As there was no further communication from Weber, Gauss stood up, pushed his velvet cap back on his neck, and went for a walk. The sky was covered with translucent clouds and it looked like rain.
How many hours had he waited in front of this receiver for a sign from her? If Johanna was out there, just like Weber, only further away and somewhere else, why didn't she use this opportunity? If the dead allowed themselves to be summoned and then packed off again by girls in nightdresses, why would they spurn this first clear device? Gauss blinked. There was something the matter with his eyes, the firmament seemed to be a tracery of cracks. He felt the first drops of rain. Perhaps the dead no longer spoke because they inhabited a more powerful reality, because all this around him already seemed like a dream and a mere half world, a riddle long since solved, but into whose tangles they would have to step again if they wanted to move and make themselves understood. Some tried. The more intelligent avoided it. He sat down on a rock, rainwater ran down over his head and shoulders. Death would come as a recognition of unreality. Then he would grasp what space and time were, the nature of a line, the essence of a number. Maybe he would also grasp why he always felt himself to be a not-quite-successful invention, the copy of someone much more real, placed by a feeble inventor in a curiously second-class universe. He looked around him. Something that winked was moving in a straight line across the sky, very high up. The street in front of him looked broader, the town wall had disappeared and mirrored glass towers were rising between the houses. Metal capsules were pushing themselves along the streets in antlike columns, the air was filled with a deep rumbling that hung under the sky, and seemed to be rising from the weakly vibrating earth. The wind tasted sour. There was a scorched smell. There was also something invisible he couldn't account for: an electrical vibration detectable only as a faint sick feeling, a wobble in reality itself. Gauss bent forward, and his movement scattered it all; with a frightened cry he awoke. He was soaked to the skin. He got to his feet and walked quickly back to the observatory. Being old also meant one could nod off to sleep absolutely anywhere.
Humboldt had dozed in so many coaches, had been pulled by so many horses, and had seen so many weed-infested plains that were always the same plain, so many horizons that were always the same horizon, that he no longer felt real even to himself. His companions wore masks against the attacks of the mosquitoes, but they didn't disturb him, they reminded him of his youth and the months he had felt most alive in his entire existence. Their escort had been increased, almost a hundred soldiers rode with them across the taiga at such a tempo that one couldn't begin to think of doing any collecting or measuring. Only once, in the province of Tobolsk, had there been any trouble: in Ischim, Humboldt had fallen into conversation with some Polish convicts, to the displeasure of the police, and then he had slipped away, climbed a hill, and set up his telescope. Minutes later he was surrounded by soldiers. What was he doing there, why was he pointing that barrel thing at the town. His companions had freed him but Rose had dressed him down in front of everyone: he was to stay with the escort, what did he think he was doing?
Their collections grew steadily. Everywhere they were awaited by scientists who gave them their carefully annotated rock and plant samples. A bearded university professor with a bald head and round spectacles presented them with a tiny glass flask containing cosmic ether that he had separated out from the atmosphere with a complicated filtration system. The little flask was so heavy that it needed to be lifted with both hands, and its contents radiated such darkness that even at a short distance things lost their clarity. The substance must be stored with care, said the professor, cleaning the dirty lenses of his glasses, it was extremely flammable. As for him, he'd dismounted the experiment; besides what was in the flask there was nothing left over, and he recommended it be buried deep underground. It was also better not to look at it for too long, it wasn't good for the temper.
More and more of the wooden huts had pagoda roofs, people's eyes were getting narrower, and more and more yurts of the Kyrgyzstani nomads were pitched in the empty landscape. At the border, they were saluted by a regiment of Cossacks, flags fluttering, and a trumpet blared. For a few minutes they journeyed through a boggy no-man's-land, then they were greeted by a Chinese officer. Humboldt gave a speech about evening and morning, Orient and Occident, and universal humanity. Then the Chinese man spoke. There was no interpreter.
He had a brother, said Humboldt quietly to Ehrenberg, who had studied this language too.
The Chinese man raised both hands and smiled. Humboldt presented him with a bale of blue cloth, the Chinese man gave him a roll of parchment. Humboldt opened it, saw that there was writing on it, and stared uneasily at the characters.
But now they must turn back, whispered Ehrenberg, what they were doing was already straining the tsar's goodwill and to actually cross the border was absolutely out of the question.
On the way back they came to a Kalmyk temple. Dark cults flourished here, said Volodin, they really ought to take a look.
A temple servant in a yellow robe and a shaved head led them into the interior. Gold statues smiled, it smelled of burning herbs. A small lama dressed in red and gold was awaiting them. The lama spoke Chinese to the temple servant, and he in turn spoke to Volodin in broken Russian.
He had already heard that a man was on his way who possessed all knowledge.
Humboldt protested: he knew nothing, but he had spent his whole life trying to change this, he had acquired some knowledge and traveled the world, but that was all.
Volodin and the temple servant translated, the lama smiled. He struck his fat stomach with his fist.
Always this here!
Pardon, asked Humboldt.
Here inside, grow big and strong, said the lama.
That was what he had always aimed for, said Humboldt.
The lama touched Humboldt's chest with his soft child's hand. But that was futile. The man who failed to understand that would be restless, would run through the world like a storm, would shatter everything and achieve nothing.
He did not believe in nothing, said Humboldt thickly. He believed in the abundance and the riches of nature.
Nature was unredeemed, said the lama, it breathed despair.
Baffled, Humboldt asked if Volodin had translated correctly.
Dammit, said Volodin, how should he know, the whole thing was meaningless.
The lama asked if Humboldt could wake his dog.
He was sorry, said Humboldt, but he didn't understand this metaphor.
Volodin enquired of the temple servant. Not a metaphor, he then said, the lama's favorite little dog had died the day before yesterday, someone had trodden on it by accident. The lama had retrieved the body and he was asking Humboldt, whom he believed to be a man of great knowledge, to call the animal back.
He couldn't do that, said Humboldt.
Volodin and the temple servant translated, the lama bowed. He knew that an initiate might only do this most rarely but he was begging this favor, the dog was so close to his heart.
He really couldn't do it, said Humboldt, who was slowly becoming dizzy from the smoking herbs. He could rouse no one and nothing from the dead!
He understood, said the lama, what the clever man was telling him with this.
He wasn't telling him anything, cried Humboldt, he simply couldn't do it!
He understood, said the lama, might he at least offer the clever man a cup of tea?
Volodin advised caution, in this area rancid butter got put in tea. If one wasn't used to it, one got really ill.
Humboldt declined with thanks, he couldn't take tea.
He understood this message as well, said the lama.
He wasn't delivering any message, cried Humboldt.
He understood, said the lama.
Uncertainly Humboldt bowed, the lama bowed back, and they were on their way again.
Outside Orenburg another hundred Cossacks arrived to protect them from attacks by the mounted hordes. They were now more than fifty travelers in twelve coaches, with more than two hundred soldiers as escort. They always traveled at top speed and despite Humboldt's requests there were no intermediary halts.
It was too dangerous, said Rose.
It was a long road, said Ehrenberg.
There was much to do, said Volodin.
In Orenburg they were awaited by three Kyrgyzstani sultans who had come with an enormous retinue to meet the man who knew everything. Humboldt asked in a half whisper if he might climb a few hills, he was most interested by the rock formations and it was a long time since he'd measured the air pressure.
Later, said Ehrenberg. Now there would be games!
The evening before they were due to set off again, Humboldt managed to complete some magnetic measurements in the secrecy of his room. Next morning he had back spasms and from then on he walked rather bent over. Rose helped him deferentially into the coach. As they passed a column of prisoners, he forced himself not to look out of the window.
At Astrakhan Humboldt stepped into the first steamship of his life. Two motors sent stinking smoke into the air, the steel body of the boat wallowed out heavily and unwillingly into the water. The foam seemed to glitter faintly in the half-light of dawn. They went ashore on a tiny island. The feet of buried tarantulas stuck up out of the sand. When Humboldt touched them, they twitched, but the creatures didn't run away. Looking almost happy, he made some sketches. He would use them for a long chapter in his travel book.
He didn't really think so, said Rose. He was the one entrusted with doing the descriptions, so Humboldt didn't have to spend time on it.
But he wanted to do it himself, said Humboldt.
He didn't want to be pushing himself forward, said Rose, but he did have his orders from the king.
The ship left its moorings and soon the island was out of sight. They were surrounded by thick fog, water and sky no longer distinguishable from each other. Occasionally a walrus head with its big whiskers surfaced. Humboldt stood in the bow, staring out, and gave almost no reaction when Rose said it was time to go back.
Back where?
First back to land, said Rose, then to Moscow, then Berlin.
So this was the end, said Humboldt, the zenith, the final turn? He would go no further?
Not in this life, said Rose.
It turned out that the ship had gone off course. No one had reckoned with such fog, the captain hadn't brought any charts, and nobody knew which way was terra firma. They sailed around aimlessly, as the fog swallowed all sounds except the thudding of the engines. It was beginning to get dangerous, said the captain, the fuel wouldn't last forever and if they got too far out, not even God would be able to do anything. Volodin and the captain embraced, several of the professors began to drink, and a tearful hilarity took hold.
Rose went to Humboldt in the bow. They needed the assistance of the Great Navigator. Without him they were going to die.
And never go back, asked Humboldt.
Rose nodded.
Simply disappear, sail the Caspian Sea at the apogee of one's life and never come back?
Exactly, said Rose.
Become one with the infinity of space, finally disappear into landscapes one had dreamed of as a child, walk into a picture, walk out the other side, and never go home?
So to speak, said Rose.
That way. Humboldt pointed left, where the gray seemed a little paler, with whitish streaks.
Rose went to the captain and pointed him in the opposite direction. Half an hour later they reached the coast.
In Moscow, there was the biggest ball that they had attended to date. Humboldt appeared in a blue frock coat, was jostled this way and that, and officers saluted him, ladies curtseyed, professors bowed, then it went silent and Officer Glinka read out a poem that began with the burning of Moscow and ended with a verse about Baron Humboldt, the Prometheus of modern times. The applause went on for fifteen minutes. When Humboldt, slightly hoarse and quavering, wanted to give a speech about earth's magnetism, the rector of the university interrupted to present him with a lock of Peter the Great's hair. Talk and chatter, whispered Humboldt in Ehrenberg's ear, no science. He must remember to tell Gauss that he understood much better now.
I know you understand, Gauss replied. You have always understood more, my poor friend, than you know. Minna asked him if he wasn't feeling well. He asked her to leave him in peace, he'd been thinking out loud. He was in an irritable mood, not least because of the smiling Chinaman who had looked at him all night, such behavior was unacceptable even in a dream. Besides which he'd been sent yet another paper on the astral geometry of space, this time from none other than old Martin Bartels. So he's managed to overtake me after all these years, he said, and it seemed as if it wasn't Minna who answered him, but Humboldt in his express coach already racing toward St. Petersburg: things are the way they are and when we recognize them, they are the same as when recognized by others or indeed by no one at all. How do you mean, asked the tsar, who had been about to drape Humboldt with the sash of the Order of St. Anna but stopped in midgesture. Hastily Humboldt assured him that he had only said one should not overestimate the achievements of a scientist, a researcher was not a creator, he didn't invent anything, he didn't conquer lands, he didn't produce bounty, he neither sowed nor did he reap, and he would be followed by others, and still others, who would know more and then even more until finally everything was just swallowed up again. Frowning, the tsar laid the sash over his shoulders, there were cries of Vivat and Bravo, and Humboldt tried very hard to not stand with a bent back. Before, on the great ceremonial staircase he had noticed that some buttons in his dress shirt were open, and he had blushed and been forced to ask Rose to do them up, the latest thing was that his fingers were suddenly so stiff. Now the golden hall swam before his eyes, the chandeliers were shining as if their light were coming from some other source, there was clapping everywhere and a dark-skinned poet with a soft voice read out a poem. Humboldt wished he had told Gauss about the letter that had been waiting for him, crumpled and stained, in St. Petersburg, having taken a year to get there. His days, wrote Bonpland, were heavy and slow, the earth had shrunk until it contained only him, his house, and the land around it, everything beyond that belonged to the invisible world of the president, he was quite calm, he had given up all hope, he expected the worst and had made his peace, so to say; I miss you, old friend. I have never met anyone who liked plants the way you did. Humboldt jumped; Rose had touched his upper arm. Everyone around the large table was looking at him. He got to his feet, but all during his somewhat confused dinner speech he was thinking of Gauss. This Bonpland, the professor would certainly have replied, really did have bad luck, but do we two have anything to complain about? No cannibal ate you, no ignoramus struck me dead. Isn't it slightly shaming how easy it all was for us? And now what's happening is only what always had to happen one day: our Inventor has had enough of us. Gauss laid aside his pipe, pulled his velvet cap over the back of his head, returned the Russian dictionary and the little volume of Pushkin to the shelf, and prepared to go for his preprandial walk. His back hurt, as did his stomach, and there was singing in his ears. But his health really wasn't that bad. Others had died, he was still here. He could still think, admittedly not about very complicated things any more, but enough to deal with the essentials. The treetops swayed above his head, in the distance was the dome of his observatory, later in the night he would go to his telescope and more out of habit than expecting to find anything, he would follow the band of the Milky Way toward the distant spiral nebula. He thought of Humboldt. He would have liked to wish him a good journey back, but in the end one never had a good journey back, every time one was a little weaker and finally one didn't come back at all. Perhaps it really did exist after all, the light-extinguishing ether. But of course it did, thought Humboldt in his coach, he had it with him right here in one of the wagons, he just didn't remember which one any more, there were a hundred packing chests and he'd lost his overview. Suddenly he turned to Ehrenberg. Facts! Ah, said Ehrenberg. Facts, Humboldt repeated, he still had facts, he would write them all down, a vast work full of facts, every fact in the world, contained in a single book, all facts and nothing but facts, the entire cosmos all over again, but stripped of error, fantasy, dream, and fog; facts and numbers, he said in an uncertain voice, they were maybe what could save one. If he thought, for example, that they had been traveling for twenty-three weeks, that they'd covered fourteen thousand five hundred versts, visited six hundred and fifty-eight stopping points, and, he hesitated, used twelve thousand two hundred and twenty-four horses, then the chaos became graspable and one felt better. But as the first suburbs of Berlin flew past and Humboldt imagined Gauss at that very moment staring through his telescope at heavenly bodies, whose paths he could sum up in simple formulas, all of a sudden he could no longer have said which of them had traveled afar and which of them had always stayed at home.