So I'd been thinking about the art of imitation, when I got my first piece of German homework last week. We were given a painting (see below), and asked to write a 200-word story, about the three people in it. I was sceptical, at first (what were we, in High School again?), but soon fell into the project. It's a challenge, to construct something interesting within narrow confines.
I thought about Vermeer - how his pictures capture a moment in time in lives of his figures; a sharp juncture in the storyline. Amongst short story writers, the American Lydia Davis is well-known for her elliptical single paragraph or one page-long stories. And I've always wanted to try a story à la Peter Bichsel, my favourite Swiss writer. His whimsical, deceptively simple short stories often focus on the mundane - small incidents of everyday life - which, when at the centre of a short piece of writing, come into sharp focus, and reveal something deeply moving about human existence.
So here's my attempt at a Bichsel-Davis-esque piece. (I know it's pretentious, but I've included the German, 'cos it looks good. :P FYI: The German exercise was to test our knowledge of adjectival and article agreements - hence the plethora of them!)
Oh, by the way: While I was writing, I asked one of my housemate what the story of the picture was about. He came over to where I was sitting, and peering over my shoulder at the laptop, said: "Oh, that guy's lost his car keys over the cliff. She's pointing them out to him, while he's trying to get them without going over the edge. The other guy's just standing apart, laughing."
Wish I'd written that story! Hey, why don't you have a go at your own? Might be fun.
Kreidefelsen auf Rügen
Ihre Kutsche war zu schnell über den steinigen Weg gefahren, und armer Caspar hatte immer einen empfindlichen Magen.Hier lag er, wie eine große, schwartzbraune Motte, flatternd, auf dem grünen Gras. Sein Gesicht, blaß und schweißig, war genauso wie die weiße Farbe der Kreidefelsen vor ihnen. Er starrte ungläubig auf die kleinen Boote am Meer. In der Form ihres dreieckigen Hutes, schaulkelten sie auf dem Wasser. Ihre Bewegung ließ ihm wieder erbrechen. Diese Seeleute! Das war nichts für ihn. Er hasste Boote.
Their carriage was too fast over the stony path, and poor Caspar had always had a weak stomach. He laid there, like a large, black-and-brown moth, fluttering on the green grass. His face, pale and sweaty, was exactly the colour of the white chalk cliffs before them. He stared out, unbelievingly, at the small boats on the sea. The form of his three-cornered hat, they bobbed on the water. Their movement made him sick again. These sailors! That was not for him. He hated boats.
Christiane war auch dankbar für die frische Luft. Für sie hatte der Tag früh angefangen. Sie hatte nichts gegessen; hatte mit jedem gesprächigen Gast geredet; und jemand hatte auf ihrem Brautschleier getreten. Jetzt war es schön, einfach in dem hellen, winterlichen Licht zu sitzen. Sie beobachtete die Boote. Sie mochte ihr großes blaßes Segelwerk, so zart dennoch groß, das es einen Windstoß enthalten konnte. Sie hoffte, dass Caspar und sie segeln würden. Sie hatte nie gesegelt.
Christiane was also thankful for the fresh air. For her, the day had started early. She had not eaten anything; had spoken with every chatty guest, and someone had trodden on her wedding veil. It's lovely, now, simply to sit in the bright, winter light. She watched the boats. She liked their large, pale sails, so fragile yet capable of holding a great gale. She hoped, that she and Caspar will go sailing. She had never sailed.
Der Kutscher dachte, Es ist spät, wir müssen schon wegfahren. Er wollte nach Hause gehen. Er wollte seine Frau küssen. Er wollte sich zu Tische setzen und ein warmes Abendessen essen. Später, brächte er die Kleineren ins Bett. Dann säße er sich am Kamin, und mache ein kleines Segelboot. Das Segelboot wäre aus Holz, und war für seinen zweitjüngsten Sohn. Er pfiff lautlos, durch die Lücken zwischen seinen ungleichen Zähnen.
The driver thought: It is late, we must go soon. He wanted to go home. He wanted to kiss his wife. He wanted to sit at the table and eat a warm dinner. Later, he will put the little ones to bed. Then he will sit before the fire, and work on a small sailing boat. The boat was made of wood, and was for his second youngest son. He whistled soundless, through the gaps between his uneven teeth.
