The telephone rang shrilly and Walter, at the other end of the line, was suddenly flooding him with rushed explanations and hastily bundled words. Ulrich listened indifferently and obligingly, and when he had put the receiver down and stood up, it was as if the ring tone were still fading in his ear; depth and darkness streamed back into his surroundings. The effect was soothing, but he would not have been able to say if it happened in sounds or in colors. It was like a depth of all the senses. Smiling, he took the sheet of paper on which he had begun writing to his sister and tore it slowly into small pieces before leaving the room.

*This is the title of one of the Parallel Campaign’s eccentric resolutions.

14

THROW EVERYTHING YOU HAVE INTO THE FIRE, INCLUDING YOUR SHOES

During this time and from the moment when she had stayed behind alone, Agathe had been living completely at ease, released from the tension of all relationships, in a serenely melancholy suspension of the will, as if at a great height where there was nothing to be seen but the wide blue sky. Every day she strolled for her pleasure through the town; she read when she was at home; she attended to her affairs: she experienced this mild, aimless activity of living with grateful appreciation. Nothing troubled the state she was in, no clinging to the past, no straining for the future; when her gaze fell on any of the objects in her vicinity, it was as if she were coaxing a young lamb to come near; it would either gently approach her, or else simply take no notice of her—but she never took mental possession of it with that motion of inner grasping that imbues every act of cold recognition with something violent and yet futile, for it scares away the happiness that is in things. And so it seemed to Agathe that everything around her was much more understandable than usual, but it was her conversations with her brother that mainly occupied her mind. In keeping with her unusually exact memory, which did not deform its material with intentions and prejudices, there now rose up around her again the living words, the surprising little inflections of voice and gesture accompanying the talk; but these came out of sequence and rather the way they had been before Agathe had quite understood them and realized what they wanted. Nevertheless, it was all in the highest degree meaningful; her memory, which had so often been haunted by remorse, was now full of quiet affection, and the recent past lay sensuously close to the warmth of the body, instead of losing itself, as it usually did, in the frost and darkness that lie in wait for what has been lived in vain.

And in this way, wrapped in invisible light, Agathe also spoke with the lawyers, notaries, and businessmen her path led her to. Nowhere did she meet with rejection; everyone was happy to oblige the charming young woman, who came recommended by her father’s name, with everything she desired. She conducted herself with an air that combined assurance and absence in equal measure: what she had resolved upon was outside herself, as it were, and the experience she had gained in life—something else that can be distinguished from the essential person—continued working on that resolution like a hired agent who calmly and cleverly exploits opportunities that offer themselves to his task; that she was preparing to commit a fraud—which to a neutral observer would be the most obvious meaning of her actions—did not penetrate to her own perception at the time. The unity of her conscience excluded it. The radiance of her conscience outshone this dark point, which nevertheless, like the core of a flame, formed its center. Agathe herself did not know how to express it: As a result of her intent she found herself in a state that was as far from that ugly intent as the sky is from the earth.