The mother's lover

Author: W. Видмерль
Publisher:
Publication Date: 2002-10-01
Features: An elegy, a requiem, a love declaration full of linguistic power. The mother was a young lady from a wealthy family who fell in love with a young conductor obsessed with new music, Edwin. For Edwin, the mother not only became his lover but also devoted all her wealth. After Edwin became famous, he married the daughter of a machine manufacturer. The mother, who loved Edwin wholeheartedly, silently endured the despair of her pain and gradually found herself in increasing poverty. For thirty years, the mother's only spiritual solace was receiving a single orchid and a greeting card from Edwin on his birthday every year. When that year no longer brought the orchid and the card, the mother's life support system completely collapsed. "Today, my mother's lover has passed away. He was already in his seventies and was still very healthy before his death." This is the beginning of the novel, concise and refined, echoing the spirit of Marguerite Duras' The Lover. The novel also tells a poignant love story, once dominated the German bestseller charts, and was hailed by a Zurich newspaper as "a love declaration full of linguistic power." When the mother was finally able to fulfill her promise to visit her uncle, aunt, and other relatives, it was already May, a vibrant spring full of blossoms. However, as she carried her small suitcase—this inheritance adorned with stickers from hotels like Suwelta and Danilie toward the train station, it was pouring rain. She was traveling in the third-class carriage. When she transferred in Bern, the rain poured heavily; when she sat in the station snack bar in Brigue, waiting to transfer to Domodossola, a true flood poured down from the sky. The train consisted of a tiny steam engine and two carriages from the Italian State Railways. The steam engine resembled a patrol car spewing steam, with each carriage having its own door. Tickets were checked inside the station and again before boarding, meaning the attendants impassively watched a few travelers struggle through a waterfall descending from the sky to reach the train. The mother sat in the carriage, drenched, with a pastor in the same condition as her. He pretended to read a Bible at first but soon began to sweat profusely, not from heat—the air in the carriage came from the south—but from his damp coat. A white mist rose from the mother's clothes as well. The train finally lurched forward, disappearing into the tunnel. Darkness reigned outside, with only a few flickering lights, vanishing in an instant. When she emerged on the other side, the sunlight was blindingly strong. The mother thought her eyes were surrounded by flames. It climbed the platform, a cloud, a blind cloud. Though she couldn’t hear anything, she felt the scorching sun on her skin, breathed in a fresh air, and heard a voice calling her name from somewhere in the dazzling sunlight. "Clara!" The voice was thin, like that of a tropical bird. Through the sunlight, she gradually recognized her uncle, who was hopping behind the exit gate, a dwarf in a loose overcoat. She threw herself into his arms. The uncle was short and thin, his face disappearing between her breasts, his arms barely able to hold her. Yet he embraced her tightly, pressing her so hard that she thought all her ribs had broken. "Oh, Uncle! Slow down, slow down!"① The short uncle released her, took a deep breath—his face was flushed, he smiled, picked up her suitcase, which was so heavy it made him lean, and turned to speak as he walked toward a brand-new "Fiat" truck, its canopy painted with two lions standing on their hind legs, clutching a bunch of grapes with their front paws. Below the grapes, in large red letters, were the words: "Vini Morinàre." "The age of donkeys is over! This car is enough now!"① The mother sat beside her uncle, who could barely hold the steering wheel, perched on a cushion, as they drove down an empty road. Along the way, there was only one pastor, struggling toward a church under the holy glow of mist. The uncle talked endlessly, laughing and chattering nonstop. The mother understood none of it and told him so. But the uncle repeated the same noise, only louder. He laughed again, this time with great joy. So the mother let him ramble on.