The Other Side Read online

  Gautsch paused.

  ‘But there is one thing I still don’t understand’, I interjected. ‘According to what system does Patera buy the houses?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s something I don’t know either’, Gautsch replied. ‘They are all old properties. Some are even falling down and would be worthless to anyone else; others, though, are solid and well preserved. They come from all over Europe. The master himself designated each one individually so one must presume these buildings, both wood and stone and gathered together from different parts, must have some particular significance for him. Why else would he have invested millions in founding this city?’

  ‘How much money does this man have then, for goodness sake?’ I exclaimed, astounded.

  ‘Ah, well, if we knew that‘, was his melancholy reply. ‘I have been in his employment for ten years and have certainly paid out close on two hundred million for purchases, compensation, transport and other goods and services. There are agents like myself in all parts of the world. It is impossible even to guess at the extent of Patera’s wealth.’

  I gave a groan. ‘I believe you, sir, but I still don’t understand. It all sounds so mysterious. Well, go on, go on. What is life there like?’

  ‘I’ll try to explain some things. To tell you everything would be impossible, there isn’t time for that. And anyway, I don’t live there permanently, I just visit from time to time. What kind of thing would you like information on?’

  I was naturally interested in artistic matters so Gautsch told me what he knew about the arts in the Dream Realm.

  ‘We don’t have special museum buildings or art galleries. We don’t pile up valuable works of art, but you will find many an exceptional individual piece. Everything is shared out, “in use”, so to speak. I must say, though, that I cannot recall a single case of a more recent painting, bronze or other art object being purchased. The 1860s are the absolute limit. I can tell you from my own experience that I despatched a crate of good Dutch paintings, including two Rembrandts, myself a few years ago, so they must be there now. Patera is more a collector of antiquities than of art, though on the grand scale. As I have already explained, he buys extensive building complexes. But there is even more! He has an unbelievable memory and can remember almost all the objects in his realm. We agents purchase them to order. We often receive lists of the desired objects with precise details of their appearance, where to find them and who owns them. These goods are acquired, often at the highest prices, and then carefully packed and sent to Pearl. And quite a task that is too’, he added. ‘I often find it incomprehensible where he gets his immense knowledge of these things. Although I have been in his employment for many years now and might be expected to be used to anything, I keep on being amazed. Valuable articles and what is clearly trash are both demanded with the same insistence. How often have I visited people, from respectable city-dwellers to peasants living in remote mountain areas, and had to rummage through their cellars and lofts looking for some old piece of rubbish. The people themselves often have no idea that they possess the thing, a broken chair, an old cigar-lighter, a pipe-rack, an egg-timer or whatever. Sometimes, when the object is too trifling, they just laugh and let me have it for nothing. Quite often I have great difficulty persuading the people they actually possess the object I’m looking for, but we always find it in the end. It’s usually the wily peasant who takes the fattest cut. Yes, I’ve plenty to keep me occupied. Only last week I received a consignment of old pianos. There were some very worn-out ones among them.’

  ‘Oh, I just love old junk’, -l interjected.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’d feel very much at home there. We have everything you need. Good food, not to be compared with the usual swill travellers get in the orient. Housing is comfortable and you’ll find lively society everywhere. There’s even an excellent coffee house. What more could you want?’

  ‘You’re quite right there’, I cried with feeling. ‘There’s nothing better than a well-ordered, simple existence. But the inhabitants, the people. Who do you meet over there?’

  The agent cleared his throat, his spectacles flashed and he went on, ‘That’s true. I haven’t told you about the people yet. Well, just like everywhere else, there are some delightful characters among them.’

  ‘For example?

  ‘Well, for a start there is our well-educated, respectable middle class, also the numerous officials … the army too, they’re nice and presentable, you often see officers around … then we mustn’t forget the large number of erudite scholars and, finally, all those characters who escape precise classification, circus performers, freelance artists and the like, just like everywhere else: ..’

  ‘And above all my friend, the Master himself?’ I interjected.

  ‘You probably won’t meet him that often. Patera is too busy, weighed down with work. The responsibility! Just think of it! Of course’, he went on hastily, ‘they’re all people who fit into the whole. You, as far as I am aware, were selected because certain of your drawings made an impression on the Master. As you see, you are not entirely unknown there … In order to preserve the purity of the way of life, the style of life there it is necessary, as I mentioned before, to shut off the outside world entirely. Ensuring that is the overriding aim of the Master’s policy. And indeed, so far we have been successful in keeping out those who do not belong there.’

  I expressed my enthusiastic support for these ideas. In my mind I had resolved to accept the invitation and was already looking forward to a rich artistic harvest from the whole adventure.

  How weak, how unpredictable is the human heart! Had I known then, when the idea of going there began to form within me, had I had even a vague premonition of the tragedies I would undergo, I would not have accepted the invitation and would probably be a different person today.

  IV

  At this point in the narrative I feel I should add that at that time I was very close to fulfilling a wish that had long been close to my heart. This was a journey to Egypt and India which until now had been impossible for financial reasons. My wife had just received a small legacy and the money was to be used for that journey. But, as always in life, things turned out differently from what we had imagined. When I told Gautsch about this plan he immediately expressed the idea that had occurred to me.

  ‘Simply swap projects. Instead of India, go to the Dream Realm.’

  ‘But what about my wife? I don’t want to travel without her.’

  ‘I have been instructed to invite her as well. If I forgot to mention it previously I do so now.’

  I still had some misgivings, however. My wife was not of a strong constitution and could not be expected to take on an arduous journey.

  The agent immediately reassured me. ‘That will not be a problem’, he said. ‘The general level of health in the Dream Realm is excellent. Pearl is on the same latitude as Munich, but the climate is so mild that even the most neurasthenic soon feel fit and well again. A large proportion of the inhabitants used to be regular residents in clinics and sanatoriums.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right then. In that case I accept’, and I shook Gautsch joyfully by the hand.

  ‘And as far as the expenses for the journey are concerned’–he had a rapid look round the room before going on–‘you would have no objections to a small advance, I presume?’

  Jokingly I laughed, ‘Well, if you insist on giving me a thousand marks, why not?’

  At this Patera’s agent just shrugged his shoulders, took out his cheque-book, scribbled down a few words and handed me the slip of paper.

  It was a cheque drawn on the Reichsbank for 100,000 marks.

  V

  Whenever we hear tell of something fantastic, something far from everyday reality, there is always a tiny residue of doubt left in us. And a good thing too! Otherwise we would be easy dupes for anyone with a good story to tell or the first conman to come along. For that reason we are much more easily convinced by things we see than by things we hea
r. That is what happened in my case. I was already more or less prepared to trust Gautsch, but when I saw this huge sum, a small fortune to me, when I actually held it in my hand, a strange feeling came over me. I trembled and there were tears in my eyes as I said, ‘My dear sir, you must excuse me, but I find it difficult to put my gratitude into words. Not for all this money. Oh no. But, you see, when one has spent all one’s life seeking after the fantastic and it suddenly comes to one, then that is a moment of great wonder. And that is what I, through your kind offices, have been privileged to experience today. Please accept my thanks for it.’

  That, more or less, was the way I expressed myself, such was my excitement. Gautsch, who, as it seemed to me, had also turned very solemn, replied in words which showed great sensitivity. ‘Sir, I am only doing my duty. I am pleased if that gives you joy, but you should not thank me, but one mightier than me, in whose name I act. One further piece of advice I can give you: say nothing of what you have learnt today, do not speak to anyone about it. Your wife excepted, of course. I cannot say what the consequences of any violation of this rule of ours would be. But Patera’s power is great and he wants the Dream Realm to remain a secret.’

  Aha, caught you there, I thought. ‘In that case wasn’t it perhaps rather rash of you to tell me so much about it?’ I pointed out. ‘You couldn’t possibly know what my response would be.’

  ‘That is not quite true, sir. I knew you would come.’

  He shook me by the hand and turned towards the door. ‘It is getting late now. I will return tomorrow at the same time to give you all the information you need regarding the journey. Discuss it with your wife and give her my best regards. Good evening.’

  And with that, he was gone.

  The ten minutes I had to wait until my wife came back from her shopping seemed endless. I felt a desperate compulsion to speak, to communicate my extraordinary news, I needed someone to talk to … There she was.

  The surprise I was hoping for came to nothing. My wife could tell how excited I was from the look on my face. Although she paid close attention to the incredible things I had to tell her, she could not resist the mocking question, ‘Are you sure you’re all right, dear?’

  ‘Of course I am, my love. At first I assumed Gautsch was some kind of swindler or madman as well, but I gradually became convinced of his honesty and generosity.’ With a triumphant gesture I played my trump card, the cheque. For my wife, too, it was more effective than words. She did insist I should check that it was genuine first thing in the morning, but then we got down to discussing all the details and arrangements necessary for the journey.

  ‘Of course, the picture. Let me see it.’

  The effect was surprising. After she had looked at it for a long time, she leant back in her chair and whispered, as if resigned to her fate, ‘Do we really have to go there? I don’t like the look of that man. I don’t know what it is, but there’s some thing terrible about him.’

  She was close to tears.

  ‘Now what’s all this, my dear?’ I embraced her with a laugh. ‘That’s my old friend Patera, as nice a chap as you could hope to meet. If he wants to spend all his money on artistic ventures then I think all the better of him for that.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should make further enquiries first of all?’

  ‘I don’t know what you think I’ll find out. I’m willing to vouch for my friend and we’ll know tomorrow whether the cheque’s valid. I think the Dream Realm’s a magnificent idea, and we were going to go to India anyway. But then you pour cold water on anything I want to do.’

  My tone had become reproachful and I tried to reassure her. Eventually she came round to my way of seeing it and even called her outburst neurotic.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll love it there. And think of the stimulation for my work … And then the money, that’s lavish, isn’t it?’

  She was reassured, her serene self again, and immediately occupied herself with the practical questions of the move. I, on the other hand, was already thinking of myself as a Dreamlander and gave my imagination free rein … I kept looking at the picture and the cheque and fell a little in love with both …

  It was already starting to get light before we fell asleep.

  VI

  I was waiting outside the bank an hour before it opened. In return for Gautsch’s slip of paper I received a thick, thrice-counted wad of banknotes. Once I had this small fortune in my hands I could not get into a cab fast enough to get it safely locked away.

  At home there was a letter from Gautsch for me. He was very sorry, he said, but he couldn’t come back. New orders made that impossible. He strongly urged us, given the likelihood of winter storms on the two sea-crossings we would have to make, to set off as soon as possible. He wished us all the best for the future. Enclosed with the letter was the route: Munich-Constanta-Batumi-Baku-Krasnovodsk-Samarkand. There we would be expected at the railway station, our arrival had been announced, he said. I was to use the picture of Patera as identification.

  We had already decided to dispose of our apartment and effects. With my excellent wife in charge, all the preparations for our great journey went smoothly. My state of exhilaration lasted right to the end, though on the last day we spent in our old home I did feel a twinge of melancholy. I don’t know if others are the same, but I always find saying farewell to places that have become dear to me a painful business. I was leaving behind another piece of my life which from now on would exist in memory alone. I went to the window. Outside it was dark, everything bare and autumnal, the sounds of the city muted. My heart ached and I looked up at the sky. It was studded with tiny stars. Then I felt the comfort of an arm round me.

  The next day was a Friday. We were due to leave by the evening train and spent most of it in a hotel by the station. I already had two Orient Line tickets for Constanta in my pocket. I said goodbye to any acquaintances I happened to meet, casually remarking that we were off to India. At nine o’clock in the evening we were in our seats on the train.

  Chapter 2: The Journey

  I

  I will deal with this next part as quickly as I can. There is no shortage of travel writing, most of it much better than I can supply.

  Everyone knows the bustle and press of a rail journey. Once we were beyond Budapest the country took on a slight Asiatic air, but I won’t go into that. I wouldn’t want to damage the sales of my book in Hungary. At least by the time we reached Belgrade I had so far settled down that I wasn’t feeling my breast pocket every ten minutes to make sure my bulging wallet was still there. You don’t need to let everyone know where you keep your money, especially not in Serbia.

  I generally find I suffer from slight irritation in railway compartments. This time it was considerably better. We did, of course, travel in the greatest possible comfort. I spent my time daydreaming and looking forward to all the pleasures in store for me. If only my wife had been a little more cheerful. Unfortunately she just lay there, brooding and complaining of headaches.

  Once we were past Bucharest, though, I had had enough myself. Spending two nights in a train is no small matter, however comfortable it may be. For the last few hours of the journey we were almost like wild beasts in a cage.

  Thus it was that when the Black Sea hove into view in the early morning we had been standing in the corridor for some considerable time, all ready to get off. The sun was just rising as we came into Constanta. There was a great deal of wrangling over luggage.

  The steamer which was to take us to Batumi belonged to Austrian Lloyd. It was clean and comfortable, which had a therapeutic effect on my wife. After a nice bath she had fully recovered from the rail journey and was enjoying the beautiful weather and the sea. I stood on the afterdeck watching the mainland disappear … Europe … Soon all that was left of the coast was a thin line on the horizon. That too disappeared. I strained my eyes and for a long time I persuaded myself I could still see it.