A Greater Music Read Online Free Page B

that could be used for reading and writing, and there was a stand by the bed. The bookcase was filled with magazines and dictionaries, along with several volumes on physics and art theory—no different from when I first came here three years ago. Several old magazines had disappeared and been replaced by new ones, and the collection seemed to be missing several Baedeker guidebooks, plus two or three books on maths or physics which I remembered from before, but apart from that almost nothing had changed. Novels were represented solely by the English-language versions of the Harry Potter Series and American Psycho. Those were inside the wardrobe, where we’d put my suitcase yesterday. I opened it, took out my books, and put them on the bookshelves. I’d brought some translations of Dostoevsky with me, but I wouldn’t be reading them here. I’d read them before, for one thing, though this had been some time ago, and had realized that reading them again would be tedious. I tried reading one on the plane, but had to put it aside. Joachim had more than enough magazines, so I tossed some into the wastepaper basket to make room for my books. After Christmas I would have to go into the city center to buy some more. Cookbooks or animal photo albums; classics which I’d read a long time ago but had forgotten both the plot and the significance, in fact everythingbut the title; twentieth-century contemporary history; postwar history; war crimes trials; or essays about the deaths of musicians. I’d always liked reading, but over the past few years I’d thrown myself into it with increasing gusto. One reason was that I’d begun to spend the vast majority of my time alone. I went into the kitchen to make coffee. The small fridge was packed, as Joachim had said. He’d stocked up on all sorts of groceries just before the start of the Christmas shopping wars. Two bags of coffee, an easy-bake Christmas cake and a bottle of milk, frozen spinach and other vegetables, honey and butter, bread and eggs, apples and red cabbage for cooking in pig fat, a jar of bean sprouts and a packet of Chinese noodles. The kitchen window looked out directly onto the road to the cemetery. At the entrance to the road, affixed to the wall of the building directly beneath the kitchen, a lamp gave off a yellow glow. Snowflakes swirled and streamed, glittering like shards of glass in that light.
    Joachim came home. In the hallway he brushed off the snow that was stuck to Benny’s fur, and took off his jacket. He didn’t much like that old, threadbare jacket, and would only put it on if he thought it was going to be extremely cold. He sat at the small kitchen table and I poured him some of the coffee I’d made. After that we began to wrap the presents he’d bought. He’d bought a cookbook for his mother and an eau de cologne for his father. He apologized that he hadn’t been able to get anything for me, but that was only to be expected, since I’d only told him I was coming a couple of days ago. The day was now as dark as the depths of night, and the sound of the gusting wind could be heard through the shuddering windows. The falling snow swirled through the air, practically a blizzard. Joachim said we’d best wear scarves and gloves. And hats too, I added. He took a chocolate from the box he’d carried into the room, gave it to Benny, and took another forhimself. When he’d finished eating it, chewing slowly like a man deep in thought, he picked out another piece. I asked if he wanted me to make him some bread and honey, but he shook his head and fetched a big tub of Nutella from the cupboard, which he’d bought on sale. He got out a knife and a plate and began to slather the chocolate on the bread I’d given him. Benny watched this process with a look of great interest, wagging his tail all the while. The kitchen only had one small light, fixed directly above the dishwasher. Yellow