreak of disease, the Dreamlanders were ordered to throw all carcases into the river, a directive which could only be carried out to a minimal extent, since the houses were unsafe and no one dared enter them any longer. The city air was polluted by broods of dead snakes and rabbits in their hidden graves. The entrances to buildings gave off the stench of rotting corpses.

  The upper part of Lampenbogen’s apartment block had collapsed. A tall chimney and the rear wall were left towering up into the air so that you could see the apartments in cross section. There were still a few pictures hanging on the floral wallpaper of our former bedroom. Through a large, triangular hole the dirty ceiling of the princess’s reception room could be seen. The dairy had fallen victim to dry rot. Its rampant growth covered doors and windows, causing the whole building to distort. Great white sheets of it hung out of the skylights. The wooden house of the river warden collapsed under the weight of moss on its roof.

  The coffee house died like a coquette who tries to preserve her outward appearance right up to the end and beyond. Externally it looked well preserved, but inside it was filled with the ruins of the upper storey and the attic. One bizarre touch was a single unbroken window-pane through which two tall ant-hills could be seen. A few small white bones were visible and between them stood a chess table on which a perfect checkmate was set out.

  Through the deserted streets I followed my favourite walk down towards the river-bank. Here too was the same scene of desolation. At the knacker’s yard there was such an unholy stench I had to cover my mouth and nose with the rag that served as a handkerchief. On the side towards the river the surrounding wall had collapsed and behind the rubble were mounds of piled-up animal carcases. The air was filled with buzzing and every step disturbed millions of blowflies. I went down to the river to get some fresh air, it was more bearable there than anywhere else. There was not much of the swimming pool left, just a few planks and posts, covered with a thick layer of green slime and snails, sticking out of the water. All at once it became bright. With a violent start, I turned round to see the mill on fire. The windows were filled with the blinding glare of the flames, the rotten beams were sizzling and crackling. Smoke was coming out of the steep shingle roof, a huge tongue of flame blazed up and with a crash the front wall caved in. The machinery, illuminated from within, was still working, it was like looking into a human body that had been cut open. The wheel creaked, the millstone turned, the hopper trembled, clouds of flour spread a light mist over the glow. Greedily the flames engulfed the rotten stairs and ladders, and slowly, almost reluctantly, like the organs of a dying man, one part of the machinery- after another stopped.

  The large bolting hutch was the last to succumb to the flames. Where it had stood I saw an old-fashioned pair of top-boots with half-decayed legs stuck in them, burning beams hid the rest from view. Behind me I heard a hollow voice:

  ‘I did it! I’ve done it four times already and I’ll keep on doing it again and again.’

  It was the miller. He took a pinch of snuff, drew out a razor, tested the edge on his thumb and cut his throat. He fell to the ground and the blood gushed out over his chest, like water from a spring. His face was twisted in a fiendish grimace.

  Sacrilegious thieves crept into the convent church, broke open the tabernacle and stole the bejewelled relics. The nuns could do nothing to stop the burglary, since they were in a sorry plight themselves. A pack of crippled and deformed men, well acquainted with all corners of the convent from their visits to the soup-kitchens, had stormed the hospice. The sisters, who had nothing, even for themselves, rejected their menacing demands for food. With coarse laughter they demanded something else in compensation. The vile horde hobbled and crept closer and closer to the desperate nuns. It was like a witches sabbath. One girl, still young and beautiful, resisted, attacked a fellow with a double goitre and knocked one of his eyes out. As punishment she was tied to an iron bedstead. Creatures lousy with vermin, with noses eaten away, suppurating eyes, chancres the size of a fist, itchy scabs bent over the bound girl and raped her. She first went mad, then died. The rest of the nuns submitted obediently to the unfathomable dictates of providence; only the eighty-year-old mother superior was spared this fate, presumably as a result of her fervent prayers.

  XI

  The American now went round openly as lord of the city, and yet he almost came to a sticky end himself. He turned up outside the bank with his acolytes, intending to fulfil his promise to pay his followers. Everyone was surprised to see the massive door of the large, though admittedly now somewhat ruinous building wide open. An exhaustive search revealed that the main strong-room contained the sum of eighty-three kreuzers; there were no deposit boxes. Jacques, de Nemi and the other pack-leaders gave the American some sceptical looks. ‘Just as I thought’, he cried, furious. ‘Off we go to see Herr Blumenstich.’ They found Blumenstich–the banker–surrounded by rotten flowers in his conservatory. He received the gentlemen with complete calm and a livid complexion: he was dead. He had fled here to escape a swarm of hornets that was pursuing him. As he screamed for all he was worth, one of the insects had stung him on the tongue and he choked to death. Again everyone looked at the American, who this time only said, ‘Damn!’

  ‘You promised to pay us! Give us our gold!’ his angry followers shouted at him.

  ‘Go and get it yourselves from the ruins of the hotel’, the American replied, angry and disappointed.

  Exchanging sinister looks with the others, Jacques, concealing his knife, stepped towards Bell. The American, who had kept a sharp eye on every movement, felled the would-be assassin with one blow of his club. Then, coolly positioning himself with his back against the wall of the conservatory, a Browning in each hand, he asked in ringing tones, ‘Which of you want to be the first sixteen?’

  The gang had expected easier pickings. Those in front ducked and tried to retreat but were pushed forward again by the screaming mob behind. With a sharp crack the shots rang out in quick succession, leaving a wall of corpses round the American, far more than sixteen, each bullet going through several bodie
s. He stood there, bare-headed, in evening dress, broad-shouldered, erect, his short pipe clenched between his teeth. The massive dome of his forehead with its two bumps gave his face a satanic look and his fixed, masterful gaze quelled the raging throng. But there was still pushing from the back. The front ranks gave way under the pressure and fell on top of their dead comrades, creating a tangle of bodies which made it impossible for Bell to move. Only a foot or so in front of him he could see their pale faces, like twisted masks, parodies of the human countenance. His chest was heaving, his lungs working like a steam-engine. Ominous cries of ‘Down with him! Down with him!’ were filling his ears when chance came to his assistance. The sound of vile oaths could be heard approaching, getting louder and louder.

  Shouts of ‘Who is it?’ went up. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Gotthelf Flattich. Gotthelf the Giant. Watch out!’

  A colossal figure, stripped to the waist, was pushing its way through the crowd. The men muttered but stood aside for the negro, who was a good head and a half taller than anyone else. He had been drawn by the shouting and one glance had told him the danger threatening the American.

  ‘Don’t lay a finger on him!’ he bellowed in a voice that could be heard far and wide, at the same time brandishing an iron crowbar in his huge hands. His pupils were rolling angrily in his black face. He knocked those closest to him to the ground and thus saved the life of his former benefactor.

  XII