The people continue to walk along the paths and drive along the roads. Have they perhaps heard something about Gabi? Don't know her. A woman with a boring demeanor, I don't know which, steps out of her front door, and doesn't know either why she's doing that now. Of course she's heard the news, two days ago already; but she doesn't say anything about it, because no one asks her. She is still to a certain extent an outsider here, a stranger. A newcomer. This morning she again wants to be worshipped as the one and only, which she has always imagined as being more pleasant than it is. I've been telling her for years, but it doesn't do any good. Behind her rises her neat house, which would now like to stretch its legs, but instead by mistake kicks a person in the knees, who is now standing in front of it and is herself now placing both hands on her shoulders so that her arms are crossed on her breast. As if the hands were using the shoulders as supports. From this moment this person has to stay in bed for three weeks. This woman had expected a bit more wildness from the man yesterday, at least as much as she had still got in the mountains two days ago, but since then the man has not shown his face for a whole day and a half. Another woman? Oh Jesus, what can I do, with whom can I do something now, there's no one there? This man believed she loves gentleness, gentle advertising, for example, but his only model is the one for Palmer's lingerie, I think it's gentle enough, one can see the whole body almost to the heart; no reason to be envious, ladies, be glad that you're in the world at all! Would you really like anyone to read your thoughts? During the advertisements this woman here often quickly prepares a small snack in the kitchen, in the summer she even makes chocolate ice herself! And when she comes back, the woman wants the wildness in this man immediately to be really wild. On the spot! She knows on which spot. She's sensitive there. On whose shoulder should she cry now? She has no one, and so begs the man to give her a family, so that she can once again say what's on her mind and get fucked for all it's worth. It's not worth much. But the man already has a wife at home. He can let her be, Gerti's home is nice anyway. His wife doesn't need him the way this woman needs him. Today we'll make things nice and tomorrow, too. For that the woman loves and sacrifices, just as she learned to do as a child from the nuns at convent school for Jesus' sake. Or does she have to let this man go? If she doesn't do it he will in any case run away from her sooner or later. She can't hold him. But if she now finds the strength to let this man go back to his wife and family-he already has a grandson-then one day perhaps he will return to her voluntarily, at latest when all these people, every one of them, are dead, or not? But if she now finds the strength to open this jar of cocktail onions, then she will be blessed in that the rolls which she prepared for him earlier, with several hundred different kinds of sausage, will not taste as stale as recently. The sausage is off, that's for sure, it is perhaps out of sorts before it can be served, or is it only the woman's stomach? The rolls are so colorful and pretty again. You can't be too sure, we'll throw them away and buy new ones, we'll throw everything away and buy everything new. The woman doesn't feel like going to the grocer now, she might miss her beloved in these ten minutes. Let's just leave the sausage where it is and sprinkle paprika over it, not too much, otherwise his stomach will be as discontented as the sinners in hell, where things are also too hot for my taste, I'm already wet again. Except, please don't let him go back to Gabi again, that would be too much for this woman. If at least she weren't so young, Gabi. If she were at least older than the woman, but then again she wouldn't be Gabi, but someone else. Where is she then? Love is not only deep respect for the other from deep inside, it should also be able to be shown outwardly. It is invited to kindly make a bit more effort. Or is the man incapable of showing feelings? Would that not be a pity if disillusionment were to bring one down to earth every time? Three bottles of sparkling apricot wine from the Wachau, he likes that, it's nice and sweet. She'd rather have the sparkling wine without the apricot, but can't impose her better taste on him. Kurt is a complete pro. He phoned earlier. It's me. Drive immediately to our spot on the mountain. I'm coming too. Did you get that? Yes, of course, we were only there the day before yesterday, and all the times last summer, have you forgotten? The mountain wind is already howling with anger that the woman is not willing to keep to this arrangement. What's wrong with her? What's she dawdling around the house for and waiting, although she should be somewhere quite different now? She's been summoned somewhere, this attractive figure. He is surely already on his way in his light walking shoes in the howling spring gale. Why isn't she on her way? Or does she have reasons? She won't be afraid? Curious. Usually she always does what he tells her to, and then her body immediately opens wide and pulls up all the blinds, even before it hears the certain steps that should be undertaken immediately. Exactly. I already hear the tearing of underwear like a terrible voice in me, perhaps I have a premonition. The house. The house is his goal, his one and only, she suspects, reads it from his face, even when he isn't there, in clear moments, when she's free to have them. But already she's doubting herself and her observations again. Such thoughts she has, for sure, but they don't feel right, and soon they disappear again, offended, as soon as he approaches and becomes more important than them, the thoughts, than everything else. Perhaps that's why he worries about the house and investigates it all down to the last detail, as if he wanted to make it have an orgasm. What do you want, this man is tender, he's potent, he fulfils the most secret desires of the house. New shutters? My pleasure, here you have them! The kitchen floor looks a bit dull and listless? We'll deal with that right away. The sheriff, which he is himself, is there at once. Compared to her house the woman almost feels small and unattractive. She watches the man as he investigates nooks and crannies. He could not draw the lips of her vulva apart more affectionately than these glass sliding doors in front of the bookcase with the classics. I can imagine. The man lies before her inner eye, crouching like an animal, looking up at her, and which she then allows to stand up and raise its head to her. Oh dear, it's looking in quite a different direction, the stupid beast. Was there not a noise, is the house door rattling, because it doesn't shut properly? I'll repair it tomorrow. At the feet of the beloved: no one, not one, so not the only one either. She will have to lay aside her dearest for today, in the hope of being able to pick him up again tomorrow where she put him down. Why does she not set out for the mountain? It would do her good, get a bit of exercise. Today inexplicably she can't do it, although she's been having such wet thoughts the whole time, whenever she opens her brainbox in order to take out one of them, living, dripping, twisting, slippery and to greedily close her lips around it. Who can swallow all that? She can! This time exceptionally she's allowed to swallow everything, this time he allows her to. Otherwise not. But why didn't Gabi come home two days ago? Because that's what the woman heard from sources bubbling out of the ground everywhere, there's no stopping them anymore. These sources can't be channelled anymore. Where is she then, Gabi, where is she? No idea. The last time he was still tender and attentive to the woman, his one and only love, because Gabi doesn't count, she can't even count to three, the mouse. The woman now wants him to fall upon her, to tear down and/or shove up her clothes, as so often, and with a good appetite sink his teeth into her cunt as into a well-filled sandwich, as so often; but then when he does it, it's not quite right either, because it's sore, the way he so thoroughly investigates and then sucks up her precipitations and evaporations, so that there is order in nature again. Order as in this house.