Gustav von A. entered.<\/p>\n
He wore no athleticism. He wore no wellness. He wore the bearing of a person who understands himself as a work, not as a project. He was dapper, yes \u2013 but not in the way a hotel teaches, rather in the way a life teaches, in which discipline does not come from a program but from an inner compulsion.<\/p>\n
In his hand he held a notebook.<\/p>\n
Of course.<\/p>\n
He saw Hans Castorp, nodded barely noticeably and went to him, as if it had all already been decided.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are punctual,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
It was no recognition. It was a finding.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am\u2026 trained,\u201d said Hans Castorp, and he himself did not know whether it was a joke.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. sat down opposite him. He put the notebook on the table, but he did not open it. That was, esteemed female reader, esteemed male reader, a small, disquieting gesture: A notebook that remains closed is like a mouth that does not speak.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have\u2026 begun a new life here,\u201d said Gustav von A.<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp shrugged his shoulders.<\/p>\n
\u201cRecommendation,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. looked at him, and in this look there lay, very briefly, something like tiredness.<\/p>\n
\u201cRecommendations,\u201d he said, \u201care everywhere. In the kitchen, in the gym, in bed. And you call it life.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp felt the Tonio-sting: warm and sad at the same time.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you?\u201d he asked. \u201cYou call it\u2026 what?\u201d<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. was silent for a moment. Then he said:<\/p>\n
\u201cWork.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp nodded, as if he had known it.<\/p>\n
\u201cSentences,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. barely twisted his mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp looked at Gustav\u2019s notebook.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere do you lead your sentences?\u201d he asked, and in the question he heard his own hunger.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. glanced briefly out the window, as if he already saw, behind the snow, behind the forest, another landscape.<\/p>\n
\u201cSouth,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d asked Hans Castorp.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. raised his hand as if he wanted to brush away a fly.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause there\u2026 it is different,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is an excuse,\u201d said Hans Castorp, and he was surprised that he could speak like that.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. looked at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he said calmly. \u201cJourneys are excuses. And sometimes excuses are salvations.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp smiled, involuntarily. It was a sentence that was both settembrinian and aschenbachian: reasonable and fatal at the same time.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want me to come with you,\u201d said Hans Castorp.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. did not say \u201cyes\u201d.<\/p>\n
He said:<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to go.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp was silent.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have written it in your notebook,\u201d added Gustav von A., and Hans Castorp felt his heart give a small, unclean beat, because it suddenly became clear to him that in libraries one not only reads books, but also people.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have not\u2026\u201d began Hans Castorp.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. raised his hand again.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have not read,\u201d he said. \u201cI have seen.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then, as if he wanted to pull the matter out of the moral realm, he said, quite prosaically:<\/p>\n
\u201cTomorrow. Early. The carriage to the train goes at eight. Guest Relations has\u2026 organized it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp had to laugh briefly, despite everything.<\/p>\n
\u201cGuest Relations,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d said Gustav von A. \u201cIt is reassuring when the world takes care of things while one flees oneself.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp lowered his gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am not fleeing,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. looked at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course not,\u201d he said, and it was the friendliest sentence he could say in this tone.<\/p>\n
Then he stood up.<\/p>\n
\u201cPack,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Hans Castorp raised his gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
Gustav von A. hesitated for a moment, as if he had to decide whether he was allowed to be ironic.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour religion,\u201d he then said.<\/p>\n
And left.<\/p>\n