As he crouched beside the organ grinder, the old man opened his eyes and tried hard to smile. You've walked a long way, he said, stifling a cough, where did you go? How did you know? Hans said, surprised. You're a witch! Don't be silly, the old man said, your boots are muddy, very muddy. Ah, of course, grinned Hans, I took a short cut and got lost. I'm going to let you into a secret, said the organ grinder,
kof
, listenâdo you know what you have to do in order not to get lost in Wandernburg? Always take the longest route.
Hans heard the sound of someone dismounting, and looked outside to see who it was. The air had congealed, the sun was drawing away from things. I thought I'd find you here, Ãlvaro said, embracing him. Hans could smell a mixture of horse's
mane and women's perfume on his shirt. How is he? asked Ãlvaro. (Hans shrugged.) And your publisher? (Not terribly pleased with me, said Hans, I'm late with all my work.) And Sophie? (I wish I knew, said Hans.) Suddenly, the organ grinder gave a cry and they went inside the cave. They found him talking in his sleep. Is he often delirious? asked Ãlvaro. Sometimes, answered Hans, dabbing the old man's face, it depends, these past days his temperature has gone up. Yesterday, he was so feverish he wasn't himself at all. I think he's slightly better today.
Seeing his master was being looked after, Franz went out to scavenge for food. His eyes filled with sky. The horizon raced. The light scattered the clouds, like a torch spreading panic.
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The fever raged and calmed, flared up and went cold, it climbed the organ grinder's brow then yielded a little, letting him rest. Hans was sleeping four hours a night and had asked his publisher for a week's grace.
Hey, Hans, the old man spluttered. Ah, Hans turned round, you're awake? I'm always awake, replied the old man,
kof
, especially when I'm asleep. Hans wasn't sure if this was the fever talking or if he was serious. Hey, guess what I dreamt about? the organ grinder said. Something amazing,
kof
, I always say that, but this is special, see what you think, I dreamt about a man who had two backs. Hans stared at him with a mixture of surprise and alarm. He tried to imagine the man with two backs, to form a clear image of such a creature, until it made him shudder. The man with two backs would spend his life looking in two directions, leaving everywhere twice, or arriving and leaving everywhere he went at the same time.
So,
kof
, tell me, said the organ grinder, do you think dreams speak the truth? Who knows, said Hans trying to stop thinking about the man with two backs, although Novalis said dreams occur somewhere between the body and the soul, or at a moment
when body and soul are chemically joined. (I see,
kof
, said the old man, and does that mean dreams speak the truth?) Well, more or less. (Just as I thought, said the organ grinder, closing his eyes.)
Hey, Hans, said the organ grinder, opening his eyes, are you still there? (I am, I am, he replied, dabbing his brow with a damp cloth.) I'm bored, Hans, I haven't,
kof
, played my barrel organ for days,
kof
, how long has it been? If I can't,
kof
, if I can't play it I become bored, and so does he (Hans glanced at the back of the cave and couldn't help feeling a pang when he saw the bulky instrument a blanket draped over it),
kof
, that's what I regret most, Franz and I have no music,
kof
, we spend hours listening to the wind.
Kof
, Hans, hey Hans, the old man woke up again, talk to me about something (what, for instance? asked Hans), anything, whatever comes into your head, you talk about lots of things (I don't know, he hesitated, you've caught me unprepared, let me see, I can't think of anything, actually I can),
kof
, I thought so! (I'll go on telling you about Novalis, the fellow I just mentioned, do you remember?)
Kof
, of course I do, I'm dying, not suffering from amnesia (you're not dying), yes, yes I am, go on. (Well, I've just remembered something he said about your favourite subject.) Barrel organs,
kof
? (No, no, dreams.) Ah, excellent. (I think he said that while we sleep the body digests the soul's perceptions, that is, a dream is like the stomach of the soul, do you see? Hey, organ grinder, are you awake?) Yes,
kof
, I'm thinking.
Hey, Hans, listen. (You're awake already, are you thirsty?) Yes, thanks, but tell me, so,
kof
, let's see if I've understood this properly, when the body has digested what the soul has eaten, yes?
Kof
, when there are no more dreams to digest we wake up hungry?
Kof
, Hans, hey ⦠(Yes?) I'm ⦠(Thirsty? Do you want more water?) No thanks, no, not thirsty,
kof
, I'm afraid. (Afraid of
dying?) No, not of dying, you die, and then it's over,
kof
, in a flash, I don't know if it's painful,
kof
, but I'm accustomed to physical pain, you see? No, I'm afraid for my barrel organ, Hans, my barrel organ,
kof
,
kof
, who will play the tunes? Come here, come closer. (What is it? What is it?) I want you to do something for me (anything you ask),
kof
, I want you to find out how to say
barrel organ
in as many different languages as you can, I'd like it very much if you could tell me the names,
kof
, I need to hear them, will you do that for me, Hans, will you do that for me?
Â
Light seeped from the afternoons like milk from a broken jug. The first snows had come, settling on the branches. An icy wind whipped the countryside. The old man's coughing fits had given way to something altogether denser, deeper, inside his chest cavity. Hans had to sit right next to him in order to hear what he was saying. The lilt had gone from his voice, the air escaped from his lungs. He didn't speak so much as gasp. As soon as he saw Hans come in, he struggled to sit up. Do you have them? he breathed. Did you bring the names? Hans pushed aside the stale knot of sheets, straw, woollen covers. He sat down on the pallet. He clasped the old man's fleshless hand and fished his notebook out of his pocket.
You already know that as well as
Leierkasten
, Hans said, still holding his hand, we also call it a
Drehorgel
. (I've never liked that name, the organ grinder whispered, I prefer
Leierkasten
, that's what I've always called it.) And apart from that, where shall we begin? Let me see, well, for instance in Italian they call it
organetto di Barberia
(the name has humour, don't you think? said the organ grinder. It's a festive name), and it's very similar in Frenchâ
orgue de barbarie
(those Frenchmen! chuckled the organ grinder as Hans pronounced the words), the Dutch have lots of names for it, there's one similar to the one you don't like, I'd best
leave that out, but there's another very simple oneâ
straatorgel.
(Excellent, yes, sir, the organ grinder said approvingly, that's exactly what it is, did you know the barrel organ originated there, in Holland?) No, I didn't, I thought we'd invented it, what others,
lirekasse
in Danish. (That's a good one, very good, it sounds like they copied it from us, doesn't it?) Possibly, or maybe we copied it from the Danes (impossible, impossible, the German barrel organs are older), well, shall I go on? In Swedish they say
positiv
(excellent, excellent), the Norwegians call it
fataorgan
(that sounds like a name for a bigger instrument), the Portuguese say
realejo
(unusual, but pretty), in Polish it's
katarynka
(wonderful! This one has a tinkle), and after that, well, the English have various names for it, according to its size and what it's used for, you know? (That's logical, the English are so pragmatic.) Let's see, for instance they call it a
barrel organ
(aha), also a
fair organ
(quite right), then there's another,
street organ
(good, good), and here's my favouriteâ
hurdy-gurdy
(oh yes! For children!) â¦
When Hans had finished telling him the names, the organ grinder remained lost in thought. Pretty, he nodded at last with a smile that grew weaker, they're very pretty, thank you, I feel much better now. A fleeting sense of relief seemed to relax his face. Almost immediately, the spasms made it tense up again.
Â
He's stopped coughing, said Hans, is that a good sign? I'd say it was inevitable, replied Doctor Müller.
The organ grinder would gaze for hours glassy-eyed at the roof of the cave, or whimper in his sleep, before waking abruptly. Breathing appeared painful, as though instead of air he were inhaling a thick liquid. His ghostly voice was almost lost in his beard. It was difficult helping him to relieve himself. Washing half his body was an achievement. His limbs were greasy, his hair a matted lump, his skin covered in bites from bedbugs. He looked repulsive, beautiful in his own way, deserving of infinite love.
Kitted out with blankets and clothes from the inn, Hans had slept several nights at the caveâhe had resolved to stay there until the end. Ãlvaro brought them a daily hamper of food. That morning Hans had also asked him to bring a book by Novalis. I need to commune with him, Hans had said. When his friend handed him the volume, Hans startedâthis wasn't the volume he'd asked for, which he had told him was lying on the desk, it was another he kept in the trunk (or at least so he thought). Had Ãlvaro discovered the key to his trunk? Had he rifled through its contents? What else had he seen? Hans looked straight at him. He couldn't tell. Nor did he ask.
Towards nightfall, against a backdrop of watery snow, Hans felt his eyelids begin to close. Soon afterwards, in the dark, he was awoken by a sound like a branch breaking. The snow had stopped. He fanned the flames, turned to the old man and discovered the source of the noise. It wasn't branches breaking, it was his lungs. He was groaning, his face straining. The cold air blew in through the mouth of the cave, yet it scarcely left the old man's mouth. What's the matter? Hans drew closer. What is it? Nothing, said the organ grinder, I'm nothing now, it feels like someone else is going.
Hey, organ grinder, Hans called out, are you still there? I don't know, the old man replied. What a fright! said Hans. For a moment I thought ⦠Soon, soon, groaned the organ grinder. Listen, Hans drew closer, there's something I want to ask you, that is, I don't want to, I have to, I'm sorry, but, where do you want to be buried? Me? replied the old man. Leave me here, please. What do you mean here? Where? Here, anywhere, replied the old man, spread out on the ground. What do you mean on the ground! Hans protested, don't you at least want a respectable burial! There's no need, thanks, said the old man, if you leave me on the ground the crows and vultures will eat my corpse, and if they bury me it'll be the maggots and the
ants. What's the difference?
Hey, Hans, hey, whispered the organ grinder, are you asleep? No, no, Hans yawned, do you need anything? No, said the old man, I just wanted to ask you to tidy up the cave a bit when it happens.
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The organ grinder had not spoken all day. He had stopped turning in his bed. He no longer groaned. He was silent and wide-awake. His features looked as if they were etched in charcoal. His expression was one of pain and apathy, like someone who prefers not to know what he knows. Next to him, alert, in darkness, Hans felt that this waiting was at once the ultimate loneliness and the closest companionship.
Suddenly, the old man began to pray softly. Hans looked at him, alarmed. That very morning, he had offered to fetch a priest, but the old man had refused. Without really knowing what to do, he kissed his grubby beard. He placed his mouth close to his ear and asked if he wanted a ceremony. The old man opened his stiff lips slightly, squeezed his wrist and said: This is the ceremony.
Franz came over and licked his master's fingers. Hans instinctively glanced towards the cave entrance, even though he knew no one would come: Ãlvaro had already been by with the hamper, Lamberg was at the factory, and he wasn't expecting Doctor Müller. The brutal simplicity of the moment took him by surprise. They were together, alone, and there would be nothing more. Not even a great pronouncement. The organ grinder had spoken many words of wisdom during his illness, and now, at the end, he was silent. He only looked at Hans, a brittle smile on his lips, clutching his hand, like a child about to make a courageous leap. Unable to bear the silence, Hans asked: A little more water, some wine, what would you like? The organ grinder moved his head almost imperceptibly and
said: I'd like to breathe. Then he closed his eyelids, inhaled, and that was all.
Hans stared at him, incredulous. He did not weep yet. He remained motionless for a few moments, like someone who has broken a glass and dares not open his hand. Then, slowly, he stood up, forcing himself to be aware of every movement. He resolved not to look at the bed, not to break down completely until he had kept his promise. He went round the cave, tidying up, gathering the tools, picking things up from the floor. When he reached the barrel organ, he went weak at the knees. He paused, stepped away, approached once more and pulled off the blanket covering it. On the lid of the barrel organ he found a note weighted with a stone. The note was a scrawl that said: “Hans”.