Gurdweill told her he would pay the rent the next day and went out. He set out for the Innere Stadt at a leisurely pace, although he was a little hungry since he had not eaten lunch. He would have a bite in town, he thought, there was still plenty of time. With conscious enjoyment he abandoned his bare head to the fine, invisible drizzle falling from the sky like flour through a sieve. The streetlamps were already on, since evening had already invaded the streets, and above his head, at the level of the flames, the fine, swarming drizzle was as clearly visible as a slanting shaft of dust coming through the window on a bright summer sunbeam. Outside, it seemed like autumn now, although it was not cold. He reached the Donaukanal, where the fractured reflections of the gaslights shimmered on the water. The water looked very black and cold and uninviting. The shops were already shut, with an occasional illuminated display window striking a garish, jarring note. The bright lights of the city centre were a little dimmed by the rain. The wet asphalt, glittering like a black mirror, reflected the passers-by with their legs above their upside-down umbrellas, and two rows of upside-down buildings on either side of the street.

Feeling quite content, Gurdweill turned out of Rotenturmstrasse into a side street and went into a little restaurant he knew, to have supper before going to meet Thea.

9

9

He had to be there at three, and it was already two (in the morning Gurdweill had gone to work in Dr Kreindel’s office as usual): in other words he only had an hour left — minus half an hour to get there, and so all that remained was half an hour. Which meant he had better start getting ready at once.

Ulrich had moved to Rembrandtstrasse the day before, but right now he was there in the old room with Gurdweill. Dr Astel, too, was supposed to come to the room, so that they could all go together, but if he failed to make it in time, he would go straight there, as arranged. There was not much time left.

Ulrich was as excited as if it were his own celebration. He could not sit still, kept on getting up and sitting down again, and wandered around the room getting in Gurdweill’s way, smoking one cigarette after the other and giving advice. Wearing black in honour of the occasion, freshly shaven and powdered with a bluish talc, he was all nervous anticipation. It was a Thursday, an ordinary day of the week like any other, albeit blazingly hot for the time of the year — but at the same time it was a special day.