The Castle in the Forest by Norman Mailer Read Free Book Online Page B

pregnant if she was really afraid of dying. Besides, he had been lying to his wife with so much skill that now he did not dare to confess. Prevarication, like honesty, is reflexive, and soon becomes a sturdy habit, as reliable as truth. Anna Glassl-Hoerer Hitler was fifty-seven and looked ten years older (although to his continuing surprise she could be a virago at dawn). To lose her would reduce his financial situation measurably. Moreover, he would be giving up a lady for a farm girl, a most attractive farm girl, but then he had decided long ago that in the end a peasant was like a stone. Throw a stone high in the air—it will always come down. Whereas a lady was like a feather. A lady could tantalize you with her intelligence. He would hate to give up his ever-increasing skill as a liar.
    Here is a sample from the dining room at the Gasthaus Streif:

    Anna Glassl: I see you are looking at her again.
    Alois: I am. You have caught me. If your eyes were not so
    beautiful, I would have to say that you own the eyes of an
    eagle.
    Anna Glassl: Why don’t you catch up with her after we eat? Just give her a good one for me. Alois: Your mind is wicked. I like it when your tongue is so crude.
    Anna Glassl: Cruder than it used to be.
    Alois: Anna, you are exceptionally wise, but, in this case,
    you are wrong.
    Anna Glassl: Look, my dear, I have put up with chamber-
    maids and cooks. You have come to bed smelling of onions on many a night. And that is better than sniffing laundry soap. But I don’t care, I tell myself. The man must remain amused. Only, why do you still try to insult my intelligence? We know the girl is beautiful. At least once in your life make love to a waitress who does not look like last night’s pudding.
    Alois: All right, I will tell you the truth. I like her looks, yes, a little bit. Although she is not truly my type. No, she is not. But in any case, I would not go near her. One hears the worst talk. I don’t even want to tell you because you like her.
    Anna Glassl: Like her? She’s a tart. She’s a tart in training. Your true type.
    Alois: N o, she is diseased. I have heard that she has an infectious disease between her legs. I would not go near her.
    Anna Glassl: I do not believe you. I cannot believe that.
    Alois: Do as you choose. But, I can promise you, she is the last girl for you to worry about.
    Anna Glassl: Who then do you want me to worry about? Klara?
    Alois: Y ou have a splendid sense of humor. If we were not in public, I would laugh out loud, and then you know what I would do. You are so attractive, so wicked. You would even send me out to kiss a nun.
     
     
    5

    F
    inally, Fanni told Anna Glassl that she was two months pregnant and soon to show. For Anna, that was the end of the marriage. For Alois to tell her that the girl had a disease. When all the while he knew she was pregnant—unforgivable! Besides, Anna Glassl was more tired of Alois by now than fearful of living alone. It was truly exhausting to muster up her remaining arts in order to pretend to be a virago at dawn. By now she craved peace. She even decided that her jealousy had been some last inoculation against what was worse—precisely the chill distaste for a mate that seeps in even as jealousy loses heat. So she moved out. Since they were Catholic, divorce was not possible. To obtain even a legal separation, Anna, by Austrian law, had to declare not only their incompatibility but state in writing that she felt a direct aversion to him. Alois was obliged to read this. The phrase stood out in the document like a boil on one’s chin. It irked so much that he showed his copy to drinking friends. “Look, she speaks of a personal aversion. This is nothing less than outrageous. If not improper, I could tell you how much aversion was there. On her hands and knees so soon as I would say, ‘Get ready.’ “
    They would laugh and move to other subjects. He was in a state of irritation these days for more reasons than Anna Glassl’s