Feel comfortable in summer rain

H. C. Artmann:
The aeronautical Sindtbart
or
Strange aerial trip from Lower California to Crain

A fragment
brought from the yucatec in 1958 into german by the author himself


Twentieth Evening avt Capitul:



prope illinc in abditis latitabat qvidam robvstvs rvsticvs, Crysticleik nomine, cvm viragine sva, qvi mvliercvlis & pveris ac jvvenibus insidiabantvr, &, tanqvam lvpi eos strangulantes de ipsorvm carnibvs victitabant.

Fordun's Scoticron. II

The print princess of Alpuxarra had her window opposite mine. Then I looked over at her and she at me. On that day it happened to rain against all habit, well, it wasn't a special rain. It was a fine, lukewarm trickle, as it would actually have looked better in the green face of the british islands, because this voivodsch manages Naples. The weather is totally twisted these days, I said to myself, looking up from the letters I had thought to deal with. Basically, this beautiful rain was an extremely graceful recreation for me. The thunder rumbled like a full dog from the surrounding mountains, not too loud, not too quiet its rumble, the rumble of a dreaming dog that ate well and dearly. Sometimes this jovial rumor rose stronger. Then it sounded like the hasty unloading of a car full of floorboards. Lightning did not discharge, the thunderstorm itself had to be very far away from us, somewhere in the northeast, the rocks and crevices of a mountain break through. Perhaps I could even have observed a glow in the weather, alone, in the deep-pitched loneliness of my writing room, this twitching heavenly light was a hidden natural phenomenon to me.

I put down my writing materials and went to the tall window. The rain fell softly but incessantly into the grass, which seemed to separate our rooms like a small river, a small green river with white foam crowns, this is what it looked like through the hemlock bushes, almost as high as a man, which grew pale and high out of the grass. Thanks to the lazy gardeners that this beautiful poison spreads so wonderfully in all the meadows. Who could look at more beautiful than a fresh hemlock in the summer rain that blooms in front of a girl's window and that, as it seemed to me, did not unintentionally combed her brown hair, although it would never have been disheveled or even adorned. Which ones!

The pretty, slim print princess of Alpuxarra, the slender hemlock at the court of the ruling bishop of Naples, the lady with the purple eyes who could chase her little trusting maid from smelling bottle to smelling bottle, but in a moment "girl" said, "me." would like to have your hands! Come on, cut them off for me and you, they are so delicate and nimble. . «, The red-lipped huntress, just as the partridges pelted out of the air, so that the dogs hardly knew where from and where, the listener of devilish stories that the brave ursus from time to time like so much from the flour drawer of his father's house draws out. . But why was she so pale when the talk came to old Zopetz? Red as blood and brown as honey, but suddenly pale like the rain-soaked hemlock that divided the afternoon between you and me in two.

I got up and went to the window so that she had to see me closely, because she too was standing at the window and was still combing her hair. I picked up the phone and dialed her number, but I didn’t let my eyes wander, but could ignore any movement she was about to make. A print process number, a hemlock number. A number made of hemlock, light rain and an afternoon that stretches out as if behind every wallpaper in the salon there were frivolous blue angels fresh out of the rain. . The phone of the print princess of Alpuxarra was also on the window. The bell rang, the hemlock girl answered:

- Yes? -

She looked over at me and smiled. She had apparently been prepared for me to call her now. Maybe I should have called her earlier. Why has she been combing her honey brown hair in front of my nose for an hour? Or is she doing it to love the beautiful rain? I could pretty much imagine doing something to love the rain. Not the pouring, all-soaking rain, but this lovely, mild summer rain that conjures up naked girls in all the wallpaper of the castle. . Why shouldn't one do anything to love a rain like this?

- Yes? -

- It's still raining, printzessin. . -

- Yes, it's still raining. . -

- It's a magic rain. . -

- Oh yes, it is really a magic rain, I would like to give him something, I would like, how should I say? I want to do something to love him. . - Strange, I was just thinking about doing something to love this rain, and now the girl in the window across the street is saying the same thing. .

- What would you like to do to love him, printzessin? -

- I want to be attacked by him, I want to go through him, I would like to lie down in him, completely inside, stretched out inside him between the high hemlocks. . Have you noticed the hemlock that has blossomed between you and me? He wasn't there yesterday. . -

- The hemlock is poisonous, printzessin, but I love it. I want to love the hemlock as you love the rain! -

- Are you afraid of water, captain? -

- Not in the rain, printzessin. . -

- I have to hang up now, captain, I have an appointment with the rain. . -

The print princess hung up the phone and I said into her ivory-white mouth, since she could never hear it, but could see it:

“I wish to be the one who falls on the poison hemlock from all sides. . "

The print princess smiled in the window and disappeared into the dark green of the background. A firm, narrow stroke, an Arabic alif, written in green ink on a fresh maple leaf and fading. .

I left my room, ran down the stairs, crossed the cool hall and stepped out into the maple-colored rain, which immediately ran into my hair and through the shirt collar on my chest and back. I took off my shoes and kicked them back into the posh hall with a flick of the foot. So i stepped on the wet lawn and wiped the granular sand from the soles, because i had to take the yellow path that led past this portal beforehand. As I wiped through the sharp grass, I cut myself a little between the first two toes. . I bent down and pushed the blood away. It burned like saltz, but then I saw the beautiful print princess, just as drenched as I myself. She too had taken off her shoes, her silk dress stuck darkly to her body, her hair was now held in place by an ordinary rubber ring à la horse tail. It had turned almost purple from the rain. Honey from the unfathomably hidden honeycombs of the forest bee. . I wiped the warm rain from my face:

- It's still raining, printzessin. .

- She tossed her purple-brown hair backwards with a strong movement of her head and smiled at me:

- My rain doesn't go that fast, and besides, I want to do something nice to him! -

- Why is it you rain, printzessin? Isn't he mine too? As you can see, he's drenched me just as much as you. . -

- They must have this rain me let go, captain. You have your hemlock. Or do they not like him anymore because they are so close to him now? Are you afraid that he might poison you too severely? -

- No, hemlock. . -

- That's good, rain. . -

We walked deeper and deeper into the vast park through the endless forest of drops, the beautiful smooth and grotesque crooked statues bathed silently and glistening, the thunder from the mountains was already much closer and the rain was now falling unchecked from all the clouds on us . We sat down on a stone bench that stood under the trees. .

- Here the rain is gentle as before, captain. . -

- Are you afraid of the rain when it gets too heavy, printzessin? -

- I am not afraid of him. He's mine after all, and things that belong to you are not to be feared, don't you think so too? But we can go out again. . -

- We can stay seated, too, printzessin. . -

- No, I want to go out now. You can stay if you are afraid of lying next to this poisonous hemlock! -

- Why lie, printzessin? -

- Why not, captain? I'll lie down in the rain too. I want to do something nice to him. He should feel me with all his fingers, I want to stretch out under him for a long time, I want to be like the rain myself! - She jumped up from the banck and ran into the pouring rain, which fell like a warm bath on the high grass and the white hemlock. I followed her unruly and when she suddenly stopped again, I was so close to her that our wet clothes touched like skin. The clouds hung so deep in the garden that you thought you were in a nice, big tent. .

- We are in a tent, print princess from Alpuxarra! -

- It's nice to be in a tent, Captain Artmanno. . -

- Isn't it a little improper of us that we should be alone together, two at a time? We can hardly move. Just see how close we have to stand to each other so that we have space. . -

The wet princess looked into the right corner of the rain:

- Should I have taken my maid with me as a chaperone?

- Yes, I thought, but said no. . Why not a beautiful maid in the rain?

- I don't think that's absolutely necessary, printzessin. . -

The girl fell back on the grass and spread her arms wide:

- You see, captain, there is still more space than we thought! -

- Indeed, this time is long and wide enough for two, printzessin! -

With that I lay down next to the beautiful, narrow olive-colored alif, and the thunderstorm-pale hemlock moved around us in the rushing rain. .

When the sky became clear again, the print princess unwrapped her dress and put it under her head like a pillow. I was amazed that she could understand it like that. How could she have learned that? It is not so easy to wring out a laundered item of clothing without further ado. Printzessin, printzessin, you give me riddles! At first you turn pale when a smallholder is mentioned, but now you are, according to your skill, a finished washermaid, smooth and washed in the rain, the late sun falls from the first cracks in the cloud into the soft hair of your shoulders, how is it that you are so good speak my own language? You have that nonsensical Mauritanian name, I would have to kiss you on the lips until I suck your secret from the red blood of your mouth, but devil, mine is so sore itself and disturbed by sharp teeth, I can't now , but don't want to give up, nothing and nobody should prevent me from tracking down this hidden thrush nest of your origin, because you are not the print princess Alpuxarra!

You were very afraid, printzessin, I said when the good ursus told his story yesterday. I had to break the silence that had come, now that the sun with its light warmth was rising again from all the confused clouds. It was too much on my nerves. .

But the princess didn't say a word. She just bent a nearby hemlock to her mouth and I tore the poisonous thing away again. Girls do dangerous stupid things, like cobbler useful shoes. But dangerous stupid things that go to the roots of life? My mood was somehow dreary, if not stale. .

I know old Zopetz, I said, in order to get any further, he actually has the chaste thing Rufus gave his report about. It is above -

- I don't know the dissolute old Zopetz, captain, so why are you telling me about it? -

She stared into the flying sky, from which the sun came out again and again, like a quick-change artist. The round mirror of all planets had already gone through seven forms: as the winged humpback shield of the lion knight Yvain, as the lid of an artois fountain, if there is such a lid, as a donut pan away from the cup, as a wagon wheel that rolls back the route that has come, the wagoner into the house, as an oversized congratulatory flower, as a bronze honorary coin of the churprintzen Achatz, which a lover had gilded, as a perfumed glass through which a tired landgrave looks into the sun. . All foolish considerations! I decided to close my eyes and stop looking into the prestigious sun.

The poisonous vegetation around us moved fraternally with the non-poisonous in the evening wind. I put my right hand under the shoulder of the beautiful girl and touched her long, slender thighs with my knee. . I definitely want to track down this hidden thrush nest of your ancestry, printzessin or non-printzessin. I will kiss it on the tip of the tongue, whether you want it or not. Alpuxarra is too dark and too far to pale before the name Zopetz!

I am never afraid of diabolical stories, said the false print woman, I was probably very tired yesterday. That will be it, nothing more. I have a large number of books at home with the most terrible stories. .

Tell me one of these, I said, and closed my eyes.

- You're going to get goosebumps, my friend. . -

- It doesn't do anything. I already have it anyway. For the naked, the goosebumps are an epilogue to the rain. . -

- Ugh, captain! What they are saying. . -

- Tell me, dear print princess, I want to warm up to your story. . -

- Do you think she'll warm you up, dear? -

- She comes from a hot mouth. . -

The girl put her right arm around me and spoke like a shaman over one of my closed eyes:

- For a time there was an increase in prices in the country, when a girl got into a man-eater tavern in the light of day and wanted to spend the night there later. People were happy to give him a room or a room, and so the man-eater captain said to his dear wife after the girl had gone upstairs: "Dear lady, one day it is said of you that you were a good cook; so prepare this chicken for me, save on the onions, max in oil, add pepper and salt to it and, but you should let the good meat burn - that is what he said, because he was a real man eater - I want you myself ragout and eat as a body dish! "

Oh yes, my beautiful darling, I said and blinked one eye at the lips of the print princess, inflation in the country is always bad. It awakens the evil instincts and lets any unpleasant desire revive like flowers in May. I heard and read that in Fordunii Scoticronicon II. Afterwards I had to play the Black Bear's Hornpipe in order to get other thoughts. .

Shouldn't I keep telling you? asked the interrupted print princess. Oh yes, tell more, I said and closed my blinking eye again. . "I want to do everything to your satisfaction," said the woman, judging she did not want to be ragouted. Then she got some hot water, got a decent knife and sharpened it, smelled the rancid oil and was pleased that, in her opinion, it was still fresh, weighed the salt and pepper in dainty little bits so that the meat would become threadbare, and went with it the sharpened knife and a sturdy peacock bird net in front of the poor girl's chamber door. .

rappel rappel rappel !!

The girl was bathing because she had traveled a long way. Who is knocking at my door? it called through the keyhole in its beautiful bathroom-room voice. .

open up, my little chicken,
open up my duckling
open up, my beautiful
catzenhemptlein!

Catzenhemptlein was the girl's name. It had such delicate skin that you could have thought, if you ran your hand over it, that it was a kitten's fur.

When the girl looked through the keyhole and noticed that the landlady had a peacock net and wore a decent knife around her body and her black eyes sprayed like salt and pepper, she thought: She's sure to keep something behind the cookbook and is not over her spoon to dream! Therefore it replied: I am naked and bathe in the back. I can't open you right now. Besides, I don't understand what you are trying to say - she understood it - so put your mouth to the keyhole and I will put an ear to it for my part, so I will understand you better!

Then the beautiful, black-eyed man-eater captain put her red mouth to the keyhole and began again:

open up, my little chicken,
open up my duckling
open up, my beautiful
catzenhemptlein!

But the clever little catzenhemptlein, naked as it was, didn’t have his ear, but put her mouth to the keyhole and, as the captain is just pronouncing the word "hemptlein", her quick tongue slips out of her mouth and zaps, the girl catches her with her teeth, she bites off. . snap !!

Then the bitten screams:

Akn änkäng unke akekikn!
Akn änkäng unke akekikn!

The man eater in the good room downstairs, because he has to hear this strange language, means nothing else than that the Hungarians or Turks have handpicked his inn, hides behind a wine barrel in the deep cellar and never dares to come out. The man eater runs hastily down the stairs, pardautz over her own legs and catches herself in the peacock net like a head-shy quail. And the girl in the chamber says from her bath tub: Now you've thrown a large doll down the stairs, I want to know why!

As he has finished his bathing and slips into his skirts again, you can hear a star whistling in the garden:

The landlord is in the wine barrel,
the landlady in the bird's network,
the times are expensive and
there is a treasure in the kitchen
go inside . .