A Greater Music Read Free Page B

unmelted piles and scattered it into the air. Joachim had been in a bad mood all day, perhaps because of the imminent family gathering. In fact, he’d wanted to skip the whole thing, catch a bus straight from the airport to the train station, then jump on the first train to Schleswig-Holstein. But I didn’t have the money for yet another trip, and besides, several years ago I’d gone on holiday to East Asia over Christmas, so I knew what a bad idea it was to travel at that time of year. All the tourist attractions are closed, and the only thing haunting the deserted streets is your own solitary shadow. In the mornings, while you spread subway tickets out on the table at the guesthouse, after breakfast and coffee; while reading the information boards in a woodland park that seems once to have been a mountaintop castle, strewn with the wreckage of broken armaments or the detritus of some bygone aristocratic hunt; while browsing the Christmas market in the square; at all times, and in all places, your thoughts revolvesolely around deciding where to visit next. But then, I’d known in advance that it would be like that, that everything would be desolate and I would end up wandering around on foot, shivering in the cold. In fact, I came to realize that the 1,500 kilometers I’d traveled had only served to further the distance between myself and my original goal. It was a goal that simply could not be attained. I struggled to explain to Joachim about that holiday to the East. That holiday of which I had never spoken to anyone, when I took the night train far away with heavy bags and a heavier heart, yet was ultimately unable to break free from myself. But Joachim just couldn’t grasp what I was trying to say. “What on earth is that supposed to mean? ‘Break free from myself,’ you mean like dying or going crazy? So your holiday was pointless, I can’t understand what that has to do with Christmas. And besides, Schleswig-Holstein isn’t exactly East Asia, is it?” This wasn’t entirely unreasonable; right up until our last goodbye, I’d been dreaming of traveling to the north. But not now. After breakfast we take our dog Benny for a walk. The sun is shining through a gap in the clouds though, as usual, the cold wind makes our skin feel tight. We walk in silence, along the same route we always take. Sometimes Benny stops to have a sniff around, and if he catches a scent or just absent-mindedly flops down on the ground, we stop walking too, and stare at the wood of denuded larches, their outlines stark and bare. In the wood there is a small lake, completely frozen over at this time of year. People go there to skate. We walk over the frozen lake. Benny barks nervously as soon as we step out onto the ice, perhaps disliking the cold, slippery sensation beneath his feet, and speeds off to the far bank. Heeding Benny’s distrust of the ice, we decide against crossing the lake and stroll around the edge instead, watching the skaters. Joachim doesn’t have a jacket, so is wrapped up in two sweaters, a hat and a black muffler. At times he looks more like a “Peter” than a “Joachim.” My love.Joachim calls Benny in a low voice. My love, stay. We’re coming right back. Good boy, my love.
    We walked up and down, having assured ourselves that the lake ice was solid and not likely to break. Snow had erased the contours of the paths through the wood, rendering them indistinguishable from the surroundings, but the footprints of people and their dogs were outlined sharp against the whiteness. Wild rose bushes hung with small, hard, red fruit formed a low hedge, and every time the wind blew the high, snow-laden branches quivered and creaked ominously. Hulking crows perched on ice-covered branches that glittered silver when struck by the low, slanting rays of the winter sun. Soon, though, swiftly gathering clouds obscured all traces of its presence in the sky. It