Читать книгу The Horn Of The Hare - Günther Bach - Страница 14

8

The wind brought the sound of a dog barking angrily in the village and pulled me out of my reverie. My gaze fell on the open traveling bag next to the bed, and when I saw the bread I suddenly felt hungry. I put the teapot, cup, and can of milk on the floor and put the bread and cheese on the stool.

The bread was a firm, dark, whole grain bread, but it was fresh when I cut into it. I cut some strips of cheese and broke pieces from a thick slice of bread. The cheese was dry and crumbly, but very sharp. While I alternately ate pieces of bread and cheese, I knew that I would be thirsty again in an hour. But I wanted to wait before making tea again. I ate two thick slices of bread and the entire small package of cheese.

The warmth and the full feeling made me sluggish, but before I went to sleep, I wanted to do a thorough search of at least this upper room. I got up and pulled the curtains back from in front of the shelves, which were built against the wall between the slant of the roof and the floor. I pushed my traveling bag inside. Then, one after the other, I pulled back all the curtains and looked into all the drawers.

On the window side lay piles of underwear, tools in a wooden box, a small radio, a shoe box containing photographs, books, a couple of glasses, and some empty bottles.

The shelves against the wall on the other side, where the drawing table stood, held paints, pastel chalks, art supplies, an assortment of new brushes, and a lot of paper: separate sheets of watercolor board, which had become corrugated in the damp, along with flat, grayish-blue, coarse, wood pulp paper. There were four years of a technical journal for designers in another drawer. There were strips of paper as bookmarks in some of the issues.

When I looked at the places marked, I found articles on chairs and seating arrangements, sporting goods, and an essay on design methods. I put them all back on the shelf. In the drawer beneath there was a coffee-table sized book with a colored dust jacket. It had the title “Submersible Boats” and showed a bizarre yellow underwater vehicle with silver bubbles of air rising from it against a shining blue background. There was a strip of paper marking a place in this book as well. I pulled the book out and put it on the drawing table to read it a little before going to sleep. Beneath it I found a brochure on acrylic skylights. Along with color photos which showed interior shots of rooms with skylights, the brochure contained drawings with dimensions. One page with a halfround cupola was checked. With the pamphlet in my hand, I again had the feeling that this should remind me of something.

I leafed through it to the end and held it by its back and shook it, but nothing fell out. Slowly, I put it back.

The next thing that came into my hands was a stack of multicolored folders. One contained invoices and bills, the others patent descriptions. They were in his name and covered several different fields. They concerned interchangeable assembly elements, light fixtures, and a stackable chair that could be set up in rows by hooking the seats and backs together. There were also some foreign patent registrations from a number of countries among them.

A hard-cover binder held a series of typewritten poems. There must have been a good two dozen pages, mostly without titles, but each with a date at the upper right, in the same place as on a letter. The first and last pages covered a time span of eight months, but that was two years ago.

I found it unimaginable that he had bothered with poetry – at least we had never spoken of it. But he had surprised me just as much last year when he suddenly became interested in small sculptures, small terra-cotta figures which he formed on the beach from the blue-gray clumps of clay at the foot of the sea cliff and then baked in the retort furnace in the cellar. There were two shelves on the living room wall full of these hand-sized figurines.

I shoved the binder back on the shelf. Behind the next curtain lay two rolls of drawings wrapped in brown tubes. When I held up the first vertically, a roll of drawings on transparent tracing paper slid down into my hand. I laid the roll on the drawing table and shoved the books to one side. When I unrolled the brittle paper, I saw that the drawings were full-size curves of bow limbs. Two of them carried the names of well-known high-performance models made by an American and a Japanese company. Evidently, he had drawn them for comparison with his own designs. The others were drawings of his own models, which he had designated by the name “Arco” along with the model number.

There were four drawings, and I had been there when he drew one of them.

In different colors, the sheet showed the step-by-step deformation of the bow limb when gradually drawn back. Besides the direct technical value of the data represented, I found that the drawing had considerable aesthetic attraction. The deformation of the bow limb, which normally took place in a fraction of a second, was shown here in separate stages presenting a visual representation of the dynamics of the gradually straightening recurved bow limb.

At the time, we had taken the drawing board out to the yard and clamped the bow to the edge of the drawing board. At the midpoint of the bow, we had placed a thin board which had been provided with short pegs driven in at 5 cm intervals. Then with a spring scale, we pulled the bowstring back in steps, stopping at each peg.

After entering the strength of the pull at that point in a table, we traced along the inner curves of the limbs with a felt pen, until the sheet was covered with sweeping curves.