« Back to Der Fall des Lemming
Der Fall des Lemming - pp 178-179
Der Lemming läuft los. Rennt durch den Vorraum, stößt Olaf zur Seite, sieht einen Schatten um die Ecke huschen, setzt ihm nach, nimmt drei Stufen auf einmal, vier Stock in die Tiefe, hinaus auf die Straße. Ein Blick nach links, nach rechts, da läuft er, der Rotbart, ohne sich umzudrehen, läuft Richtung Börse, der Lemming hinterher. Bis zum Ring und über die Fahrbahn, dann links hinauf zum Schottentor, vorbei an der Universität, vorne der Unbekannte, fünfzig, hundert, bald zweihundert Meter hinter ihm der Lemming. Der Abstand vergrößert sich, die Jagd scheint aussichtslos, stärker ist das Wild, schneller und zäher, doch kurz vor dem Rathauspark verlangsamt sich seine Gangart, es fällt vom Galopp in den Trab und schließlich in einen gemächlich beschleunigten Schritt. Der Lemming holt auf, keuchend, versucht, sich dem Mann im Schutz von Passanten und parkenden Autos zu nähern. Und da wendet der andere auch schon seinen Kopf nach hinten, sein Blick streift den halb verborgenen Lemming, bleibt aber nicht an ihm hängen, sondern sucht weiter die Straße ab. Es ist der wütende Olaf, nach dem er Ausschau hält. Seinen wahren Verfolger hat er, scheint’s, gar nicht bemerkt. Jetzt schreitet er wieder aus, überquert zwischen Rathaus und Burgtheater abermals die Straße, springt unter den deftigen Flüchen eines Fiakerfahrers knapp vor dessen schnaubendem Pferdegespann auf den Gehsteig, eilt weiter. Der Lemming hinterher. Durch die Rosenbeete des Volksgartens, am Theseustempel vorbei geht es zügig zur Hofburg hinüber. Und hier, in der Mitte des riesigen, öden, geschichts- und schicksalsträchtigen Heldenplatzes, bleibt der Rotbart endlich stehen. Vor ihm erhebt sich, im Halbrund nach innen gewölbt, die Fassade der neuen Burg, und im Zentrum ihres Gemäuers, über dem hohen Eingangstor der Nationalbibliothek, ragt die Brüstung, ragt der Balkon. […] Nur noch wenige Meter trennen den Lemming von dem Unbekannten, der reglos und grüblerisch neben dem Denkmal Erzherzog Karls verharrt. […] Der Lemming hat nun seine Zielposition erreicht. Keine zwei Meter steht er von seinem Opfer entfernt und ringt um Gelassenheit, um innere Ruhe, vor allem aber um eine Idee. Im Grunde sieht er nur eine Möglichkeit: Frontalangriff. Wenn seine Ahnung stimmt, dann müsste es so funktionieren …
Near fragment in time
Gerd fuhr jüngst mit der Linie U3 Richtung Ottakring. (So beginnen große Geschichten.) In der Station Schweglergasse fällt sein Blick auf einen brennenden Mistkübel. Gerd steigt aus, ergreift den Feuerlöscher und erstickt die Flammen. Eine Rußwolke zieht über den Bahnsteig und verlässt (mit den meisten Passanten) die Station. Gerd meldet den Vorfall der Stationsleitung. Kurze Zeit später erscheint ein entspannter Bediensteter der Wiener Linien mit einer Wasserflasche in der Hand, erfasst die Situation und murrt: "Na super, danke, jetzt kömma den Reinigungsdienst holen!" Der gebrandmarkte Löscher entgegnet: "Hören Sie, der Kübel war unbeaufsichtigt. Ich konnte ja nicht wissen, dass da schon wer unterwegs ist, um den Brand zu bekämpfen." Darauf der Bedienstete: "Es ist immer wer unterwegs." Sagt es, nimmt den Feuerlöscher und geht.
Diese Geschichte schreit nach einer Moral für uns Fahrgäste: Entdecken wir in einem U-Bahn-Schacht Feuer, so lassen wir es brennen! Es besteht kein Grund zur Sorge. Und sollte es aus fünfzehn Mistkübeln gleichzeitig qualmen, so heben wir unsere Daumen zur öffentlichen Wertschätzung. Die Wiener Linien haben alles im Griff. Bei denen ist immer wer unterwegs.
pp 118 from Die Vögel brüllen: Kommentare zum Alltag by
Diese Geschichte schreit nach einer Moral für uns Fahrgäste: Entdecken wir in einem U-Bahn-Schacht Feuer, so lassen wir es brennen! Es besteht kein Grund zur Sorge. Und sollte es aus fünfzehn Mistkübeln gleichzeitig qualmen, so heben wir unsere Daumen zur öffentlichen Wertschätzung. Die Wiener Linien haben alles im Griff. Bei denen ist immer wer unterwegs.
Near fragment in space
Herr Schumacher was not in the Central. He had been there and the proprietor remembered him well, and the party of sympathizers with which he'd been surrounded.
'Seven daughters, poor gentleman,' he said - and recoiled from my basilisk glare.
He was not in the Blue Boar either, but in the Regina the trail grew warm again. An inebriated gentleman, supported by two friends, had lurched past half an hour earlier, asking the passers-by what he had done to deserve his fate.
'He went on about goldfish, too. Someone had killed his goldfish,' said the landlord. 'He went off towards the Graben. You could try the Three Hussars.'
And in that ancient hostelry full of antlers and oak panelling I found him. He was sitting between his faithful henchmen, the bank manager and the dentist, the centre of a veritable Pieta. Herr Schumacher's moustaches were limp with grief, glasses and a half empty bottle of wine littered the table. The dentist's heavy hand lay on the stricken father's arm; the bank manager's pince-nez glittered as he shook a commiserating head.
'Good evening.'
'Frau… Susanna!' Herr Schumacher recognized me, tried to rise.
'Herr Schumacher, I have just come from your house.'
'Eh… what ?' Tipsily he pulled out a chair which I ignored. 'Is there anything wrong? My wife's all right?'
'Physically she's all right. Emotionally she's not. She is very much upset.'
'Well, yes; anyone would be. I'm very much upset… my friends are too.' He waved his arm at his companions, knocking over a glass. 'I'll have to take in my brother's boy from Graz now. It's a disaster; its -'
I now lost my temper.
'Herr Schumacher, you make me ashamed to be a human being. Your daughter has a large birthmark on her right cheek. It is a serious and permanent blemish with which she will have to live. Your wife is exhausted and wretched - and you sit here like a sot; drooling with self-pity and drinking with your so-called friends.'
'What… ? What did you say?' He sat down heavily. 'A birthmark ? A big one, you say.'
'Yes.'
The dentist had now grasped the nature of the calamity. 'Hey, that's terrible, Schumacher. Terrible! Not just a girl but disfigured!'
'Dreadful, quite dreadful,' murmured the bank manager. 'You'll have her on your hands all your life.'
Herr Schumacher shook his head, trying to surface from his drunkenness. 'You say she's healthy?' he demanded. 'The baby?'
'Yes, she's perfectly healthy. In fact she's a very sweet baby otherwise. She has the most distinguished eyebrows.'
'Still, if she's got a strawberry mark no one'll look at her. Or rather everyone'll look at her!' The dentist, still bent on consolation, tried to put an arm round Herr Schumacher's shoulders.
The arm was removed. Herr Schumacher rose and managed to stay upright. 'Idiot!' he spat at the dentist. 'Half-wit!' He opened his mouth very wide and jabbed a finger at one of his back molars. 'Do you see that tooth ? You filled it a month ago and since then I've had nothing but trouble! Every time I drink something hot it's like a dagger!'
'Come, come Schumacher,' said the bank manager. 'He was only trying to -'
Herr Schumacher swung round to confront his comforter.
'And you shut up too or I'll knock you down. I'm surprised you've got the nerve to look me in the face! Two per cent on a simple loan with collaterals! Two per cent!'
He threw some money down on the table, staggered to the coat rack, jammed his hat on his head.
pp 71-73 from Madensky Square by
'Seven daughters, poor gentleman,' he said - and recoiled from my basilisk glare.
He was not in the Blue Boar either, but in the Regina the trail grew warm again. An inebriated gentleman, supported by two friends, had lurched past half an hour earlier, asking the passers-by what he had done to deserve his fate.
'He went on about goldfish, too. Someone had killed his goldfish,' said the landlord. 'He went off towards the Graben. You could try the Three Hussars.'
And in that ancient hostelry full of antlers and oak panelling I found him. He was sitting between his faithful henchmen, the bank manager and the dentist, the centre of a veritable Pieta. Herr Schumacher's moustaches were limp with grief, glasses and a half empty bottle of wine littered the table. The dentist's heavy hand lay on the stricken father's arm; the bank manager's pince-nez glittered as he shook a commiserating head.
'Good evening.'
'Frau… Susanna!' Herr Schumacher recognized me, tried to rise.
'Herr Schumacher, I have just come from your house.'
'Eh… what ?' Tipsily he pulled out a chair which I ignored. 'Is there anything wrong? My wife's all right?'
'Physically she's all right. Emotionally she's not. She is very much upset.'
'Well, yes; anyone would be. I'm very much upset… my friends are too.' He waved his arm at his companions, knocking over a glass. 'I'll have to take in my brother's boy from Graz now. It's a disaster; its -'
I now lost my temper.
'Herr Schumacher, you make me ashamed to be a human being. Your daughter has a large birthmark on her right cheek. It is a serious and permanent blemish with which she will have to live. Your wife is exhausted and wretched - and you sit here like a sot; drooling with self-pity and drinking with your so-called friends.'
'What… ? What did you say?' He sat down heavily. 'A birthmark ? A big one, you say.'
'Yes.'
The dentist had now grasped the nature of the calamity. 'Hey, that's terrible, Schumacher. Terrible! Not just a girl but disfigured!'
'Dreadful, quite dreadful,' murmured the bank manager. 'You'll have her on your hands all your life.'
Herr Schumacher shook his head, trying to surface from his drunkenness. 'You say she's healthy?' he demanded. 'The baby?'
'Yes, she's perfectly healthy. In fact she's a very sweet baby otherwise. She has the most distinguished eyebrows.'
'Still, if she's got a strawberry mark no one'll look at her. Or rather everyone'll look at her!' The dentist, still bent on consolation, tried to put an arm round Herr Schumacher's shoulders.
The arm was removed. Herr Schumacher rose and managed to stay upright. 'Idiot!' he spat at the dentist. 'Half-wit!' He opened his mouth very wide and jabbed a finger at one of his back molars. 'Do you see that tooth ? You filled it a month ago and since then I've had nothing but trouble! Every time I drink something hot it's like a dagger!'
'Come, come Schumacher,' said the bank manager. 'He was only trying to -'
Herr Schumacher swung round to confront his comforter.
'And you shut up too or I'll knock you down. I'm surprised you've got the nerve to look me in the face! Two per cent on a simple loan with collaterals! Two per cent!'
He threw some money down on the table, staggered to the coat rack, jammed his hat on his head.