War & War by László Krasznahorkai

Author:László Krasznahorkai
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780811220118
Publisher: New Directions
Published: 2006-04-16T20:00:00+00:00

V • TO VENICE

1.

It was about quarter past two at night and even from a distance you could tell that he was very drunk, since from the moment he came through the door and bellowed Maria’s name he kept blundering against the wall, and the sound of repeated thumps, scufflings and curses made that fact ever more unambiguously clear as he drew closer while she did her best to snuggle under the eiderdown showing neither feet nor hands, not even her head, but hid and shuddered, hardly daring to breathe, flattening herself against the wall so that there should be the greatest possible room left in the bed and so that she should occupy the smallest possible space—but just how drunk he really was could not be properly gauged from inside the room, only once, after a long struggle, he managed to find the door handle and turn it so the bedroom door was flung open, when it became obvious that he was on the point of losing consciousness, and then he did indeed collapse on the threshold, collapsed as soon as the door opened, and there was perfect silence, neither the interpreter nor the woman moving a muscle, she beneath the covers using every muscle to suppress her breathing so that her heart beat loud with fear, an effort she could not maintain forever with the result that, precisely because of the strain involved in trying to keep absolutely quiet, she finally gave a little groan under the sheets then spent minutes in petrified stillness, but still nothing happened, and there was no sound except the radio of the neighbor downstairs where the deep bass of Cold Love, by Three Jesus boomed faintly on without the petulant whine of the singer or the howl of the synthesizer, the bass alone penetrating to the upper floor, continuous yet fuzzy, and eventually she, thinking it possible at last that the interpreter would remain where he was now till the morning, tentatively put her head above the cover to take stock of the situation and maybe help a little, at which point, astonishingly and with extraordinary vigor, the interpreter leapt from the threshold as if the whole thing had been some kind of joke, sprang to his feet and swaying a little, stood in the doorway and with a possibly intentional evil half-smile on his face stared at the woman on the bed, until, just as unexpectedly, his expression suddenly became deadly serious, his eyes grew harder and as sharp as two razors, terrifying her to the extent that she dared not even cover herself with the sheet but simply trembled and hugged the wall as the interpreter once again bellowed MARIA, strangely extending the “i” as if mocking her or in hatred of her, then stepped over to the bed and with a single movement tore first the covers then her nightdress off her so she did not even dare to scream as the nightdress ripped across her body but crouched

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