If on a winter's night a traveler by Italo Calvino Read Free Book Online Page B

who they are—Hela, Casimir. You begin to suspect that this is a different book, perhaps the real Polish novel Outside the town of Malbork, whereas the beginning you have read could belong to yet another book, God only knows which.
    It had already occurred to you that the names didn't sound particularly Polish: Brigd, Gritzvi. You have a good atlas, very detailed; you turn to the index of places: Pëtkwo, which should be a fairly important town, and the Aagd, which could be a river or a lake. You track them down in a remote plain of the north that wars and peace treaties have successively awarded to different countries. Perhaps also to Poland? You consult an encyclopedia, a historical atlas; no, Poland has nothing to do with it; this area, in the period between the two wars, was an independent state: Cimmeria; capital Orkko; national language Cimmerian, belonging to the Bothno-Ugaric family. The "Cimmeria" article in the encyclopedia concludes with not very reassuring sentences: "In successive territorial divisions between her powerful neighbors the young nation was soon erased from the map; the autochthonous
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    population was dispersed; Cimmerian language and culture had no development."
    You are impatient to get in touch with the Other Reader, to ask her if her copy is like yours, and to tell her your conjectures, the information you have gathered.... You look in your pocket diary for the number you wrote next to her name when you and she introduced yourselves.
    "Hello, Ludmilla? Have you seen? It's a different novel, but this one, too, or at least my copy..."
    The voice at the other end of the wire is hard, a bit ironic. "Look, I'm not Ludmilla. I'm her sister, Lotaria." That's right, she did tell you: "If I don't answer, my sister will be there." "Ludmilla is out. What is it? What did you want?"
    "I just wanted to tell her about a book.... It's not important, I'll call back...."
    "A novel? Ludmilla always has her nose buried in a novel. Who's the author?"
    "Well, it's a kind of a Polish novel that she's also reading. I thought we might exchange some impressions. Bazakbal's novel."
    "Polish? What sort?"
    "Um, it doesn't seem half bad to me."
    No, you misunderstood. Lotaria wants to know the author's position with regard to Trends of Contemporary Thought and Problems That Demand a Solution. To make your task easier she furnishes you with a list of names of Great Masters among whom you should situate him.
    Again you feel the sensation you felt when the paper knife revealed the facing white pages. "I couldn't say, exactly. You see, I'm not actually sure even of the title or the author's name. Ludmilla will tell you about it: it's a rather complicated story."
    "Ludmilla reads one novel after another, but she never clarifies the problems. It seems a big waste of time to me. Don't you have this impression?"
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    If you start arguing, she'll never let you go. Now she is inviting you to a seminar at the university, where books are analyzed according to all Codes, Conscious and Unconscious, and in which all Taboos are eliminated, the ones imposed by the dominant Sex, Class, and Culture.
    "Will Ludmilla be going, too?"
    No, it seems Ludmilla takes no part in her sister's activities. But on the other hand, Lotaria is counting on your participation.
    You prefer not to commit yourself. "I'll see, I'll try to drop by. I can't promise. Meanwhile, would you please tell your sister I called?... But anyway, it doesn't matter, I'll call back. Thanks a lot." That's enough, go ahead and hang up.
    But Lotaria detains you. "Look, there's no point in your calling here again, this isn't Ludmilla's place, it's mine. Ludmilla always gives my number to people she doesn't know, she says I keep them at a distance..."
    You are hurt. Another cruel shock: the book that seemed so promising broke off; the telephone number that you also believed the beginning of something proves to be a dead end, with this Lotaria who insists on questioning you....
    "Ah,