The Tobacconist Page 19
A young woman approached from the ring road, walking quickly. Her head was lowered, and she had buried her hands deep in the pockets of a man’s jacket that was far too big for her; it hung like a sack from her shoulders and reached to below her knees. As she opened her mouth in a hiss to scare away the pigeons fighting over the last remnants of food, her teeth were momentarily visible: small and shimmering white, like pearls, with an unusually large gap right in the middle.
Anezka crossed the road and stopped. A coal cart was coming towards her. The two Haflinger horses in front were puffing their steamy breath ahead of them, and the coalman was perched on the box. His eyes were dull and tired, two pale flecks in his black face as he gazed out over the horses’ heads. The cart drove past, noisy and clattering, and Anezka followed it with her eyes until it turned into Boltzmanngasse and disappeared. She walked past Veithammer Installations and a few steps later stood in front of the former Trsnyek’s Tobacconist’s. The paint was peeling off the doorframe, and the shop window was coated in a fine layer of dust. Anezka leaned her forehead against the glass and peered inside. The shop was empty apart from the old counter, the shelves along the walls, and the stool, which lay in the middle of the room like a dead animal with its legs pointing upwards. The door at the back was ajar; the room beyond it was dark. Anezka put her hands and cheek against the pane and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she had the feeling that the window, the room, the ground, the air were vibrating. She breathed on the glass and slowly, with her forefinger, drew two lines where it clouded over. As she turned to go, she saw the piece of paper beside the door. It was really just a scrap, yellowed by the sun and almost black around the edges. The bottom half was missing; it had been ripped off or had simply fallen away with the years. The rest had only survived because it was criss-crossed and covered with several strips of tape. Anezka recognized the writing without ever having seen it before. It was faded and barely legible beneath the layer of dust; the letters were small and wobbly, almost as if a child had scribbled them. She leaned in close and read:
June 7, 1938
The lake has seen better days, too, the geraniums glow in the night, but it’s a fire, and anyway there will always be dancing; the light dis
The rip in the paper went right through the last word. Anezka took a deep breath; then she cautiously peeled off the sticky tape, folded the paper and put it in the pocket of her coat. She looked inside the tobacconist’s once more, but there was nothing there. She tapped her finger gently on the window and walked off. As she passed the former Rosshuber butcher’s she again had the sense that the air around her was vibrating. This time, though, it was no illusion, and by the time she reached the Votive Church and started to quicken her step, then finally to run as fast as she could, the sky was already filled with the rapidly swelling sound of the Allied bombers’ engines as they approached from the west like a huge, dark swarm, casting the city into shadow.
Also by Robert Seethaler
A Whole Life
Robert Seethaler was born in Vienna and divides his time between his home town and Berlin. He is the author of five novels, including the acclaimed A Whole Life, which was shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize in 2016.
First published 2016 by House of Anansi Press Inc., Toronto, Canada
First published in the UK 2016 by Picador
This electronic edition published 2016 by Picador
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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ISBN 978-1-5098-0660-7
Copyright © Kein & Aber AG Zürich–Berlin 2012
Translation copyright © Charlotte Collins 2016
Cover Images © Shutterstock, Author photo © Urban Zintel
The right of Robert Seethaler to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Originally published in 2012 as Der Trafikant by Kein & Aber AG Zürich–Berlin.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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