He pointed at the glasses.<\/p>\n
\u201cA glass of champagne? It is New Year. One must drink the date, otherwise it gets stuck in one\u2019s throat.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp took a glass. He felt the coolness in his fingers, and he thought of the ice bar, of the words in the ice that had melted; now the ice was invisible, but the coolness was still there.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd stollen,\u201d said Kautsonik, and he held out a piece, dusted white, as if it carried the snow of the mountain within it.<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp did not take it immediately. He looked at the powdered sugar.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt looks like snow,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is snow,\u201d said Kautsonik calmly. \u201cOnly with marzipan.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp smiled \u2013 and this time he did not know whether it was ironic or grateful.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been doing this a long time?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
Kautsonik looked at him, and in this look lay an entire house.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have seen,\u201d he said, \u201chow up here people have come. And gone. And come back again. And not gone. And gone without going.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp felt a stab at the last sentence. He did not know whether Kautsonik meant him or only the general truth; but with Mann, esteemed female reader, esteemed male reader, the general truth is rarely entirely general.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long?\u201d asked Hans.<\/p>\n
Kautsonik shrugged his shoulders.<\/p>\n
\u201cDecades,\u201d he said. \u201cIn the past this here was simpler. Then it was called reception. Today it is called experience. In the past a guest was a guest. Today he is a\u2026\u201d He searched for the word and did not find it. \u201c\u2026case.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp heard the word and involuntarily thought of files, of diagnoses, of AuDHS.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
Kautsonik smiled, and the smile had something proud about it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI stayed,\u201d he said. \u201cThat is my talent.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp paused. The word talent stood between them like a mirror.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou stay,\u201d Hans said softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d said Kautsonik. \u201cAnd do you know what is beautiful about staying?\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to reinvent yourself,\u201d said Kautsonik. \u201cYou just have to stand.\u201d<\/p>\n
He said the word stand with an emphasis, as if it were a virtue.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou stand a lot,\u201d remarked Hans.<\/p>\n
Kautsonik looked at his own legs, as if he had to make sure they were still there.<\/p>\n
\u201cI stand,\u201d he said. \u201cThat is my form of existence. Anyone can sit. Those who can afford it can lie down. Standing is service.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp drank a sip of champagne. The bubbles rose up in him, but today they no longer had the elegant impatience of the night; they were more sober, almost dutiful.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd when you can no longer stand?\u201d asked Hans Castorp, and he heard how unedifying it was to ask that.<\/p>\n
Kautsonik laughed briefly. It was not a funny laugh, rather a vigorous one that wants to set things right.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen I die,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n