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Herrn Kukas Empfehlungen - pp 69-70
Als ich im Prater war, fuhr ich eine Runde mit dem Riesenrad, um endlich Wien auch mal von oben zu sehen. Dabei stieg ich versehentlich in eine Gondel ein, die voll mit einer italienischen Familie war. Sie hielten mich aus einem unerfindlichen Grund für einen Russen. Sie waren auch felsenfest überzeugt, daß alle Russen verrückt nach Schokoriegeln sind. Sie mußten wohl zu Hause eine Schokoriegelfabrik haben, denn es wurde mir jede zweite Minute ein Schokoriegel zugeschoben. Zum Schluß, nachdem mir jedes Mitglied der Familie seinen Schokoriegel aufgezwungen hatte, kam noch ganz diskret die italienische Großmutter zu mir und drückte mir mit leuchtenden Augen einen steinharten Schokoriegel von der Größe einer Hantel in die Hand. Wegen dieser ganzen Schokoriegelgeschichte kam niemand von uns dazu, sich Wien anzusehen. Als wir wieder unten waren, mußten sich die Italiener noch eine Fahrt kaufen und wollten mich gleich mit einladen.
Near fragment in time
„Die Ateliers im Prater lagen in Trümmern, waren schwer zugänglich, und zudem gab es kaum Anhaltspunkte, wo sie ihre Suche beginnen sollte. Nur das Atelier von Anton Hanak in der Böcklingstraße im Prater war ihr bekannt und diente als erste Anlaufstelle. Der Prater war Kriegsschauplatz gewesen, große Teile des Ateliers zerstört, zudem gab es noch immer die Gefahr von Minen. Die Suche blieb lange erfolglos, aber in einem anderen Haus wurde sie schließlich fündig. Das Haus war ein Greuel der Verwüstung, Teile des Bodens und der Decke fehlten, ganze Wände waren niedergebrochen. [...]“
pp 100-101 from Jenseits vom lärmenden Käfig by
Near fragment in space
We went then to the roundabouts. He chose to ride not on a dappled horse - I had noticed already his dislike of horses -but on a swan. He enjoyed it, but he didn't want to go round again. It was an experience complete in itself.
Then came the Wurschtlmann. He's so famous the Prater is named for him and you can see why. A hideous rubber man with a red nose who, for a few kreutzer one can thump and pound and wallop to one's heart's content, knowing that he will right himself undamaged and come up for more. Give him a name - that of your mean-minded boss, your bullying commanding officer - and you can punch him insensible and walk away, purged.
'Would you like to have a go, Sigismund?'
Even before he shook his head I saw him instinctively shield his hands, hiding them behind his back - and that was the first time I remembered the concert.
In the end, though, the Prater is about the ferris wheel whose fame has spread throughout the Empire. It towers over everything else, its carriages take you a hundred metres into the sky. To be up there and look down on the city is to ride with the gods.
So I asked him: 'What about the giant wheel? Would you like to go on it ?'
His hand tightened in mine. A tremor passed over his face. She had not been frightened even at six years old, but the boy was scared.
'The view is very beautiful from the top. You can see all Vienna.'
He stood still in the middle of the path. He tilted his head and gave a small sniff.
'I want very much to be brave,' he said in his low, cracked voice. 'I very much want it.'
And suddenly it all dissolved - my long antagonism, my restraint, the resentment that I felt at being asked for what belonged only to my daughter. I saw him sitting beside his dead mother in the Polish forest, waiting for her to wake … Saw him wobbling on the Encyclopedia of Art, playing and playing because he could no longer talk. I remembered the silent patience with which he'd endured his uncle's bullying, saw the graze on his forehead of which he'd said no word.
And I knelt beside him and took him in my arms.
'You are brave, Sigi. You're very brave, my darling,' I said - and kissed him.
So now I can tell you this. They are entirely exact descriptions of what happens, those ones in the fairy tales which tell you what occurs when you kiss an ugly frog, a hairy beast, with proper love.Sigi didn't kiss me back or cling to me. He just straightened his shoulders and then in a calm, almost matter-of-fact voice, he said: 'Now we will go up,' - and then led me to the brightly painted carriages swaying high above our heads.
pp 177-178 from Madensky Square by
Then came the Wurschtlmann. He's so famous the Prater is named for him and you can see why. A hideous rubber man with a red nose who, for a few kreutzer one can thump and pound and wallop to one's heart's content, knowing that he will right himself undamaged and come up for more. Give him a name - that of your mean-minded boss, your bullying commanding officer - and you can punch him insensible and walk away, purged.
'Would you like to have a go, Sigismund?'
Even before he shook his head I saw him instinctively shield his hands, hiding them behind his back - and that was the first time I remembered the concert.
In the end, though, the Prater is about the ferris wheel whose fame has spread throughout the Empire. It towers over everything else, its carriages take you a hundred metres into the sky. To be up there and look down on the city is to ride with the gods.
So I asked him: 'What about the giant wheel? Would you like to go on it ?'
His hand tightened in mine. A tremor passed over his face. She had not been frightened even at six years old, but the boy was scared.
'The view is very beautiful from the top. You can see all Vienna.'
He stood still in the middle of the path. He tilted his head and gave a small sniff.
'I want very much to be brave,' he said in his low, cracked voice. 'I very much want it.'
And suddenly it all dissolved - my long antagonism, my restraint, the resentment that I felt at being asked for what belonged only to my daughter. I saw him sitting beside his dead mother in the Polish forest, waiting for her to wake … Saw him wobbling on the Encyclopedia of Art, playing and playing because he could no longer talk. I remembered the silent patience with which he'd endured his uncle's bullying, saw the graze on his forehead of which he'd said no word.
And I knelt beside him and took him in my arms.
'You are brave, Sigi. You're very brave, my darling,' I said - and kissed him.
So now I can tell you this. They are entirely exact descriptions of what happens, those ones in the fairy tales which tell you what occurs when you kiss an ugly frog, a hairy beast, with proper love.Sigi didn't kiss me back or cling to me. He just straightened his shoulders and then in a calm, almost matter-of-fact voice, he said: 'Now we will go up,' - and then led me to the brightly painted carriages swaying high above our heads.