Ferdinand fished a lace-wing out of his wine and wiped it carefully on the table.
"Look at that now," said "he: "this fly.
Gossamer is a floorcloth to it.
And they live one day, and then it's over." He surveyed us all. "Do you know what is the most uncanny thing in the world, brothers?"
"An empty glass," replied Lenz.
Ferdinand obliterated him with a gesture.
"The most degrading thing in the world for a man, Gottfried, is to be a joker." He turned to us again. "The most uncanny thing in the world, brothers, is time.
Time.
The monument through which we live and yet do not possess."
He pulled a watch from his pocket and held it in front of Lenz's eyes.
"This here, you up-in-the-air romantic.
This infernal machine, that ticks and ticks, that goes on ticking and that nothing can stop ticking.
You can stay an avalanche, a landslide—but not this."
"I don't want to," declared Lenz. "I want to grow peacefully old.
And anyway, I like change."
"It cannot abide man," said Grau ignoring him. "Neither can man abide it.
So he has concocted a dream for himself.
The old, pathetic, hopeless human dream, eternity."
Gottfried laughed.
"The worst disease in the world, Ferdinand, is thought.
It's incurable."
"If it were the only one, you'd be immortal," replied Grau. "You parcel of carbohydrates, calcium, phosphorus and a little iron, for a moment of time on the earth, Gottfried Lenz!"
Gottfried beamed complacently.
Ferdinand shook his lion head.
"Life is a disease, brothers, and death begins already at birth.
Every breath, every heartbeat, is a moment of dying—a little shove toward the end."
"Every gulp, too," replied Lenz. "Pros't, Ferdinand.
Death can be damned pleasant sometimes."
Grau raised his glass.
A smile passed over his big face like a soundless storm.
"Pros't, Gottfried, you waterskipper on the running surface of time.
What were the powers that move us thinking of when they made you, I wonder."
"They must settle that among themselves," said Gottfried.
"In any case it's not for you to speak disparagingly of such things.
If human beings were immortal, you'd be out of work, you old parasite on death."
Grau's shoulders began to heave.
He laughed.
Then he turned to Pat.
"What do you say, little flower on the dancing waters?"
Later Pat and I were walking alone in the garden.
The moon was higher and the meadows swimming in silver grey.
The shadows of the trees lay long and black across them like dark signposts into the unknown.
We went down as far as the lake and then turned back again.
En route we met Gottfried who had taken a garden chair and planted it in the midst of a thicket of lilac bushes.
There he was now sitting, only his yellow head and his cigarette visible.
Beside him on the ground he had a glass and what remained of the May bowl of hock flavoured with woodruff.
"There's a place, if you like!" said Pat. "Among the lilacs."
"It's tolerable." Gottfried stood up. "Try it."
Pat sat on the chair.
Her face shone among the blossoms.