In the morning the water outside was smooth.
The lagoon lay there as if nothing had happened.
That is, esteemed female reader, esteemed male reader, the greatest affront of death: that the world does not die along with it.
Hans Castorp stood at the window.
He had not slept. He had sat, watched, waited; and at some point a man had come, had spoken softly, politely, in a service-like manner; at some point they had taken Gustav away, as discreetly as if he were a piece of luggage.
They had offered Hans Castorp condolences.
They had offered him water.
Recommended it.
Hans Castorp had nodded.
Now he stood there.
He took his notebook.
Not Gustav’s. His own.
He sat down at the table.
He took off the ring.
He put it down next to the glass, and the glass was empty.
He took the pen.
He wrote.
Not values. Not pulse. Not steps.
He wrote:
The water was rosy this morning.
He wrote:
It is recommended not to drink.
He wrote:
Recommendation is the polite form of truth.
He wrote:
A creator stays because he believes that the sentence will save him.
He wrote:
One who remains stays because he cannot leave.
He wrote:
And yet leaving is sometimes the only hygiene.
He paused.
He looked at the sentences.
They were not beautiful.
They were not dapper.
They were true.
He heard the water outside.
It sounded as always.
He felt something hurting in his chest – not like illness, not like blood pressure, not like vascular stiffness; but like loss.
He stood up.
He stepped to the window.
Outside, in the light, the lagoon shimmered reddish in one place, because the sky still carried a remnant of red.
Hans Castorp saw it.
And he thought, very slowly, deliberately, system two:
You cannot desert time.
You can only – for an evening, for a night, for a program – get it to pretend that it is not there.
Then it is there again.
He took the ring.
He held it in his hand.
He felt its weight, so small, so ridiculous.
He did not put it on.
That is perhaps, esteemed female reader, esteemed male reader, the first real progress that Hans Castorp has made.
He remained standing for a moment longer, looking at the water.
And thought: It is red.
Then he turned around.
He left.
