princes drunk, but in high spirits, and filled with oriental eloquence, I was - as sometimes in those years, in broad daylight stroll through Kufstein, when I came across Clarabelle.
Clarabelle connected me with an experience: when she was in Schwoich, in the farmhouse her parents had lived, I GEDU by open after a night at the crack of dawn 'by moped to her. I had awakened her. Sleepy face, she had opened.
too quiet with the condition are, we had breakfast in the kitchen, my coffee, beer was, and then set off at sunrise for a walk during which I talked and talked, and hinlocken they wanted somewhere where we could do it can.
Across a field growing up, I had pointed forward and said:. "Let us go up to those blackberry bushes over there,"
Since then she somehow sinister. She had me for a second looked at in silence, and turned around on the spot.
I still think back a few years, I see myself with her sitting at a table in a restaurant with an Asian woman.
I the book Factotum by Charles Bukowski did it, and for them exclusively ripped out the page, where the hero on the yacht a grumpy old man playing cards with him, secretly-obvious way is driving with his two present playmates.
Any comment on the servility of the Asian Clarabelle might have misunderstood it, because suddenly they got the first carefully in the breast pocket of her blouse kept leaf out literature, and it turns me on how armor-clad mother, the powerful blows his nose as cheap their child's face.
Clarabelle was a few inches larger than my Einsvierundachzig, and strongly built, I should say. But
back: I met Clarabelle, and we quickly decided to put coffee PLATZL.
was first there, for a coffee. The conversation was good, however, and the third beer we were still sitting at the table. Clarabelle suddenly pulled out a brochure on an art expedition was announced on the mountain beast. As to a crossroads, so had an artist instead of the Stations of the Prophet, the Inn Neuhaus starting through the woods, up along the way to the ruins, installed art installations. The aim was to wander through.
Clarabelle commented that the whole thing start today in the afternoon, they meet up with someone while now, but I could join her. With the car of her friend-he is incidentally a poet-it would be up to the inn. I thanked him like I said would come with you and ended with a look out into the drizzle had now entered, "I hope not they are art installations in water"
found Clarabelle's not funny, and I turned the conversation. again in an non railways. With Sepp
the poet, we met on a coffee: he called me immediately Southerners, because I have a blue work jacket was a deep-drawn sign in the front cover, and I allowed myself to call him a poet. In fact, he looked like a struggling writer in 1800: about 35, his face plowed by a million useless idea to, in strange contrast, the head of golden curls heavy.
The poet and I joked over and over, and Clarabelle few times laughed uproariously. The rain had increased, as we buzzed the poet in the old car up the steep, winding asphalt road to the inn upstairs. We were not the first, a small Little people had already gathered under a tent next to the guest house, you draw beer, there were hot sausages. We mingled with the art lovers, and after some initial and perhaps enlightening imaginary words of the young artist (she was rather small, compact body and her blunt nose adorned glasses, which awarded her with the short hair, a boyish appearance) was the procession in raincoats and armed with umbrellas in motion.
What was seen at the various stations in detail, because I can not remember, only this: there are things made of tin and plastic were about blasphemous images were not lacking, orange-colored gravel was too sudden our feet, and eventually we came to the ruins.
boiling hot wax, where in some pots, and we were interested in art to dip into what we liked, so it could be made with a layer of hesitation, and as a reminder of this day with home.
I drank the last beer can, which I felt the way up have been a faithful companion, and gave them to watch a young cook, so they would put it on the dip bar and fondue. The
defended himself. A can of beer did they imagine how shallow. She said, "So that, I think does not work. There remains liable even the wax. "
" Try it, girl, "I rang, and my beer flag brushed her beautiful Lärvchen that screwed up in disgust.
"No. I can not do that. "
" Yes, now here is the more progressive, or not? An upside nailed Jesus, with orange eggs, that's what, to dip but not a beer can? "
" Where an upside nailed Jesus? "Asked the assistant art girls in horror.
"with orange balls, after I joined!
"nonsense. Such an installation is not there. "
" Who knows, miss, but wait! If do not like to dip beer can, then maybe, "and I crumpled the can in my hand, "Then maybe a crumpled beer can, worthy enough for the wax?"
The poor thing is afraid of me now.
I probably would, as a discordant note down dressed in the beautiful melody of this procession, she scolded one Kunstbanausin etc., if not Clarabelle had suddenly stood beside me, tall, 15 pounds heavier than I am strong.
your brown eyes measured me calm when she said: "Well, Karl, problems"
In great joy I said: No ". No problems, Clarabelle. Let's sit down for a beer afterwards to Neuhaus? "
Yes. Sepp and I had this before. You want it again for us Kufstein go, right? "Clarabelle said warily.
said "Oh, that would be beautiful," and I:.? "I'll go ahead once already,"
"Where"
"Well, in Neuhaus," I said firmly and walked down the already moist forest.
sat in the restaurant I was not alone for long in the beer, now that wobbled, which was after the experience of art, even for companionship, a. Klara Bella's brother was there, the artist herself, and next to the poet, two, three. We were discussing anything and everything, and nothing exhaustive.
We spared the barley juice not, and the poet in the cart it went back down to Kufstein. Clarabelle let me in her living room to sleep while Sepp and they went into the bedroom. Before long, Clarabelle began to moan, the poet took the measure! Since I do not after that was to become an ear-witness copulation, I got up and drank more in Lucky's, the bar, which had opened at this time yet.
The only guest was a rauschebärtiger Wochenendalki in work clothes, which I did not understand me sick.
When the bar closed, it was bright outside, we already giggling and shuffling blödelnd, to the nearest gas station, and again with a can of beer into town. We landed in the station restaurant. The waitress with the short-cropped hair and the smooth, tight calves served.
"takes your you ere well, "she said warningly, as she served the beer.
We nodded.
"Where are you actually working?" I asked the beard. ..
"Am writers'
I mean, because you're wearing a blue and work shoes"
"That no work shoes," I said one leg on the table legend, and setteth added. "God, the stink"
I took off his shoe and smelled it.
"Wow! This stink. As manure, "I cried enthusiastically.
The beard was curious.
"May I smell too?"
"Because it is you," I said, handing him the boot. He inhaled deeply
.. Then laughed he said, "You call that smell"
He immediately took off one of his work shoes, held it like an oxygen mask in his face, inhaled long and then put it on the table?.
& D call as I stink, "he said. And? "Smell"
"You know what," I replied, "I believe you also that," The Very used
work shoe, with its strangely draped laces, made good on the table.. He stood there as if to mean something.
The waitress suddenly appeared before us.
"What's that? You told her you will g 'failure to, "
" What to do? This is art! "I cried.
"nonsense. Get rid of the shoe. "
" This is not a shoe, "I desired to," this is a ready-made. "
" A what? pay now though, and you had helped out with. "
end
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