Death In Venice by Thomas Mann Read Free Book Online Page B

The pressure in the temples, the heavy eyelids? Changing hotels again would be a nuisance, but if the wind failed to shift he could not possibly remain here. To be on the safe side, he did not unpack everything. At nine he went to breakfast in the specially designated buffet between the lobby and the dining room. The ceremonious silence on which grand hotels pride themselves prevailed. The waiters moved about the room noiselessly, on tiptoe. The clatter of tea things and a half-whispered word were the only sounds audible. In a corner diagonally opposite the door and two tables removed from his own, Aschenbach saw the Polish girls with their governess. Their ash-blond hair freshly plastered down, their eyes red, they sat perfectly erect in their stiff blue-linen dress with the small white turndown collars and cuffs, passing a jar of preserves round the table. The boy was absent. Aschenbach smiled. Well, well, little Phaeacian! he thought. You seem to be the only one privileged to sleep his fill. And brightening suddenly, he recited the following line to himself: "Oft did they change their garments and bathe in warm water, reclining." He took a leisurely breakfast, was given some forwarded mail by the porter-who had entered the room, braided cap in hand-then smoked a cigarette and opened one or two of the letters. And so it transpired that he was present for the entrance of the slugabed awaited in the corner. He came through the glass door and walked straight across the quiet room to his sisters' table. His gait was extraordinarily graceful both in the way he held his upper torso and in the way he moved his knees and white-shod feet; it was a very light gait, at once delicate and proud, and embellished by the childlike modesty with which, twice on his way across the room, he turned his head and raised, then lowered his eyes. Smiling and murmuring a word in his soft, fuzzy language, he took his seat, and now, especially as he had turned his full profile to the observer, the latter was once more amazed, indeed, startled by the truly godlike beauty of this mortal being. Today the boy was wearing a lightweight, washable outfit with a blue-and-white-striped middy blouse that had a red silk bow at the chest and a plain white stand-up collar. The collar, though none too elegant a match for the rest of the outfit, showed off the boy's fair, blossoming head in its consummate charm, the head of an Eros with the creamy glaze of Parian marble, eyebrows serious and finely traced, temples and ear covered darkly and softly at right angles by encroaching ringlets. Good, good, thought Aschenbach with that cool, professional approval in which artists encountering a masterpiece sometimes shroud their delight, their excitement. Truth to tell, he went on thinking, were sea and shore not awaiting me, I should stay here as long as you! But he did leave, greeted by the staff as he passed through the lobby, then descending the large terrace and proceeding straight along the boardwalk to the beach partitioned off for the hotel guests. He was shown to his rented cabana by the barefoot old man in linen trousers, sailor's tunic, and straw hat serving there as bathing attendant, had his table and chair set up on a sandy wooden platform, and made himself comfortable in the chaise longue he had drawn onto the wax-yellow sand closer to the water. The view of the beach, the spectacle of civilization indulging in carefree sensuality on the brink of the watery element, entertained and pleased him as rarely before. The flat gray sea was already alive with wading children, swimmers, and colorful figures lying on sandbars, their arms crossed under their heads. Others were rowing small keelless boats painted red and blue, laughing as they capsized. The long row of cabanas, which had platforms like miniature verandahs for people to sit on, was a scene of animated activity and idly protracted repose, visits d chatter, meticulous matitudinal elegance alongside a