On a romantic tour or a dream holiday one can get to know one's dream partner, but what to do if one already knows him? Then one simply never makes the trip again to all the romantic places. Perhaps this man feels a need to forget being alone, perhaps it's no effort for him to go to bed with her, perhaps he would have quite liked her if he had got to know her. No, the future tells me: well, not that! Don't worry so much about it, worry about something else, you must have your own souvenirs, and take good care of your savings bank books. The woman has for a long time behaved with excessive reserve, and now the opposite is the case, she can't stop herself busily and tirelessly looking for the man everywhere. But probably the interest on her side will be much greater, yes, that's the way it is. She will fall passionately in love with him, she will become a climbing plant, will smother with kisses, until the man will have to fear for his limbs, and that's exactly how it turned out. But no, the man is afraid of nothing. He drives for miles around in order to be afraid, but is never afraid. She would go on for years, lying in wait for him everywhere, offering him her chambers, in which he will never want to live, unless they had previously been abandoned by her, the woman, for his sake. She knows that very well. She wouldn't be able to stop herself. She would always be shooting out of a place of ambush like an adder and shoving her tongue in his ear, because he'd liked that a single time, but not a second time, at least not from her, but perhaps he secretly wants it after all, who knows. She knows that he doesn't want it. No, he's quick and rather bright, and he would already know now if he ever wanted it again. He knows what he wants and what he doesn't. She would, if possible, press herself so firmly against him, till he would feel the hard walls of the house right through her. Brick, concrete, plaster. He would like that better. The woman could furthermore make it very clear that she is ready to repeat something like that at any time. Yet she is herself a repeat of this wonderful model in this photograph, only she looks quite different. Where on earth is the architect's plan of the house, yesterday it was still in the drawer. The man makes the communication and signs it with his dear name, which is not yet worth anything, but will soon be worth something when he has her house and her off his back: I would like, of course, I would certainly like to marry you. Believe me, if it was up to me, immediately. If I only could, not now, but perhaps somewhat later it'll perhaps work out that we become a couple. But I would rather be one with you, how shall I put it? Couple is too little, we have to fuse with one another and become entirely one. What, that's impossible? It is possible. In this house it can be realized. This house is clean, spacious and comfortable, why should I, of all people, not want to live here. I have calculated that's the fastest way of coming by a house, which then later my grandson, Patrick, is to get, then everybody in the family has one, because the old dear will soon take her d.t.'s away with her to hospital and then out to the cemetery. Her house, however, she will have to leave here with Ernst, who has been waiting a long time for it. Nobody digs a grave so huge that a house will fit in, for that we would need a company of the Yugoslav Federal Army, they're used to that. Best of all I would like to enter the house and then sew it up behind me, like a living body from the upper middle class, such a treasure, whoever could raise it would have hit the jackpot, even if under very special conditions. Am I still talking about the house or about a human body now? My mommy always mixed it up, too, and peed everywhere, in every corner, that's why I don't know so much about it. I only know one thing: bricks last better and longer than flesh, high-grade steel lasts even longer, so why stick with people, even if they are good for us and good to us? Even this paint on the kitchen cabinet will last longer than I will. A fir grows green, who knows where, in the wood. A rose bush in which garden? They are chosen, sure, remember, oh soul, to grow and blossom by your grave or something like it, I am not so choice that I know it all by heart.

I bring everything together once again but, as usual, can't hold it and let it drop at the last moment, boing: The woman wants to feel sheltered and yet at the same time nevertheless feel free. She wants to feel a great deal else besides, I'm sorry, it's not possible. She's the type who wants to be led, as her dear parents led her, I'm sorry, it's not possible. So now the situation is as follows: In return for his friendliness the man demands her property, which is her house. The woman would in future never be able to forget the exceptional harmony of this relationship, so it's better that there's no future anymore, for the woman knows: I could never forget it, this great happiness. The woman is not deceived by her feelings but certainly by the matter itself. Should one bleed to death like a beast freshly slaughtered, while the sun plays around the still untouched real estate? Should one wither like a plaster cast, while the real concerns that one has all go under, one after the other? It's much too cold for that. Should one sit down at all in a car, when it hardly feels the small burden that one represents? Should one wave to someone from the window, who doesn't even look, because the eyes of the house are shut and don't sense that the heavens lie heavy upon them, do you see the little clouds there on the window pane? There are none. These are streaks, which the cleaning material has left behind, although in front of millions of witnesses it promised never to do such a thing. It is not heaven which appears on this glass, one must be fair, no one promised it to us either. If someone lies once, he's not believed a second time, even when he's telling the truth, I say to this slimming drink, which, yes, that one, too!, didn't keep its word to me and my girlfriend, and now it's my turn to get a word in, I hold it fast like a dear close family member, which I don't have. So it's my turn to speak, but I didn't notice in time and now I'm talking nonsense. I beg your pardon. But for you too there is bound to be a program on which you can present your concerns. If companies and politicians lie in public, then you don't have to stick to the truth in this talk show either. What? You have your own truth? But you are certainly not the only one, that is also something you'll come to understand in the course of this program, which we can now finally dispatch. You should take that in. We shall also need a new dress and so we'll buy it at Furnkranz on Karntnerstrasse, that's a very exclusive shop. The woman wouldn't normally shop here anymore, it's not worth it for the country. The dress is of brightly colored flowered silk and rather expensive, but it was worth it to me. It is the crowning, but not of Jacob's Monarch coffee, it is the crowning of a woman, who for once in her life would like to be queen or at least a Snow White, who doesn't care whether she sleeps or wakes, because Snow White wouldn't know which was which. So sleep my child, but first we have to drive back home, where the bed is, the midday traffic isn't so bad, and once we're on the highway, then we'll get ahead somehow, the crash barriers will tell us how.

No one cares for the woman, so she must somehow care for herself, she must take something, with plenty of alcohol, a wonderful red wine, vino classico something, that's healthy. Even a glass a day increases life expectancy. But no, that would really not have been necessary! First the woman dresses nicely and does her hair once more in the proper sequence, so, now lipstick, eye shadow, mascara. Go to the toilet, only then the silk panties, matching the chemise, which we're already wearing and which we bought at the same time. Before we admit defeat, we spend a lot of money on pretty underwear. Even women who resemble a sheer rock face, because one can't land on them, are turned soft as laundry in the hands of the mighty fabric softener which pours a small capful into the final wash (the only one to be really gentle to us!). If we cap it all and put on this little hat, then we really do look silly, then the stuff runs down over our ears. Aha: Now for once you look at yourself with your empty eyes, and you don't like what you see? Why don't you like it? Well I think, I think the decision of this woman, who is merely groping for life, yes, this woman here, she's just got her fingers burnt again!, the decision was the right one. Where is the note, on which we wrote down everything ourselves, where is the little tube, which we stole from our best friend who had an epileptic dog, which is dead now too, from the cabinet in the bathroom? We don't need to ask, because we've already known it all the time. The drug is phenobarbitone and in pure form, whereby the veterinary drug supplier, R. amp; Go. in V, smoothly circumvents the law on addictive substances, quite legally incidentally, well, not quite, in the hands of an experienced vet this drug can blossom and do an animal good, in our hands it can only turn to ashes, which isn't hard, every cigarette can do the same; the theft was not legal, no, it was permissible theft for immediate consumption, we're not going to make ourselves punishable after death, since it will have become completely unnecessary! A little tube of tablets is raised to the mouth and the contents are swallowed one after the other, the alcohol runs cheerfully and comfortingly, nono, it doesn't hurt, no need to worry, alongside and snaps at the funny round things, sliding down the throat there, hurrah. Why is life suddenly so cheerful? We always have to stop when it's nicest, says a child, who appears in the doorway and goes to the piano, also feeling her way, but she will surely hit the right keys, otherwise there'll be trouble. Otherwise there'll be trouble. Yes, indeed, you heard: Trouble! Unsatisfactory. Favorite music is heard. If one really wants to go, one can make everything nice and comfortable for oneself, can't one? The shoes should fit, because it's a long way. Such a bonne vivante, we wouldn't have thought it of her, suddenly she's like a rubber stamp, which would like to press itself down somewhere, we've chosen this point in time, of all times, when we can't stand up anymore, in order to look at our own impressions from a distance. So something is left of us after all, how nice. Well, then we'll just have to make an impression here, where we're lying down, it doesn't matter: That was not only THE man, that is THE man, he will be the man for the rest of my life, the only man I really love, I would always be comparing all other men to him. He shall also get the whole of my earthly possessions, in particular this house and everything in it, no, not me, he can have me accompanied out first, the funeral is already paid for, the grave is ready. He gets what remains, at least I have got this beautiful new silk dress, this shining red tint in my hair and in this glass, both of which cost me a bit, perhaps he will resent these expenses, everything already belongs to him; my best black pumps, although I have already worn them a couple of times, and which are perhaps familiar to the audience at concerts or the opera, to one or two among you, ladies and gentlemen, if you, like me, who is quickly embarrassed by something, have looked disconcertedly at the floor, because the horn-player has fluffed his entrance. That's how I would like to fall to the floor, like a wrongly played note, but I'm already lying in bed and cannot get up. I won't get out of it again. I have locked up my telephone, who knows what I would have got up to otherwise. I would perhaps, with a foolish smile and apologetic words, have called emergency, but the emergency will soon be over anyway. I would injure myself, if I lost the beat and went my own way, in order, just look at me, here I am, shall I swallow a switched-on light bulb, so that you see me at last? Then I would rather swallow this all-purpose adhesive, which would still be detected in my bone marrow in thirty years' time, if someone went to the bother of taking a closer look there, of all places. But no one ever wanted to get to the bottom of me anyway, which, besides, is no deeper than a footbath. No one there, who would open my mouth and remove the poisonous little pieces, an unusual procedure, but one sometimes used for resuscitation. The woman. She doesn't look like a corpse, only like someone sleeping, I would say, if something like that existed, like a sleeping corpse, rather attractive in fact after death, which smooths the features, only a holy bleeding to death would get as many points. But then one would have a blue pallor or something. Soon there won't be another wake-up phase, since there will be no more waking up. So, now this is it. The eyes cannot be opened anymore, so that someone who is not particularly interested can try to read something in them. Now you know why, in the world of fairy tales and legends, the long-time sleep of characters so often turns out to be a tricky, secretive kind of staying alive, it's down to appearance. We have the choice: fall down dead, fall down in a faint, pretend to be dead, or be dead. No need to worry, she's only sleeping, the old maid, without a kiss of assent, but with the attested assent in the envelope on the pillow beside her. She proudly pinned her hopes on her property, the mother's child, and she was right, the property may leave now. No one will be waiting at the door, watch in hand, for it to come home. It can also, as far as I'm concerned, come into other hands, because even property sometimes needs a bit of variety. A shudder passes through the woman, I call her by her name one last time, oh, it's slipped my mind, perhaps I never knew it, it's not written down here, is it?, I was merely notified by her, to write this down. Careful, sleep will come now, be quiet, I'm still speaking, sleep is knocking at this door, immediately goes purposefully up to the brain stem, scrambles further, in order first of all to create favorable physiological conditions for itself. Come sweet sleep, walk on in. When all is silent and only one speaks, it's called a teaching period, any volunteers? No one? Well, then chemistry will speak in my place, I don't mind, and it says breathing flat to arrested, circulation weak to collapsed (temperature below normal and deterioration of kidney activity to the point of anuria, hence the name Barbara anuria). Let's leave it at that. Where she's lying we no longer have to concern ourselves with the Holzer blisters, an all too late and somewhat unsuccessful wedding dress, also the signs of the "dying heart" will have been superseded in the ECG by the dead heart. There was no dependency on the drug, would also be very unusual today, these drugs have gone right out of fashion. There can be no reason whatsoever which would be compelling enough to prescribe such drugs to pregnant women, please don't do it, if you are a doctor. Who's compelling whom. One can't even compel someone to wear a skirt instead of trousers. A woman sinks to her own feet, but is prevented from doing so by her bed, the dress too is not permitted to fall in a forward way. This person will be forwarded, the address is already written out, one can still put one's finger on the best of her, it is brick, is glass, concrete, steel, and plaster. No more than that. Ridiculous, that the birds should chirp or that one person should lead another to his mouth and then the latter still doesn't find the entrance.